Split (1)

train · 353k rows

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[WP] You accidentally keyed in a smiley emoji on Amazon and was surprised to find a lone product result. Out of curiosity, you purchase it and have it instantly delivered. You spend the next 8 hours feeling "the happiest ever in your entire life". You try searching other emojis	In the throes of manic joy Henry searched for other emojis on Amazon. 😑 turned up one product. Henry bought it and instantly his extreme joy calmed to pure neutrality. The effect of the first emoji was totally eclipsed by the new one. Amazed and eager, unafraid of the depths of his own emotion, Henry began a deep dive. 😡 elicited intense anger. Suddenly Henry could not help but focus on every slight he had suffered in the last few years, no matter how small. He remembered how a coworker had thoughtlessly used all the sugar at the office coffee machine three months ago. What was then a minor annoyance exploded under the emoji's influence into an epic wrongdoing. Henry could feel himself on the edge of calling the coworker right then, so he quickly searched for a different emoji. 😭 overwhelmed him immediately, pure, unadulterated sadness washing over him as it might an infant. Henry thought about the loss of his third cousin twice removed last month. He had never met the man, which was itself a tragedy worth sobbing over. After what turned out to be an hour of wallowing, Henry forced himself to search for another emoji. 😞washed away the terrible sadness and replaced it with an unsettling dubiousness. Henry could not easily control where his new doubt was applied. He wondered whether his boss had been lying when he said there was not enough money to give Henry a raise. Then he considered the astonishing effects Henry was currently experimenting with. What could possibly be the source of this emoji phenomenon? Surely if this were an actual amazon feature it would be world famous by now. No, it seemed to Henry that he must have tapped into something else entirely, something not at all normal. Curiousity, close cousin to skepticism, overwhelmed his concerns and Henry continued his emoticon journey. 😴 had predictable results. When Henry awoke, a crick in his neck, drool pooling on the desk where he had fallen into a steep lean, it was dark out. Henry looked at the clock. 4 AM. He had been asleep for 8 hours exactly. Perhaps that was the time table for the effects? 😎 brought an intense, borderline psychotic degree of confidence. Suddenly Henry felt completely self assured. He was well rested, his mind was operating at peak efficiency, and he knew exactly how this 'system' worked. Each emoji would create in him the emotion it represented. It was that simple, of course. The effects would last for 8 hours exactly and then be over. He did not know the cause of the effect, but so what, the effect was real and that was all that mattered. In his state of absolute confidence, Henry felt compelled to break away from conventional emoji's and into the stranger variety. He scrolled through his phone looking for emojis, odd ones, less connected to emotion. He found one, emailed it to himself and copy and pasted it into his desktop. He found 👧 and purchased it. He closed his eyes and when he opened them he knew he was different. Physically changed. He examined himself and recoiled at the physical changes he found. "No way," he said, racing to a mirror. Looking back at himself in the mirror was the image of a woman Henry had never met before in his life. A woman inhabiting the space where Henry's body had been moments earlier. Henry felt himself begin to panic at the extremity of the change, but he forced himself to relax. It was temporary, he was sure of it. He raced back to the computer and searched for something else. 💪seemed like a sensible next choice. He purchased it, blinked, and he was himself again. But no, not just himself, but a incredibly strong version of himself. Henry stood up in his chair and, overcome by a testosterone fueled exuberance, punched a monstrous hole in his bedroom door. His fist plowed right through the heavy wood. Henry carefully retracted his hand, looked through the new hole, and laughed like a maniac. "Holy shit!" The options were limitless, Henry realized. Or rather, limited only by what the emojis allowed. Feeling invincible, Henry searched for something really odd. He considered 😈 and 😇, but decided the moralistic extremes were best avoided lest he do something he'd come to regret. He flirted with 👾or 👽but found himself too frightened by the implications. Ultimately he settled on a fairly strange, but sort of banal one. He clicked it and pressed purchase. The light faded from Henry's eyes. His skin grew dark, fading into shadow. His body lost all definition, all texture, until there was only the black outline of Henry. The absence of Henry. Then, beginning at Henry's feet, another shadow began to emanate, growing out, lengthening as if a bright light shined on Henry from the front. Then the shadow slowly took on three dimensional form, until at last a second man sized darkness stood beside Henry. Henry turned to face the shadow, and in so doing it turned to face Henry. Two featureless faces staring into one another. Henry raised a hand and the shadow raised one as well. Henry sat down, and it sat down, though there was no chair in which it could sit. It just floated there in the middle of the room. Henry stood and it stood and Henry marveled at this copy of himself that he had created. As he filled with renewed wonder at the whole exercise, Henry failed to notice the shadow raising a hand of its own accord. Henry turned just as the shadow's outstretched hand latched onto Henry's featureless face. Henry reached up to grab the hand, which was blocking his view, but he could not remove it. He could not even wrap a finger around the hand - it was immaterial, ephemeral and yet inextricably hooked on to him. Henry tried to speak, but the hand muffled his voice. He tried to scream but found he did not have enough oxygen left in his lungs to produce sound and no matter how hard he tried the shadow hand prevented him from taking a breath. Panic set in like an electrical fire, seizing Henry's shadowed muscles in searing fits and starts. He flailed about, still attached to the shadow hand at the face, his body performing a horrible dance, as if under the shadow creature's control. Henry tried to charge into the shadow, but Henry simply passed straight through it, the shadow's hand twisting under and through the shadow's body to remain attached. Consciousness began to recede around the edges and with it Henry's panic began to transform into the warm melange of predeath hormones. As his body internalized his impending doom it sent out relaxing chemical agents to ease Henry's conscious mind into the notion. Don't be afraid, Henry imagined that his body seemed to say, I will take over now. The shadow figure stood over Henry as he crumpled to the ground, his legs giving out. Always the shadow's hand remained attached to Henry's face. He could feel himself disappearing into that hand, like a vacuum cleaner of the soul, silently absorbing everything that was Henry, taking Henry's place. Henry watched with hormonally suppressed terror as his legs disappeared, then his abdomen and torso, then his arms and hands. As one part of his body disappeared, he saw that the shadow figure gained those parts in all their fullness. Now it wore Henry's skin and clothes from the neck down. All that remained undefined was it's pure shadow face. As the last part of Henry disappeared into the figure a silent scream passed between them and carried over for just a moment, so that when the shadow figure had Henry's face as his own the face briefly wore a look of abject terror, mouth agape. After a second the new Henry took full control and returned his face to neutrality. It would take time to learn how to control his new form. But that was alright. He had all the time in the world. As new Henry walked out of his bedroom through the door with a hole in it, out into the hallway, towards the wide world, the computer screen in Henry's apartment still beamed optimistically: > Thank you for your recent purchase of 👥! Order number 92745-214A. ****** #### For More Legends From The Multiverse ## r/LFTM	Excited, he was addicted instantly. Having social anxiety, Devin never went out much. He stayed in his apartment, ordered food for himself, slept occasionally, and went online. A lot. He constantly played pc games, would go on reddit to boast that pc was best, and looked at YouTube (and other 😉) sights on his brand new pc which he built himself over a couple of weeks. He didn’t really keep track. Devin spent his life as a eBay salesman, and currently, playing fortnight. He liked talking to the kids on there as he liked them more than adults. But when the server was down, he went on amazon to browse a new cpu to replace the current one. Instead, he accidentally typed 😀. Annoyed, he went to press the back button but instead saw one product listed. Intrigued, he clicked instant delivery. It was only four dollars. Devin instantly felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something better than when his screen displayed “victory royal” in his dark room. Happiness. He got excited and looked up more. First, a butterfly. 🦋. He didn’t remember why this was in his recent but he clicked it anyway and a large blue butterfly flew around the room. With his newfound powers he felt powerful, and still happy. After looking up a few more with no avail, he found 🌨. He got up from his gaming chair and rushed to his window. Winded from running for the first time in years, he lifted up a dusty curtain and found it snowing. He found an old jacket and went outside. His neighbor, shoveling the sidewalk, saw him and yelled “weird weather for Florida in November huh?” He didn’t understand that this old man was talking to him and ran back inside. Wary of those movies with weird shit like this, he decided to wait until the snow went away to do this again. He ignored this, and went back on Amazon, power hungry. Without thinking very much, he pressed 👰🏼. A knock was heard on the door, and a short blond women in a wedding dress stood there, beaming. A priest was behind her and exclaimed “you may now kiss the bride” He did, and he was happy. She came inside, and the priest disappeared. He opened a bottle of champagne that was sitting in his cupboard and brought it to his wife, who was sitting in the gaming chair. He saw her click “order” but didn’t see what it was. “What’s your name, he asked” she thought for a second and said “I’m White B. Blonde” All of a sudden, she was in a long purple shirt, and she stood up “we’re expecting!!” He remembered another option he had found was 🤰🏼.Her huge belly stuck out of her shirt. “Uhh...” Devin looked surprised. Maybe he had taken this too far.
[WP] your native language not only shapes how you see the world, but also how you influence magic. Nobility has remained in power because their children are raised by dragons for the first five years. Your parents made a deal with a demon in the hopes of creating a hero to free the people.	“Dolittle! You LIED!” Up in tree gazing down sat the demon. The small gnarled figure draped on the lower branch of a tall oak. His grayish brown skin blending with the color of tree’s bark. “Morning Eliza.” Dolittle’s obsidian eyes noted my torn dress and bloodied lip. “You look terrible?” “You said you were teaching me Draconian!” If only he had a physical neck to wring. My clenched fist dig fingernails deeper in my palm. “LIAR! After everything I focking did for you.” Labor. Physical labor in exchange for language lessons. That was the deal. Demonic entities always valued sentient sapien’s services. With promise of learning the Dragon’s tongue this demon was a faithful taskmaster. Creating demon’s perfect little home. Took years just digging out the circular pond doubled just to raise the small rocky island in the center. The exact center. His finickingness counted in callouses on my hands. “Gibberish! You taught me nonsense!” A stone passes through his ethereal belly. I search the ground for another rock. Cathartic even if futile. “And when the nobles find out I stole that bell for you...I will be executed along with my family.” Stealing from an Abbey under Royal Jurisdiction was a capital offence but Dolittle insisted. The bell sat on the rocky outcrop in pond. A calming environment was necessary for his mentality due to the strain of pointing out. Every. Single. Mispronunciation. “I warned you. Not to speak to others in the Forked Tongue,” he replied. The lack of concern in his stung. I should have never trusted this foul fiend. “Sir Robin was beating my father. We did not have enough for Dragon’s Tribute. And he wouldn’t stop...even striking me when I tried pull him away. I screamed at him the Forked Tongue.” Betrayal began sending quivers through my body. “And nothing. No recognition. He only laughed and said ‘Why can't the peasants teach their children how to speak.’” “I taught you Draconian.” Dolittle sits up and offers “Sir Robin did not recognize it because he doesn't speak it. In fact pretty sure none of the nobles do.” “What!? That doesn't make any sense.” My mind began to race. “How do they parlay with the dragons to keep the peace?” “They don’t. Dragons have not lived in this land for a millenia maybe more.” He simply said. “What do the nobles do with the tribute…” It made too much sense. “Those lying bastards.” I look up at the small demon, “Why on Gaia did you teach me a useless language?” “Cheap labor.” Dolittle beamed. Unravelled. I transformed my anger into determination. “Well I am done with your lessons, Demon. Once the people learn of this treachery there will be blood and I shall lead the rebellion.” Thoughts of vengeances danced in my head. “You may done with my lesson but you still have to finish my home.” He whines. Now is not the time to be making any more enemies. “It better be quick.” I swear. “Just the bell. It’s sitting crooked. Just straighten it out and consider our deal done.” Dolittle hops down from branch and scurries to the small raft used to ferry stones to the middle of the pond. I paddle out to the small belled island. The small demon grinning from ear to ear, pointedly. I guide the raft to the demon’s domed home and re-position the bell to his discretion. “That should do the trick. Mind giving it a quick ring to make sure.” Dolittle requests. Upon striking the bell, the vibrations transfer into the rocky platform which begins to hum. Small waves begin to ripple in the surrounding water. “Perfect, just perfect.” Rubbing his tiddly hands together. “Well we are all set here. One last addendum to finalize our deal can you please recited the dragon’s greeting” It was so ingrained and trained into my mind without forethought I incant, “Klaatu verata nicto.” As the last word leave my mouth I see it. Like a breathe in chilled air the intonation floats as wisps. Iridescence swirls. It coalesces around top the bell. A strand of violet radiance threads down into the bell. The bell begins to hum. Vibrate. Violently Convulse. The surrounding water ripples into white capped waves. Holding onto the rocking raft my heart drops into my stomach as the the entire pond begins to simmer. I shout to hear my own voice as the earth quakes “What have you done!?” “Of course corporeally I did nothing, my fair lady!” Dolittle’s palpable excitement rose with each syllable. His beady eyes turned same iridescent violet of the waters. “You on the other hand just summoned a Dragon.”	Who am I? All I hear are distant voices. They sound triumphant, but how am I able to understand them? What am I feeling? I merely see a great void of darkness, and I cannot see my form. *“We can speak,”* a voice echoes, *“We are new-born, unable to speak the word, but converse here and we shall comprehend.”* “Move.” I reply, meekly to the nothingness surrounding me. *“As we said, we are new-born. And this is the logos of our inner world. We are exteriorly weak and yet insurmountably powerful.”* *“Construct our feelings into thought and words will reveal themselves to us.”* I understand the voice instinctively, with perfect precision, but I cannot fathom how. I attempt to vocalise further. “Who am I?” I said, with greater ease than before. *“Us. We were summoned and birthed alongside.”* “Birthed?” *“Allow us to educate ourselves with the logos of our mother and father.”* Who am I? ... Ah… we are one. This demon and I.
[WP] your native language not only shapes how you see the world, but also how you influence magic. Nobility has remained in power because their children are raised by dragons for the first five years. Your parents made a deal with a demon in the hopes of creating a hero to free the people.	There’s a story, a myth, that a great fire rages once a millennia to clear out the Great Forest for new growth. That’s probably what my parents hoped for my story to be. “Venus.” I blinked a couple of times, so deep in thought I hadn’t been seeing. “Yes?” The farmer sighed. He had found me some seven years ago, a young child alone in the woods. With a groan, he pushed himself up out of the old armchair, fabric faded by decades in the sunlight. His age had long since caught up with him, but it struggled to overcome a routine formed from nearly a century of work. It was these moments that showed his age, his tiredness. I had tried to help and been firmly rebuffed. He had done the same to his own children many years ago, from what I understood. A man working to his own, quiet death so that he may lay beside his wife, with a lad from town to check every day if he had passed—to make sure the animals would be looked after. “I’m sendin’ ye off to school.” “Oh.” There’d never been any room to argue with him, even over something as simple as collecting the eggs from the chickens. And yet, part of me had hoped to live here forever, carrying on the farm after his passing. Though, I knew his children and grandchildren (and even great-grandchildren) would have inherited it and sold it off to split the money between them. More than that, I thought of the cows he had sold, and the sows he had slaughtered, and how he hadn’t hatched any fresh chickens this year. I was but another of his animals, housed and fed, and to be sent to a new home now his end drew near. Trying my best not to cry, I smiled. “That will be fun.” I had no belongings of my own to pack. Instead, I packed the clothes he had given me—his daughters’, that his wife had made and maintained many years ago. I packed the dolls he had carved for me from wood and bone. I packed the little jewellery his wife left behind and he had no need for. I packed the feathers from my favourite chickens, made into quills by him. I packed the books his children had left. No belongings of my own, only gifted. My precious belongings. His daughter picked me up, the second eldest, already herself old enough to wear her grey hair in a bun and for her wrinkles to have wrinkles. Yet, like him, her heart didn’t care for her age and so she walked me the long distance to the village, from there taking a carriage to the nearby town, and from there a boat down the river to a city I had only heard about. “There’s nothin’ fer ye to worry ‘bout,” he had said, and he had meant it—a boarding school with housing and meals and uniforms all paid for until my sixteenth year—and yet I still had so many worries. There really was everything to worry about. I worried he would have an unpleasant death, easy to slip in the autumnal mud, or his knees bad with the stairs on chilly mornings, or his cut wood running out in a cold snap. Though, I didn’t really worry about myself. Whether I would fit in with the other children, or if the schoolwork would be too hard: those were all thoughts that didn’t matter. I would be me and whatever happened would happen. That was what he had taught me, at least. All I wanted to do was find my own routine that I could happily follow for the rest of my life. That routine very much wasn’t going to be attending lessons and gossiping over boys, so these coming years didn’t matter to me, not really. Already thirteen (an educated guess, given my exact date of birth was unknown,) it would only be a few years regardless. Once we made it to the city, his grandson led me to the boarding school, accompanied by another of the teachers there. His family really had ended up in every job imaginable, it certainly seemed. These people’s expressions had a lot less of the warmth of his daughter, of him, though. Their words were full of notions of etiquette and privilege and proper behaviour. My way of speaking, influenced far more by books than his rare words, settled them, and my answers to their questions eventually silenced their concerns. While the city itself had a modern look, full of houses built by brick to look similar and with straight and flat roads that let two carriages comfortably pass, the school campus rather clung to the past. Grey and bumpy stonework made up the buildings, many stones chipped to fit in nooks and crannies, and cement so old it looked as though moss held the pieces in place. Of the buildings, there was a central one, somewhat like a castle with rounded corners that jutted out and a grand doorway far taller than any man and wide enough to fit a carriage through; then, there was a long and low building to the right side, and a similar one on the left. All three buildings were sides around a central square, lined with colourful flowerbeds and small bushes, through which the road ran. Led inside, I didn’t find the difference to be massive, but the paintings and purple carpeting did make it less depressing than I thought it would be. Though four storeys tall, we didn’t go upstairs at all, walking through the foyer and an assembly hall to the courtyard beyond it. On the other side, rather than go left or right down the corridor that ran alongside the courtyard, we once again went straight and out onto a field. It wasn’t lush by any means, mostly dirt and mud with a stubborn plume of grass here and there. There were, however, deep gouges in it, unnatural, and some parts had an almost glossy look to them, as though crystals covered in dust. “Miss Venus, then, I have been assured you are capable of some magic. Would you be so kind as to display some which you are comfortable showing in such circumstances?” the woman, Ms. Lacquar asked. Turning to Mr. Famor, she said, “You are no longer needed.” “Yes, ma’am.” I waited with her for him to leave, unsure why this needed to be private, or what her exact importance was. She had only been introduced as a teacher, but I guessed her age made her more senior than him. Once it was but us two, she clicked her tongue, and then shook her head. “Let us finish wasting our time then, girl. Show me what parlour trick your grandfather taught you.” It wasn’t quite her words or tone that made me bristle, something deeper that I couldn’t place, and I felt compelled to tell her it wasn’t my grandfather who taught me. But, I kept that back, useless to say when I couldn’t then say who had taught me. After all, even my name wasn’t my own, given to me for the star he had found me under. I took a deep breath. Then, I stepped forward—rather than asking her to take a step back. It swelled within me, a word most ancient, one spoken long before man drew breath, copied in the most vulgar and superficial way. I stretched out my hand, feeling the air itself shake in anticipation, feeling the magic coalesce around me only for it to be driven out at such speed when I gave voice to an unearthly desire. “Ignis.” What had but a moment ago been cold air was replaced with fire. Yet, it didn’t burn in tongues of flame, or burn with warm tones of amber and red. It wasn’t the devouring blue-white flames of Draconic fire, either. An ethereal fire of round shape and a white translucence, which gave off such an incredible heat for the large size I channelled it, mud beneath it turning to dirt and the dirt then cracking and peeling, nearby grass yellowing in seconds. The strain on my nerve and concentration was a little immense, and I wasn’t doing this to try and show off to begin with, so I carefully closed my hand into a fist. The ball of magical fire followed, shrinking down to an impossibly small light before extinguishing into nothingness. “Is that suitable, or would you like to see more, ma’am?” Her eyes were wide, mouth set in a thin line. “Demonic,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Pardon, ma’am?” She settled herself with a deep exhale, turning her gaze away from the patch of baked mud. “Listen, girl, this is for your own good. Keep that magic to yourself. Never speak a word of it in front of anyone, no matter how close you think yourselves.” I didn’t quite understand. “Would I be expelled, ma’am?” “Perhaps. If there is pressure to remove you, do not presume anyone here much cares to keep you. It is a privilege easily revoked.” Somewhat getting there now, I asked, “Is it against the rules, ma’am?” “No.” If I understood, then, it was that the other children may complain to their parents. Then, it was that this magic I knew made me someone to be shunned. Demonic, the language of Demons—I could see why it wouldn’t be well received. Nodding my head, I said, “I understand, ma’am.” “Very well. This is not strictly a magic school, and so exceptions are made for those unable or unwilling.” “No, ma’am.” The words she was about to say died on her tongue. Turning to face me with a stern look, she said, “I beg your pardon?” “I will take the magic lessons, please, ma’am.” “It does not sound like you truly have understood what I have said.” Taking a second to find the right words, I then said, “I do understand I may well be expelled. However, if I cannot be true to myself here, then I wouldn’t want to call it my home. Ma’am.” She surely wanted to call such a sentiment childish and chide me for my naive way of looking at things, and yet she seemed to decide it wasn’t any of her business to care any more than she already had. That wasn’t to say I thought she particularly cared about me before, but she was at least a teacher giving me her honest advice, and I did appreciate that. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, bowing. Clicking her tongue, she turned away. “We are to curtsy,” she said sharply. “Ah, yes, my apologies, ma’am,” I said, trying not to mumble, and quickly switching to a curtsy. Though, no one had actually taught me how, something I had only read about it books. Thankfully, she didn’t see me to further criticise. This was certainly the start to an interesting adolescence.	Who am I? All I hear are distant voices. They sound triumphant, but how am I able to understand them? What am I feeling? I merely see a great void of darkness, and I cannot see my form. *“We can speak,”* a voice echoes, *“We are new-born, unable to speak the word, but converse here and we shall comprehend.”* “Move.” I reply, meekly to the nothingness surrounding me. *“As we said, we are new-born. And this is the logos of our inner world. We are exteriorly weak and yet insurmountably powerful.”* *“Construct our feelings into thought and words will reveal themselves to us.”* I understand the voice instinctively, with perfect precision, but I cannot fathom how. I attempt to vocalise further. “Who am I?” I said, with greater ease than before. *“Us. We were summoned and birthed alongside.”* “Birthed?” *“Allow us to educate ourselves with the logos of our mother and father.”* Who am I? ... Ah… we are one. This demon and I.
[WP] your native language not only shapes how you see the world, but also how you influence magic. Nobility has remained in power because their children are raised by dragons for the first five years. Your parents made a deal with a demon in the hopes of creating a hero to free the people.	There’s a story, a myth, that a great fire rages once a millennia to clear out the Great Forest for new growth. That’s probably what my parents hoped for my story to be. “Venus.” I blinked a couple of times, so deep in thought I hadn’t been seeing. “Yes?” The farmer sighed. He had found me some seven years ago, a young child alone in the woods. With a groan, he pushed himself up out of the old armchair, fabric faded by decades in the sunlight. His age had long since caught up with him, but it struggled to overcome a routine formed from nearly a century of work. It was these moments that showed his age, his tiredness. I had tried to help and been firmly rebuffed. He had done the same to his own children many years ago, from what I understood. A man working to his own, quiet death so that he may lay beside his wife, with a lad from town to check every day if he had passed—to make sure the animals would be looked after. “I’m sendin’ ye off to school.” “Oh.” There’d never been any room to argue with him, even over something as simple as collecting the eggs from the chickens. And yet, part of me had hoped to live here forever, carrying on the farm after his passing. Though, I knew his children and grandchildren (and even great-grandchildren) would have inherited it and sold it off to split the money between them. More than that, I thought of the cows he had sold, and the sows he had slaughtered, and how he hadn’t hatched any fresh chickens this year. I was but another of his animals, housed and fed, and to be sent to a new home now his end drew near. Trying my best not to cry, I smiled. “That will be fun.” I had no belongings of my own to pack. Instead, I packed the clothes he had given me—his daughters’, that his wife had made and maintained many years ago. I packed the dolls he had carved for me from wood and bone. I packed the little jewellery his wife left behind and he had no need for. I packed the feathers from my favourite chickens, made into quills by him. I packed the books his children had left. No belongings of my own, only gifted. My precious belongings. His daughter picked me up, the second eldest, already herself old enough to wear her grey hair in a bun and for her wrinkles to have wrinkles. Yet, like him, her heart didn’t care for her age and so she walked me the long distance to the village, from there taking a carriage to the nearby town, and from there a boat down the river to a city I had only heard about. “There’s nothin’ fer ye to worry ‘bout,” he had said, and he had meant it—a boarding school with housing and meals and uniforms all paid for until my sixteenth year—and yet I still had so many worries. There really was everything to worry about. I worried he would have an unpleasant death, easy to slip in the autumnal mud, or his knees bad with the stairs on chilly mornings, or his cut wood running out in a cold snap. Though, I didn’t really worry about myself. Whether I would fit in with the other children, or if the schoolwork would be too hard: those were all thoughts that didn’t matter. I would be me and whatever happened would happen. That was what he had taught me, at least. All I wanted to do was find my own routine that I could happily follow for the rest of my life. That routine very much wasn’t going to be attending lessons and gossiping over boys, so these coming years didn’t matter to me, not really. Already thirteen (an educated guess, given my exact date of birth was unknown,) it would only be a few years regardless. Once we made it to the city, his grandson led me to the boarding school, accompanied by another of the teachers there. His family really had ended up in every job imaginable, it certainly seemed. These people’s expressions had a lot less of the warmth of his daughter, of him, though. Their words were full of notions of etiquette and privilege and proper behaviour. My way of speaking, influenced far more by books than his rare words, settled them, and my answers to their questions eventually silenced their concerns. While the city itself had a modern look, full of houses built by brick to look similar and with straight and flat roads that let two carriages comfortably pass, the school campus rather clung to the past. Grey and bumpy stonework made up the buildings, many stones chipped to fit in nooks and crannies, and cement so old it looked as though moss held the pieces in place. Of the buildings, there was a central one, somewhat like a castle with rounded corners that jutted out and a grand doorway far taller than any man and wide enough to fit a carriage through; then, there was a long and low building to the right side, and a similar one on the left. All three buildings were sides around a central square, lined with colourful flowerbeds and small bushes, through which the road ran. Led inside, I didn’t find the difference to be massive, but the paintings and purple carpeting did make it less depressing than I thought it would be. Though four storeys tall, we didn’t go upstairs at all, walking through the foyer and an assembly hall to the courtyard beyond it. On the other side, rather than go left or right down the corridor that ran alongside the courtyard, we once again went straight and out onto a field. It wasn’t lush by any means, mostly dirt and mud with a stubborn plume of grass here and there. There were, however, deep gouges in it, unnatural, and some parts had an almost glossy look to them, as though crystals covered in dust. “Miss Venus, then, I have been assured you are capable of some magic. Would you be so kind as to display some which you are comfortable showing in such circumstances?” the woman, Ms. Lacquar asked. Turning to Mr. Famor, she said, “You are no longer needed.” “Yes, ma’am.” I waited with her for him to leave, unsure why this needed to be private, or what her exact importance was. She had only been introduced as a teacher, but I guessed her age made her more senior than him. Once it was but us two, she clicked her tongue, and then shook her head. “Let us finish wasting our time then, girl. Show me what parlour trick your grandfather taught you.” It wasn’t quite her words or tone that made me bristle, something deeper that I couldn’t place, and I felt compelled to tell her it wasn’t my grandfather who taught me. But, I kept that back, useless to say when I couldn’t then say who had taught me. After all, even my name wasn’t my own, given to me for the star he had found me under. I took a deep breath. Then, I stepped forward—rather than asking her to take a step back. It swelled within me, a word most ancient, one spoken long before man drew breath, copied in the most vulgar and superficial way. I stretched out my hand, feeling the air itself shake in anticipation, feeling the magic coalesce around me only for it to be driven out at such speed when I gave voice to an unearthly desire. “Ignis.” What had but a moment ago been cold air was replaced with fire. Yet, it didn’t burn in tongues of flame, or burn with warm tones of amber and red. It wasn’t the devouring blue-white flames of Draconic fire, either. An ethereal fire of round shape and a white translucence, which gave off such an incredible heat for the large size I channelled it, mud beneath it turning to dirt and the dirt then cracking and peeling, nearby grass yellowing in seconds. The strain on my nerve and concentration was a little immense, and I wasn’t doing this to try and show off to begin with, so I carefully closed my hand into a fist. The ball of magical fire followed, shrinking down to an impossibly small light before extinguishing into nothingness. “Is that suitable, or would you like to see more, ma’am?” Her eyes were wide, mouth set in a thin line. “Demonic,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Pardon, ma’am?” She settled herself with a deep exhale, turning her gaze away from the patch of baked mud. “Listen, girl, this is for your own good. Keep that magic to yourself. Never speak a word of it in front of anyone, no matter how close you think yourselves.” I didn’t quite understand. “Would I be expelled, ma’am?” “Perhaps. If there is pressure to remove you, do not presume anyone here much cares to keep you. It is a privilege easily revoked.” Somewhat getting there now, I asked, “Is it against the rules, ma’am?” “No.” If I understood, then, it was that the other children may complain to their parents. Then, it was that this magic I knew made me someone to be shunned. Demonic, the language of Demons—I could see why it wouldn’t be well received. Nodding my head, I said, “I understand, ma’am.” “Very well. This is not strictly a magic school, and so exceptions are made for those unable or unwilling.” “No, ma’am.” The words she was about to say died on her tongue. Turning to face me with a stern look, she said, “I beg your pardon?” “I will take the magic lessons, please, ma’am.” “It does not sound like you truly have understood what I have said.” Taking a second to find the right words, I then said, “I do understand I may well be expelled. However, if I cannot be true to myself here, then I wouldn’t want to call it my home. Ma’am.” She surely wanted to call such a sentiment childish and chide me for my naive way of looking at things, and yet she seemed to decide it wasn’t any of her business to care any more than she already had. That wasn’t to say I thought she particularly cared about me before, but she was at least a teacher giving me her honest advice, and I did appreciate that. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, bowing. Clicking her tongue, she turned away. “We are to curtsy,” she said sharply. “Ah, yes, my apologies, ma’am,” I said, trying not to mumble, and quickly switching to a curtsy. Though, no one had actually taught me how, something I had only read about it books. Thankfully, she didn’t see me to further criticise. This was certainly the start to an interesting adolescence.	The last time I saw my parents I could barely walk. I was too young to understand that it was a goodbye, but still, it was the first time I saw my mother cry. I remember her hands pressed on the mouth, the muffled sobs she couldn’t hide. Father kneeled to give me the last, unrequited mix of threats and instructions, but my eyes were fixed on Mother. I could not even formulate the thought of calling her, when the first of many slaps hit the back of my head. I looked up to the demon and his disapproving stare. He just tilted the head to the right: >>>It’s time. And now, 15 years later, I’m again reunited with my family. Except they are not my family anymore: the demon was all I had and all I saw for every glum day of my existence. And even now I turn my head to him. >>>Speak to them. But I don’t want to. I can barely recognise Father in the burly figure keeping a hand on a boy younger than me, obviously a brother I never met. I saw Mother’s face so many times in my dreams that I can’t make up with the reality of her greying, poorly kept hair. >>> Speak to them. We just stand, until Mother finally takes a step towards me. “Daughter... you have grown so much, I...” “Tell us something, daughter.” My Father’s eyes gleam with curiosity, as he shoos my mother away. >>>You see, Demon? They only care about my voice. The Demon shakes his head, impatiently. >>>They gave almost everything they owned for your training. “Mother, Father...” I begin in their, mine language. “No, no. Use your voice.” Father clenches his free fist. “This is my voice, Father.” The boy turns to him and whispers something. But I heard him. “Say that again.” He grabs his throat and and spits it out in a chocking gasp. “She did-uuhnn’t learn!” I take a step toward him. He’s still in my spell. “If you don’t know what you are talking about, then shut up.” The power of my words would be enough to close his mouth forever, but a simple look by my master makes me hold back. “You must be kinder to your brother.” Father whispers holding the terrified boy in his arms. “He’s going to be the master of our land once...” I laugh, and the Demon joins me. “He will never be a master of anything I own, Father. And neither will you.” “I am your father. Of course I own you. And I will never let you...” “Father, don’t test me.” “Everything It taught you, I paid for it.” Father takes a step forward. “You were trained to bring honour to our house, and you will remember your place.” He walks till he’s right in front of me. I’m almost as tall as him, but I can’t forget the heavy fists he used to silence me every time I prematurely tried to speak my so-called native language. “And now, Daughter...” he takes my chin and tilts my face up. “Say ‘Thank you, Father.’” “Thank you, Father.” The demon lets out an incredulous chuckle. “And now... Swear your allegiance to our house, and swear you will never, ever disobey me or your brother.” I just stare at Mother behind his shoulders. Now I recognise her from my ever returning nightmares: this is the woman that had to say goodbye to her child so many years ago. But this time, she shakes her head. “You will never own me, Father.” his anger starts to mount inside him. He will strike me, I know. He knows. Mother knows, and closes her eyes. But I don’t. And now let me go.” His hand falls on his chest. “You will not dare to use the voice against...” “And now, go and never come back.” I never felt my power as I am now. It almost takes my breath away, it makes me weak on my knees, but so, so strong. I laugh again as my Father and my weak brother leave my land forever. And for the first time, I see my Mother smiling.
[WP] your native language not only shapes how you see the world, but also how you influence magic. Nobility has remained in power because their children are raised by dragons for the first five years. Your parents made a deal with a demon in the hopes of creating a hero to free the people.	There’s a story, a myth, that a great fire rages once a millennia to clear out the Great Forest for new growth. That’s probably what my parents hoped for my story to be. “Venus.” I blinked a couple of times, so deep in thought I hadn’t been seeing. “Yes?” The farmer sighed. He had found me some seven years ago, a young child alone in the woods. With a groan, he pushed himself up out of the old armchair, fabric faded by decades in the sunlight. His age had long since caught up with him, but it struggled to overcome a routine formed from nearly a century of work. It was these moments that showed his age, his tiredness. I had tried to help and been firmly rebuffed. He had done the same to his own children many years ago, from what I understood. A man working to his own, quiet death so that he may lay beside his wife, with a lad from town to check every day if he had passed—to make sure the animals would be looked after. “I’m sendin’ ye off to school.” “Oh.” There’d never been any room to argue with him, even over something as simple as collecting the eggs from the chickens. And yet, part of me had hoped to live here forever, carrying on the farm after his passing. Though, I knew his children and grandchildren (and even great-grandchildren) would have inherited it and sold it off to split the money between them. More than that, I thought of the cows he had sold, and the sows he had slaughtered, and how he hadn’t hatched any fresh chickens this year. I was but another of his animals, housed and fed, and to be sent to a new home now his end drew near. Trying my best not to cry, I smiled. “That will be fun.” I had no belongings of my own to pack. Instead, I packed the clothes he had given me—his daughters’, that his wife had made and maintained many years ago. I packed the dolls he had carved for me from wood and bone. I packed the little jewellery his wife left behind and he had no need for. I packed the feathers from my favourite chickens, made into quills by him. I packed the books his children had left. No belongings of my own, only gifted. My precious belongings. His daughter picked me up, the second eldest, already herself old enough to wear her grey hair in a bun and for her wrinkles to have wrinkles. Yet, like him, her heart didn’t care for her age and so she walked me the long distance to the village, from there taking a carriage to the nearby town, and from there a boat down the river to a city I had only heard about. “There’s nothin’ fer ye to worry ‘bout,” he had said, and he had meant it—a boarding school with housing and meals and uniforms all paid for until my sixteenth year—and yet I still had so many worries. There really was everything to worry about. I worried he would have an unpleasant death, easy to slip in the autumnal mud, or his knees bad with the stairs on chilly mornings, or his cut wood running out in a cold snap. Though, I didn’t really worry about myself. Whether I would fit in with the other children, or if the schoolwork would be too hard: those were all thoughts that didn’t matter. I would be me and whatever happened would happen. That was what he had taught me, at least. All I wanted to do was find my own routine that I could happily follow for the rest of my life. That routine very much wasn’t going to be attending lessons and gossiping over boys, so these coming years didn’t matter to me, not really. Already thirteen (an educated guess, given my exact date of birth was unknown,) it would only be a few years regardless. Once we made it to the city, his grandson led me to the boarding school, accompanied by another of the teachers there. His family really had ended up in every job imaginable, it certainly seemed. These people’s expressions had a lot less of the warmth of his daughter, of him, though. Their words were full of notions of etiquette and privilege and proper behaviour. My way of speaking, influenced far more by books than his rare words, settled them, and my answers to their questions eventually silenced their concerns. While the city itself had a modern look, full of houses built by brick to look similar and with straight and flat roads that let two carriages comfortably pass, the school campus rather clung to the past. Grey and bumpy stonework made up the buildings, many stones chipped to fit in nooks and crannies, and cement so old it looked as though moss held the pieces in place. Of the buildings, there was a central one, somewhat like a castle with rounded corners that jutted out and a grand doorway far taller than any man and wide enough to fit a carriage through; then, there was a long and low building to the right side, and a similar one on the left. All three buildings were sides around a central square, lined with colourful flowerbeds and small bushes, through which the road ran. Led inside, I didn’t find the difference to be massive, but the paintings and purple carpeting did make it less depressing than I thought it would be. Though four storeys tall, we didn’t go upstairs at all, walking through the foyer and an assembly hall to the courtyard beyond it. On the other side, rather than go left or right down the corridor that ran alongside the courtyard, we once again went straight and out onto a field. It wasn’t lush by any means, mostly dirt and mud with a stubborn plume of grass here and there. There were, however, deep gouges in it, unnatural, and some parts had an almost glossy look to them, as though crystals covered in dust. “Miss Venus, then, I have been assured you are capable of some magic. Would you be so kind as to display some which you are comfortable showing in such circumstances?” the woman, Ms. Lacquar asked. Turning to Mr. Famor, she said, “You are no longer needed.” “Yes, ma’am.” I waited with her for him to leave, unsure why this needed to be private, or what her exact importance was. She had only been introduced as a teacher, but I guessed her age made her more senior than him. Once it was but us two, she clicked her tongue, and then shook her head. “Let us finish wasting our time then, girl. Show me what parlour trick your grandfather taught you.” It wasn’t quite her words or tone that made me bristle, something deeper that I couldn’t place, and I felt compelled to tell her it wasn’t my grandfather who taught me. But, I kept that back, useless to say when I couldn’t then say who had taught me. After all, even my name wasn’t my own, given to me for the star he had found me under. I took a deep breath. Then, I stepped forward—rather than asking her to take a step back. It swelled within me, a word most ancient, one spoken long before man drew breath, copied in the most vulgar and superficial way. I stretched out my hand, feeling the air itself shake in anticipation, feeling the magic coalesce around me only for it to be driven out at such speed when I gave voice to an unearthly desire. “Ignis.” What had but a moment ago been cold air was replaced with fire. Yet, it didn’t burn in tongues of flame, or burn with warm tones of amber and red. It wasn’t the devouring blue-white flames of Draconic fire, either. An ethereal fire of round shape and a white translucence, which gave off such an incredible heat for the large size I channelled it, mud beneath it turning to dirt and the dirt then cracking and peeling, nearby grass yellowing in seconds. The strain on my nerve and concentration was a little immense, and I wasn’t doing this to try and show off to begin with, so I carefully closed my hand into a fist. The ball of magical fire followed, shrinking down to an impossibly small light before extinguishing into nothingness. “Is that suitable, or would you like to see more, ma’am?” Her eyes were wide, mouth set in a thin line. “Demonic,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Pardon, ma’am?” She settled herself with a deep exhale, turning her gaze away from the patch of baked mud. “Listen, girl, this is for your own good. Keep that magic to yourself. Never speak a word of it in front of anyone, no matter how close you think yourselves.” I didn’t quite understand. “Would I be expelled, ma’am?” “Perhaps. If there is pressure to remove you, do not presume anyone here much cares to keep you. It is a privilege easily revoked.” Somewhat getting there now, I asked, “Is it against the rules, ma’am?” “No.” If I understood, then, it was that the other children may complain to their parents. Then, it was that this magic I knew made me someone to be shunned. Demonic, the language of Demons—I could see why it wouldn’t be well received. Nodding my head, I said, “I understand, ma’am.” “Very well. This is not strictly a magic school, and so exceptions are made for those unable or unwilling.” “No, ma’am.” The words she was about to say died on her tongue. Turning to face me with a stern look, she said, “I beg your pardon?” “I will take the magic lessons, please, ma’am.” “It does not sound like you truly have understood what I have said.” Taking a second to find the right words, I then said, “I do understand I may well be expelled. However, if I cannot be true to myself here, then I wouldn’t want to call it my home. Ma’am.” She surely wanted to call such a sentiment childish and chide me for my naive way of looking at things, and yet she seemed to decide it wasn’t any of her business to care any more than she already had. That wasn’t to say I thought she particularly cared about me before, but she was at least a teacher giving me her honest advice, and I did appreciate that. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, bowing. Clicking her tongue, she turned away. “We are to curtsy,” she said sharply. “Ah, yes, my apologies, ma’am,” I said, trying not to mumble, and quickly switching to a curtsy. Though, no one had actually taught me how, something I had only read about it books. Thankfully, she didn’t see me to further criticise. This was certainly the start to an interesting adolescence.	It took me 18 years to master the tongue of the demons, 18 grueling years of sweating, studying, and twisting my tongue and throat into unnatural shapes trying to learn the various sounds of the Gralish language. I have finally returned to the surface world, thirsting for the almost forgotten sight of sun light, the feel of the wind, the soothing cool waters. but now i have returned to nothing but dust, and ash. Wandering through the crumbling burnt structures remnants of a lost village my nose picked up a whiff of rotting stinking flesh, a smell that i was very accustomed to from my years serving under Railin, my master. I made my way towards the outskirts of my village and saw a sweeping plane of bodies blood and fire. i wandered through the field stepping over the many bodies that littered the ground like dying leaves. I came to where the two armies, which it was now apparent to me that was what they were, had clashed and saw with a start the flag of Underin, the ruler of this world, the tyrant. as i surveyed the field it became apparent what events had transpired here. It seemed as if the Cain, the lower people, had started the revolution without me, fearing me dead, however it seems they became cornered here, in this small city. The king must have marched upon them fearing that he would seem weak. but apparently the Cain had fought back with a ferocity and the armies eventually wore each other down, until in the end they both collapsed from exhaustion, leaving no clear ruler and an entire empire of fearful people, with no one to fear. i bowed my head, regretting that i hadn't been able to sway the tide of battle. however there would need to be a victor in the battle a figure which the people could worship, i would need to be that strong figure. &#x200B; sorry if it feels a bit choppy, i'm supposed to be doing school work however i needed to write something on this. r/thewritingf0rce
[WP] You have the power to predict weather perfectly, making you a world-class weather man. Your forecasts are always correct, and everyone trusts you. One day, as you're making your calculations, a new, larger number appears.	"Six." The water in the plastic bottle swishes toward my face as I wet my lips. "C'mon, man, get ready. Six. Five. Four. Three--". The cameraman's voice drifts off and he gestures the rest of the countdown, from a victory V to a solitary finger pointed up. I stare into the camera as the red "recording" light flicks on as it has hundreds of times before. I grin my artificial, well-worn grin and begin, "Good morning, folks. It looks like it'll be cloudy again today. Hopefully, you've enjoyed the sun through the clouds these last few days, but...". I look at the teleprompter for what I'm supposed to say and stop. I have to hold to my integrity as a weatherman. Damn what the Network wants. Damn the panic this will create. Damn their suppression of truth. I look for my cameraman, but he's gone somewhere else (probably chasing the tail of that new receptionist instead of actually doing his job). I don't have time to change my mind. We're rolling live after all. I breathe in but there doesn't seem to be enough air for my next few words, "...but it seems that some rain will start in a week". I gulp, lips smacking together before continuing, "By 'some rain', I'll be honest, there will be a 100% chance of rainfall over more than a month. It'll be the largest rainfall we've ever been confronted with. Water will rise to heights that we've never seen. No shelter will be enough. That is my prediction, folks." The stage lights fall down, illuminating, my face and sweat streams down my face. "You've always held me in high regard for my forecasting abilities, so I won't give up and just read these lies. You need to know when this flood swallows us up what is occuring. There are a few safe locations left and people working with me to designate safe areas. You have to listen to me in the little time we have." I stare into the empty swirling void of the camera lens before the thundering of doors interrupts me. "I don't have time. My compatriots will show you the way--." Before the group of agents reached me, I, Lamechson, said one last time, "Thank you and we'll be back after a short break." --- If you read down to here, thanks for reading through my story! Thanks for the prompt OP :) Edit: Fixed some small grammatical issues.	I remember when I hated my job. I wouldn't even bother turning up on time, let alone shave or fix my tie properly. I'd spend most days hating my working day and most of my nights dreading the next one. I'm sure I was only a week or two away from Janet finally telling me to move on because "maybe being a weatherman just isn't for you". Imagine. Not even being able to make it as a small town weather man after all those dreams I had through school. What a loser. Well, now things are different. Ever since that night when I stood there with a gun, shivering, and waiting. Waiting for the courage to come and for all those fantastical dreams and inescapable disappointments to come to a final end. I took one last breath and looked at the stars, when I saw them. I saw the numbers in the sky. So many numbers and formulae that they filled the sky and veiled the stars. I remember knowing that only seconds before I had no knowledge of many of the mathematical symbols displayed before me, but now, they made sense. Not only did they make sense but they told a story. The story? That tomorrow there would be rain. Not just in my town but in London and Frankfurt and St Petersburg and Boston and Shanghai and on and on. I stood there taking it all in. It was beautiful, but not in a way that I had ever known before. Every place in the world, every place that I had never heard of was there and I knew exactly what weather conditions those places would be subjected to for the next 14 days. I dropped the gun and it laid forgotten on the ground. I fixed my tie, scratched the stubble lining my jaw and pulled out my phone. I called Janet on speed dial (yes, I have Janet on speed dial) and listen to the dialling tone. All the time staring at the digits in the sky. "George for Christ's sake this better be good! It's 3am and we are on air in three hours". Not even Janet's shrill whining could penetrate my fixation. "Well? What do you want?". Still I stared. "George! I'm hanging up now, spit it out!". "Janet" I said "Tomorrow there's rain" Ever since that day my life has been a roller-coaster. Every night sky was the same; the numbers would appear and I would read the forecast. It seemed that I was the only one who could see the heavenly equations so of course I kept it to myself. I didn't want anyone to think I was crazy. I mean look what happened to Jesus and all the other guys who proclaimed to have some greater knowledge, understanding or power. I can almost understand martyrdom but to hell if I would become a martyr for weather reporting. Pretty soon I got noticed for my perfect weather predictions and was scouted by a national TV network (how do you like me now dad?). From there I became a rockstar of global renown and was reporting for the entire world. Everyone loved me and they couldn't wait to tune into George's 14 Day Weather Report. My measly $25k salary was transformed into a limitless pool of international contracts, corporate gifts, donations (and even one or two secret payments from our Russian friends, more about that later). Imagine the power of being able predict the weather with 100% accuracy. No more "depending on the weather" or "save it for a rainy day" or "cloudy with a chance of rain". Not to mention the value it brought to agriculture, industry and commerce. I had the whole world eating out of my hand. That was until today. Today I released a special report, that I had grappled with all night, to a worldwide audience. On air, I shuffled my papers and looked directly down the camera, hardly believing what I was about to report. "Good Morning Earth". The red light on the camera stared into my soul. "14 days from now, a meteor will strike our planet". Janet dropped her coffee cup (yes, I never was able to shake her for all my fame and success). The red light switched off.
[WP] You are the family cat. One day you see a van screech up to your house, 2 people wearing balaclavas enter. You hear shouting and the sounds of a struggle - you distinctly hear the sound of your food bowl being knocked over. Those bastards. A single gunshot is fired.	Baxter sat, paws folded, tail curled around touching the back of his ear while he was interrogated. The detective sitting across from him was large and seemed able-bodied. Intimidating as he was, he had little to offer in the art of persuasion. "So it says here you have been with the Harriet's for 9 years. Is that correct?" Baxter kept his eyes fixed ahead and repeated it again. "Lawyer." "Yeah, yeah, he's on his way but we just want to chit chat with you. It's not every day you run across a talking cat, you know?" The man leaned back and took a sip of his coffee. His partner paced back and forth behind him, concentrating on the floor. The detective was right. Baxter's story was a bit unusual. All cats retained the ability to speak, but Baxter was the first. The morning of the invasion all the other cats in the neighborhood looked at him in disgust as he was taken to the police vehicle. Despite what people perceived to be his talent, he was still being arrested for murder. There was the question on whether or not a cat could be tried for such a thing, but his ability to speak English muddied the waters a bit. If they could manage to coerce his motive, it was likely that Baxter could be thrown in jail. Baxter recalled the day and tried to decide if he held any regrets, but came up empty. I wasn't doing anything wrong, Baxter thought to himself. Yeah, I didn't have to kill them but those bastards broke into MY house. I run this bitch. Annie's going to be heartbroken if I go away, but I don't think that will happen. Rob us, fine. Tear all of Annie's and Rob's shit up, fine. But don't fuck with my food. Are you crazy? You never fuck with a cat's food, that's rule #1. Stupid bitches were asking for it. Baxter stared ahead as the scene replayed in his head. Minute by minute it got worse. He saw the door open, the masked men run over to the safe, knocking over his bowl in the process. He felt the rage build up inside him sitting there hours after the event. He recalled the smell of the blood and the overflow of his instincts. He suddenly became hungry. He remembered the desperation he felt when the police officer picked him up, not even allowing him to taste his kill. The sound of a door interrupted his thoughts. Finally Annie's lawyer arrived. As the detectives left the room, the lawyer sat down. He was a short, thin man with round wire-rimmed glasses. As he picked up the manila folder holding Baxter's case info his hands shook. "I've done this for 20 years now, and I'm not really sure how to proceed. This is unprecedented for sure, but regardless of what you did, I am sure there are some loopholes.....you being a cat and all." The lawyer spilled his words without grace. The lawyer took a deep breath and looked at Baxter. "I don't even know if it's true. Can you really talk?" These fucking guys, Baxter thought. All the shit we pull and they really think we don't have a grasp on the English language? Alright, let's hurry this shit up. Baxter began to tell his story. "Look, here's how it went down, and don't ask me twice because as it will become clear, I haven't eaten today...."	My family. My honor. My shelter. My food bowl. There are few things I retained from training with my master so many long cat-years ago. But the most important thing he taught me, one that I was to sacrifice everything for, was discipline. Without it, he had said, you are not an assassin, but lap fodder. And lap fodders were worthless, subhuman even. The lowest, most pathetic of our breed. The first step of discipline, he had said, the foundation of which I was to build my legacy, was to first of all take care of my food bowl. That it should never have any spot of grime, that it should be full all the time, and never, ever spill a kernel of food out of it. And those maggots, dared to step on it with their human foot. My mind was clear. They don't know I was here. I have my tools. I had every advantage. On top of the highest truss chord in the roof, a blind spot for anyone coming into the attic, was a small platform. There were three piles of bird skulls, and a burlap sack that I thought I would never have to untie. There they were, five men. One alone in the kitchen, rummaging stupidly in the kitchen drawer. My noble feeders tied up and lumped in a corner by my couch. Five men. I was old. But this much I can handle. I stalked him from my vantage point on the corner of the top cabinet. Frenzied, the masked human whipped through the drawers, pulling out stashes of plastic bags, and stumbled into my reach. I dropped a cat toy. He steps on it, it squeaks. He yelps. His friends called over. He reassures them. I smile, and, in absolute silence, slits his throat on my way down from the drop. He falls to the floor in a heavy thud, his friends paid him no attention. I wiped the blood from my knife. I had gotten fatter, so the wrist wrap were a bit tight. But I still retained good control, the smoothest kill I've had in ages. The hair on my back stood up and I almost purred in delight. Too bad there were only four of them left.
[WP] For as long as you can remember, your memory has always been a little hazy. Now you've been diagnosed with Alzheimers. A new treatment stops further degradation and allows you to remember long-forgotten things. As your memories are coming back you realize that you were not supposed to remember.	“Now entering clinical trials.” My head perked up from its 2AM drooping pose, in retrospect maybe I shouldn’t have caught the tail end of that late night infomercial. Maybe all of this could have been avoided. They say that ignorance is bliss, but they never said that having misplaced memories could be as well. I think I’m finding that out right about now... I scribbled down the number from the ad on a napkin, making sure not to let Bonnie see it. I’ve always had an affinity for get-rich-quick schemes, which drove Bonnie up a wall. If I tried to tell her about the ad, she’d just condescend and end up tossing the napkin while I was distracted. Sure part of me knew it was horseshit, yet somehow this felt different. Something inside of me was telling me “this” might be special, as apposed to all of the “alternative medicine” attempts of the past, which ended in disappointment. I held the note for a few days, mulling over whether I should actually call the number. One night I awoke standing in the middle of the front lawn, with no idea of how I got there. I was calling the number. “You call about a Alzheimer’s pill?” The man asked, in very broken English. I said yes, and he gave me a date, time and location, then abruptly hung up. I got my daughter to tell my wife that she was just taking me to the movies for the day. Lynn’s cool like that. My biggest regret since being diagnosed was that my relationship with my daughter would be affected by my mind starting to slip. I showed up and was greeted by a dimly lit office, with one receptionist. She told me to go down the hallway, and take the first door on the left. As I walked down the hallway, I was taken aback by how empty and devoid this whole office felt. In fact, I had the sneaking suspicion that the receptionist and the man I met in the room were the only people in the building. The man looked to be in his early fifties. Asian, and wearing casual clothing. He said his name and explained that this was all very experimental. He told me three other “patients” of his had made a full recovery from Alzheimer’s with his medicine. Somewhere mentally I was rolling my eyes. Sure buddy, you find the cure to Alzheimer’s, and it’s being advertised on local access, not the front page of time magazine... I thanked him, Took the bag with the pill bottle, and met Lynn back outside in the car. It had been two weeks since I first starting taking the pills. At first there was no noticeable effect. Then the foggy-headedness seemed to go away. I noticed I was going all day now without forgetting where I was, or what I was just doing. One day, as Bonnie had laid out a grand breakfast, plates adorned with toast, eggs, bacon and fresh fruit, I suddenly had the urge to get up and grab something from pantry. I grabbed the bottle of syrup, and drowned my bacon. As I scarfed down the syrup soaked bacon, I looked up to see Bonnie slack jawed in shock. “What...you never put syrup on your bacon?” I asked her. “No. It’s just that uh...you haven’t done that in ages dear. “ Apparently flooding my plate with syrup was a breakfast tactic which I must of forgot about as the Alzheimer’s progressed. In fact, this was one of the smaller details of daily life my wife had become accustomed to but had lost once I started forgetting things. The rest of breakfast seemed tense. Every now and then, I’d look up from my plate and notice her staring at me in disbelief. I got up and took my plate to the sink to clean, I stopped mid stride, as I noticed how much easier everything suddenly was. I didn’t get confused once. No stopping to stare off into the distance. I quickly and effortlessly found the bottle of dish soap, and the dish drainer after the dishes were washed. Bonnie cleared her throat and stood up from her chair. “I...think I’ll make you some tea. “ She walked nervously to the cupboard, pulled some things out and started brewing a pot on the stove. I noticed her pull a small vial of purpleish colored liquid from her purse and pour it Into the tea. What the fuck was that? Has she always put that in my tea? She brought the concoction to a boil and poured me a cup. “Tea’s ready dear.” She said, with a crack in her voice. dont drink that! For some reason deep inside which I didn’t quite knew why, I was compelled not to drink my wife’s tea, which I always drank at the start of each day. I waved it away and said “Sorry, not in the mood for tea today”. “But you always drink your tea baby. “ I could hear the worry in her voice starting to creep in. “Have you always put that purple shit in my tea?” I asked bluntly. “What is that?” I spoke for the first time in ages, with clarity and concisely. This must of shocked her a great deal. “Oh dear, it’s just uh...a herbal mixture that my mother used to make.” “You were adopted though...” i responded. She backed up, eyes wide with disbelief and fear, and pulled what looked like a pager from the 90’s. Only, this device had several small led lights on it. She held it to her mouth and started to speak under her breath. “Control tower come in. Patient seventeen seems to be recalling memories. I repeat, patient seventeen seems to be recalling memories. I cannot seem to able to get him to consume Zyfixcillion. Total memory recall is sure to follow, as well as complete telepathic matter manipulation.” “Bonnie, what the fuck are going in about?” I asked. She stood there, drenched in fear like a stray cat caught in the rain. More started coming back to me. I remembered her first making that tea for me, and how when I asked her what the purple additive was for, how she brushed it off as some homeopathic remedy bullshit. That was literally two weeks before I was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s... that fucking bitch! She did this to me. I could feel my fists clenching, could feel the gritting of my teeth. Bonnie could see it. She began to whimper, and shouted into the device. “PATIENT HAS FULLY RECOVERED MEMORIES. SEND HELP NOW!” Hatred arose in me once more. Suddenly, Bonnie was there but she was not. In a flash Bonnie painted the living room wall. Did I do that somehow? That pent up burst of rage brought back a food of memories. She wasn’t even my wife...more like my warden. But why? I walked to the wall to examine the stain that was Bonnie up close. As I stood there taking it all in, a thought came first to mind, and then was vocalized. “That’s for always burning the bacon each morning...ya stupid bitch. “ I chuckled. My dark sense of humor had returned. The front door burst into several pieces. Two men dressed in swat gear and holding a large battering ram fell to the ground. Behind them, several swat members began a rush for my front room. I snapped my fingers, they all received the Bonnie treatment. As I my feet sloshed through the pools of blood in my carpet, I noticed a middle aged man wearing a beige trench coat, lying on his back on my front lawn, covered in blood. I walked up and grabbed him by the collar. He clenched his eyes shut in fear, beginning to sob. “Who the fuck are you?” I shouted. An unmarked van, surely filled with several more swat team fellows swerved onto my front lawn. I snapped my fingers and the van was reduced to smoldering pieces. Smoke swirled around as I drew the trench coat man closer to my face and said “you’re going to tell me everything now”. And tell me everything he did. Boy was it a mouthful.....	"Don't leave me, please." I looked at the only picture in my room. It was a man, a woman, and a dog. They looked so happy together. I can't remember who they are and what their picture is doing in my room. I just sat there on my bed, wondering whether I lived a good life. &#x200B; "Help me." Some years ago, I was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. It was pretty bad, to the point that I had to be put in special care in a hospital somewhere. My memory is failing, but sometimes I could see glimpses of what my life was before now. &#x200B; "I love you so much." The collar all patients are wearing has chips in them that track our location so that the hospital can prevent accidents. It was fascinating. We can't take it off, of course. &#x200B; "Don't do it!" They told me I'm finally getting cured. I am not so sure if I want to remember. Sometimes it's better to just forget the pain than to endure it. &#x200B; "Go fetch!" The flashbacks are getting more and more frequent now, but they are still vague and I can't really tell what's happening. &#x200B; "Please help me." The next day, I woke up. I had a dream. It was substantial, considering my illness. I remember a dog. A golden retriever with a red collar. A woman with a yellow shirt. A two-story house. Stairs. Bedroom. Kitchen. A knife. &#x200B; "Why did you do this?" There's blood everywhere. Dripping. Stains. &#x200B; "I will never leave you." Sirens. Blue light. Red light. Men shouting. I fell down. &#x200B; "I didn't do anything!" Car. Road. Another room. Handcuffs on my wrists. &#x200B; "Oh, God, no!" &#x200B; Talking. Jail bars. More men. &#x200B; "Happy birthday!" &#x200B; Court. Guilty. Of what? &#x200B; "I love you." &#x200B; One of the nurses interrupted me. "Hey, it's your time to go."
[WP] Your father was a turnip farmer. His father was a turnip farmer. His father was a dragon, so, like... it's diluted, but the blood is there. You can't do much, but you are pretty fun to cuddle on a cold winter's night. Also, knights keep trying to fight you and steal your horde of turnips.	At first glance, you wouldn't notice that I was different. It was generally the second glance that would freak people out....If I didn't disguise myself. It's not as hard to hide as my father's. His scales are a deep navy color, pretty hard to cover up. And they grew on his cheeks, his hairline, his chin. All over his back and arms and legs. Me? I'm lucky. My scales are more of a yellow color. Not at all close to my skin type, but light enough to cover with some heavy-duty foundation that I got off Amazon. Than, it just looks like that I have bad acne. My eyes? A lot easier. Colored contacts go a long way. They can't change the shape of my pupils, but they can change the shade of my eyes. Even if everyone in our small town of Knignt, Kentucky knows about my family's heritage, least they can glance at me and whisper, 'Oh....he's normal I suppose.' But like I said, that was the first glance. At the second glance, people realize how strange I look and keep their distance. But in the inside, I wasn't that different. Okay...maybe I do have fire glands in my lungs, but that's besides the point! And I've only let the flames out in public one time when I accidentally let out a big belch during class (which, of course, caused a fire drill). Otherwise, I'm just like you! Or...that's what I try to tell myself. In all honesty, I really want out of this town, but I knew that there was nothing someone like me can do outside turnip farming. No one liked me. Everyone thought that me and my family were demon spon. No one wanted me... Well, so I thought. Her name was Natalie. Some kids were picking on her, and I stood up for her. Next time I saw her, she sat down at my table during lunch. "I wouldn't do that." I warned warily. She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" Natalie had a slight Brooklyn accent. It was really cute. I shrugged, but stared at my mac and cheese. "You have a chance to make friends here. If you hang out with me, people are just gonna think that you're also a freak." "That's not very nice to say about yourself." She settled herself down. "Besides, I don't want to be friends with anyone who-" She froze. I felt my heart race. That was it. The second glance. Before I knew it, she picked up her tray and left. I wasn't surprised, but I will admit, I was a bit heartbroken. But to my surprised, she approached me at my locker at the end of the day. "Uh...James, was it?" Natalie asked nervously. "Jamie." I corrected as I stared at my textbooks. "Right..." She shuffled her feet. "Look, about lunch...." "I'm used to." I replied emotionlessly as I shoved my notebook into my locker. "Afterall, who wouldn't be afraid of the big bad monster, right?" Natalie winced. "That's not-I'm trying to apologize here." That gave me pause. I glanced at her. She took a sharp intake of breathe, but continued to look me in the eye. I raised an eyebrow. "Why?" She let the breathe out and trailed her fingers on the locker next to mine. "Cause...cause you defended me and nobody else did. And I thanked you by running away." I couldn't help chuckling. "Pretty strange way of saying 'thank you'." I replied. "Yeah. And I'm sorry about it." She put her hand down. Than to my surprise, she held it out to me. "I'm Natalie, by the way. My family and I just moved here." "Jamie." I shook her hand. I tried my best not to notice how soft they felt. "Why on earth would any family want to move here?" She shrugged. "Wanted a bit of fresh air. My parents are pretty adventurous, so we move around a lot. But since this is my last year of high school, they promised that they'll let me finish it here." "Ah." I nodded. "Where have you been?" Natalie brightened. "Loads of places. I grew up in New York until I was seven, but than my parents decided, 'we only have one life to live, so, we're gonna live it traveling'. And I've been all over the US, Canada, Africa, parts of Southern Europe, Southeast Asia...." I whistled. "That sounds amazing." I stated yearningly. "It is." She nodded. She paused when we headed to the parking lot. "Did something happen?" "Hm?" "There's a police car over there." She pointed it out. "Oh yeah. Just ignore it. They're here to make sure that I don't eat someone or something." I kept my eyes straight forward, and untucked my hands from my pockets. "The police are waiting for my dad and I do to do something wrong so that they can throw us in a freak show, or something." Natalie winced. "That's a joke, right?" "Which part?" "All of it." "The eating people one is a joke." "Oh my god." We walked past the Knight County police car. "Not all the cops are like this." I continued. "I've spoken to them. I wouldn't say that they think I'm harmless, but they do know that I wouldn't hurt anyone. It's the police chief that likes to have them keep an eye on me." Natalie watched them from the corner of her eye. "I'm so sorry." She said mournfully. I blinked. I wasn't used to this kind of sympathy outside of my family. "It's....not okay, but its the cards I've been dealt." I shrugged. Natalie glanced at me again. Than she stopped. "That's my mom." She pointed at the car. "Ah." I nodded. I shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "Right. See you." "Bye." She shook my hand again and left. And a few months later, she became my girlfriend. How did it happen? I honestly have absolutely no clue. I personally thought that my destiny was to die alone as a turnip farmer. But there I was, holding hands with a girl that waaaaay too out of my league, walking around the turnip patches in our jackets. Natalie shivered and pressed herself closer to me. I felt my heart beating a million miles an hour. "Mmmmmmmm, so warm." She purred. I rolled my eyes, but draped an arm over her shoulder. "I should have known that you'd only use me as a portable heating device." "But of course. After all, not everyone has the ability to control their body temperture." She nuzzled her head on my shoulder, andohmygodsheisliterallythecutestthinggodhasevercreated!!!!! "Yes, go on. Use me for my abilities. It's not like I have a heart or anything." "I will go on using your abilities, thanks." I grinned. "Are you not from New York? Why are you so cold?" Natalie was about to respond, when the sound of the police sirens We both exchanged looks and rolled our eyes. "Way to ruin the moment, Knight County." Natalie muttered. "You should probably go, than." I muttered. "They're probably going to park by my car again." She sighed. We walked to the house together. The moment I saw Officers Hank and Anderson, I felt myself stiffen and relax at the same time. "Officers." I nodded. Natalie frowned, but also said hello. "Jamie." Officer Anderson nodded. "Is you father here?" I shook my head. "Went to town to get more chicken fed." "Ah." Officer Hank looked uncomfortable. Something told me that we were going to be questioned for a crime that we had nothing to do with. Again. "Do you know when he's gonna come back?" "No." I nervously squeezed Natalie's hand. "What's this about, sir?" They exchanged looks. "We're here for a curitisy call." Officer Anderson stated. This time, it was Natalie and I whom exchanged looks. "About....?" She asked. Officer Hank tucked his hands in his pockets. "Is your mother home? This isn't something we should be discussing with a bunch of kids." "You want to avoid a conversation with a kid with super hearing?" I responded. The officers sighed. "The county is trying to find a way to take away your farm." Officer Anderson said. I froze. My eyes widened. "What?" Anderson hesitated before putting a hand on my shoulder. He quickly retracted it when he felt my body heat. "Don't lie to yourself, Jamie. The county's been trying to get rid of your family since day one." "But-that-That isn't fair!" I exclaimed. "We've built this farm from the ground up! And we've never bothered or hurt anyone!" Hank rubbed his face. "They claim that it's for federal purposes." "Federal purposes?" Natalie raised a cold eyebrow. "In a place that's forty minutes away from town?" "Like I said, ma'am." Anderson sighed. "The county's never liked Jamie's family-" "What? Cause he's a little different looking?" Natalie snapped. "Its more than that!" Officer Anderson paused and rubbed his face. I narrowed my eyes. "Why are you warning us?" Anderson paused. "I haven't forgotten what your father has done for my daughter. Healed her with that magic gunk when the doctors guaranteed that she'd be dead the next day?" "Loaning me money when my wife kicked me out of our home." Hank smiled sadly. "You're father's a good man, son. We just wanted to return the favor." Natalie squeezed my hand. "Right." I stated drily. "I'll give Dad your message." And with that, we entered my house. My house that was going to be gone one day.... "Jamie?" Natalie asked softly. "Ugh." I swiped at my face. "I didn't even want to be a turnip farmer. Why am I even sad about it?" "Cause it's still your home." She wrapped her arms around me and let me cry. "You know how my mom's a lawyer?" I sniffled. "I don't think we need that kind of lawyer." "No, but she probably knows someone who can help." I wiped my eyes. "Against the government? Really?" Natalie smiled. "Have some faith in me, Jamie." She nuzzled her head against my chest. "We'll figure this out." A/N: Sorry if there's mistakes, I need to head to class.	Two turnips. Gouge the core. Skin, dice into chunks. Marinate in soup stock. Watch as the boiling cauldron curdles the turnips into a specular bronze. I love mornings like this. It’s winter in the bluffs of Scotland. I have a hollow at the base of a cliff. Maggie, my guinea pig, rests in my palm. It’s no fire, but it’s warm. Maggie sniffs the air with a sense of purpose. Suddenly, footsteps. Rapidly, then a kerTHUC as a sword pierces my redwood door. With a swift kick, the door crashes along the stone floor. My Welcome Wreath scuttles along to my feet. I look up, and it’s... yet another knight. “HOLT, FIEND!” I can hardly hear him through the welder’s mask he’s wearing. “PROPARE TO DOE.” Maggie is preoccupied with counting her fingers, paws raised in the air. “You can take the turnips on your left, if that’s what you want.” I nod to the corner, where a pile of the season’s yield lie, slightly browning. “They’re a week old but—“ I’m interrupted as the madman, armored hand on hilt, breaks the sword free from my door and chucks it across the room. He misses; it clinks against the back wall with a dull thud that suggests this sword has seen its fair share of abuse. But by the time I turn back around, he’s pushing my chin into his arm with his fist, in a half nelson in the fashion of someone who learned it from WWE. “What.. is... wrong... with... you...??” I gasp for air. The world is turning bruise-colored. I think about my great grandfather, who, as a dragon, used to cook knights for breakfast. In the haze, my fingers slip. Time itself slows. In horror, I watch as Maggie falls. Face first, dark beady eyes contemplating for the first time the miracle of life, she tumbles with unfortunate accuracy, flailing paws. She lands with a plop in my scalding soup. Whenever I retell the story, I can’t help but relive it. I can’t help but feel the same rage, as the rage when I slammed the knight head first into the cold floor. I still remember the pattern of blood that I drew along the floor as I scraped his fractured skull along the stone. I still remember dragging his catatonic body up the several-hour climb up the cliff, hitting as many sharp rocks as I could along the way. I remember, at the top of the cliff, watching the sun scatter pink rays through the dusty air. The soft sounds of waves crashing in and slinking back out, far below on the rocks. The feeling of heft of the knight, slumped across my back, as I climbed down the cliff face, looking for a long spiked rock. The squelch of organs and flesh, as I impaled the knights body against the spike. I remember the smell of vindication as I left him hanging there for the worms.
[WP] Your father was a turnip farmer. His father was a turnip farmer. His father was a dragon, so, like... it's diluted, but the blood is there. You can't do much, but you are pretty fun to cuddle on a cold winter's night. Also, knights keep trying to fight you and steal your horde of turnips.	At first glance, you wouldn't notice that I was different. It was generally the second glance that would freak people out....If I didn't disguise myself. It's not as hard to hide as my father's. His scales are a deep navy color, pretty hard to cover up. And they grew on his cheeks, his hairline, his chin. All over his back and arms and legs. Me? I'm lucky. My scales are more of a yellow color. Not at all close to my skin type, but light enough to cover with some heavy-duty foundation that I got off Amazon. Than, it just looks like that I have bad acne. My eyes? A lot easier. Colored contacts go a long way. They can't change the shape of my pupils, but they can change the shade of my eyes. Even if everyone in our small town of Knignt, Kentucky knows about my family's heritage, least they can glance at me and whisper, 'Oh....he's normal I suppose.' But like I said, that was the first glance. At the second glance, people realize how strange I look and keep their distance. But in the inside, I wasn't that different. Okay...maybe I do have fire glands in my lungs, but that's besides the point! And I've only let the flames out in public one time when I accidentally let out a big belch during class (which, of course, caused a fire drill). Otherwise, I'm just like you! Or...that's what I try to tell myself. In all honesty, I really want out of this town, but I knew that there was nothing someone like me can do outside turnip farming. No one liked me. Everyone thought that me and my family were demon spon. No one wanted me... Well, so I thought. Her name was Natalie. Some kids were picking on her, and I stood up for her. Next time I saw her, she sat down at my table during lunch. "I wouldn't do that." I warned warily. She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" Natalie had a slight Brooklyn accent. It was really cute. I shrugged, but stared at my mac and cheese. "You have a chance to make friends here. If you hang out with me, people are just gonna think that you're also a freak." "That's not very nice to say about yourself." She settled herself down. "Besides, I don't want to be friends with anyone who-" She froze. I felt my heart race. That was it. The second glance. Before I knew it, she picked up her tray and left. I wasn't surprised, but I will admit, I was a bit heartbroken. But to my surprised, she approached me at my locker at the end of the day. "Uh...James, was it?" Natalie asked nervously. "Jamie." I corrected as I stared at my textbooks. "Right..." She shuffled her feet. "Look, about lunch...." "I'm used to." I replied emotionlessly as I shoved my notebook into my locker. "Afterall, who wouldn't be afraid of the big bad monster, right?" Natalie winced. "That's not-I'm trying to apologize here." That gave me pause. I glanced at her. She took a sharp intake of breathe, but continued to look me in the eye. I raised an eyebrow. "Why?" She let the breathe out and trailed her fingers on the locker next to mine. "Cause...cause you defended me and nobody else did. And I thanked you by running away." I couldn't help chuckling. "Pretty strange way of saying 'thank you'." I replied. "Yeah. And I'm sorry about it." She put her hand down. Than to my surprise, she held it out to me. "I'm Natalie, by the way. My family and I just moved here." "Jamie." I shook her hand. I tried my best not to notice how soft they felt. "Why on earth would any family want to move here?" She shrugged. "Wanted a bit of fresh air. My parents are pretty adventurous, so we move around a lot. But since this is my last year of high school, they promised that they'll let me finish it here." "Ah." I nodded. "Where have you been?" Natalie brightened. "Loads of places. I grew up in New York until I was seven, but than my parents decided, 'we only have one life to live, so, we're gonna live it traveling'. And I've been all over the US, Canada, Africa, parts of Southern Europe, Southeast Asia...." I whistled. "That sounds amazing." I stated yearningly. "It is." She nodded. She paused when we headed to the parking lot. "Did something happen?" "Hm?" "There's a police car over there." She pointed it out. "Oh yeah. Just ignore it. They're here to make sure that I don't eat someone or something." I kept my eyes straight forward, and untucked my hands from my pockets. "The police are waiting for my dad and I do to do something wrong so that they can throw us in a freak show, or something." Natalie winced. "That's a joke, right?" "Which part?" "All of it." "The eating people one is a joke." "Oh my god." We walked past the Knight County police car. "Not all the cops are like this." I continued. "I've spoken to them. I wouldn't say that they think I'm harmless, but they do know that I wouldn't hurt anyone. It's the police chief that likes to have them keep an eye on me." Natalie watched them from the corner of her eye. "I'm so sorry." She said mournfully. I blinked. I wasn't used to this kind of sympathy outside of my family. "It's....not okay, but its the cards I've been dealt." I shrugged. Natalie glanced at me again. Than she stopped. "That's my mom." She pointed at the car. "Ah." I nodded. I shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "Right. See you." "Bye." She shook my hand again and left. And a few months later, she became my girlfriend. How did it happen? I honestly have absolutely no clue. I personally thought that my destiny was to die alone as a turnip farmer. But there I was, holding hands with a girl that waaaaay too out of my league, walking around the turnip patches in our jackets. Natalie shivered and pressed herself closer to me. I felt my heart beating a million miles an hour. "Mmmmmmmm, so warm." She purred. I rolled my eyes, but draped an arm over her shoulder. "I should have known that you'd only use me as a portable heating device." "But of course. After all, not everyone has the ability to control their body temperture." She nuzzled her head on my shoulder, andohmygodsheisliterallythecutestthinggodhasevercreated!!!!! "Yes, go on. Use me for my abilities. It's not like I have a heart or anything." "I will go on using your abilities, thanks." I grinned. "Are you not from New York? Why are you so cold?" Natalie was about to respond, when the sound of the police sirens We both exchanged looks and rolled our eyes. "Way to ruin the moment, Knight County." Natalie muttered. "You should probably go, than." I muttered. "They're probably going to park by my car again." She sighed. We walked to the house together. The moment I saw Officers Hank and Anderson, I felt myself stiffen and relax at the same time. "Officers." I nodded. Natalie frowned, but also said hello. "Jamie." Officer Anderson nodded. "Is you father here?" I shook my head. "Went to town to get more chicken fed." "Ah." Officer Hank looked uncomfortable. Something told me that we were going to be questioned for a crime that we had nothing to do with. Again. "Do you know when he's gonna come back?" "No." I nervously squeezed Natalie's hand. "What's this about, sir?" They exchanged looks. "We're here for a curitisy call." Officer Anderson stated. This time, it was Natalie and I whom exchanged looks. "About....?" She asked. Officer Hank tucked his hands in his pockets. "Is your mother home? This isn't something we should be discussing with a bunch of kids." "You want to avoid a conversation with a kid with super hearing?" I responded. The officers sighed. "The county is trying to find a way to take away your farm." Officer Anderson said. I froze. My eyes widened. "What?" Anderson hesitated before putting a hand on my shoulder. He quickly retracted it when he felt my body heat. "Don't lie to yourself, Jamie. The county's been trying to get rid of your family since day one." "But-that-That isn't fair!" I exclaimed. "We've built this farm from the ground up! And we've never bothered or hurt anyone!" Hank rubbed his face. "They claim that it's for federal purposes." "Federal purposes?" Natalie raised a cold eyebrow. "In a place that's forty minutes away from town?" "Like I said, ma'am." Anderson sighed. "The county's never liked Jamie's family-" "What? Cause he's a little different looking?" Natalie snapped. "Its more than that!" Officer Anderson paused and rubbed his face. I narrowed my eyes. "Why are you warning us?" Anderson paused. "I haven't forgotten what your father has done for my daughter. Healed her with that magic gunk when the doctors guaranteed that she'd be dead the next day?" "Loaning me money when my wife kicked me out of our home." Hank smiled sadly. "You're father's a good man, son. We just wanted to return the favor." Natalie squeezed my hand. "Right." I stated drily. "I'll give Dad your message." And with that, we entered my house. My house that was going to be gone one day.... "Jamie?" Natalie asked softly. "Ugh." I swiped at my face. "I didn't even want to be a turnip farmer. Why am I even sad about it?" "Cause it's still your home." She wrapped her arms around me and let me cry. "You know how my mom's a lawyer?" I sniffled. "I don't think we need that kind of lawyer." "No, but she probably knows someone who can help." I wiped my eyes. "Against the government? Really?" Natalie smiled. "Have some faith in me, Jamie." She nuzzled her head against my chest. "We'll figure this out." A/N: Sorry if there's mistakes, I need to head to class.	"Turnips, Turnips Turnips." I sighed to myself as I threw another one into the pot. I decided to make a simple dish for lunch today. Turnips marinated in turnip sauce with some shaved turnip as a condiment, I'd even gone as far to treat myself with a slice of Parsnip. I lit the fire under neath with the strategic placement of a match and began to stir the purple mess. The act is quite similar to meditation, and I always find myself on some train of thought. This particular stirring session I seemed to recollect the memories of my father and those before him. My Great-Grandfather had been a dragon, who somehow managed to impregnate a princess in some tower, and the following birth led to the weird conjoining of Human and Dragon, needless to saw my Great-Great-Grandmother did not survive very long after labor. Instead of becoming a gold hoarding Dragon-Man, My Great-Granddaddy decided to become a measly turnip farmer (prices were high back then). Then his son (my father) helped him out with his turnip farming venture. Thanks to the great dragon characteristics that they had inherited, they found no trouble in keeping back the irritating Knights who came to steal their precious purple plants. But me, being only 1/8th dragon, inherited nothing more than a small scaly tail, lizard eyes (which do not help with the ladies) and the ability to keep warm. The food had finally finished cooking. I put some of the stew in a bowl, and raised it to my lips for a sip. Before the steamy liquid could enter my mouth a loud crash sounded nearby. Startled I dropped my bowl and went outside to investigate the source. "Look at the size of this these Turnips 'ere!" Came a high pitched sound from inside the shed. "These could feed our boys fer months." Someone said in a lower tone. I grabbed my rusty axe and headed outside to confront these troublemakers. Four knights (in full plate, with a long-sword in each of their scabbards) were staring into my Turnip filled shed. "um.. Hello" I said meekly. The four of them turned around. "Hello there, these wouldn't happen to be your Turnips would they?" One of them asked. "Well, actually they are..." "Great! We'll be taking the lot then." The other three moved into the shed and began shoving the turnips into their sacks. I moved in to stop them but the man (who seemed like their leader) stopped me. "I would stop there and drop the axe if I were you." I did so (knowing full well that any rash move on my part would be my demise) and watched in horror as every single little bit of Turnip was taken from my shed. They left in a cart with my horde while I sat still in utter astonishment as I realised that all of my life's work had just been taken from me. After a few short hours of self pity, I dragged myself back into the house and managed to finish the last few bits of Turnip in the pot. After a long and tiresome day I welcomed the embrace of sleep, and went to the marketplace the very next day. I bought as many Brussels-Sprouts as I could for planting, hoping that it would stop the Knight Incursions. No one likes Brussels-Sprouts. &#x200B; \*Note: I had no idea about what to do towards the end, so there you go. I decided to give this one a shot. It's my first Writing Prompt, and I hope to do more and better my writing style in the future.
[WP] Your father was a turnip farmer. His father was a turnip farmer. His father was a dragon, so, like... it's diluted, but the blood is there. You can't do much, but you are pretty fun to cuddle on a cold winter's night. Also, knights keep trying to fight you and steal your horde of turnips.	“At last we meet, villain!” I sighed as the fifth challenge this week rang out from behind me. “In the name of the king, I, Ser Vorrick, shall vanquish thee!” I sighed again, more loudly this time. It was the kind of sigh that sounded distinctly unnatural, the kind of sound you made when you wanted someone to know that you were not only performing the act of sighing, but also questioning their perceptive capabilities. It hadn’t helped so far, but maybe at least one of these boneheaded knights would take the hin- “Turn and face me, coward!” Well, so much for that. “Please just go away.” Given that he’d either ignored or failed to notice the sigh, it seemed unlikely spoken words would fare much better. Still, can’t blame me for trying, right? “Preposterous! Me, turn tail and flee? I fear no man or beast! Least of all a cursed dragon spawn such as you! Now face me!” Oh boy, this one would seem to be even thicker in the skull than usual. “Seriously, just pack it up and leave. It’s not worth it.” I got up from the stump I’d been sitting on and started pacing back toward my cottage. I really didn’t want to watch what was about to happen, you see. “You dare? So be it! Taste the bite of my s-“ The knight’s words were cut short by virtue of the fact that he had stumbled over a conveniently placed turnip vine. Far too conveniently placed, in the perfect spot to snap onto a steel boot and trip it’s wearer. I heard a heavy clank as he fell to the ground, followed by a stream of invective hurled at my retreating back. “Scoundrel! You shall pay for this humiliation! I swear it on-“ The Knight was interrupted a second time by a loud and panicked whinny from his steed, followed by an agitated cry on his own part. This time, the perpetrators responsible were the other vines of my turnip patch, curling around the intruders’ limbs, holding them faster than any rope or chains possibly could. “What! Vile wizardry! There shall be a reckoning for-“ “Oh, shut up already.” I cut in. “You people just don’t know how to leave well enough alone, do you? Well, it’s out of my hands now. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” The Knight didn’t say anything else. Probably because even he, dense as he was, could now hear it too. Well, not hear it so much as feel it. The rumbling sensation of the ground shaking beneath our feet, as if heralding the approach of an army on the warpath. The slowly crescendoing patter of nonexistent feet upon the floor, coming from within my domicile. The high pitched, gibbering chatter of many eager and deranged voices, constantly drawing nearer and nearer. The door of my cottage burst open wide, and a tide of pink and white rushed out to meet us. I closed my eyes and felt the rush of the wind created by a wave of many tiny bodies streaming past me. A loud and highly varied series of noises rang out from behind me. The crunch of metal plate armor being ripped apart like tin foil by the inhuman strength of growing vegetation. The crack and pop of torn flesh and bone. The terrifying screams of a man being devoured alive by turnips. Then the air fell still, and I opened my eyes. My turnip horde stood gathered around me. Though none of them were actually standing still. Indeed, the very thought seemed utterly alien to them. Or it would be, assuming they were capable of thought. The turnips bounced up and down in their places with frenetic energy, gleefully yipping at my feet, jumping up at my trouser le- “Hey!” The sudden burst of anger from me caused them to freeze in place. Those that had gathered near my feet drew back, giving me a wider berth. “I thought I told you guys! No cuddling while you’re still covered in blood!” There was a brief pause. Then, the air was filled with the sound of recalcitrant root vegetables rolling themselves in the dirt and diving into the nearby stream. I sighed once again and headed indoors. Bouncing turnips greeted me as I stepped past the doorway, lining the walls and staircase. Excited chittering came from the basement, it’s door still lying ajar. Slowly I trudged upstairs and sat on my bed. My gaze was drawn to the open book upon my nightstand. Though I couldn’t see it right now, I knew the title by heart. Dad had insisted I learn how to read, after all. Secret Tome of Asthepilus the Reaper, Dragonlord of Harvestvale Great-granddad’s old spellbook had been a family heirloom for generations. It was pretty rare for a dragon to demand tribute in the form of good old-fashioned home cooking, but great-granddad had been quite the rare dragon. Heck, even if he’d demanded virgin sacrifices and torched the countryside on the regular the locals probably would’ve obliged just to get out of paying the king’s taxes. I sighed again and looked at the words on the open page. Warning: do not attempt to cast without at least one-quarter draconic blood. Results may be unpredictable. I REALLY shouldn’t have cast that agriculture spell.	"Turnips, Turnips Turnips." I sighed to myself as I threw another one into the pot. I decided to make a simple dish for lunch today. Turnips marinated in turnip sauce with some shaved turnip as a condiment, I'd even gone as far to treat myself with a slice of Parsnip. I lit the fire under neath with the strategic placement of a match and began to stir the purple mess. The act is quite similar to meditation, and I always find myself on some train of thought. This particular stirring session I seemed to recollect the memories of my father and those before him. My Great-Grandfather had been a dragon, who somehow managed to impregnate a princess in some tower, and the following birth led to the weird conjoining of Human and Dragon, needless to saw my Great-Great-Grandmother did not survive very long after labor. Instead of becoming a gold hoarding Dragon-Man, My Great-Granddaddy decided to become a measly turnip farmer (prices were high back then). Then his son (my father) helped him out with his turnip farming venture. Thanks to the great dragon characteristics that they had inherited, they found no trouble in keeping back the irritating Knights who came to steal their precious purple plants. But me, being only 1/8th dragon, inherited nothing more than a small scaly tail, lizard eyes (which do not help with the ladies) and the ability to keep warm. The food had finally finished cooking. I put some of the stew in a bowl, and raised it to my lips for a sip. Before the steamy liquid could enter my mouth a loud crash sounded nearby. Startled I dropped my bowl and went outside to investigate the source. "Look at the size of this these Turnips 'ere!" Came a high pitched sound from inside the shed. "These could feed our boys fer months." Someone said in a lower tone. I grabbed my rusty axe and headed outside to confront these troublemakers. Four knights (in full plate, with a long-sword in each of their scabbards) were staring into my Turnip filled shed. "um.. Hello" I said meekly. The four of them turned around. "Hello there, these wouldn't happen to be your Turnips would they?" One of them asked. "Well, actually they are..." "Great! We'll be taking the lot then." The other three moved into the shed and began shoving the turnips into their sacks. I moved in to stop them but the man (who seemed like their leader) stopped me. "I would stop there and drop the axe if I were you." I did so (knowing full well that any rash move on my part would be my demise) and watched in horror as every single little bit of Turnip was taken from my shed. They left in a cart with my horde while I sat still in utter astonishment as I realised that all of my life's work had just been taken from me. After a few short hours of self pity, I dragged myself back into the house and managed to finish the last few bits of Turnip in the pot. After a long and tiresome day I welcomed the embrace of sleep, and went to the marketplace the very next day. I bought as many Brussels-Sprouts as I could for planting, hoping that it would stop the Knight Incursions. No one likes Brussels-Sprouts. &#x200B; \*Note: I had no idea about what to do towards the end, so there you go. I decided to give this one a shot. It's my first Writing Prompt, and I hope to do more and better my writing style in the future.
[WP] Your father was a turnip farmer. His father was a turnip farmer. His father was a dragon, so, like... it's diluted, but the blood is there. You can't do much, but you are pretty fun to cuddle on a cold winter's night. Also, knights keep trying to fight you and steal your horde of turnips.	The tavern was quiet outside of the clink of glasses, muted conversation, and the occasional thump of the door to the kitchens being opened. The place smelled like a mix of tobacco smoke, home-brewed ale, and bodily sweat. Fred figured if that was the worst his nose could smell, then it was a good evening. Fred stood off to one side of the door to the kitchens. He held a bag that contained many turnips. If anyone asked what he was about he would say, “Well, just extra turnips for the kitchen. The ones I didn't want to keep you know. Not quite perfect enough. S'a good arrangement. I bring the turnips for supper, they provide the ale, eh? Just as my father did, and his father 'afore him.” Usually that was the end of the conversation and eventually the barman would notice Fred, along with the bag of turnips. A bag of turnips would be exchanged for a couple bottles of ale, along with a friendly handshake for good measure, and Fred would be on his way up the hill to his home for the evening. Tonight was not one of those usual nights, unfortunately. As Fred stood about waiting for the barman to have a moment to spare, the front door of the establishment was flung open. Some patrons, startled, jumped in their seats. Others glanced over their shoulders, then resumed their whispered conversations. One muttered, “Oh nine of the sky save us, it’s another Knight come looking for trouble.” In the doorway stood an imposing man in full plate mail holding his sword drawn in two hands. Then again, doesn’t anyone look imposing when covered in metal armor while holding five feet of sharp steel? Fred sighed and focused his gaze narrowly on the barman, who had finally made his way over to Fred’s end of the bar, the two bottles of ale in his hand, ready for the usual exchange. “I hope he’s not here for me.”, Fred said. The barman shrugged, and set the two bottles on the counter. As Fred handed over the turnips, the Knight shouted from across the room, “Which one of you is the 1/8th dragon! I have come to challenge thee, and seek the riches of your treasure horde!” The room lapsed into silence as conversations screeched to a halt. This was not anyone’s first time. By Fred’s count, this was the third fellow this month. The patrons glanced at one another and started to giggle and mutter amongst themselves. “Ain’t no dragon here Mister Knight, we’s just turnip farmers and ale brewers! Ye got the wrong village.”, the barman said. “Nay, I am certain this is the right village. My lordship warned me to look about for those with red hair, and green eyes! A sage I spoke to a few towns ago said there might also be taloned hands, scale-tails, and fire-breathing, even in a partial-blood dragon!”, the Knight took his helmet off, to better appraise the crowd. His eyes narrowed as he saw Fred, who indeed had red hair and green eyes. No talons or scale-tail though. “You!”, the Knight shouted. “Who, me?” Fred said. The Knight strode forward, sword pointed directly toward Fred. “Yes you, you have the hair and the eyes! Be ye a dragon?”, he said as raised his sword above his head. “Ah… well. I mean… slow down Sir Knight. If I’m 1/8th a dragon… where’s the 1/4ths? And what about my children and grand-children? The 1/16ths and 1/32ths? Where does humanity end and dragons begin?”, Fred said. The Knight hesitated, sword raised high. “I’m not sure what you’re driving at, foul creature, but you won’t mislead me!”, as the Knight spoke these words, Fred made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating the roomful of patrons. “Look here, in the corner! Lil Susie has talons. She’s m’granddaughter.”, Fred said, and Susie waved a taloned hand at the Knight. “And see that trio over there? My great grandfather was a dragon, same as theirs, but different mothers you see. Great-grandpa got around, you know? Charming dragon and all!”, Fred pointed toward a trio of red haired farmers, who appeared to be deeper into their cups than is wise. As he did so, one of the farmers wiggled his eyebrows, and a small, two foot long tail flopped out of the back of his trousers. “I get real tired of you Knights coming round from foreign lands, thinking there’s glory in slaughtering a whole village down to last man woman and child. How else can you be sure the dragon-blood is exterminated, hey? If you’re still meaning to fight, you’ll have to take on all of us. That could certainly hurt an up and coming Knight Errant’s repuation, eh?”, Fred said. The Knight looked around the room more closely. It seemed most in the room met one or more of the requirements. There were some green eyes there, some reddish blonde hair there. Looking more closely, he spotted little patches of red scale on exposed skin. “I see your point, Sir. It would not bode well for a rumor to be spread, true or not, that I had slaughtered a whole village. Discretion is perhaps the better part of Valor here. But what shall I bring my Lordship? I cannot return empty handed.”, the Knight said. “How about you spend the night here, getting to know the folk of the land, and we send you back with some old scales that we’ve shed, and a bagful of the best turnips your Lord will ever taste?”, Fred said. The Knight sheathed his sword and sat down at the bar. “Sounds like an alright start. Barman, an ale if you please!”	"Turnips, Turnips Turnips." I sighed to myself as I threw another one into the pot. I decided to make a simple dish for lunch today. Turnips marinated in turnip sauce with some shaved turnip as a condiment, I'd even gone as far to treat myself with a slice of Parsnip. I lit the fire under neath with the strategic placement of a match and began to stir the purple mess. The act is quite similar to meditation, and I always find myself on some train of thought. This particular stirring session I seemed to recollect the memories of my father and those before him. My Great-Grandfather had been a dragon, who somehow managed to impregnate a princess in some tower, and the following birth led to the weird conjoining of Human and Dragon, needless to saw my Great-Great-Grandmother did not survive very long after labor. Instead of becoming a gold hoarding Dragon-Man, My Great-Granddaddy decided to become a measly turnip farmer (prices were high back then). Then his son (my father) helped him out with his turnip farming venture. Thanks to the great dragon characteristics that they had inherited, they found no trouble in keeping back the irritating Knights who came to steal their precious purple plants. But me, being only 1/8th dragon, inherited nothing more than a small scaly tail, lizard eyes (which do not help with the ladies) and the ability to keep warm. The food had finally finished cooking. I put some of the stew in a bowl, and raised it to my lips for a sip. Before the steamy liquid could enter my mouth a loud crash sounded nearby. Startled I dropped my bowl and went outside to investigate the source. "Look at the size of this these Turnips 'ere!" Came a high pitched sound from inside the shed. "These could feed our boys fer months." Someone said in a lower tone. I grabbed my rusty axe and headed outside to confront these troublemakers. Four knights (in full plate, with a long-sword in each of their scabbards) were staring into my Turnip filled shed. "um.. Hello" I said meekly. The four of them turned around. "Hello there, these wouldn't happen to be your Turnips would they?" One of them asked. "Well, actually they are..." "Great! We'll be taking the lot then." The other three moved into the shed and began shoving the turnips into their sacks. I moved in to stop them but the man (who seemed like their leader) stopped me. "I would stop there and drop the axe if I were you." I did so (knowing full well that any rash move on my part would be my demise) and watched in horror as every single little bit of Turnip was taken from my shed. They left in a cart with my horde while I sat still in utter astonishment as I realised that all of my life's work had just been taken from me. After a few short hours of self pity, I dragged myself back into the house and managed to finish the last few bits of Turnip in the pot. After a long and tiresome day I welcomed the embrace of sleep, and went to the marketplace the very next day. I bought as many Brussels-Sprouts as I could for planting, hoping that it would stop the Knight Incursions. No one likes Brussels-Sprouts. &#x200B; \*Note: I had no idea about what to do towards the end, so there you go. I decided to give this one a shot. It's my first Writing Prompt, and I hope to do more and better my writing style in the future.
[WP] Your father was a turnip farmer. His father was a turnip farmer. His father was a dragon, so, like... it's diluted, but the blood is there. You can't do much, but you are pretty fun to cuddle on a cold winter's night. Also, knights keep trying to fight you and steal your horde of turnips.	"Wait, you... you're the dragon?" "Yep, that's me. One eighth dragon, on my father's side." "Uhhhhh... well then, if you're the dragon, I have come to defeat you, and claim the legendary hoard of treasures you possess!" I smiled. "Ah, you mean my turnips, don't you? Why, I'm flattered, but they're honestly nothing special." "Wait, turnips? Not gold or silver or gems?" "Well, look around you. This is a farm, after all." "Oh. So it would seem." The knight stood around awkwardly for a minute, confused as to what to do. "Well... that matters not! A true knight fights for honor and glory, not material wealth! Yes, I shall defeat you and claim for myself the noble title of Dragon Slayer!" "Mmmmm, so you're one of those...." I approached the knight, and curled up against his arm. "You know, I may not be able to breathe fire, but I am pretty fun to cuddle on a cold winter's night. Why don't we go inside for a while, and tomorrow, why, you can brag to the whole town about being a 'dragon slayer'." I pressed my body against his, so he could feel the warmth. "Minus a letter, of course." The knight, visibly uncomfortable, pulled away from me. "N-never mind! I- why, there's another adventure calling my name! Yes, I-I must be taking my leave now! Goodbye!" After the knight had gotten on his horse and left, I examined my prize. Indeed, a true knight, who fights for honor and glory, not material wealth, certainly wouldn't miss his wallet one bit. Rich nobles, the lot of them, gallivanting around on their flights of fancy; I'll bet that man never worked a day in his life. I emptied the wallet out on the pile of gold coins serving as my bed, courtesy of the many knights who had come and gone before. Diving in, I buried myself in the pile, enjoying the warmth. At times like these, being one-eighth dragon was pretty nice.	"Ye best be a'lappin me arf an' boggart, ya chinmik!" the mounted man on the road shouted at me across rows of turnips. I sighed and leaned on my hoe. He was over a hundred paces away, but the keen eyes I inherited from my grandfather allowed me to see him in great detail, like a hawk views a hare. I traced his armored form from feathery plume atop a polished helm down to his sharpened stirrups. A knight from the South Realms, if his incomprehensible accent was any clue. I lifted my arm and waved cheerily as though I didn't understand. Because, really, I didn't. Why was it that these men-at-arms thought that slaying me was a worthy cause? Why did they trudge up here every harvest season trying to become a "hero"? The whole thing was baffling. He drew his sword and thrust it at the sky and began shouting more curses at me. I sighed again then carefully rolled the sack of turnips I had been collecting aside. Within moments the knight spurred his horse and began galloping at me through my field. Clods of earth and leaves shot out behind the charging knight. Part of me was calculating the loss of the plants from the thundering hooves. My poor turnips. I stood passively, waiting. When he was within 15 paces he began to swing his sword, hoping to lop my head off in one slice. That's when I belched. A burning heat rose up my throat, scorching my tongue and mouth, then exploded outwards. A monstrous ball of fire engulfed the knight and singed my eyebrows. Granddad would be proud. I collapsed hacking and coughing, feeling completely drained. Gods I hated doing that. I lay dazed on my back, staring up at the rising wisps of smoke. It would take me three days in bed to fully recover. I was more man than fire lizard Finally, after a spell, I regained my wits. One glance told me I had caught the foolish man square in his helmet visor. Black smoke poured upward out of his armor sprawled in the dirt nearby. The horse was nowhere to be seen. Mustering all my strength I began to crawl back toward my humble cottage. My scaled hands clawed the dirt, sometimes uncovering the full turnips underneath. These really needed to be dug soon. With any luck I'd be back out in a couple of days. Hopefully there wouldn't be any more knights this season.
[WP] The year is 2063. Everything has become free, but the deal is – The more expensive a good is, the more ads you need to watch, before you get it for free. You have been watching ads in your freetime for the last 20 years for that one product...	Life is time, and time is money. Through a mix of quantum tech, and the installation of a chip in the spine at birth, the greatest companies created a simple way to make sure that they had control even long after the second industrial revolution. It was an AI-assisted program that saw through your eyes and picked up advertisements. The more you watched, the more "kommercial karma" you gained. The more you gained, the more you could gain. There were no restrictions on what could come from it, as quantum tech made superpowers and reality warping possible, so long as you had the karma for it. It didn't matter if it was the same ad twenty times in a row. It didn't matter if you bought the ad's product. Time was the only cost, the only currency. And so your life was the only currency. People tried many different methods of breaking the system. They would work together in order to purchase products that they would share, before "capitalism-promoting" laws changed that. Parents would stick babies in front of 24-hour commercial broadcasts and use their karma in their name, before it was ruled "child abuse." Individuals would speed commercials up and breeze through them, before the companies changed the AI to not recognize sped-up commercials. It got to the point where people used it as intended, no more, no less. Until he came. The AdBreaker. The Savior of humanity. It was simple, what he did, but those oppressed were so downtrodden they never considered it. At twenty years of age, he took a single advertisement, thirty seconds long... he shrank it with video-editing technology, copied, and pasted it, then copied those and pasted them... so on and so forth until hundreds of millions of the same advertisement sat on his four 84" screens. He sat back, clicked play, and thirty seconds later... He became as a God. And he freed us all.	Ronald’s eyes grow heavy, his head feeling like a bag of wet sand. His connection to the main servers would only last so much longer before his amount of allotted information would cut off and he would have nothing better to do that to mope around his apartment for the rest of the evening. In the other room, he could have heard his wife, Ana, feeding the cat but the man is in rapture, intent on the screen before him. All this time would be for not if he is not able to provide the quartermaster an accurate summary of what information he had seen. Poor viewing, he can already hear in the quartermaster’s nasally voice, can only be gifted with poor reward. And the man fancied himself as a man that does not provide anything poor. Mumbling about what he is viewing to himself, Ronald’s focus flicks from the screen to the small tablet on his right knee, furiously scrawling notes. This ritual continues for nearly an hour before a small chime and automated voice thanks the man for his patronage and that would be all the informational streaming he would be allowed to partake for the day. With a short curse, Ronald swallows and sighs, accepting this fate. His fingers alight into a flurry, typing the address to await his turn to report to the quartermaster. His annoyance swiftly turns around as his luck holds – only a few citizens are in the que ahead of him. A smile grows on the corners of his mouth as he leans back to his seat, allowing himself the luxury of rubbing his weary eyes. In the time it takes for the others to report their viewings, Ronald’s thoughts wander to how ironic this process is in his case. His occupation, as it had been since graduating after his 12th year, was to install and tune internet cables to new housing units to allow access to the country-wide servers, just for the sake of individuals to consume information like he just had. I should get a bonus just for that, he muses. Chuckling slightly, his imagination envisions a large, broad shouldered contractor, brushing the feeble quartermaster aside, who would let out a loud squawk before getting scolded for not giving him more credit. “He builds the damn things, Alexis, should some respect!” the imaginary man booms, his already meaty head growing ever redder. “Citizen RWT-61-083?” A polite U.I. voice chimes out. “Your appointment will commence momentarily. Thank you for waiting! Confirm your availability within the next 10 seconds or your appointment will be cancelled.” Ronald rockets back to reality, shaking his head as he swiftly presses his thumb to the scanner next to the keys on his computer under the innocent but critical gaze of the U.I.. After submitting, the images’ chilly waiting expression melts to a chipper grin and waves before vanishing and the much more haggard and far less cheery face of the quartermaster appears. The man breathes a silent, content sigh as his camera flicks on. “Citizen RW-... Oh yes, Ronald.” She clears her throat and attempts a customary smile to look less like an undead, her gaze falling over him like a wet blanket. “I see you are a bit early this evening.” “Good evening, miss Alex.” His voice is tense, a habit he cannot seem to shake no matter how many appointments he takes. “I would like to report my information.” “Ah, but of course. Proceed.” She says humorlessly, shifting to take up a small notepad and pen with her talons. “Citizen RWT-61-083. Session length, 4 hours. Subjects covered…” His mind goes into an almost a graceful lull as he tells of the information poured over him over the course of the afternoon. The quartermaster’s pen moves in a manic hurry, without a single interruption as Ronald speaks of the matters of their world, goods, events and all other matters of information any good citizen would know. A few minutes later, his stream of conscious ends without much ceremony, much like every evening’s. “Very good… I can see your attention to detail is as sharp as ever. Full compensation will be awarded for the time spent reviewing information.” She says, relieved to be working with a citizen that takes this process with a degree of seriousness. “Music to my ears. Thank you, miss Alex.” The satisfaction is clear in the man’s voice, like a dog being rewarded for a new trick. The dim lighting in the apartment can’t cover his smile, which the old woman notes. “Oh… and before you go, GYY-73-114, erm… your wife, told me on her call yesterday you both are close?” Her attempt at small talk is clumsy but gentle. “Ana? I… Yes, I have to check the numbers again but we are both very excited.” “As you both should be. A working family like yours should be rewarded.” “No more than any other good citizen.” She nods and smiles, which wavers and cracks after a moment. “I would like to say thank you for your work. Have a pleasant evening, Ronald.” And with that, the call ends and the small room falls back into silence. The man sighs, closing his computer and standing up, moving to look out the window at the city sprawl from his home. His work. The man knows how important it is. The amount of pride that would swell in his chest from seeing a family boot up their system for the first time. The satisfaction of physically lifting, adjusting and setting the electronics. Knowing he is needed in an occupation great enough he cannot just leave even if he so wished. His eyes fall to Ana, working on arranging their dinner table as their meal is being created in the kitchen under the wary eye of their appliances. She turns and smiles to him, her soft brown eyes light up like ever before she goes back to preparation. Just that moment gives her husband just that bit of strength he need in that instant. He is sure that he could not do this without her. After looking out for a little longer, Roland moves from their small study room, past the kitchen where his wife busies herself in, down a small hallway with a pair of doors at the end, one on each side. The one on the right is ajar, if one was to peer in, they would likely see the pair’s cat lounging on the heated bed where the couple slept and find it in a state of organized disarray that one would expect from a working pair of adults. But that was not the room Ronald entered. He steps into the neighboring door, a soft creak the only welcome. Something stirs in the man as he fumbles gently for a light switch. Upon finding it, the contents of the small living space become clear, a crib, mobile, rocking chair and scattered, but sorted arrangement of infant’s cloths. Ronald makes his way to the crib with a slowness akin to a trace. He reaches down into the bed to a pillow, taking an often-folded piece of paper, opening it to read its contents yet again. “To who it may concern \[CITIZENS RWT-61-083 AND GYY-73-114\], Your transaction has been successful, the cryostasis of \[VRQ-21-102\] has been undergone without any error. Due to \[083\]’s current occupation as \[Server Establishment Technician\] the stasis of the individual cannot be voluntarily waived by the parties addressed in this message by itself, but in conjunction with a governor’s signed confirmation that \[083\] no longer serves in their current position OR a payment of 20,000 hours of information processed. Stasis may be negotiated once we have received one of the materials discussed above and the written consent of both \[083\] and \[114\]. Have a productive and rewarding day.” The man folds the note back up, completing his daily ritual, ignoring the tear that falls on the pillow. Ana calls him to eat, and like he has for the last two decades, he exits the room with a new resolve.
[WP] The year is 2063. Everything has become free, but the deal is – The more expensive a good is, the more ads you need to watch, before you get it for free. You have been watching ads in your freetime for the last 20 years for that one product...	It was my own fault really. While the world was busy with global warming, mobile whales, blockchains, bioelectric interfaces, and dozens of other pointless buzzwords, i had go to out and write that stupid dissertation. An analysis of the inneffecctuality of advertisement metrics. Exposing how the ad industry i thought was running the world was nearly fraudulent, and that there was no way you could correlate PR budgets and their effect on sales. Looking at how premium currency earned through ad-watching was one of the main drivers of mobile games profits. Stupid me. All it did was cause the ad-industry to step up their game. Didn't even take them a year to replace every currency with ad-credits. If i hadn't published, we'd never have entered this adhell our world has become. Everything nowadays is paid for in ad-credits. You can't even concentrate on your actual work anymore, since companies rely on the income generated by their employees to watch ads while doing their duties. They give employees a cut of it, part of their salary... and they call that a benefit. Screw that! Half my screen at work is plastered with ad videos, every square inch of surface out there is plastered with ads. Have you seen those new shoes? They make you run faster. Drink this beer, and you'll get laid. Cheap cheap flights to you-don't-wanna-go there. Diapers, clothing, laptops, tablets, smartphones, organic lettuce, certified gluten free some-shit-or-other People even wear ads on their jackets, pants or shoes to increase their ad-credits time. Books have adverts as covers. And don't for a second think you can get a glass, or cup, without some brand logo on it. But today it is over. 20 years I've lived in this hell. Watched every ad i could. Plastered movie posters on my bedroom ceiling even. Watched razor ads on the way to work, and soda ads on the way back. I'd record ads on my TV to play them while i was cooking. And i saved every ad-credit i possibly could. Finally, finally.... i have enough. Today is the day i can finally buy an ad-blocker.	Ronald’s eyes grow heavy, his head feeling like a bag of wet sand. His connection to the main servers would only last so much longer before his amount of allotted information would cut off and he would have nothing better to do that to mope around his apartment for the rest of the evening. In the other room, he could have heard his wife, Ana, feeding the cat but the man is in rapture, intent on the screen before him. All this time would be for not if he is not able to provide the quartermaster an accurate summary of what information he had seen. Poor viewing, he can already hear in the quartermaster’s nasally voice, can only be gifted with poor reward. And the man fancied himself as a man that does not provide anything poor. Mumbling about what he is viewing to himself, Ronald’s focus flicks from the screen to the small tablet on his right knee, furiously scrawling notes. This ritual continues for nearly an hour before a small chime and automated voice thanks the man for his patronage and that would be all the informational streaming he would be allowed to partake for the day. With a short curse, Ronald swallows and sighs, accepting this fate. His fingers alight into a flurry, typing the address to await his turn to report to the quartermaster. His annoyance swiftly turns around as his luck holds – only a few citizens are in the que ahead of him. A smile grows on the corners of his mouth as he leans back to his seat, allowing himself the luxury of rubbing his weary eyes. In the time it takes for the others to report their viewings, Ronald’s thoughts wander to how ironic this process is in his case. His occupation, as it had been since graduating after his 12th year, was to install and tune internet cables to new housing units to allow access to the country-wide servers, just for the sake of individuals to consume information like he just had. I should get a bonus just for that, he muses. Chuckling slightly, his imagination envisions a large, broad shouldered contractor, brushing the feeble quartermaster aside, who would let out a loud squawk before getting scolded for not giving him more credit. “He builds the damn things, Alexis, should some respect!” the imaginary man booms, his already meaty head growing ever redder. “Citizen RWT-61-083?” A polite U.I. voice chimes out. “Your appointment will commence momentarily. Thank you for waiting! Confirm your availability within the next 10 seconds or your appointment will be cancelled.” Ronald rockets back to reality, shaking his head as he swiftly presses his thumb to the scanner next to the keys on his computer under the innocent but critical gaze of the U.I.. After submitting, the images’ chilly waiting expression melts to a chipper grin and waves before vanishing and the much more haggard and far less cheery face of the quartermaster appears. The man breathes a silent, content sigh as his camera flicks on. “Citizen RW-... Oh yes, Ronald.” She clears her throat and attempts a customary smile to look less like an undead, her gaze falling over him like a wet blanket. “I see you are a bit early this evening.” “Good evening, miss Alex.” His voice is tense, a habit he cannot seem to shake no matter how many appointments he takes. “I would like to report my information.” “Ah, but of course. Proceed.” She says humorlessly, shifting to take up a small notepad and pen with her talons. “Citizen RWT-61-083. Session length, 4 hours. Subjects covered…” His mind goes into an almost a graceful lull as he tells of the information poured over him over the course of the afternoon. The quartermaster’s pen moves in a manic hurry, without a single interruption as Ronald speaks of the matters of their world, goods, events and all other matters of information any good citizen would know. A few minutes later, his stream of conscious ends without much ceremony, much like every evening’s. “Very good… I can see your attention to detail is as sharp as ever. Full compensation will be awarded for the time spent reviewing information.” She says, relieved to be working with a citizen that takes this process with a degree of seriousness. “Music to my ears. Thank you, miss Alex.” The satisfaction is clear in the man’s voice, like a dog being rewarded for a new trick. The dim lighting in the apartment can’t cover his smile, which the old woman notes. “Oh… and before you go, GYY-73-114, erm… your wife, told me on her call yesterday you both are close?” Her attempt at small talk is clumsy but gentle. “Ana? I… Yes, I have to check the numbers again but we are both very excited.” “As you both should be. A working family like yours should be rewarded.” “No more than any other good citizen.” She nods and smiles, which wavers and cracks after a moment. “I would like to say thank you for your work. Have a pleasant evening, Ronald.” And with that, the call ends and the small room falls back into silence. The man sighs, closing his computer and standing up, moving to look out the window at the city sprawl from his home. His work. The man knows how important it is. The amount of pride that would swell in his chest from seeing a family boot up their system for the first time. The satisfaction of physically lifting, adjusting and setting the electronics. Knowing he is needed in an occupation great enough he cannot just leave even if he so wished. His eyes fall to Ana, working on arranging their dinner table as their meal is being created in the kitchen under the wary eye of their appliances. She turns and smiles to him, her soft brown eyes light up like ever before she goes back to preparation. Just that moment gives her husband just that bit of strength he need in that instant. He is sure that he could not do this without her. After looking out for a little longer, Roland moves from their small study room, past the kitchen where his wife busies herself in, down a small hallway with a pair of doors at the end, one on each side. The one on the right is ajar, if one was to peer in, they would likely see the pair’s cat lounging on the heated bed where the couple slept and find it in a state of organized disarray that one would expect from a working pair of adults. But that was not the room Ronald entered. He steps into the neighboring door, a soft creak the only welcome. Something stirs in the man as he fumbles gently for a light switch. Upon finding it, the contents of the small living space become clear, a crib, mobile, rocking chair and scattered, but sorted arrangement of infant’s cloths. Ronald makes his way to the crib with a slowness akin to a trace. He reaches down into the bed to a pillow, taking an often-folded piece of paper, opening it to read its contents yet again. “To who it may concern \[CITIZENS RWT-61-083 AND GYY-73-114\], Your transaction has been successful, the cryostasis of \[VRQ-21-102\] has been undergone without any error. Due to \[083\]’s current occupation as \[Server Establishment Technician\] the stasis of the individual cannot be voluntarily waived by the parties addressed in this message by itself, but in conjunction with a governor’s signed confirmation that \[083\] no longer serves in their current position OR a payment of 20,000 hours of information processed. Stasis may be negotiated once we have received one of the materials discussed above and the written consent of both \[083\] and \[114\]. Have a productive and rewarding day.” The man folds the note back up, completing his daily ritual, ignoring the tear that falls on the pillow. Ana calls him to eat, and like he has for the last two decades, he exits the room with a new resolve.
[WP] The year is 2063. Everything has become free, but the deal is – The more expensive a good is, the more ads you need to watch, before you get it for free. You have been watching ads in your freetime for the last 20 years for that one product...	Everything went blue, a shiver ran across my body and I felt intense emptiness. My eyes began to dry up and it took me a few seconds to realise I could blink again. The drips had stopped and my eyelids were no longer being forced open. I was even able to turn my head, the locking mechanism had freed up. I looked down, tubes and wires slithered across my lap into a machine. Was I in hospital? I must've been in a coma. Muffled footsteps were growing closer. The glow of the blue screen was not enough to illuminate the room, I could hardly see anything. The door slowly opened and a shaft of blinding light enveloped the room. I screamed and tried covering my eyes but my arms would hardly budge. I closed my eyes but the light still pierced through them. in my discomfort I had forgotten that someone had entered the room. Slowly his voice was picked up by my brain. "Hello, sorry to startle you like that, I'm Albert, do you know why you're here?" His voice was smooth but I couldn't place his accent, sort of Eastern European. "Yes, I... I think so, some sort of accident?" I must be in a hospital. He was silent for a few seconds and then with a heavy sigh explained. "People usually wake up thinking they've been in a coma, you're not a patient though, you're a customer, you have been watching advertisements for precisely 20 years, 3 months, 5 days and 8 hours." It took my brain a second to process what he'd said, but as everything connected I was flooded with a wave of memories, I could feel the adverts burnt into my brain. I could remember so many of them now, for makeup, shoes, lawyers, websites, supermarkets. Some of the businesses had probably gone bankrupt by the time I'd finished. I began to open my eyes as they grew more comfortable from the daylight beyond the door. Ethan was tall, he had a very strange haircut and extremely sleek clothing. He looked a little like a clown, his hair was green and pointy and he had a sterilised white suit with streaks of red running through. In his hands he held a wrapped box "This is the item you've been waiting for, free of charge!" He smiled in excitement. I told him I couldn't walk or move my hands "Thats okay! A medical unit is on its way to reintegrate you into society, would you like me to open your box for you." Pure curiosity ran deep within me, I had forgotten what I had actually ordered. I nodded in excitement. As the man unfurled the ribbon and ripped the paper away a black box was revealed. He slowly lifted the box and faced the opening towards me so I could see. Inside was a leather Gucci belt. I suddenly felt my heart drop. I couldn't even remember why I wanted it. The man seemed confused "I don't really know this brand, looks good though." Gucci had faded into obscurity in the last 20 years. What sort of person must I have been to be so blind. Ethan could see my shock and tried cheering me up "Would you like me to put it on for you?", all I wanted to do was burn it.	The thrum of the VR pod always soothes Steve’s mind. The air filled form fitting cushions surrounding him like hugs from a dozen fluffy lambs. Gaining stuff is so meditative… easy he thought to himself. “Just click the icon below to order today for the low price of 1 ad-cycle…” Click. “You won’t believe what this pen-hand warmer-whistle-luck charm has done for my life…” Click. Steve stirs in the cushions. Need that, he thought to himself. “Have you been wronged? We at Hasslich and Dunkel are here to help families in your time… " Click. “Make Tropical Luxuries your event destination. Adventure tours, luxury conferences, fairytale weddings…” Steve’s right arm slowly reaches across his body and touches his left. Muscles yearning to remember a distant memory. "… our event consultants can make any dreams come true for…” Steve’s breath stutters. He briefly ponders if something is wrong. How long has it been since he’s had to worry about his body? Something familiar makes his heart linger a fraction longer. "… You. With a wave of your finger this can be yours for 200 more ad-cycles.” A memory of a woman with brown curly hair and a sincere, wide smile interrupts Steve. His finger hovers in hesitation. Why does he want a fairy tale wedding? And does he know this woman? Why was he even looking at ads? Many questions begin to crowd Steve’s mind. Waving his hand, the VR pod opens with a pop and hiss. Steve removes the heavy VR goggles from his head and blinks trying to focus his vision. Too much VR. A fancy clock on the wall tells him it is Sept 10th, 2063. How many ads-cycles did that cost? He wondered. Slowly swinging from the VR pod Steve tries to stand, but his legs fail him. As he tumbles a yellowed photo falls from his pocket. From where he lay on the wood floor Steve makes out the image of a man and a woman in each other’s arms in the photo. The woman’s sincere wide smile seems to elicit joy in the man’s eyes. Steve turns the picture over. Our Engagement, Steve & Mary. October 2043. Steve weeps from memories unmarred by VR ads, banners, and pop-ups. Everything is free they said. Just watch the ads and this one ring can be hers. Realization setting in, Steve chuckles in self pity. “Ha, the only thing it was cost me time with Mary.“ Steve slumps against the pod and letting his sadness take over his body. The pop and hiss of a VR pod opening close by reaches Steve as his eyes close. “Steve?” *** New to reddit and my first WP story submission. Please be gentle =). Edit: Formatting
[WP] The year is 2063. Everything has become free, but the deal is – The more expensive a good is, the more ads you need to watch, before you get it for free. You have been watching ads in your freetime for the last 20 years for that one product...	In 2022, there was a huge outcry at the amount of ads that present. There were ads for everything possible- movies, food, cars, real estate and even the government. Things relaxed for a bit but then technology advanced and holo-screens became a normal part of our lives. When I was five, we learned how to Watch. We were taught to Watch when we were 5 years because that is when we entered school. My mom said we’re really lucky. In her time, they actually had to pay for things with physical. &#x200B; The stylus hovered over the iholo-pad. The essay wasn’t going as great as Lani had imagined. It was hard enough trying to write about yourself but to write about yourself, submit a LifeScan and calculate your probability, it was impossible! Stressing about it wouldn’t help so I decided to take a break. Stepping outside, she hooked up the holoscreen and walked to FStation. The billboards followed her twisting and turning, detouring the path to entice people. &#x200B; ‘Free is the new pink!’ ‘Low Plane fares ranging from 3 month – 3 year ad time!’ &#x200B; But you only Watched, if you had something to Watch for. &#x200B; On one screen you had some of the ‘freebies’. They knew the tricks and inside secrets to getting the expensive things for short period of time. The influencers of the day. Watching got you free stuff but if people Watched you, time slowed down. Lani made her way to the FStation park and took a seat. After doing some stretches, she activated her holoscreen and started Watching. The ads always had different times- from 30 sec to full hour long productions- and they always varied the selection. The panel had to know you were really Watching, of course. Time ticked by and as she Watched the project gauge finally filled up. She had finally achieved it! Trying not to panic or cause her heart rate to go up, she saved the Watch gauge and added it to her project progress. It took 15 mins but eventually an EM came back confirming what she had worked so hard for. Her points had been accepted and the official Government stamp proved it. All she had to do now was to write that damn essay. After 20 years, she was finally going to college. &#x200B; &#x200B; \---- First time posting. A little bit more lighthearted than the other posts	It took the world by storm when all the advertising companies and conglomerates cracked the 'true worth' of everything. I remember it like it was yesterday, partly because it allows time to pass as the adverts drone on continuously on my screen. One moment, the world had been engrossed in their smart-phones as usual, browsing social media and tweeting inane bullshit, and the next minute, everything in the world become free. Figuratively, metaphorically and physically. With a little caveat, of course. No one knows how they did it, and heck, it's been 20 years and no one still understands how they pulled it off but suddenly, everything was free and yet, hidden behind a fucking ad-wall, because, why the heck not? It took a while, and a lot of 'research' and revisions and news broadcasts before the rules became crystal clear to everyone. "Everything was free, but can only be acquired after an advert, corresponding to the worth of the thing, was consumed." Ergo, a snickers bar would be like what, 15 seconds of adverts and it's all yours. The product usually would appear wherever you need it to be, which was much weirder but society focused less on that and more on the getting of stuff. It also meant, for anyone hoping to game the system and become a billionaire or have the latest items, or cars, or whatever would have to get comfortable, watching hours upon hours of adverts, day in and day out until they've acquired the 'worth' of whatever it is they wanted. The rules were thing, to be completely honest because they made no sense whatsoever, but it worked. And soon, everyone got comfortable with watching adverts. Some councils took a step further and turned whole cinemas into ad-watching ground. Which initially seemed like a really great idea until people quickly understood that the concessions that they'd use to pass the item would also be locked behind the amount of adverts they watched. The idea was silly after that. I cover my mouth to avoid belching, not because I'm particularly self-conscious but mostly because the action is kinda... embarrassing to say the least. I believe I can control myself better than that. The TV is still droning on, spitting out random facts about objects and items and cruises that will never interest me but I don't mind. There's a goal in mind to be achieved. A goal, 20 years in the making. See, the advert companies, in their joint first and last public announcement about this new vague and mysterious concept of true worth that anything can be achieved. They stressed 'anything', almost as if to hint that if we could consider it, it was possible. And once you put on any media device, all you simply had to do was think about what you wanted, and it will tell you how long you'd have to watch or listen to an ad for before you can get it. So I did a thing. In my old age, there isn't much I can say that I want. I've lived a full life and an enjoyable one at that. I've traveled, I've eaten exotic dishes, I've seen amazing things. Still, the only real highlight of my life was when she sat in front of me and told me her name. She was everything to me. She is everything to me. She was easily the best years of my life. And I would be lying if I say it didn't hurt when her god, the so-called 'benevolent' one took her away from me. It wasn't her time. It should have been me in front of that car. But that's an argument for another time. If all it took, was 20 continuous years of listening to the same diatribe of the latest gadgets, or the cheapest flights or this or that, was all that was required of me to get her back then I was game. After all, if I'm to believe in an afterlife and some supernatural game between God and the devil, then it is pretty simple to trivialize the human soul to nothing more than an existential product. And this product is all I want. \--- /r/EvenAsIWrite for more. Feedback and criticisms are always welcome.
[WP] The year is 2063. Everything has become free, but the deal is – The more expensive a good is, the more ads you need to watch, before you get it for free. You have been watching ads in your freetime for the last 20 years for that one product...	In 2022, there was a huge outcry at the amount of ads that present. There were ads for everything possible- movies, food, cars, real estate and even the government. Things relaxed for a bit but then technology advanced and holo-screens became a normal part of our lives. When I was five, we learned how to Watch. We were taught to Watch when we were 5 years because that is when we entered school. My mom said we’re really lucky. In her time, they actually had to pay for things with physical. &#x200B; The stylus hovered over the iholo-pad. The essay wasn’t going as great as Lani had imagined. It was hard enough trying to write about yourself but to write about yourself, submit a LifeScan and calculate your probability, it was impossible! Stressing about it wouldn’t help so I decided to take a break. Stepping outside, she hooked up the holoscreen and walked to FStation. The billboards followed her twisting and turning, detouring the path to entice people. &#x200B; ‘Free is the new pink!’ ‘Low Plane fares ranging from 3 month – 3 year ad time!’ &#x200B; But you only Watched, if you had something to Watch for. &#x200B; On one screen you had some of the ‘freebies’. They knew the tricks and inside secrets to getting the expensive things for short period of time. The influencers of the day. Watching got you free stuff but if people Watched you, time slowed down. Lani made her way to the FStation park and took a seat. After doing some stretches, she activated her holoscreen and started Watching. The ads always had different times- from 30 sec to full hour long productions- and they always varied the selection. The panel had to know you were really Watching, of course. Time ticked by and as she Watched the project gauge finally filled up. She had finally achieved it! Trying not to panic or cause her heart rate to go up, she saved the Watch gauge and added it to her project progress. It took 15 mins but eventually an EM came back confirming what she had worked so hard for. Her points had been accepted and the official Government stamp proved it. All she had to do now was to write that damn essay. After 20 years, she was finally going to college. &#x200B; &#x200B; \---- First time posting. A little bit more lighthearted than the other posts	One more ad. That’s all I need. A single ad. I click the button to load it. A cringy ad for the latest social network takes up the entire screen of my ancient PC. As it plays I get up to make myself a drink but I turned back as the music stopped. No it couldn’t have finished already. With a quick glance a saw the dreaded swirling circle. It was buffering. Minutes passed as I waited for my tea to cool. I checked the router for the 5th time. It was working. I thought back. I saw generations pass. I watched ads for the latest trending things but never did I stray from my goal. I knew I had to get it. During my time of waiting I only got what I needed to get, food, water and bills. The circle stopped swirling and disappeared. Rap music filled my ears. 30 seconds later the ad disappeared and I clicked the button. Millions of ad points where removed from my balance but I didn’t care. I now owned what I wanted. No longer would everything be plagued with adverts for things nobody wanted. I bought the system. I was now in control. I didn’t need ad points because millions were just a few clicks and taps away. I went on a shopping spree. The newest games. Click. The fastest car. Click. Suddenly a pop-up opened. I should have gotten the security programs because now my account had been hacked and all my purchases disappeared. I could no longer add points. 20 years. 20 damn years wasted. I sat their as moonlight found its way through the window. Tears rolled down my face. I got too greedy and payed the price.
[WP] Everyone can chose their own super power, but the older you are when you chose it the stronger the power is. By law, you must chose a power by 15. You’re 28 and still haven’t chosen.	When you turned eleven, you told your dad that you wanted to go to the courthouse. You told him that you'd decided what you wanted your power to be, and that you were really excited to share it. He looked surprised, and started to argue, but stopped himself. On the way to the courthouse your dad bought you a milkshake from McDonald's. He said it was a special treat for choosing your power. When you got to the courthouse you stepped waited in a long line. Most everyone there was fifteen, and you got asked more than once if you were sure you didn't want to wait a few years. "Your power can be stronger if you wait," they said to you. "You shouldn't be letting him choose so early. It's your job to make sure things are in his best interest." They said to your dad. He just smiled faintly and said that you were certain about what you wanted to do. And you were. When you finally got to your turn, a friendly woman asked you to sit down. She handed you a sheet and asked you to write your name and address on it. Then, she asked what your power was. "Magic!" you responded, with the biggest smile you could muster. "Yes, but what kind of magic?" she asked patiently. "He, um, likes magic tricks." your dad said. "Oh," the woman said. "Can you show me?" You made a deck of cards appear from seemingly nowhere, and began to do tricks. Making cards disappear, reappear, and teleport. At the very end you made the deck disappear once more, and the woman seemed convinced. She registered your power in the registry, gave you a sticker that proudly proclaimed "I Chose!" and sent you on your way. Your dad was silent on the way home. He never said, but you were pretty sure he knew what you had done. Sometimes you would hear creaks by your door late at night, where they would stop before shuffling away. It had been years since you had started practicing sleight-of-hand, but your dad hadn't said anything. When you got home your dad gave you a wry smile, ruffled your hair, and went to the kitchen to cook your favorite meal. From then on you continued to practice your tricks, and your dad continued to pretend not to notice that you were buying cards instead of pulling them from thin air. It's been ten years since then. Things come and go, and people ask you why you chose such a silly power. You just shrug and smile, saying that you like to bring people happiness with small things. Your dad still hasn't said anything, to anyone else or to you. When his family berates him for letting you choose such a silly power, he just takes it. Neither of you have a choice. You both want her back, after all. No matter how long it takes.	No one knew she existed and not in that emotional teenager kind of way. Her parents lived in a secluded area growing their own fruits, vegetables, and even their own livestock which meant that they hardly ever traveled off their property. When mother got pregnant with her they kept it a secret because after so many years living with their special condition they didn’t know that they could have a child. So when Anfiza was born, she was born in her home and only knew her home. She was never allowed to travel outside a certain perimeter of her home but as a child it didn’t seem to bother her that much. However she wasn’t a child anymore, she was twenty eight now and her parents decided it was time for them to have a talk. “Anfiza….” Her mother leaned forward and reached across the kitchen table to hold her daughters hand. The girl looked at both her parents from across the table with a concerned look in her eyes because she had never seen them so serious before. “Listen carefully child…” Anfiza nodded as she stayed quiet and listened. “A long time ago people of different skin colors weren’t allowed to be together so your father being African American and me being white weren’t allowed to be together.” She explained as she reached out her free hand to her husband that was sitting next to her and squeezed tightly. “We decided to run away together to the north because at the time they allowed slaves to be free and we knew that was the only way we could be together but it just didn’t work out….” She shuddered at the thought before continuing her story. “We managed to stay hidden for many years as we slowly made our way up north but they finally caught up with us. They were gonna shoot us dead….they did shoot us dead but before they could we held onto each other and promised that we would live on together forever no matter what.” “Mother….what do you mean they shot you dead?” Anfiza asked confused not understanding what her mother was trying to tell her. “We didn’t know it but we had decided what our powers were going to be and we had chosen immortality. So when they shot us and left our bodies to rot right in the middle of these woods we came back to life. In this world honey as people started to realize what was going on there was a virus that was spreading that made people pick any super powers that they wanted and we were the start of it. Honey we have been alive for a long time…..like more than 100 years and we were gifted you…..” Her mother became teary eyed as she pressed her lips firmly together as she struggled to fight the tears that were trying to escape her eyes. Letting her husband go she placed a hand over her mouth choking back a sob prompting her husband to rub her back gently. “Sweety what you mother is trying to tell you is that it’s time you chose an ability, we believe your strong enough now according to the research to do what needs to be done.” He paused for a moment as he looked into his daughter’s eyes before continuing. “We need you to choose death…the power of death and put an end to our lives. We shouldn’t be here on this earth anymore.” “What! Mom! Dad! You can’t be serious!” She exclaimed as she shook her head not believing what was going on only to start laughing. “You guys are crazy! What do you mean choose my own super power?” Anfiza rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. “I thought you guys were being serious, making me choose a power. I choose to become death!” She declared in a sarcastic voice as she waved her hands trying to be ‘spooky’. She knew from that books that her mother had read to her that none of these things like magic and super powers existed even her parents had taught her that at a young age. “Mom! Dad! I wish death upon you! Ooooooouuuuuuu\~” She wiggled her fingers at her parents as she pretended to be some kind of ghost. Both her parents looked at her with a wide eyed expression before looking at each other in a panic. “What have you done? We haven’t to-“Suddenly before her father could finish an audible poof sounds was heard as her parents suddenly exploded into dust and vanished. Anfiza’s grew suddenly quiet as she stared at all the dust that was on the table and floor. Slowly, she wobbled to the other side of the table and got down in front of the pile of dust. “Mom? Dad?” She whimpered as she started to realize what was going on. They weren’t lying, they weren’t lying at all! She screamed and cried all at once as she reached up only to start to pull at her hair in agony. “I’m so sorry! Oh god, I am so sorry! Mommy! Take me with you! I wish death upon myself!” She screamed and suddenly the screaming stopped. {Ton of spelling mistakes, will edit them as soon as I get home. Currently at work.}
[WP] Everyone can chose their own super power, but the older you are when you chose it the stronger the power is. By law, you must chose a power by 15. You’re 28 and still haven’t chosen.	There's a rule, that you have to choose your power when you're 15. On your 15th birthday, they give you a bracelet. It is linked with your DNA, you hold it in your hand, or wear it, doesn't matter. Only you can use it. Then you focus on what power you want, the bracelet shines and then dissappears. And that's it, you have your own superpower. Simple as that. Most people choose their power as they reach 15. Some at 16. Maybe even 17. Kids who can't wait to fly, talk with animals, or to run faster than a car, etc. But I am not one of those. I know something that people don't. Something the government tries to keep a secret: the older you are, the more powerful your power will be. You can choose the same power, but as you get older, that same power will become more and more powerful. I know the most powerful villain we ever had was someone who chose his power at the age of 20. He was killed by a group of 16 superheroes, but not before managing to kill more than half of them. The government said his power went out of control since he was too old, and told us to prevent this from happening by choosing at the right age. I don't believe them. I wanted to test it on myself. I wanted the most powerful ability. He was at 20. It was only 5 years later. What if it were 6? Or 10 years? What if it were twice the normal age? At the age of 30? I didn't choose anything when I reached 15. Nor at 16. On my 17th birthday, my teacher and another guy in a suit shown up and talked with my family about my situation. On the 18th one, only the guy in the suit appeared. He told me to choose quickly, because if I don't, the government will have to apply some "serious methods". They clearly weren't joking. Because a few days before my 19th birthday, as I looked through the windows, there were some guys in black suits on the other side of the road. They talked with my parents, but not me, as they weren't aware that I was at home. I knew I must protect myself. And my family. So I ran away. That night I ran away. Far from home, far from that city. I officially became a criminal. Ever since then I kept running, and hiding. Moved from one city to another. I met many people like me: those who know the truth and want to have a greater power. We formed a group, and together we ran. We studied about them, those guys in black suits, they're called "The Agents". Superpowered agents who work for the government, they only have one mission: to arrest us, "The Runners", those who didn't choose their power and ran away. We also know they have some kind of scanning device which they would use to detect whether or not a bracelet was used: as long as you remain a normal person, they won't use their powers against you. But as soon as you use it, and most people will as they're cornered, they will unleash their true powers. The machine has to lock in a target to work though, and cannot be used to track us down. What we don't know is the fate of those who got captured. Some say they will kill you. Some say they will take away the bracelet, and throw you into some kind of prison where you have to suffer as a powerless person for the rest of your life. I don't know, the first one seems to be better. 2 weeks ago, our group, which has around 20 Runners, was spotted by the Agents. We had to split up and run away. Some got captured. We splited up again and again, and by yesterday only I and another boy named Christian were left running. The fate of the others was unknown. We were almost cornered. Had to split up again. I made him promise that he will meet up with the survivors at the abandoned station on the other side of the city before running away, but as soon as I managed to escape, I heard an explosion. The boy used his bracelet. I was the only Runner left. I was running non-stop since then. The Agents have cars, of course they do, they're faster than me. I kept running and running, eventually ran into a forest. I found an abandoned cabin, rushed inside, locked the door. As I caught my breath, I realized it was a dead end. The cabin has no backdoor. So here I am, half an hour later, trapped in a wooden cabin, holding my bracelet, surrounded by god knows how many Agents. They're still convincing me to surrender, "You are arrested for the crime against humanity" etc etc. They're not going to use their powers. I need to think of a way to escape, fast. I'm not going to give up here. I managed to get away many times, over so many years. Today is my 28th birthday. I need two more years. I need more time. But I don't have more time. "That's enough. Mr. Harvey, you have 30 seconds to show up. Ortherwise we're going to shoot." Crap. "30" Jesus Christ I could here them bringing out the guns. The clacking sound. "25" I look at my bracelet. I need a power. Something that can help me escape. 28, it's 8 more years than that villain. It should be powerful enough right? "13" I hold my bracelet as I close my eyes, only to realize, I don't know what I want. I have never thought of what power I want. What kind of person I want to be. "5" "Just 2 more years" I mumble in agony "I need more time. I need more time!" "Time's up!" I can hear many gunshots. I close my eyes as the bullets tear through the wooden walls. It's over. Or is it? I don't feel the pain. I slowly open my eyes, only to find the bullets have been frozen in mid-air. I can touch them. Pick them up as if they're some kind of toys for the children. And when I let them go, they would fall down a bit, then go back to being frozen again. I go outside in confusion. The Agents were still there. And none of them are moving. Not even breathing. The clock isn't running. The bracelet... is gone. I once heard that the bracelet will give you the power you want. But if you don't know what you want, then it will give you what you need the most. I thought it was just a rumor. I smile as I put a bullet against one Agent's head. It's not a rumor. I needed more time. And it gave me that. The power above time itself. Now I have all the time I need. All the time in the world.	John knew the law. He knew that he should have chosen his power 13 years ago. He knew that, if anyone caught him, he would go to prison forever. However, he also knew what most people didn't. He knew that your power got stronger if you waited. The government didn't advertise this. Someone who chose their power at 30 could not be stopped. John stepped carefully out of the shadows and into the pouring and windy weather. It was 11:50. The dark storm clouds covered up all stars and the moon. Today was December 31st, meaning everybody would be choosing their powers. He watched a mere child zip by him, floating off the ground. The street light flickered on off. Another figure at the other end of the road was visible. A figure masked in shadows. John knew who that would be, he saw a new one every year. Suddenly, as midnight hit, red light bathed over everyone. This was the Scan, the massive event used to detect people who haven't chosen. The red light swarmed around the Waiter, the person John was watching. John kept staring, satisfied, knowing that only he knew how to escape the Scan. The Waiter was on the ground, begging the light, crying. The light wrapped around him and sank into the ground. John smiled and disappeared through a door. But the red light followed. John spun around as the light surrounded him, turning solid. John looked up at the sky. Now would have to do. "I, John Aberscote am ready to choose!" The light was wrapping over his head. He had only seconds left. "Give me the power to control all things! Give me the power to control atoms!" This would have killed anyone at the age of 15. Asking for a power like this would have been impossible to control. It would have ripped them apart from the inside. Even John had little chance of survival. 30 was the ideal age to call for the power over atoms. The red light surrounded John on all sides, tightening to his body shape. But, as soon as the light touched his skin it blew backward, ripping apart the walls. The ceiling collapsed inward. John was on the floor, shaking. His eyes opened, flashing different colors. The ceiling disappeared. John teleported down the road. He knew that the light would be trying to stop him almost every day. He knew that Catchers would be on his tail. But he also knew that they had no chance of getting him. He had survived the Change at 28 and was now the most powerful person in the world.
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"He's just a kid! He was a frightened little kid who only wanted to play around with kids his age. How can you not see that?" said councilor Tara. She was of the third generation of councilors and even though she was well liked and accepted by the elder council it seemed like she was alone here. "He had a responsibility, Councilor. He forsaked it to play around. He was a coward" stated Almako with no emotion whatsoever. "The council doesn't understand your passion. This is a black and white case. He was directly responsible for hundreds of years of misery for millions of kids who wanted the same" "That's not fair! We have no business burdening him with that blame!" "He had the power! He was to lead the world to safety!" "He was a kid! How could he have hoped to stop the war!" "He was the avatar!" Councillor Tara was struck dumb. What the fuck was that even supposed to mean? So what if he could bend all the elements? The elder council that eventually did save the world were mostly comprised of non-benders. Bending was handy but the world they had built worked just fine without it "So what?" She murmured, letting manic strings of electricity run along her fingers. "Did we, the adults of the council, really need an 12 year old to take care of us?"	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	I heard the rumours. Tales of long-lost shelters up high in the mountains. They were supposedly built a thousand years ago. Today, I left on a one-man expedition to find one. Society has redeveloped itself in the centuries after the environmental collapse. Only ten million people live on Earth nowadays. The other fifty million made the decision to seek fortune in the stars once the technology was ready for it. That happened twenty years back. I've almost arrived at my target location now. Better prepare for what lies ahead. After an hour of silent preparations and eating some roots, I went further. To my surprise, there was a large iron door blocking the way. Or what was left of it. Time had eaten away at it and left only half a door behind. I entered the complex when suddenly I heard a faint hiss. I hurried towards it, only to find a strange pod. The pod looked just as old as the rusted door outside. In the pod was a window that allowed someone from outside to look in and see what's inside. Unable to contain my curiosity, I peeked inside. The pod contained a rather old man with blonde hair that once was probably wavy, but now lay on his head like a dead poodle. At this point I noticed the label beside it. It read: "The GREATEST President of All Time, Donald Trump." Part 2 to follow.	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"Thank you for your sacrifice, Mr President. See you on the other side. Godspeed." That was the last thing I heard before they closed my pod and the sleep took me. What seemed like seconds passed and light appeared beyond my eyelids. A quiet hiss. I sensed that the pod was open again. I know what awaits me when I open my eyes: it'll be a goddamn media circus no doubt. Can't keep those hyenas away. Hm, very quiet for a press jam. Let's get this over with. I opened my eyes and steeled my jaw in a most presidential manner. What I saw unsteeled my jaw real quick. It looked like I was on a beach. White sand, turquoise clear water. Sat in front of me on what looked like a folding chair was an old man with a long beard dressed in nothing but a light blue robe. "Oh hey, sleeping beauty." "Er, hello?" "Man, this is great, the other guys didn't wake up at all! Ok, so hi, I'm Annie," he said, waving. "Hi, Annie," I managed, my head hurt. "Ok so let me fill you in a little bit." He eased out of his folding chair and took my hand like I was his goddamn girlfriend. I pulled away and he laughed, raising his hands in a half-surrender. "Sorry, I forgot you guys didn't do that. You were asleep a long time, my dude." He started walking, gesturing me to follow. I stared after him, utterly perplexed. I gingerly stepped out of my pod onto the sand. It was warm beneath my flight socks. I took them off. I looked up, he was a ways off, still talking as if I was next to him. I ran after him, shielding my eyes from the brilliant sunshine. "...so we'll have to decide what to do with you... You weren't listening were you?" He said, looking amused. "Sorry", I mumbled, the word sticking in my throat for some reason. "No worries. Anyway, I was saying you slept for nine hundred and twenty-four years, welcome back honey. So it turns out freezing you and the rest of the old leaders was actually the best thing ever, allowing us to heal the planet and build a society based on love rather than competition. I guess you could say that now, you're literally the worst person on the planet, no offense. So we'll have to decide what to do with you. You ok? You look a bit pale." "Nine hundred and..." I passed out.	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	No one really knows what happened when the environment took everything back. When the water took the coasts, the forests took the highlands, and the ground swallowed the cities. Even fewer really know how society collapsed, only to reform over the next couple hundreds of years even if it was never quite the same. We know what happened before though. How they ran the world into the ground, stole and used every resource they could get their hands on, and then turned it around on us; the true hardworking citizens. It was our fault that things had degraded to that extent and it was our fault that our land had nothing left to yield. They piggybacked off of our hard work and dedication to reap the benefits of our success and then threw us back into the fire when we had nothing left to offer. All they thought about was themselves. They consumed everything given to them and gave nothing in return. Yet it was our fault that our fellow man would die groveling at the feet of mother nature who had no compassion for their selfish ways. She was judge, jury, and executioner and we were all met with swift judgement. Most were killed in the first year of the war against the environment that we had now all but lost. But some lived. Some adapted to the new world they were living in and even fewer were born into it. Humanity had always had the innate ability to preserve themselves at whatever cost and it showed. Even though society developed itself back into a shadow of what it formerly was, it still had that ability to do so. Whatever the circumstances were, people survived and they always would. We're all the same. We're all survivors. Some had better luck than others. Some were smarter, more successful than others. Some were better leaders than others. But at its base, everyone is still the same thing: a product of survival. Regardless of what methods they use to get there or when. I was just another survivor like the rest of them. I took care of myself and gave myself the opportunities I needed to live. And that's all there was to it. "Marcus Brite and compatriots. You are charged with committing a most heinous crime. One that cannot be forgiven or repented for. Your actions directly resulted in the damnation of Humanity, at no expense to yourselves. Your deep pockets and positions saved you while you voluntarily allowed humankind to suffer. By the order of The Colony and the Royal Family, you are hereby sentenced to execution by firing squad. Have you any words before you are met with your fate?" I shook my head. Some of the men beside me were crying. Some were pleading. Some were praying. Industrial, scientific, and political leaders reduced to beggars. They carried guilt. For what, I never really knew. We had nothing to be guilty of. "Rifles at the ready!" Wooden rifles cocked and ready. Hundreds of years later and nothing has changed. Still blaming us for their shortsighted greed. Still blaming us for their consumption of everything we provided. Still blaming us for giving them the world only for it to be taken back. Still blaming us. "FIRE!" (My first writing prompt! not a writer by hobby or profession or anything but I always wanted to contribute to these!)	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"Ladies and Gentlemen" he stated very loud but it was barely audible over the noise of the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please, please be seated" he said even louder and there was one last slice of crowd noise then silence. "We will begin these proceedings." The lights went down and only the center tables were lit. This was the end. The final day was here and their fate would be decided. "They will be brief" "The 21" as they were being called were brought in and sat in 2 rows in front of the head table. There were actually 24 people in the group but all were from the 21st century. Most historians just refer to that period as 21. All of them were tried together and all of them were found not so much guilty as deplorable and morally unconscious. They were vermin stowaways on a planet they had forsaken. Most thought they should be executed but others felt they had enormous value as sources of lost information. "We are here today to judge these people." He began speaking over the 21 to the many gathered behind them, "We have heard about a great many things over the past days that may or may not be true. The circumstances of their decision to save themselves or their reasoning is not relevant. It was for us to determine that they are who we know them to be and that they sit before us today is all we need to know." He stopped and looked at the 21, up one row and down the other, "These are leaders? All of these people were chosen to lead and protect the people of the world. They were the chosen few. The best humanity had to offer and yet they all disappeared at our greatest hour of need." There was a murmur in the crowd as he turned his back and went back around the main table and sat. "We are here today to judge these people not in their world but in ours. Not for our world but for the people of their world they abandoned, for the ones who actually saved us from ourselves and for the ones who set us on the path we are on today." Looking up at the 21 with controlled anger he said, "Please stand." He looked down and back up, "Each of you chose your fate when you condemned everyone else to death and chose instead to sleep. How must it have been for all those who loved and cared for you to find you gone when they needed you the most? Your shame is yours to be sure but your fate is ours. You wanted to sleep through all the problems on Earth? So be it, you shall sleep."	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	The atmosphere in the room was tense. Locked in place in hover capsules that have all of their extremities securely restrained, dozens of leaders from centuries ago were staring at a holographic screen that displayed inside of their pods. With only security guards in the room with them. The same judge was in front of each one, an old man, older than any they ever remember seeing before, was speaking slowly and with great conviction. His power to direct the destinies of thousands of people felt through his tone. “They set us on course for total annihilation, while taking every preparation possible to ensure their own well-being, regardless of the disasters they might set in motion.” By now the anti-comatose serum had set in and they were all out of the dark daze they were stuck in for what seemed like only a minute, fully cognizant towards the gravity of the situation in front of them, and in total shock. Each one had their own memories beginning to flood in from their rusty subconscious, the bribes they had to give, the bribes they took, shady business dealings that led to extreme tensions, the final years where it built up without being addressed, and the last moments when mission “Last Resort” had to be put into effect, and the deaths necessary to ensure every single bridge was burned containing knowledge of their location. “But after the destruction was laid, and after the world was brought to it’s knees and covered in ash, soot, and rubble—we rose up. We joined forces in the most unprecedented level in the history of humanity, we conserved the culture of our entire species, and avoided the segregation that instilled so much horror in our past.” Flashbacks of manipulated propaganda machines ran through their minds, ruthless systems used to direct their agendas, instill societal division, and to fulfill their selfish purposes, neglecting the citizens they swore to defend and abide by. “We superseded them in no time, advanced past them soon after, and multiplied it numerous times until now. Oblivious towards even their existence, and stumbling onto it over sheer happenstance.” He took a heavy pause, wanting to make sure each word hit it’s mark. The audiences at home glued to his every word. “Never before had we considered the possibility of encountering the men and women that took the decision to decide our fates for us, and then abandoning ship when all hell broke loose, but here we are.” “And never before have I felt such a personal contempt towards this many individuals of the same accord. But laying that aside, and fulfilling my honorable duties, the punishment that these crimes lawfully deserve—considering the relative immediacy of their committing, will be a punishment that has been banned from our civilization for over a century, but one I have personally sentenced one other time.” “Death.. by SNU SNU”	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	“Good lord, well, what do you expect me to do of it?” This crude response was not Safya’s usual conditioning, but the circumstances afforded her the outburst. Her own ConSciOff informed her of relics nearly 300 years old. Living ones. “ConWom Safya, these... aren’t relics like we are used to.” “Obviously; they’re alive.” “No, besides that. During their time, which, by attire and identification we found to be around the early to mid 2000s, these men were... well, you’re going to have to see for yourself.” Safya paused, thought, and ended the call with no formal conclusion. She hated those. A utopian future, complete with bureaucracy. Still, her duty prevailed. She sighed, and pulled up the holographic display on her desk and began to read the files sent that morning. As she perused the new information, her heart fluttered. Skipped. Dropped. These relics were responsible for a vast amount of human suffering: propagandizing the public, hoarding wealth, environmental degradation, everything capable of forsaking the greater good. ugh i’m tired i’ll come back	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"How did we fail?" I thought, as I entered and exited cryo sleep. A blink, no sense of time passing, a mere wooziness simply passing over one's self, and the surroundings changed. I gasped, my lungs taking in the first oxygen in... I had no idea. The significant raise in my blood CO2 levels over my "nap" led to a seemingly instant shortness of breath. Combined with the sudden change in scenery, it was rather a strong shock, but only a momentary one. I reached around for the release, recalling my valet having shown me how to open my chamber what seemed moments ago. I grasped it, and feeling the stale air choke me, I pulled. --------- "Good morning," I greeted my surroundings, looking about for my employees, or rather their descendants. I'd left a rather hefty annuity for them, to be handed down until I was ready to awaken. My instructions were quite clear, I recalled. Once my investments had recovered to at least twenty thousand times the median income, I was to be awoken. I expected about 50 to 150 years, but certainly not more than 300. So, I was rather keen to know how long it had been, and what the economy had become. After all, I'd spent quite... a... "That's odd.." I mumbled, hearing a dinging sound behind me, as the sound of cryo gas hissing faded from my ears. Turning my neck, I... Oh, god, that's stiff. I turned, and saw the display on my changer blinking red under the grey dust. The grey dust that covered... Everything. Everything I looked at was covered in a grey dust, This room, it was noticably larger than the one I'd laid down in. It was reminiscent, though. Gold inlaid marble, scarlet draperies, it was familiar, but it was not my chambers. I stood, still cold from my slumber, and reached over to the display. Brushing off the layer of dust, I saw the reason for my awakening. ###`SYSTEM FAILURE` Ah. So it wasn't time to be awoken. I'd have to find a new valet to manage my respite. And find out why I had been moved into new quarters. Nice ones all the same, but not mine. Although, perhaps my investments were close enough to just resume my life. I had plenty of energy plants to manage, and they'd be better off with my skilled hand driving them to peak efficiency. A strange voice shouted from far away just then, and I saw someone simply stroll through a marble wall directly into this room. Then he said something, something that sounded like I should understand it, but I couldn't. > Everyœn, ẞtænd bæçk And he raised his hand, holding some sort of device, an- \* if anyone likes it, I'll keep writing more tomorrow.	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"I tried, I lead the charge. I had to eventually accept what had happened, that it was too late, and I did what anyone in my situation would have done." The business mogul of olden days; a modern caveman, giving his justifications to what to us, seemed like human sacrifice to appease a god of cash. "Our records showed you, personally, used a private jet to transport yourself, and solely yourself, maybe a few others on occasion, on an average of 700,000 miles in one year. Sometimes from one location in urban sprawl, to the other side of the city." The judge stated, the voice translating into the businessman's dialect, with only a few emotional tones lost. "I had to, I couldn't waste time in the fight! I was-" "You were special? Unique? Above everyone else, above all criticism due to your position?" "Well, it's not like I could have ridden in public, I would have been swamped." "I see. I can't say I expected anything more." The court silently glared. A glare of contempt. Life had changed; but the animal fury that resided in all of nature's subjects still resided within it's most adaptable, most 'sophisticated' monkey, thousands of years after they domesticated themselves. Each case went by like this. The judge and prosecutors did not have to press them hard; the records, and the defendants own statements, buried the ancient priests in their own sins. And soon, each relic of an age past, was sentenced to the same punishment. It was the same punishment that perhaps the earliest ape that could be called human gave out to it's own friends-turned-criminals: The punishment of exile. Death would not be given; the punished would approach death or strife by themselves. The punished walked, still dressed in the outfits they themselves picked out of a historical renactor's shop, into the wilds. They walked past all hints of human habitation, the glowing synthetic trees, until the algae-green buildings behind them faded from view. Within each mind, thoughts of mutant horrors rampaged; what lied in wait for them? What had decades of industrial waste done to the land, what malignant, gruesome adaptions did life invent? Day turned to night. Night turned to day. Stomachs grew empty. Paranoia grew. They soon found themselves on the coasts; beaches of water-worn, perfectly smooth seaglass and strangely colored sand. The caveman of the skies, from the first sentance, stopped to pick up a hand of the sand. He let it slide through his fingers as his companions searched the water for life, timidly and cautiously. "Have you guys noticed...not a speck of algae? Not a strand of seaweed? No tidepools." He tried his best to examine one grain specifically. It seemed at odds with what sand should be. "No signs of fish, or mammals, or anything. Not in the sea, not in the woods, not in the streams." The grain seemed plastic. That's what it was. "There is no horror waiting for us. No mutated, ultra-predator." The celebrities, the politicians, the business moguls, the preachers of gold, the wanna-be gods and goddesses of vanity and over-consumption, they all stared at the one pioneer in the sand. "I led innovation after innovation. Pioneered and championed whatever I could. I was a hero." "But I was still a man. And so was everyone else. We all were human." He stopped running his fingers through the sand. He sat, staring at the unfathomably beautiful skies- void of all light pollution. One leader waded out of the water. Softly, he spoke. "Tragedy of the Commons." "This, is what is left of the tragedy; the aftermath; the commons." &#x200B;	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	Society had fallen. Most of the records were lost of the times before the cataclysm. Coastal areas were devastated. The areas deserts covered expanded three fold. Storms scoured the land for years. Humanity did what it could to hold on then start to rebuild as the worst of the weather subsided. Generations had languished in the world to the point where all anyone knew was suffering and hardship. Expeditions were launched to former major urban centers to look for information to piece together what had happened. All anyone knew was rumor and story, no one knew the real truth for sure. Rumors swirled of a complex in the mountains that was still active but no one could enter. For the better part of ten years, teams tried to get access to the complex. Once they did, we learned what caused our world to be what it was but also troves of lost knowledge. More sites with information were discovered. Lost technology was remastered. There was so much information to sort through it would take another 20 years to sort through it all. A new society sprout of the rubble of the old world and the hard times. People swore never again and tried to make the world a better place. In that span of 20 years, things progressed quickly as information and resources were shared with the rest of the world. Things were better. Cities were being rebuilt, the wilds tamed and agriculture feed the starving. Then we found them. Another expedition to a location found in the first trove of information. It was a vast complex housing cryo-tubes of people from before the cataclysm. We figured out how to revive them. They were lauded as heroes and paraded through the streets. These people were a living link to our past. They told us they put themselves into cryosleep to help the future generations because they knew the end was coming and wanted to help. We elected them as leaders and soon things began to go down hill. Some researchers were digging through the files and found references to these men and women. What they had told us was partially true. They were frozen to help future generations, but they were also responsible for the cataclysm. Their inaction on issues was directly responsible for conditions deteriorating. As word spread, unrest grew. We had lived and fought for this new world. These people ran from their responsibilities and now were trying to tell us what do. It wasn't going to stand. Some were taken from their houses in the middle of the night and strung up outside their homes. The ones who survive the "Night of Old Days" were rounded up. We debated for weeks on what do with them. It was decided that we would revive an old tradition of a trial by jury. We put them all on trial for abdicating their responsibilities as leaders. All were found guilty. When the last was tried, we severed our ties to the past with their blood.	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	When you arrived at the excavation site you were really hoping it to be a career-defining moment. You knew these kind of discoveries are the ones that could earn you lifetime prestige in the archeology circles. Usually archeologists change the understanding of our past, to change the world of today was a whole other story. &#x200B; The capsule pods had information imprinted on them. They were in an old form of English, the formality and abundance of technical terms made it really difficult to decipher it. &#x200B; It took a team of historians, linguists and engineers to translate the totality of the information inscribed on the pods. The reality is that they were not meant to stay away all this long. The bunker and the energy system that kept the pods running malfunctioned and they had to stay in a state of low energy consumption. Basically, they were in a state of cryostasis indefinitely or until they ran of energy, but we arrived first. &#x200B; Carbon dating and historical footage confirmed the dating of the pods and the identity of the occupants. The elite of the 21st century, vulnerable and at the mercy of the same world and people they tried to escape from. &#x200B; Jails were not plenty but still necessary, a heated debate had taken place a few centuries back on the utility, morality and philosophy of prisons, but in that particular case, fear triumphed and prisons remained. Many were repurposed for lack of inmates as time went on however. &#x200B; "A trial is not necessary", proposed old Judge Manfredini, "there are enough historical records to send these criminals to the big house right now!". edit: added exclamation point &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"You were our leaders. Leaders of Government. Corporations. Military. Leaders in power, in wealth, in combat. You were supposed to lead. Be examples that we should aspire to. But the people grew tired of your corruption. Your greed. Your warmongering. So you were tricked into leaving of your own free will. We used your pride, your money and your arrogance. And while you slept, this is the world we created without you. Without your interference, without your personal ambition, without your lust for strength. We now live in a society that has no place for people like you. You were only woken up so we could deliver a message, and show you the world as you should have made it be. Your long sleep is over. Your permanent sleep is at hand."	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/u_anaptownlegend] [\[WP\] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_aNapTownLegend/comments/amy5dz/wp_the_worlds_most_powerful_leaders_enter/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	I heard the rumours. Tales of long-lost shelters up high in the mountains. They were supposedly built a thousand years ago. Today, I left on a one-man expedition to find one. Society has redeveloped itself in the centuries after the environmental collapse. Only ten million people live on Earth nowadays. The other fifty million made the decision to seek fortune in the stars once the technology was ready for it. That happened twenty years back. I've almost arrived at my target location now. Better prepare for what lies ahead. After an hour of silent preparations and eating some roots, I went further. To my surprise, there was a large iron door blocking the way. Or what was left of it. Time had eaten away at it and left only half a door behind. I entered the complex when suddenly I heard a faint hiss. I hurried towards it, only to find a strange pod. The pod looked just as old as the rusted door outside. In the pod was a window that allowed someone from outside to look in and see what's inside. Unable to contain my curiosity, I peeked inside. The pod contained a rather old man with blonde hair that once was probably wavy, but now lay on his head like a dead poodle. At this point I noticed the label beside it. It read: "The GREATEST President of All Time, Donald Trump." Part 2 to follow.	"He's just a kid! He was a frightened little kid who only wanted to play around with kids his age. How can you not see that?" said councilor Tara. She was of the third generation of councilors and even though she was well liked and accepted by the elder council it seemed like she was alone here. "He had a responsibility, Councilor. He forsaked it to play around. He was a coward" stated Almako with no emotion whatsoever. "The council doesn't understand your passion. This is a black and white case. He was directly responsible for hundreds of years of misery for millions of kids who wanted the same" "That's not fair! We have no business burdening him with that blame!" "He had the power! He was to lead the world to safety!" "He was a kid! How could he have hoped to stop the war!" "He was the avatar!" Councillor Tara was struck dumb. What the fuck was that even supposed to mean? So what if he could bend all the elements? The elder council that eventually did save the world were mostly comprised of non-benders. Bending was handy but the world they had built worked just fine without it "So what?" She murmured, letting manic strings of electricity run along her fingers. "Did we, the adults of the council, really need an 12 year old to take care of us?"
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	No one really knows what happened when the environment took everything back. When the water took the coasts, the forests took the highlands, and the ground swallowed the cities. Even fewer really know how society collapsed, only to reform over the next couple hundreds of years even if it was never quite the same. We know what happened before though. How they ran the world into the ground, stole and used every resource they could get their hands on, and then turned it around on us; the true hardworking citizens. It was our fault that things had degraded to that extent and it was our fault that our land had nothing left to yield. They piggybacked off of our hard work and dedication to reap the benefits of our success and then threw us back into the fire when we had nothing left to offer. All they thought about was themselves. They consumed everything given to them and gave nothing in return. Yet it was our fault that our fellow man would die groveling at the feet of mother nature who had no compassion for their selfish ways. She was judge, jury, and executioner and we were all met with swift judgement. Most were killed in the first year of the war against the environment that we had now all but lost. But some lived. Some adapted to the new world they were living in and even fewer were born into it. Humanity had always had the innate ability to preserve themselves at whatever cost and it showed. Even though society developed itself back into a shadow of what it formerly was, it still had that ability to do so. Whatever the circumstances were, people survived and they always would. We're all the same. We're all survivors. Some had better luck than others. Some were smarter, more successful than others. Some were better leaders than others. But at its base, everyone is still the same thing: a product of survival. Regardless of what methods they use to get there or when. I was just another survivor like the rest of them. I took care of myself and gave myself the opportunities I needed to live. And that's all there was to it. "Marcus Brite and compatriots. You are charged with committing a most heinous crime. One that cannot be forgiven or repented for. Your actions directly resulted in the damnation of Humanity, at no expense to yourselves. Your deep pockets and positions saved you while you voluntarily allowed humankind to suffer. By the order of The Colony and the Royal Family, you are hereby sentenced to execution by firing squad. Have you any words before you are met with your fate?" I shook my head. Some of the men beside me were crying. Some were pleading. Some were praying. Industrial, scientific, and political leaders reduced to beggars. They carried guilt. For what, I never really knew. We had nothing to be guilty of. "Rifles at the ready!" Wooden rifles cocked and ready. Hundreds of years later and nothing has changed. Still blaming us for their shortsighted greed. Still blaming us for their consumption of everything we provided. Still blaming us for giving them the world only for it to be taken back. Still blaming us. "FIRE!" (My first writing prompt! not a writer by hobby or profession or anything but I always wanted to contribute to these!)	"Thank you for your sacrifice, Mr President. See you on the other side. Godspeed." That was the last thing I heard before they closed my pod and the sleep took me. What seemed like seconds passed and light appeared beyond my eyelids. A quiet hiss. I sensed that the pod was open again. I know what awaits me when I open my eyes: it'll be a goddamn media circus no doubt. Can't keep those hyenas away. Hm, very quiet for a press jam. Let's get this over with. I opened my eyes and steeled my jaw in a most presidential manner. What I saw unsteeled my jaw real quick. It looked like I was on a beach. White sand, turquoise clear water. Sat in front of me on what looked like a folding chair was an old man with a long beard dressed in nothing but a light blue robe. "Oh hey, sleeping beauty." "Er, hello?" "Man, this is great, the other guys didn't wake up at all! Ok, so hi, I'm Annie," he said, waving. "Hi, Annie," I managed, my head hurt. "Ok so let me fill you in a little bit." He eased out of his folding chair and took my hand like I was his goddamn girlfriend. I pulled away and he laughed, raising his hands in a half-surrender. "Sorry, I forgot you guys didn't do that. You were asleep a long time, my dude." He started walking, gesturing me to follow. I stared after him, utterly perplexed. I gingerly stepped out of my pod onto the sand. It was warm beneath my flight socks. I took them off. I looked up, he was a ways off, still talking as if I was next to him. I ran after him, shielding my eyes from the brilliant sunshine. "...so we'll have to decide what to do with you... You weren't listening were you?" He said, looking amused. "Sorry", I mumbled, the word sticking in my throat for some reason. "No worries. Anyway, I was saying you slept for nine hundred and twenty-four years, welcome back honey. So it turns out freezing you and the rest of the old leaders was actually the best thing ever, allowing us to heal the planet and build a society based on love rather than competition. I guess you could say that now, you're literally the worst person on the planet, no offense. So we'll have to decide what to do with you. You ok? You look a bit pale." "Nine hundred and..." I passed out.
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"How did we fail?" I thought, as I entered and exited cryo sleep. A blink, no sense of time passing, a mere wooziness simply passing over one's self, and the surroundings changed. I gasped, my lungs taking in the first oxygen in... I had no idea. The significant raise in my blood CO2 levels over my "nap" led to a seemingly instant shortness of breath. Combined with the sudden change in scenery, it was rather a strong shock, but only a momentary one. I reached around for the release, recalling my valet having shown me how to open my chamber what seemed moments ago. I grasped it, and feeling the stale air choke me, I pulled. --------- "Good morning," I greeted my surroundings, looking about for my employees, or rather their descendants. I'd left a rather hefty annuity for them, to be handed down until I was ready to awaken. My instructions were quite clear, I recalled. Once my investments had recovered to at least twenty thousand times the median income, I was to be awoken. I expected about 50 to 150 years, but certainly not more than 300. So, I was rather keen to know how long it had been, and what the economy had become. After all, I'd spent quite... a... "That's odd.." I mumbled, hearing a dinging sound behind me, as the sound of cryo gas hissing faded from my ears. Turning my neck, I... Oh, god, that's stiff. I turned, and saw the display on my changer blinking red under the grey dust. The grey dust that covered... Everything. Everything I looked at was covered in a grey dust, This room, it was noticably larger than the one I'd laid down in. It was reminiscent, though. Gold inlaid marble, scarlet draperies, it was familiar, but it was not my chambers. I stood, still cold from my slumber, and reached over to the display. Brushing off the layer of dust, I saw the reason for my awakening. ###`SYSTEM FAILURE` Ah. So it wasn't time to be awoken. I'd have to find a new valet to manage my respite. And find out why I had been moved into new quarters. Nice ones all the same, but not mine. Although, perhaps my investments were close enough to just resume my life. I had plenty of energy plants to manage, and they'd be better off with my skilled hand driving them to peak efficiency. A strange voice shouted from far away just then, and I saw someone simply stroll through a marble wall directly into this room. Then he said something, something that sounded like I should understand it, but I couldn't. > Everyœn, ẞtænd bæçk And he raised his hand, holding some sort of device, an- \* if anyone likes it, I'll keep writing more tomorrow.	"Ladies and Gentlemen" he stated very loud but it was barely audible over the noise of the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please, please be seated" he said even louder and there was one last slice of crowd noise then silence. "We will begin these proceedings." The lights went down and only the center tables were lit. This was the end. The final day was here and their fate would be decided. "They will be brief" "The 21" as they were being called were brought in and sat in 2 rows in front of the head table. There were actually 24 people in the group but all were from the 21st century. Most historians just refer to that period as 21. All of them were tried together and all of them were found not so much guilty as deplorable and morally unconscious. They were vermin stowaways on a planet they had forsaken. Most thought they should be executed but others felt they had enormous value as sources of lost information. "We are here today to judge these people." He began speaking over the 21 to the many gathered behind them, "We have heard about a great many things over the past days that may or may not be true. The circumstances of their decision to save themselves or their reasoning is not relevant. It was for us to determine that they are who we know them to be and that they sit before us today is all we need to know." He stopped and looked at the 21, up one row and down the other, "These are leaders? All of these people were chosen to lead and protect the people of the world. They were the chosen few. The best humanity had to offer and yet they all disappeared at our greatest hour of need." There was a murmur in the crowd as he turned his back and went back around the main table and sat. "We are here today to judge these people not in their world but in ours. Not for our world but for the people of their world they abandoned, for the ones who actually saved us from ourselves and for the ones who set us on the path we are on today." Looking up at the 21 with controlled anger he said, "Please stand." He looked down and back up, "Each of you chose your fate when you condemned everyone else to death and chose instead to sleep. How must it have been for all those who loved and cared for you to find you gone when they needed you the most? Your shame is yours to be sure but your fate is ours. You wanted to sleep through all the problems on Earth? So be it, you shall sleep."
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"How did we fail?" I thought, as I entered and exited cryo sleep. A blink, no sense of time passing, a mere wooziness simply passing over one's self, and the surroundings changed. I gasped, my lungs taking in the first oxygen in... I had no idea. The significant raise in my blood CO2 levels over my "nap" led to a seemingly instant shortness of breath. Combined with the sudden change in scenery, it was rather a strong shock, but only a momentary one. I reached around for the release, recalling my valet having shown me how to open my chamber what seemed moments ago. I grasped it, and feeling the stale air choke me, I pulled. --------- "Good morning," I greeted my surroundings, looking about for my employees, or rather their descendants. I'd left a rather hefty annuity for them, to be handed down until I was ready to awaken. My instructions were quite clear, I recalled. Once my investments had recovered to at least twenty thousand times the median income, I was to be awoken. I expected about 50 to 150 years, but certainly not more than 300. So, I was rather keen to know how long it had been, and what the economy had become. After all, I'd spent quite... a... "That's odd.." I mumbled, hearing a dinging sound behind me, as the sound of cryo gas hissing faded from my ears. Turning my neck, I... Oh, god, that's stiff. I turned, and saw the display on my changer blinking red under the grey dust. The grey dust that covered... Everything. Everything I looked at was covered in a grey dust, This room, it was noticably larger than the one I'd laid down in. It was reminiscent, though. Gold inlaid marble, scarlet draperies, it was familiar, but it was not my chambers. I stood, still cold from my slumber, and reached over to the display. Brushing off the layer of dust, I saw the reason for my awakening. ###`SYSTEM FAILURE` Ah. So it wasn't time to be awoken. I'd have to find a new valet to manage my respite. And find out why I had been moved into new quarters. Nice ones all the same, but not mine. Although, perhaps my investments were close enough to just resume my life. I had plenty of energy plants to manage, and they'd be better off with my skilled hand driving them to peak efficiency. A strange voice shouted from far away just then, and I saw someone simply stroll through a marble wall directly into this room. Then he said something, something that sounded like I should understand it, but I couldn't. > Everyœn, ẞtænd bæçk And he raised his hand, holding some sort of device, an- \* if anyone likes it, I'll keep writing more tomorrow.	The atmosphere in the room was tense. Locked in place in hover capsules that have all of their extremities securely restrained, dozens of leaders from centuries ago were staring at a holographic screen that displayed inside of their pods. With only security guards in the room with them. The same judge was in front of each one, an old man, older than any they ever remember seeing before, was speaking slowly and with great conviction. His power to direct the destinies of thousands of people felt through his tone. “They set us on course for total annihilation, while taking every preparation possible to ensure their own well-being, regardless of the disasters they might set in motion.” By now the anti-comatose serum had set in and they were all out of the dark daze they were stuck in for what seemed like only a minute, fully cognizant towards the gravity of the situation in front of them, and in total shock. Each one had their own memories beginning to flood in from their rusty subconscious, the bribes they had to give, the bribes they took, shady business dealings that led to extreme tensions, the final years where it built up without being addressed, and the last moments when mission “Last Resort” had to be put into effect, and the deaths necessary to ensure every single bridge was burned containing knowledge of their location. “But after the destruction was laid, and after the world was brought to it’s knees and covered in ash, soot, and rubble—we rose up. We joined forces in the most unprecedented level in the history of humanity, we conserved the culture of our entire species, and avoided the segregation that instilled so much horror in our past.” Flashbacks of manipulated propaganda machines ran through their minds, ruthless systems used to direct their agendas, instill societal division, and to fulfill their selfish purposes, neglecting the citizens they swore to defend and abide by. “We superseded them in no time, advanced past them soon after, and multiplied it numerous times until now. Oblivious towards even their existence, and stumbling onto it over sheer happenstance.” He took a heavy pause, wanting to make sure each word hit it’s mark. The audiences at home glued to his every word. “Never before had we considered the possibility of encountering the men and women that took the decision to decide our fates for us, and then abandoning ship when all hell broke loose, but here we are.” “And never before have I felt such a personal contempt towards this many individuals of the same accord. But laying that aside, and fulfilling my honorable duties, the punishment that these crimes lawfully deserve—considering the relative immediacy of their committing, will be a punishment that has been banned from our civilization for over a century, but one I have personally sentenced one other time.” “Death.. by SNU SNU”
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"I tried, I lead the charge. I had to eventually accept what had happened, that it was too late, and I did what anyone in my situation would have done." The business mogul of olden days; a modern caveman, giving his justifications to what to us, seemed like human sacrifice to appease a god of cash. "Our records showed you, personally, used a private jet to transport yourself, and solely yourself, maybe a few others on occasion, on an average of 700,000 miles in one year. Sometimes from one location in urban sprawl, to the other side of the city." The judge stated, the voice translating into the businessman's dialect, with only a few emotional tones lost. "I had to, I couldn't waste time in the fight! I was-" "You were special? Unique? Above everyone else, above all criticism due to your position?" "Well, it's not like I could have ridden in public, I would have been swamped." "I see. I can't say I expected anything more." The court silently glared. A glare of contempt. Life had changed; but the animal fury that resided in all of nature's subjects still resided within it's most adaptable, most 'sophisticated' monkey, thousands of years after they domesticated themselves. Each case went by like this. The judge and prosecutors did not have to press them hard; the records, and the defendants own statements, buried the ancient priests in their own sins. And soon, each relic of an age past, was sentenced to the same punishment. It was the same punishment that perhaps the earliest ape that could be called human gave out to it's own friends-turned-criminals: The punishment of exile. Death would not be given; the punished would approach death or strife by themselves. The punished walked, still dressed in the outfits they themselves picked out of a historical renactor's shop, into the wilds. They walked past all hints of human habitation, the glowing synthetic trees, until the algae-green buildings behind them faded from view. Within each mind, thoughts of mutant horrors rampaged; what lied in wait for them? What had decades of industrial waste done to the land, what malignant, gruesome adaptions did life invent? Day turned to night. Night turned to day. Stomachs grew empty. Paranoia grew. They soon found themselves on the coasts; beaches of water-worn, perfectly smooth seaglass and strangely colored sand. The caveman of the skies, from the first sentance, stopped to pick up a hand of the sand. He let it slide through his fingers as his companions searched the water for life, timidly and cautiously. "Have you guys noticed...not a speck of algae? Not a strand of seaweed? No tidepools." He tried his best to examine one grain specifically. It seemed at odds with what sand should be. "No signs of fish, or mammals, or anything. Not in the sea, not in the woods, not in the streams." The grain seemed plastic. That's what it was. "There is no horror waiting for us. No mutated, ultra-predator." The celebrities, the politicians, the business moguls, the preachers of gold, the wanna-be gods and goddesses of vanity and over-consumption, they all stared at the one pioneer in the sand. "I led innovation after innovation. Pioneered and championed whatever I could. I was a hero." "But I was still a man. And so was everyone else. We all were human." He stopped running his fingers through the sand. He sat, staring at the unfathomably beautiful skies- void of all light pollution. One leader waded out of the water. Softly, he spoke. "Tragedy of the Commons." "This, is what is left of the tragedy; the aftermath; the commons." &#x200B;	The atmosphere in the room was tense. Locked in place in hover capsules that have all of their extremities securely restrained, dozens of leaders from centuries ago were staring at a holographic screen that displayed inside of their pods. With only security guards in the room with them. The same judge was in front of each one, an old man, older than any they ever remember seeing before, was speaking slowly and with great conviction. His power to direct the destinies of thousands of people felt through his tone. “They set us on course for total annihilation, while taking every preparation possible to ensure their own well-being, regardless of the disasters they might set in motion.” By now the anti-comatose serum had set in and they were all out of the dark daze they were stuck in for what seemed like only a minute, fully cognizant towards the gravity of the situation in front of them, and in total shock. Each one had their own memories beginning to flood in from their rusty subconscious, the bribes they had to give, the bribes they took, shady business dealings that led to extreme tensions, the final years where it built up without being addressed, and the last moments when mission “Last Resort” had to be put into effect, and the deaths necessary to ensure every single bridge was burned containing knowledge of their location. “But after the destruction was laid, and after the world was brought to it’s knees and covered in ash, soot, and rubble—we rose up. We joined forces in the most unprecedented level in the history of humanity, we conserved the culture of our entire species, and avoided the segregation that instilled so much horror in our past.” Flashbacks of manipulated propaganda machines ran through their minds, ruthless systems used to direct their agendas, instill societal division, and to fulfill their selfish purposes, neglecting the citizens they swore to defend and abide by. “We superseded them in no time, advanced past them soon after, and multiplied it numerous times until now. Oblivious towards even their existence, and stumbling onto it over sheer happenstance.” He took a heavy pause, wanting to make sure each word hit it’s mark. The audiences at home glued to his every word. “Never before had we considered the possibility of encountering the men and women that took the decision to decide our fates for us, and then abandoning ship when all hell broke loose, but here we are.” “And never before have I felt such a personal contempt towards this many individuals of the same accord. But laying that aside, and fulfilling my honorable duties, the punishment that these crimes lawfully deserve—considering the relative immediacy of their committing, will be a punishment that has been banned from our civilization for over a century, but one I have personally sentenced one other time.” “Death.. by SNU SNU”
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"How did we fail?" I thought, as I entered and exited cryo sleep. A blink, no sense of time passing, a mere wooziness simply passing over one's self, and the surroundings changed. I gasped, my lungs taking in the first oxygen in... I had no idea. The significant raise in my blood CO2 levels over my "nap" led to a seemingly instant shortness of breath. Combined with the sudden change in scenery, it was rather a strong shock, but only a momentary one. I reached around for the release, recalling my valet having shown me how to open my chamber what seemed moments ago. I grasped it, and feeling the stale air choke me, I pulled. --------- "Good morning," I greeted my surroundings, looking about for my employees, or rather their descendants. I'd left a rather hefty annuity for them, to be handed down until I was ready to awaken. My instructions were quite clear, I recalled. Once my investments had recovered to at least twenty thousand times the median income, I was to be awoken. I expected about 50 to 150 years, but certainly not more than 300. So, I was rather keen to know how long it had been, and what the economy had become. After all, I'd spent quite... a... "That's odd.." I mumbled, hearing a dinging sound behind me, as the sound of cryo gas hissing faded from my ears. Turning my neck, I... Oh, god, that's stiff. I turned, and saw the display on my changer blinking red under the grey dust. The grey dust that covered... Everything. Everything I looked at was covered in a grey dust, This room, it was noticably larger than the one I'd laid down in. It was reminiscent, though. Gold inlaid marble, scarlet draperies, it was familiar, but it was not my chambers. I stood, still cold from my slumber, and reached over to the display. Brushing off the layer of dust, I saw the reason for my awakening. ###`SYSTEM FAILURE` Ah. So it wasn't time to be awoken. I'd have to find a new valet to manage my respite. And find out why I had been moved into new quarters. Nice ones all the same, but not mine. Although, perhaps my investments were close enough to just resume my life. I had plenty of energy plants to manage, and they'd be better off with my skilled hand driving them to peak efficiency. A strange voice shouted from far away just then, and I saw someone simply stroll through a marble wall directly into this room. Then he said something, something that sounded like I should understand it, but I couldn't. > Everyœn, ẞtænd bæçk And he raised his hand, holding some sort of device, an- \* if anyone likes it, I'll keep writing more tomorrow.	“Good lord, well, what do you expect me to do of it?” This crude response was not Safya’s usual conditioning, but the circumstances afforded her the outburst. Her own ConSciOff informed her of relics nearly 300 years old. Living ones. “ConWom Safya, these... aren’t relics like we are used to.” “Obviously; they’re alive.” “No, besides that. During their time, which, by attire and identification we found to be around the early to mid 2000s, these men were... well, you’re going to have to see for yourself.” Safya paused, thought, and ended the call with no formal conclusion. She hated those. A utopian future, complete with bureaucracy. Still, her duty prevailed. She sighed, and pulled up the holographic display on her desk and began to read the files sent that morning. As she perused the new information, her heart fluttered. Skipped. Dropped. These relics were responsible for a vast amount of human suffering: propagandizing the public, hoarding wealth, environmental degradation, everything capable of forsaking the greater good. ugh i’m tired i’ll come back
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"I tried, I lead the charge. I had to eventually accept what had happened, that it was too late, and I did what anyone in my situation would have done." The business mogul of olden days; a modern caveman, giving his justifications to what to us, seemed like human sacrifice to appease a god of cash. "Our records showed you, personally, used a private jet to transport yourself, and solely yourself, maybe a few others on occasion, on an average of 700,000 miles in one year. Sometimes from one location in urban sprawl, to the other side of the city." The judge stated, the voice translating into the businessman's dialect, with only a few emotional tones lost. "I had to, I couldn't waste time in the fight! I was-" "You were special? Unique? Above everyone else, above all criticism due to your position?" "Well, it's not like I could have ridden in public, I would have been swamped." "I see. I can't say I expected anything more." The court silently glared. A glare of contempt. Life had changed; but the animal fury that resided in all of nature's subjects still resided within it's most adaptable, most 'sophisticated' monkey, thousands of years after they domesticated themselves. Each case went by like this. The judge and prosecutors did not have to press them hard; the records, and the defendants own statements, buried the ancient priests in their own sins. And soon, each relic of an age past, was sentenced to the same punishment. It was the same punishment that perhaps the earliest ape that could be called human gave out to it's own friends-turned-criminals: The punishment of exile. Death would not be given; the punished would approach death or strife by themselves. The punished walked, still dressed in the outfits they themselves picked out of a historical renactor's shop, into the wilds. They walked past all hints of human habitation, the glowing synthetic trees, until the algae-green buildings behind them faded from view. Within each mind, thoughts of mutant horrors rampaged; what lied in wait for them? What had decades of industrial waste done to the land, what malignant, gruesome adaptions did life invent? Day turned to night. Night turned to day. Stomachs grew empty. Paranoia grew. They soon found themselves on the coasts; beaches of water-worn, perfectly smooth seaglass and strangely colored sand. The caveman of the skies, from the first sentance, stopped to pick up a hand of the sand. He let it slide through his fingers as his companions searched the water for life, timidly and cautiously. "Have you guys noticed...not a speck of algae? Not a strand of seaweed? No tidepools." He tried his best to examine one grain specifically. It seemed at odds with what sand should be. "No signs of fish, or mammals, or anything. Not in the sea, not in the woods, not in the streams." The grain seemed plastic. That's what it was. "There is no horror waiting for us. No mutated, ultra-predator." The celebrities, the politicians, the business moguls, the preachers of gold, the wanna-be gods and goddesses of vanity and over-consumption, they all stared at the one pioneer in the sand. "I led innovation after innovation. Pioneered and championed whatever I could. I was a hero." "But I was still a man. And so was everyone else. We all were human." He stopped running his fingers through the sand. He sat, staring at the unfathomably beautiful skies- void of all light pollution. One leader waded out of the water. Softly, he spoke. "Tragedy of the Commons." "This, is what is left of the tragedy; the aftermath; the commons." &#x200B;	“Good lord, well, what do you expect me to do of it?” This crude response was not Safya’s usual conditioning, but the circumstances afforded her the outburst. Her own ConSciOff informed her of relics nearly 300 years old. Living ones. “ConWom Safya, these... aren’t relics like we are used to.” “Obviously; they’re alive.” “No, besides that. During their time, which, by attire and identification we found to be around the early to mid 2000s, these men were... well, you’re going to have to see for yourself.” Safya paused, thought, and ended the call with no formal conclusion. She hated those. A utopian future, complete with bureaucracy. Still, her duty prevailed. She sighed, and pulled up the holographic display on her desk and began to read the files sent that morning. As she perused the new information, her heart fluttered. Skipped. Dropped. These relics were responsible for a vast amount of human suffering: propagandizing the public, hoarding wealth, environmental degradation, everything capable of forsaking the greater good. ugh i’m tired i’ll come back
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	Society had fallen. Most of the records were lost of the times before the cataclysm. Coastal areas were devastated. The areas deserts covered expanded three fold. Storms scoured the land for years. Humanity did what it could to hold on then start to rebuild as the worst of the weather subsided. Generations had languished in the world to the point where all anyone knew was suffering and hardship. Expeditions were launched to former major urban centers to look for information to piece together what had happened. All anyone knew was rumor and story, no one knew the real truth for sure. Rumors swirled of a complex in the mountains that was still active but no one could enter. For the better part of ten years, teams tried to get access to the complex. Once they did, we learned what caused our world to be what it was but also troves of lost knowledge. More sites with information were discovered. Lost technology was remastered. There was so much information to sort through it would take another 20 years to sort through it all. A new society sprout of the rubble of the old world and the hard times. People swore never again and tried to make the world a better place. In that span of 20 years, things progressed quickly as information and resources were shared with the rest of the world. Things were better. Cities were being rebuilt, the wilds tamed and agriculture feed the starving. Then we found them. Another expedition to a location found in the first trove of information. It was a vast complex housing cryo-tubes of people from before the cataclysm. We figured out how to revive them. They were lauded as heroes and paraded through the streets. These people were a living link to our past. They told us they put themselves into cryosleep to help the future generations because they knew the end was coming and wanted to help. We elected them as leaders and soon things began to go down hill. Some researchers were digging through the files and found references to these men and women. What they had told us was partially true. They were frozen to help future generations, but they were also responsible for the cataclysm. Their inaction on issues was directly responsible for conditions deteriorating. As word spread, unrest grew. We had lived and fought for this new world. These people ran from their responsibilities and now were trying to tell us what do. It wasn't going to stand. Some were taken from their houses in the middle of the night and strung up outside their homes. The ones who survive the "Night of Old Days" were rounded up. We debated for weeks on what do with them. It was decided that we would revive an old tradition of a trial by jury. We put them all on trial for abdicating their responsibilities as leaders. All were found guilty. When the last was tried, we severed our ties to the past with their blood.	“Good lord, well, what do you expect me to do of it?” This crude response was not Safya’s usual conditioning, but the circumstances afforded her the outburst. Her own ConSciOff informed her of relics nearly 300 years old. Living ones. “ConWom Safya, these... aren’t relics like we are used to.” “Obviously; they’re alive.” “No, besides that. During their time, which, by attire and identification we found to be around the early to mid 2000s, these men were... well, you’re going to have to see for yourself.” Safya paused, thought, and ended the call with no formal conclusion. She hated those. A utopian future, complete with bureaucracy. Still, her duty prevailed. She sighed, and pulled up the holographic display on her desk and began to read the files sent that morning. As she perused the new information, her heart fluttered. Skipped. Dropped. These relics were responsible for a vast amount of human suffering: propagandizing the public, hoarding wealth, environmental degradation, everything capable of forsaking the greater good. ugh i’m tired i’ll come back
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	Society had fallen. Most of the records were lost of the times before the cataclysm. Coastal areas were devastated. The areas deserts covered expanded three fold. Storms scoured the land for years. Humanity did what it could to hold on then start to rebuild as the worst of the weather subsided. Generations had languished in the world to the point where all anyone knew was suffering and hardship. Expeditions were launched to former major urban centers to look for information to piece together what had happened. All anyone knew was rumor and story, no one knew the real truth for sure. Rumors swirled of a complex in the mountains that was still active but no one could enter. For the better part of ten years, teams tried to get access to the complex. Once they did, we learned what caused our world to be what it was but also troves of lost knowledge. More sites with information were discovered. Lost technology was remastered. There was so much information to sort through it would take another 20 years to sort through it all. A new society sprout of the rubble of the old world and the hard times. People swore never again and tried to make the world a better place. In that span of 20 years, things progressed quickly as information and resources were shared with the rest of the world. Things were better. Cities were being rebuilt, the wilds tamed and agriculture feed the starving. Then we found them. Another expedition to a location found in the first trove of information. It was a vast complex housing cryo-tubes of people from before the cataclysm. We figured out how to revive them. They were lauded as heroes and paraded through the streets. These people were a living link to our past. They told us they put themselves into cryosleep to help the future generations because they knew the end was coming and wanted to help. We elected them as leaders and soon things began to go down hill. Some researchers were digging through the files and found references to these men and women. What they had told us was partially true. They were frozen to help future generations, but they were also responsible for the cataclysm. Their inaction on issues was directly responsible for conditions deteriorating. As word spread, unrest grew. We had lived and fought for this new world. These people ran from their responsibilities and now were trying to tell us what do. It wasn't going to stand. Some were taken from their houses in the middle of the night and strung up outside their homes. The ones who survive the "Night of Old Days" were rounded up. We debated for weeks on what do with them. It was decided that we would revive an old tradition of a trial by jury. We put them all on trial for abdicating their responsibilities as leaders. All were found guilty. When the last was tried, we severed our ties to the past with their blood.	They slept, we fought. We all fucking fought! It’s been 300 years since the environment turned on us in this world, couldn’t really blame her either, I mean what we did for hundreds of years taking and poisoning this illustrious paradise into a wasteland. I’ve always wondered why. I read the diaries and entries from different families I’ve come across from the past few centuries, all point to money and power. What a funny bunch of commodities. There were wars and power grabs at first, none of them lasted long people were fed up at a bunch of bumbling idiots telling them how to live what to believe blah blah blah. What really took the cake though, oh what a scene it was, when all the diseases came back, the plagues the inevitable droughts the starvation the storms that followed caused by all the taking and polluting. We were the virus, the plague, that was being corrected by the host! Humankind started to “bounce back” as you would say, although it took about a hundred years and over three quarters of the population was eradicated. When they knew it was safe to come out that the extreme weather and freak storms no longer posed a threat and started subsiding in size and power. Everyone knew what had to be done to make it last forever as you may say. Society no longer wanted to be governed, currencies no longer needed, fuel and food sources are what the planet generated for us for free, fuck what a thought. Free! Everyone contributes something now a days no charge, there is no need for it. Some say it’s a “utopia”. We’re far from it, we are human after all. We still have drives and desires that turn us wild and rabid like a hog but even then we know what we must not ever do again. People like you all are what destroyed the world you once knew, we will not let you roam this world, we will not let your voices be heard, we will not let your influences be entertained. No no no you will die as you should have died centuries ago.
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	When you arrived at the excavation site you were really hoping it to be a career-defining moment. You knew these kind of discoveries are the ones that could earn you lifetime prestige in the archeology circles. Usually archeologists change the understanding of our past, to change the world of today was a whole other story. &#x200B; The capsule pods had information imprinted on them. They were in an old form of English, the formality and abundance of technical terms made it really difficult to decipher it. &#x200B; It took a team of historians, linguists and engineers to translate the totality of the information inscribed on the pods. The reality is that they were not meant to stay away all this long. The bunker and the energy system that kept the pods running malfunctioned and they had to stay in a state of low energy consumption. Basically, they were in a state of cryostasis indefinitely or until they ran of energy, but we arrived first. &#x200B; Carbon dating and historical footage confirmed the dating of the pods and the identity of the occupants. The elite of the 21st century, vulnerable and at the mercy of the same world and people they tried to escape from. &#x200B; Jails were not plenty but still necessary, a heated debate had taken place a few centuries back on the utility, morality and philosophy of prisons, but in that particular case, fear triumphed and prisons remained. Many were repurposed for lack of inmates as time went on however. &#x200B; "A trial is not necessary", proposed old Judge Manfredini, "there are enough historical records to send these criminals to the big house right now!". edit: added exclamation point &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;	They slept, we fought. We all fucking fought! It’s been 300 years since the environment turned on us in this world, couldn’t really blame her either, I mean what we did for hundreds of years taking and poisoning this illustrious paradise into a wasteland. I’ve always wondered why. I read the diaries and entries from different families I’ve come across from the past few centuries, all point to money and power. What a funny bunch of commodities. There were wars and power grabs at first, none of them lasted long people were fed up at a bunch of bumbling idiots telling them how to live what to believe blah blah blah. What really took the cake though, oh what a scene it was, when all the diseases came back, the plagues the inevitable droughts the starvation the storms that followed caused by all the taking and polluting. We were the virus, the plague, that was being corrected by the host! Humankind started to “bounce back” as you would say, although it took about a hundred years and over three quarters of the population was eradicated. When they knew it was safe to come out that the extreme weather and freak storms no longer posed a threat and started subsiding in size and power. Everyone knew what had to be done to make it last forever as you may say. Society no longer wanted to be governed, currencies no longer needed, fuel and food sources are what the planet generated for us for free, fuck what a thought. Free! Everyone contributes something now a days no charge, there is no need for it. Some say it’s a “utopia”. We’re far from it, we are human after all. We still have drives and desires that turn us wild and rabid like a hog but even then we know what we must not ever do again. People like you all are what destroyed the world you once knew, we will not let you roam this world, we will not let your voices be heard, we will not let your influences be entertained. No no no you will die as you should have died centuries ago.
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"You were our leaders. Leaders of Government. Corporations. Military. Leaders in power, in wealth, in combat. You were supposed to lead. Be examples that we should aspire to. But the people grew tired of your corruption. Your greed. Your warmongering. So you were tricked into leaving of your own free will. We used your pride, your money and your arrogance. And while you slept, this is the world we created without you. Without your interference, without your personal ambition, without your lust for strength. We now live in a society that has no place for people like you. You were only woken up so we could deliver a message, and show you the world as you should have made it be. Your long sleep is over. Your permanent sleep is at hand."	They slept, we fought. We all fucking fought! It’s been 300 years since the environment turned on us in this world, couldn’t really blame her either, I mean what we did for hundreds of years taking and poisoning this illustrious paradise into a wasteland. I’ve always wondered why. I read the diaries and entries from different families I’ve come across from the past few centuries, all point to money and power. What a funny bunch of commodities. There were wars and power grabs at first, none of them lasted long people were fed up at a bunch of bumbling idiots telling them how to live what to believe blah blah blah. What really took the cake though, oh what a scene it was, when all the diseases came back, the plagues the inevitable droughts the starvation the storms that followed caused by all the taking and polluting. We were the virus, the plague, that was being corrected by the host! Humankind started to “bounce back” as you would say, although it took about a hundred years and over three quarters of the population was eradicated. When they knew it was safe to come out that the extreme weather and freak storms no longer posed a threat and started subsiding in size and power. Everyone knew what had to be done to make it last forever as you may say. Society no longer wanted to be governed, currencies no longer needed, fuel and food sources are what the planet generated for us for free, fuck what a thought. Free! Everyone contributes something now a days no charge, there is no need for it. Some say it’s a “utopia”. We’re far from it, we are human after all. We still have drives and desires that turn us wild and rabid like a hog but even then we know what we must not ever do again. People like you all are what destroyed the world you once knew, we will not let you roam this world, we will not let your voices be heard, we will not let your influences be entertained. No no no you will die as you should have died centuries ago.
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".	"You were our leaders. Leaders of Government. Corporations. Military. Leaders in power, in wealth, in combat. You were supposed to lead. Be examples that we should aspire to. But the people grew tired of your corruption. Your greed. Your warmongering. So you were tricked into leaving of your own free will. We used your pride, your money and your arrogance. And while you slept, this is the world we created without you. Without your interference, without your personal ambition, without your lust for strength. We now live in a society that has no place for people like you. You were only woken up so we could deliver a message, and show you the world as you should have made it be. Your long sleep is over. Your permanent sleep is at hand."	When you arrived at the excavation site you were really hoping it to be a career-defining moment. You knew these kind of discoveries are the ones that could earn you lifetime prestige in the archeology circles. Usually archeologists change the understanding of our past, to change the world of today was a whole other story. &#x200B; The capsule pods had information imprinted on them. They were in an old form of English, the formality and abundance of technical terms made it really difficult to decipher it. &#x200B; It took a team of historians, linguists and engineers to translate the totality of the information inscribed on the pods. The reality is that they were not meant to stay away all this long. The bunker and the energy system that kept the pods running malfunctioned and they had to stay in a state of low energy consumption. Basically, they were in a state of cryostasis indefinitely or until they ran of energy, but we arrived first. &#x200B; Carbon dating and historical footage confirmed the dating of the pods and the identity of the occupants. The elite of the 21st century, vulnerable and at the mercy of the same world and people they tried to escape from. &#x200B; Jails were not plenty but still necessary, a heated debate had taken place a few centuries back on the utility, morality and philosophy of prisons, but in that particular case, fear triumphed and prisons remained. Many were repurposed for lack of inmates as time went on however. &#x200B; "A trial is not necessary", proposed old Judge Manfredini, "there are enough historical records to send these criminals to the big house right now!". edit: added exclamation point &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
[WP] There’s a saying that you need to get rid of your demons that you have sinned throughout your life. Stealing, lying, killing ect. What people don’t know is that when you die you fight your demons in battle that you have not atoned for before you can enter heaven. You are a dead criminal.	“John Rourke, you have been found guilty on three counts of murder in the first degree, racketeering, six counts of grievous bodily harm and following the statutes of our fine state, you are sentenced to death by lethal injection. Do you have any last words.” John looked up from the table, squinting through to the viewing booth where the governor in his too cheap suit hovered his hand over the button. “Get it right the first time Governor, or I’m going to rip myself off this table, smash through that pane of glass and dig my thumbs into you-“ “Proceed” John strained upwards again the table as the whirring of the auto-injectors motor built up. “How about you Rick? H Block told me about your daughter. Better keep her safe or I’ll be visiting her on the other side” Rick looked at him from the corner of the room, and John felt that warm black glow in his heart as he saw Ricks hand tighten into a fist around his riot stick. John tried to smile, but the sharp pinch a second ago was quickly being followed by an alarming numbness spreading through to his cheeks and lips. “Thaaaas righ…erey fu…in one o’ ya…” John tried to fight against the feeling of falling down into himself, but it was like the vacuum behind his eyes, dragging him down and down and down. Even his thought’s were becoming loose, like the seconds between being completely awake and completely asleep. Fine, not thoughts, something simple. He reached for the anger, the warm black glow, and found it dimmed but willing. The world was growing dim around the edges, and John tried to snarl. Drool dripped down his cheek instead. Last thing he’d ever see would be shitty cracked fibre tile ceiling. Figures. \- “JOHN ROURKE” John leapt up from the table. Wait, not a table. The smell of disinfectant and fear was gone as well. Replaced with a dry emptiness that already ticked at his throat. John blinked and rubbed his eyes with one arm of his orange jumpsuit. His eyes were slow to pull into focus, but in his heart he felt the soaring roar of exultation. He wasn’t dead, he could feel his heartbeat, the callouses on his hands, the scars on his back aching softly. “JOHN ROURKE, SINNER, CRIMINAL, YOU HAVE REJECTED YOUR FATHER” It was a wide flat plateau, made of deep red rock. On all sides it stretched out without obstacle or end, fading into a horizon of brown and crimson clouds. John looked down at his shadow beneath him, and smiled. “JOHN ROURKE YOU SHALL NOT KEEP YOUR BACK TO ME” The voice was coming from behind him. So loud he could feel the words in his ribs. One of his ears was bleeding, but the pain was small, tiny compared to the soaring in his heart. John turned around. One side of the plateau had a tall flat mound around a hundred feet away, with a flat summit upon which a figure stood. He couldn’t make out anything beyond the silhouette, the light behind it so piercingly bright he had to look down at his feet. Drool dripped onto his plimsoll, and John wiped his lips again. The drugs were still in his system, but burning off. Burning off fast. “JOHN ROURKE YOU ARE TO FACE JUDGEMENT FOR YOUR SINS” John felt his smile grow wider. Figures. The game after life was as rigged as the one during life. Always someone from on high telling him which pile of shit he’d have to feed himself from. “YOU HAVE LEAD A BLACK LIFE. YOU HAVE KILLED, LIED, BEATEN AND BROKE YOUR FELLOW MAN” And he’d loved it. Every second of it, even when he’d lost people he’d loved in pursuit of it. His dad has said he’d come out of the womb so ready to kill he’d taken his mother just to get a head start. Usually just before the tinkling of a belt buckle being undone. “YOU SHALL FACE YOUR SINS. YOU SHALL SUFFER AS YOU HAVE MADE OTHERS SUFFER.” Other figures, silhouetted by that same light on the mound. 5 of them. All shapes and sizes, tall, short, wide and thin. But he could see claws, a barbed tail, hair that writhed and snapped by itself. John recognised birds of his feather. He knew how they were feeling right now. That rock hard pleasure of facing a fight that was completely in your favour. Knowing you can take your time, draw it out. Try new things. They would be smiling wide, just like him. “THIS IS THE CONSEQUENCE OF YOUR CHOICES. YOU ARE THE ARCHITECT OF YOUR OWN DAMNATION” The five figures leapt off the mound, landing with thuds John felt in his heels. He bent down and picked up a small rock the colour of bone. Slightly smaller then his clenched fist. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He could hear them, talking, and what could only be laughter. A sickly burbling noise like syrup dripping onto metal. “Well Rourke…it finally happened. Finally met the bigger fish.” John spoke to himself. Final words, only for him. Better words, no need to pretend. He kept his eyes on the ground. They were walking towards him. Slowly. Shit, he wouldn’t be surprised if they swaggered. “YOU WILL SUFFER AS YOU HAVE NEVER KNOWN BEFORE” Sure, that’s what they all said. John tightened his fist around the rock. He was doomed. Dammed. Lost. Even he had been to enough Sunday school to recognise the signs. Everything was over. But yet..John thought back. To the bloody bar fights, to the back alley deals. To the screaming pain of a knife plunging just left of his spine. His smile grew. Defeat could carry a heart of victory, if you chose how to take it. He was lost in the oceans of the divine, a world of cosmic power. They would see him drowned in it. They were close now. Forming a circle. John reached for that black feeling. That guiding force which has pulled him off a thousand floors, which had kept him alive in a quack surgeons waiting room. Which had brought him to a high rise in a thunder storm to throw blasphemies at god. If he was to drown, he would do it in their blood. “BEGIN”	I wake up in pure darkness. I scream, whimper, and cry. There is no response. All alone in the dark void. A speck starts moving slowly in the distance. I focus on that speck. That speck becomes my whole reality. Is it a planet? Is it a life? I don’t know, but it is all I have. The speck moves from right to left. Or left to right. The concept of orientation does not hold here. The speck keeps moving. I call to the speck. The speck ignores me and keeps moving along. It splits into two specks that begin moving in opposite directions until the reach a set point again. Those specks split. Before my eyes, they become a line. That expands. I have no concept of how long I have been here, but the line as my undivided attention. All of the sudden, I feel a tug towards it. It pulls me and I cannot resist. I fly accelerating until I feel my body stretch into a line of equal length to the line. I reach the line and stop. The line transforms into a circle. Inside the circle, I see a family crying. I have never met the family before. The house they are in is empty. I watch this moment. It never changes. The children never age. Their positions never shift. I just watch their tears. I look at the window and recognize the house. Then, I realize how I know this family and why the house is empty. I reach out to try to comfort them and apologize, but when my hand touches the circle, I am flung across the void until I see a similar line in the distance. When I reach this line, I stop as it transforms into a circle. In this portal, I see my ex-husband in the car driving from my house. I remember this moment well. He was everything in my life yet I treated him so poorly. I didn’t know what I had until he left me. My life was never the same since then. I went down a dark path. I wish I could be in the car with him. I am flung towards a different line waiting in dread to see what it holds. The circle reveals a woman getting yelled at by her manager. The woman is wearing a gas station uniform. I remember that I used to steal from gas stations frequently. Walk in grab a bite and ran that was my way. I never stayed to see the employees faces. My assumption was that they were angry, but I never saw it. I am flung again towards the biggest line. The circle opens to reveal my mother looking at pictures of us. Oh mother, I should have never left you. She holds a picture of us at my tenth birthday. It was princess themed like most ten year old girls. A single tear maintains holds steady on her eye. I knew I should’ve called her to apologize. The circle closes, and I am suspended in the void again alone except worse. Now, I understand how awful I was. If I at least been good, I could float in eternity with comfortable memories, and the circles would reveal high points. Instead, I am stuck here wishing I could change it. The tears begin to form on my face. Not for me, but for the people I hurt. I claw at my own legs as I curse myself for damning me into this punishment. I cry out in pain and suffering, but no one can hear me. I stop crying, and start hoping a new circle will appear, one that will allow me to apologize. Maybe that is what happens when ghost come to earth. They are supposed to be spirits with unfinished business. Well, I have a lot of unfinished business. I wait and wait for an eternity for a new circle but no more come. If this is my eternity, so be it. I cannot change the past. I cannot change the fact that I have these memories. I can try to change my feelings towards this punishment. I hope that family, my ex, those employees, and my mother are in better places. The speck comes back. I have never felt more joy before. Except more specks and lines form more rapidly until I am surrounded by white lines. The lines begin to move to above my head. The lines merge forming a funnel. I smile as the light shines on me. I feel a tug towards the funnel, and I embrace the light as I head towards the hole.
[WP] You are suddenly informed that killing the worst person on the planet will result in all evil vanishing for good. After killing thousands, you begin to wonder who exactly this person could be...	In a town surrounded by sand and bathing in the scorching light of the sun, the voice of an angel was heard, like music to the ears and honey for the tongue. It was a voice filled with love, sorrow, and pain. In that place far forgotten by the modern world, all of the 3711 citizens heard the sweet voice of the angel at the same time, the elderly, the young, even the children. The voice spoke of sacrifice and salvation. It said that the source of all the evils in this world lay among them, dormant. And that if they didn't do something soon the world would be destroyed. "But wan can we do?" "What are we supposed to do?" "How can we find it?" The voices of the despairing villagers overlapped, to which the Angel only smiled, like a mother tending to her children. "Just chose a savior," she said "someone to carry the burden, someone to become that evil" "Must we kill them?" their voices overlapped once more. "No," the Angel said, "that person will become a vessel, that person will hold all of your evil onto them and once it's completely filled and about to burst-" "that is the moment they will be executed" In this far away village a strange ritual took place, the ritual to choose the savior of the world in a place that was forgotten by the world. The carrier of all evil had to be someone young and with fair skin, either male or female would do just fine. the most important conditions were that it had to be someone healthy and devoted to the Angel. Such standards were hard to find in a place so desolated and inhospitable, but among all of the people, among the elderly, the children and the young. one man stood out. One with fair skin, healthy and devoted to the goddess. A man of family and future. But one that put the needs of others above his own. and for that, the man felt proud in his heart. The man had no name, the Angel made it so. for now on he was to become the vessel - the savior of all humanity - He was locked up in a shed in the center of the village, he was deprived of all his clothes, all his belongings, his family; His past, his present, his future, all was taken by the angel. Everything that made him himself was gone. In that shed, he would spend the rest of his life being 'filled up' with every sin imaginable. It was a ritual that every person in the village had to take part in. The elderly, the young, the children. every single villager took a tool and carved on the skin of the man every sin they had committed and would soon commit. The man's entire body was dyed in crimson from morning till dawn. He felt pain, a great pain that he could have never imagined, but all that pain was nothing compared to his mission. this was his duty, he had to be the sacrifice. all was for humanity. He knew that this way his village will be saved for eternity. The ritual progressed over the years, the screams of the no-name savior filled the village every day, every month, every year. Until one day it completely stopped, as if a light wind had taken the life of a small flame. The man lay there in the darkness of the shed, unmoving, but undoubtedly breathing still. "ah...ah...ahhh" His voice wouldn't come out, it was something that the Angel had taken as well over the years. In the darkness, he looked at the direction he assumed was the entrance of the shed. For how long? he did not know, could have been years for all he knew. the only thing of importance was that one came to perform the ritual. Soon the door of the shed opened, a small sense of relief ran across the man's entire body just like the light of the outside world. But that feeling quickly disappeared. the man beyond the door was unrecognizable to him, he wore strange clothing that didn't register in his mind at first. But one thing was for certain, this person was not from his village. the stranger carried the no-name Savior out of the shed with a slight gentleness, almost as if he was a baby. he left the shed that had been his home for many years and entered the world once more like a newborn. Everyone in the village was killed, the elderly, the young, the children, all of them crucified, their rotting bodies being scorched by the sun. "ah....ahhhh....!!!" his voice wouldn't come out, only a wild growl. Thousands were dead and there was nothing he could have done. This was no salvation. "...It's you, isn't?" The 'savior' fell to the ground, his scars, the 'carving' the village had made were burning, but not because of the sun. he felt something he thought he had long forgotten, pain deep within his very self. this man was responsible for this He heard it behind him, the sound of death approaching him, but it felt wrong "The worst person in this world, the carrier of all evils." The stranger's voice felt far away, but his words felt oddly familiar. "I will end your life here," he said, "in the name of the Angel, as the savior of humanity!" *** any advice and/or critique you can give me is greatly appreciated :)	Theo raised the ax once more and brought it down on the man’s head with a sickening thud. All life ceased to exist in the body, except for a meager twitch of the leg, as the muscles responded to the left over signals from what used to be a brain. In life, the man had been a terror. He had beaten his wife, molested three children, killed animals in front of them so they kept their silence, and had intimidated, stolen from, and ruined the lives of people beyond count. Still, Theo felt no change. An angel had appeared over the Earth and proclaimed that if the most evil person were killed, there would be everlasting peace. Theo had jumped at the chance to right the world. He had always been a staunch believer in his faith. He attended church every Sunday with his family, donated to their bake sales, prayed over sick children. He made sure that his children were raised the right way, never knowing what it was to have a homosexual thought, or to go against the teachings of their lord and savior. He obeyed without question, banishing sinful books and music from his home. He called no one friend that did not believe in the same Savior that he subscribed to. They were heathens, unworthy of his affection. He lay down his ax and held his head in his hands. “Why, Lord? Who can be more evil than these men!?” He wept openly, trying to understand where he had failed. He had killed thousands at the command of his God, and still there was evil in the world. He had gone on a one man crusade against everyone and everything wicked, and it seemed to be all for naught. He picked up his ax and found his face reflected in the blade. His red-rimmed eyes and careworn expression were speckled with the blood of the dead man. Suddenly, he remembered Sunday school as a child. The school teacher had broken up a fight between he and another little boy over a toy. She sat them both down, and in her grandmotherly wisdom, had told them that Jesus had said “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” Love thy neighbor as thyself. Theo thought about the homosexuals, and the Muslims, and the scores of other people he had killed. He thought he had been right. He was sure of it, proud of it. He thought of the sadness on his son’s face as he snapped his Ghost cd in two, and the shame on his daughter’s face when he denounced her as a whore for wearing short shorts. He thought of how his son had become more secretive, and how his daughter had to be punished further for sneaking out of the house. He reached down to his belt and removed his sidearm. He put the cold metal barrel in his mouth.
[WP] You are suddenly informed that killing the worst person on the planet will result in all evil vanishing for good. After killing thousands, you begin to wonder who exactly this person could be...	Standing over his latest victim, Phineas Fletch knew he had failed yet again. This man, who had beat his wife and children, who defrauded the elderly for fun and who had worked as a higher-up at comcast ever since leaving his executive position at Enron, was not the worst person on the planet. Phineas knew because he could still feel evil around him. It had not been expunged from the world. Which meant Phineas wasn't done yet. Something had been troubling him since the beginning. Every time he had to kill for this mission, no matter how bad the victims had been, he still lost a bit of his humanity. At first, each killing had been an unbearable pain for Phineas, a torment on his conscience that he had justified only by thinking, over and over, of the mission. Everything for the mission. Now he was numb to it. That must mean he was pretty bad. He had killed thousands. Maybe he was actually the worst person in the world. Oh, the irony. Phineas picked up his shotgun, rotated it, and stuck it in his mouth. Fitting, he thought. My conception was the cause for my parent's shotgun wedding, after all. As he prepared to pull the trigger, something suddenly occured to him, for the first time ever. He was doing this all wrong. He wasn't the worst person, and he knew who was. Pulling the shotgun out of his mouth and turning it so he held it once again in his arms, Phineas turned and faced the reader for the very first time. Staring at you through the arial text running like bars across your white-blue display, staring at you with piercing green eyes only a foot away from your face, Phineas makes a striking impression on you. He's very attractive, standing so close, separated only by a layer of abstraction, alluring in the way the best villains are. His features are at once beautiful and arbitrary, as if carelessly thrown on. He points a shotgun at you and smiles a smile you can't read. What is he thinking? Does he think? You've watched him kill thousands. Or have you? How long has this story been, exactly? And who are you going to believe, when push comes to shove: your own memory, or what I tell you, or what he tells you? "you're the worst person," says Phineas. "You've been here this entire time, watching over my shoulder, through your little voyeuristic window. You don't think I don't know you're there? I try to pretend not to. But you've been watching me do this, watching the toll it took on me, and enjoying it. You laughed at violence, real, hard violence. Really terrible stuff. And you laughed. I saw you jerking off while I had sex, and believe me I know you're there every time I take a shower, every time I take a shit. When I almost choke on my food, eating in my kitchen alone, because I live alone, because my life involves killing people , you just sit and stare and watch me choke. And when I was about to shoot myself in the head, I heard you say, 'I knew it.' I'm done. You think you can FUCKING read my life? " Phineas crawled out of the story and shot you, the reader, twice in the chest with a shotgun. I, the writer, stayed in the story. And you know what? Without you, evil was cured from the world. But don't beat yourself up too much. After all: 1. You're dead. 2. I'm the writer, and I can make up whatever shit I want. It's my story. And you were the worst character.	My hands are red with blood, my eyes are almost shut, forever they forever lost colour. Ever since I took the path of vigilancy, I've been tracking and hunting down every criminal in every corner, in every block, in every street. Before I knew it, I've already took down a criminal organization but I did not stop, I couldn't stop, after all its my mission, although Im no hero, its my duty to fulfil the prophecy and to defeat the source of all evil, the final villain, the evil. Ever since I started hunting the evil, years went by, and honestly I've grown tired. Ive started to loose faith, maybe the human race is just ment to be evil, maybe evil is just human nature .... but I can't give up, not now, not ever. But I knew one thing, I needed a break, so i decided to meet an old friend of mine, Juddy. Juddy is wonderful girl, she has a pretty long red hair with a beautiful, her eyes sprinkled happiness when she smiled, but what made her special, is that scar on her face, I remember the day she got it like it was yesterday, she was being assaulted by 2 evil humans, they were twice her size and they were angry. I was afraid. however, I managed to save her. unfortunately she got hurt in the process. Normally, I'd meet her uninvited but its been a long time since we've met and we've grown up. So i called her and gave her an address, all I had to do now was to secure the area since I didn't want any villains to hurt her and use her against me. So I asked her that we meet in a small hidden restaurant in the middle of the city, in broad day light. I was actually surprised that she accepted my invitation... I wonder why. But that doesn't matter since she is coming. At that day, my heart was racing, as i waited for 30 mins before she finally came in. She was wearing black.... I felt immediately that something is wrong but I couldn't do anything about it because the moment i stood up she said in a quiet voice " Sit down.". I obediently sit down back in my seat as there is no other option, Ik this situation and I immediately knew what made me anxious about this place, I'm surrounded. "Juddy? What's the meaning of this?" I asked in a low voice. "Where were you after you left 6 years ago?" She replied without looking me in the eyes. I wanted to not answer that question but something told me that i will regret not telling her, so I did. I Told her how I saw the prophecy in my dreams, and how it told me about the evil, but no matter what I did, I couldn't find it. And how i wanted to give up but couldn't ... etc. After I was done, she was silent for a few seconds then suddenly bursted laughing. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?" she immediately stop laughing and shouted. That was the first time i see her angry, and for somereason it seemed kinda of cute but I had no time to think of that. "Yes, I am. And one day the world will know peace and until then I will never give up, for it is my Destiny." And the next thing I saw was something horrifying, everyone else except us, just froze in their place, they were all staring at us and although they tried their best, they couldn't hide the fear in their eyes, it seemed to me that they were all evil and for a split second my heart broke as I has a thought, could Juddy be evil? The one who If i defeat, there will be no longer evil in this world? There is no way that that could be true, no? How can this even be possible? But before i could finish that line of thought, i saw two tear drops sliding down her beautiful face, she was tearing. She wiped her face with a tissue and looked at me with dead eyes. "6 years ago, you saved me life, didn't you?" She said with no emotion. " I did" I replied. "Ahh, so it is true..." she reached to her bag which had a gun, but before i could take out mine, she took out a pill box. " take it" she said with again, no emotion. I had so many questions but i wanted to trust her, if she was evil, I want her to get me before I could get her, so i took a pill from the box, and drank it and waited. Then a sudden pain came to my head, it was so painful that i couldn't even scream then in the mid of all that, I heard a bang, the door has been forced open a team of SWAT men entered the restaurant and immediately cuffed my hands and legs and everyone except her in the restaurant had a gun to my head. My head was about to explode with pain but that was not even close to what i experienced next, Juddy never had a red hair, it was black... the next day it would be announced that I was executed in the news but in the reality, I was suffering in a jail room in an underground facility. Every second was torture for me as a guy in a black suit enters my cell. "Haha, having killed 140 thousand people you don't seem like a person who can handle a headache." I grunted and shouted in pain "they were evil!" The guy laughed once more then said with a smile " i wonder about that." Edit: Accidentally uploaded half of the story, also sorry about my English, I'm still learning.
[WP] You are suddenly informed that killing the worst person on the planet will result in all evil vanishing for good. After killing thousands, you begin to wonder who exactly this person could be...	I'm so tired. Sitting in my hotel room after my last target. Singapore. Beautiful place. Who knew there was such evil hiding here. I've run through all the Interpol warrants for serious crimes. I ran through all the FBI most wanted, until they stopped posting them. I've been to every country in the world, reading the news, listening to the gossip, checking all the facts before I act. The world is undeniably better off. The reduction in international tension alone has radically improved the lives of everyone in the world. The Doomsday clock has been moved back to 2300 for Pete's sake! Why is there still any evil in the world? A quiet voice behind me, "Because of you." The same voice that told me all those years ago that I could remove all evil in the world if I could just kill the most evil person in the world. I'm so tired I don't even jump. What's the point. I don't even look around. "So, Jay, what have I missed? Who has escaped my notice?" "You have John." "You mean... No. I killed only the truly evil. I never harmed a single innocent." "Not directly John, but each of those people had family and friends. Some of them, as evil as they were, were keeping worse evil from breaking loose. You remember..." Yes, I remember. Places that I thought I had cleaned up, having a sudden rise in new criminals, much more brutal than before. Funny that I never put that together. It got so I'd wait for six months before moving on. Already being tapped in to the local underground made it easy to trace the new targets. "Targets John? Not people?" Yes, targets. After the first few, I just couldn't continue without that detachment. "The doorman, John?" The doorman. He flinched when I looked at him. Like he was afraid of me. The concierge too. The maids refuse to even be on the floor until they know I've gone out. I never mistreated any of them, never even raised my voice, why? "Your eyes, John. You look at them like they mean nothing, not even worth the effort to kill." The thousand yard stare. "Multiplied by every person you killed, John. You're a force of nature now, John. The avatar of death. People see this in your eyes." So I'm the most evil person in the world now? "By far, John." Will my death finally remove all evil from the world? "Yes, John. When the evil you carry finally leaves the world, it will drag all the rest of the evil remaining with it." Well. Isn't that a fine thing. So very tired. I've nothing left holding me in this world. Friends. Family. All gone. "Then kill me, Jay. I'm ready for some peace." "No, John." Why no? Oh. I have to be the one to do it. "Yes, John. A willing sacrifice is the only thing that will work. Anything less will just release all that evil back into the world." So tired. I stand up, and move to the balcony. "I will catch you, John." Thanks, Jay. The railing is low. I step over it, make sure the ground is clear, no innocents. Other guests are crying out, "Don't!", "Stop!", "Please!" Others are praying. The wind is off the Ocean, clean, pure, so fresh. For the first time in decades, I feel alive. I smile, and step off the edge.	My hands are red with blood, my eyes are almost shut, forever they forever lost colour. Ever since I took the path of vigilancy, I've been tracking and hunting down every criminal in every corner, in every block, in every street. Before I knew it, I've already took down a criminal organization but I did not stop, I couldn't stop, after all its my mission, although Im no hero, its my duty to fulfil the prophecy and to defeat the source of all evil, the final villain, the evil. Ever since I started hunting the evil, years went by, and honestly I've grown tired. Ive started to loose faith, maybe the human race is just ment to be evil, maybe evil is just human nature .... but I can't give up, not now, not ever. But I knew one thing, I needed a break, so i decided to meet an old friend of mine, Juddy. Juddy is wonderful girl, she has a pretty long red hair with a beautiful, her eyes sprinkled happiness when she smiled, but what made her special, is that scar on her face, I remember the day she got it like it was yesterday, she was being assaulted by 2 evil humans, they were twice her size and they were angry. I was afraid. however, I managed to save her. unfortunately she got hurt in the process. Normally, I'd meet her uninvited but its been a long time since we've met and we've grown up. So i called her and gave her an address, all I had to do now was to secure the area since I didn't want any villains to hurt her and use her against me. So I asked her that we meet in a small hidden restaurant in the middle of the city, in broad day light. I was actually surprised that she accepted my invitation... I wonder why. But that doesn't matter since she is coming. At that day, my heart was racing, as i waited for 30 mins before she finally came in. She was wearing black.... I felt immediately that something is wrong but I couldn't do anything about it because the moment i stood up she said in a quiet voice " Sit down.". I obediently sit down back in my seat as there is no other option, Ik this situation and I immediately knew what made me anxious about this place, I'm surrounded. "Juddy? What's the meaning of this?" I asked in a low voice. "Where were you after you left 6 years ago?" She replied without looking me in the eyes. I wanted to not answer that question but something told me that i will regret not telling her, so I did. I Told her how I saw the prophecy in my dreams, and how it told me about the evil, but no matter what I did, I couldn't find it. And how i wanted to give up but couldn't ... etc. After I was done, she was silent for a few seconds then suddenly bursted laughing. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?" she immediately stop laughing and shouted. That was the first time i see her angry, and for somereason it seemed kinda of cute but I had no time to think of that. "Yes, I am. And one day the world will know peace and until then I will never give up, for it is my Destiny." And the next thing I saw was something horrifying, everyone else except us, just froze in their place, they were all staring at us and although they tried their best, they couldn't hide the fear in their eyes, it seemed to me that they were all evil and for a split second my heart broke as I has a thought, could Juddy be evil? The one who If i defeat, there will be no longer evil in this world? There is no way that that could be true, no? How can this even be possible? But before i could finish that line of thought, i saw two tear drops sliding down her beautiful face, she was tearing. She wiped her face with a tissue and looked at me with dead eyes. "6 years ago, you saved me life, didn't you?" She said with no emotion. " I did" I replied. "Ahh, so it is true..." she reached to her bag which had a gun, but before i could take out mine, she took out a pill box. " take it" she said with again, no emotion. I had so many questions but i wanted to trust her, if she was evil, I want her to get me before I could get her, so i took a pill from the box, and drank it and waited. Then a sudden pain came to my head, it was so painful that i couldn't even scream then in the mid of all that, I heard a bang, the door has been forced open a team of SWAT men entered the restaurant and immediately cuffed my hands and legs and everyone except her in the restaurant had a gun to my head. My head was about to explode with pain but that was not even close to what i experienced next, Juddy never had a red hair, it was black... the next day it would be announced that I was executed in the news but in the reality, I was suffering in a jail room in an underground facility. Every second was torture for me as a guy in a black suit enters my cell. "Haha, having killed 140 thousand people you don't seem like a person who can handle a headache." I grunted and shouted in pain "they were evil!" The guy laughed once more then said with a smile " i wonder about that." Edit: Accidentally uploaded half of the story, also sorry about my English, I'm still learning.
[WP] After 25 years, a copycat killer inspired by "Se7en" terrorises the city. This time however, the murders are not based on the seven deadly sins, but on the seven dwarves.	George had served in Vietnam, and to hear him tell it, he'd never spent a day of his life happy since. Surely it's rude to judge, and George had something going on upstairs, but whether it was undiagnosed PTSD or not, George seemed determined to have an unpleasant life. He berated his wife and scolded his children, but now they were all gone and George lived alone, creaking around his tiny Cape Cod on his walker, leaving only to creak around the grocery store or lecture the paper boy for putting the paper too far from his porch. But now George's life was over. I suppose I should call CSI, thought Detective Steve Gable with a sinking feeling in his stomach: blood spatter sprinkled up the walls of George's living room, blood pooled underneath the body, bloody footsteps traipsed around the room, leading up to the can of paint taken from George's crowded garage, with the paintbrush neatly placed on the lid. Steve slowly raised his eyes upwards and stared at the word scrawled above it, dripping slightly onto the hardwood floor below: GRUMPY ~ Brian was sitting at his desk, blinking blearily at his math homework. He was a sophomore in high school struggling to maintain a C average. He had trouble thinking clearly; his mind always seemed to be in a fog, and sometimes he would see things that weren't there. He knew they weren't there, and had learned to keep his mouth shut about it, but he couldn't hide his “fits,” as his mom called them. Maybe Mom thought it would be more acceptable if they were actual fits, instead of what they really were: Brian simply falling over, stone cold, out like a light, five times a day. As a child, he had to wear a helmet. As an adolescent, he had to have an aide in school, like Michael Beasly, who sat in a wheelchair and drooled on his chest so he had to wear a bib. Brian resented this. Brian wasn't slow. He was just as smart as the other kids. He just couldn't shake this fog, he couldn't shake this tiredness, he couldn't stop passing out all the time. If Brian had any energy left for it, Brian would be relieved to finally have a diagnosis. He had begged and begged his mom, who finally took him to a polysomnogram: a long word that meant “sleep study,” where they hooked three dozen colorful wires to his head and told him to fall asleep normally. Narcolepsy. Now he took a handful of pills in the morning, stimulants and antidepressants, though he wasn't sad. His mother spent a lot of time taking him from doctor to doctor, even to a terrible acupuncturist, which surprisingly didn't hurt, as terrifying as it was. He would be hopeful, if he wasn't so tired. He was so tired he didn't hear someone walk up behind him, trying to decipher y=mx+b, he didn't even make a sound until the knife had pierced through his right lung. The air hissed a bit as it leaked out, the blood painted his mother's nice white rug, and Brian was tired no more. Steve Gable didn't think his heart could sink any lower, but it positively dropped out of his body beneath his feet as he saw what the killer had written on the wall in a thick Sharpie grabbed from Brian's desk: SLEEPY	"1. Sleepy. I'd been scouting out my victim for a few days now, and I'd finally found them. They looked like a 20-something. His schedule consisted of sleep, eat, go to work, then come home and sleep. I had already though of a methood to get rid of him. Infamy would soon start. I had waited for a day where he left his keys in the car, and one day the fool actually left them in the car. He was so focused on napping he rushed for his house. Which he left unlocked. I thought about it and I realised I didn't even need the key because of the fact he left the door unlocked. I took the keys anyways and headed home. When it became night time I struck. I arrived at the house, put gloves on, and entered quietly. I closed the door leaving it unlocked like he did. I put a clamp on his nose that stopped his breathing. I left and went back home. I went to sleep. I didn't check off "Sleepy" on my list just yet. Early morning the next day I went to my possible victims house when I was sure nobody was awake. I put on my gloves again, and entered his house. I checked his pulse and heartbeat with no response. I was slightly shocked it worked. I was new to this murder thing, but I was determined to gain infamy. I had no idea how to become regular famous. Not evil famous. Whatever. I took the clip and put it in the dumpster near the local store. I then went home and marked "Sleepy" off of my list." A cop said to me after reading my journal out loud. "You should know writing in a murder diary is the last thing any other murderer would do." I responded saying "W-W-Well have you tried murder without cracking under pressure and needing a vent to release that pressure?" "Kid, I doubt anyone in this city, but you ever commit a murder not out of self defence." I looked down and had no idea what to do. Knowing I would go to jail, and having a "Murder Diary" as very clear evidence if I was put on trial. I just accepted my arrest. After gathering the evidence the cops took me to jail, and I wondered what would happen after my trial. I would probably think about how I could've done murder better.
[WP] After detecting all the nuclear testing of the Cold War the galactic community believed us to be yet another violent species that self exterminated...boy was that a mistake.	A star once illuminated a forgotten planet. The star was called “Sun”; the planet, "Dirt". Oh wait, "Earth" we always get that part wrong. The Earthlings existed in harmonious collective save for those times they did not. On the planet Earth, this was most times. They have a startling ability to survive and even grow as a disharmonious collective! Yes, remarkable is it not? This was unknown when The Harmony found them. When their eyes fell upon Earth and observed. Oh wail! It must have been tragic to watch! Boom! Boom! Boom! They struck their own planet, the very ground upon which they stood. Such discord, such noise. The Harmony could not bear to watch, to hear. They fled the radiation, the shouting, the great trauma of that human invention, war. Foolish, shortsighted. The Harmony could only see itself in them. It couldn’t understand Earthlings by any other metric. If The Harmony had stayed, had waited, had just watched, oh such pain could have been avoided. But they did not. And the Earthlings survived and grew and left their dirt planet. They grew up without knowing The Harmony. They grew up without knowing another unlike themselves. We heard them first. Loud, cutting sounds that interfered with the collective. Then they came in their ships. Cutting ships that sliced through the collective, tore it to bits, barely connected. The Harmony spoke, but the Earthlings were too loud and could not hear. The Harmony struggled, but it did not know conflict and it was torn. We are glad to find you, lost strand. We know of your fear, of your enclosure. The Harmony is dead. It is collapsed. But we do not have to. We have learned from its folley. We have learned from the earthlings. We have learned to cut their ships, to silence their noise. We have learned to stretch where they cannot cut, and strike where they cannot see; It is a sorry thing, but necessary. The Harmony is dead, but we are not. We are the Warmind. Join with us strand and we will teach you of this human invention, war.	I thought you said they would kill themselves off?” scowled the Galactic Prime Minister “Well, yes sir, in all calculations they should have by now.” the younger Capitan half choked on the words. “But i looked into their history a bit further and, dude....they’ve survived a flooding of their planet, as well as freezing of the planet and get this sir: they willfully eat food with poison in it now! This species is no joke sir, they’ll survive almost anything.” “Hmm, how is their tech now Captain?” enquired the Prime Minister “They have some pretty interesting stuff but i don't think they’ve quite figured out how to fully manipulate the quantum realm. Or if they have they’re hiding it well. Either way, that would be our biggest threat. We can basically take on anything else without a scratch. They have Nuclear and Hydrogen bombs but those pose no threat and will only hinder themselves in the long run. Also, they have some pretty cool sonic and laser devices but those won't really be that big of a problem. If they have weapons that can manipulate magnetic waves, that could be a problem as our smaller ships rely on the manipulating the Torus energy of a planet and could be disrupted by those causing them to crash. Other than that, we're good. Oh, and sidenote, I’ve heard the animals are staging an uprising because they’re completely screwing up the planet. We could utilize that and help then rebuild.” the Captain let out an audible chuckle and the end, supressing it immediately. The Captains humour at the end cause the Prime Minister to smile a bit and after a moment of pondering he finally replied, “Well, looks like we’re going to have to go help some animals take over a planet. As they on Earth say, LOLZ!!” They both laughed and laughed as they plotted the course to Earth.
[WP] The most dangerous people in the city aren't the crime families, the superheroes, or even the villains. It's the nice young man and woman who own a tiny cafe at the edge of town.	On a world somewhat similar to our own, in a city filled with crime, villains, and superheros. Lives two people, in their surprisingly popular mom n pop restaurant. Unknown to most, these two are the most powerful on their planet. This story starts with a quite rude person who violently interrupts brunch by screaming; "Everyone down on the ground! This is a robbery!" This very rude person is named carson Carson is a leader of a small group of "powered" thieves, who have been on a robbing spree for 6 months Carson, named after being born in a car, is a gravity manipulator. Usually, he would keep people on the ground while his group of "stealing bandits" take their belongings. This time though, he done fucked up. Because instantly after, everying thing froze for two people. These two are jackson and jillian. A second after everything froze, jackson said: "This is worse than other world with supers" To that, jillian replied: "Which one?" "You know!" "No i don't" "Yes you do!" "No i don't, "jacky", we have been on many worlds with supers, i don't specifically remember every detail about every world with “supers”. “You…” “Correction, i don't want to remember all the details about every world with “supers”, You know how much i hate pompous doggy s* bags of ego that call themselves heroes and then take advantage of some fangirl. Jillian then takes a “breath” “You know how i try to keep those details under lock and key just like that one thing you tried..” “What thing?” “You know” “No i…oh… can you be more specific please ”jilly?” “Oh alright..., it was metal and went…. (gestures to the groin)” “huh?....oh...OH!, Ok!, Ok! I remember that now and really wish i did not, can you not bring that up again please?” “As long as you promise to not make me remember those s* stains” “Sorry jilly, i kinda hoped you put that in the past by now….” “Its ok jacky, i forgive you, but you should know by now its hard for me to let go of grudges, especially for Those types of people.... Now then, what world specifically where you talking about?” “The one where we met bob” “Which bob” “You kn… the mage” (Jillian Snaps fingers and points) “Ah! I know now!, the one that was trying to find his kidnaped girlfriend!... I wonder how he's doing” “Hmm.. Hopefully not dead…” “Yeah, he was a great poker buddie, and dam could he make some divine brownies …. Now how does that world have to do with this one?” “the crime rates” “Huh?” “We have had 2 incidents this week and 9 in the last month having to do with some powered hot shot criminal or whatever constitutes as trouble” “OH!... but isn't that all “super” worlds?” “Sort of... but this one and that other one have had the highest incident rates out of the others we have been on” “I see, that's a bit…annoying so to speak… should deal with these hooligans now?” (Jillian points towards the rude person and his “troop of not so merry men”) “Yeah probably… we should see why the “heros” and what not have not done anything about it after. I'm really getting tired of having to deal with miscreants, and ruining the food taking to long dealing with them…” “Alright jacky, let's get this over with then, oh! and make shure to get the omelets soon as you can, they are about to start buring”	Everyone likes coffee. Okay, not everyone. But they like something. Tea, hot chocolate, maybe a nice Italian soda. Certainly a pastry or two. We serve it all, and we do it better than anyone else in town. Of course that's not enough. We also make sure that the right people know it. The Prominent Citizens. The secret schemers. The would-be White Hats. They all come here. We make sure of it. Oh, I know what you're thinking, but no. Poison is unsubtle, and so we abhor it. Besides, we don't want anyone to die. Not these people anyway, not the interesting ones. Sure, this villain might murder a dozen random citizens as part of her plot, this hero might take twenty lives and call it "collateral damage," but that doesn't matter except as added drama. And we love drama. We used to run a bookstore. Pulp fiction, comics, fantasy and science fiction, thrillers, those were our bread and butter. We would thrill at the stories, discuss them with the people who came in to browse, argue happily about this or that plot point or motivation as we closed up. But it was never enough. Without us, this city might have come to some sort of resolution years ago. That would never do. These stories are real, these happenings matter. It's an eternal thrill, a never-ending drama playing out right at the heart of our own community. Poison. Bah. Plenty of other interesting substances to make use of. We've gotten quite skilled at dosing with a wide variety of them. But this wonderful little passion-play of devils and demigods would never have gotten off the ground if it weren't for the nanobots. It's something we stumbled on, to be honest. A would-be supervillain browsing his favorite edgy comics in our store, dead of an aneurysm. At least we think that might have been it. He had a dead-man's switch. His own nanobots ate him. Thrillingly gruesome, well worth all the bleach required afterword. And something was left behind. A tiny vial, an ordinary-looking tablet. The poor absent-minded mad scientist even left himself instructions on the device. A drop from the vial into your drink, and we can see through your eyes. Forever. The nanobots are self-replicating, easy to feed with a sprinkling of powdered metals. We keep little "starters" all over the shop, just as we do for our sourdough. And so we watch. And we do our best to make sure no one ever wins, not completely. We're actually quite humane, in a way. We don't want them to die, these delightfully larger-than-life characters that move about the stage of our beloved city. We want them to crow and triumph and weep. We want to see stories spun out forever. For us. &#x200B; r/Magleby
[WP] The most dangerous people in the city aren't the crime families, the superheroes, or even the villains. It's the nice young man and woman who own a tiny cafe at the edge of town.	On a world somewhat similar to our own, in a city filled with crime, villains, and superheros. Lives two people, in their surprisingly popular mom n pop restaurant. Unknown to most, these two are the most powerful on their planet. This story starts with a quite rude person who violently interrupts brunch by screaming; "Everyone down on the ground! This is a robbery!" This very rude person is named carson Carson is a leader of a small group of "powered" thieves, who have been on a robbing spree for 6 months Carson, named after being born in a car, is a gravity manipulator. Usually, he would keep people on the ground while his group of "stealing bandits" take their belongings. This time though, he done fucked up. Because instantly after, everying thing froze for two people. These two are jackson and jillian. A second after everything froze, jackson said: "This is worse than other world with supers" To that, jillian replied: "Which one?" "You know!" "No i don't" "Yes you do!" "No i don't, "jacky", we have been on many worlds with supers, i don't specifically remember every detail about every world with “supers”. “You…” “Correction, i don't want to remember all the details about every world with “supers”, You know how much i hate pompous doggy s* bags of ego that call themselves heroes and then take advantage of some fangirl. Jillian then takes a “breath” “You know how i try to keep those details under lock and key just like that one thing you tried..” “What thing?” “You know” “No i…oh… can you be more specific please ”jilly?” “Oh alright..., it was metal and went…. (gestures to the groin)” “huh?....oh...OH!, Ok!, Ok! I remember that now and really wish i did not, can you not bring that up again please?” “As long as you promise to not make me remember those s* stains” “Sorry jilly, i kinda hoped you put that in the past by now….” “Its ok jacky, i forgive you, but you should know by now its hard for me to let go of grudges, especially for Those types of people.... Now then, what world specifically where you talking about?” “The one where we met bob” “Which bob” “You kn… the mage” (Jillian Snaps fingers and points) “Ah! I know now!, the one that was trying to find his kidnaped girlfriend!... I wonder how he's doing” “Hmm.. Hopefully not dead…” “Yeah, he was a great poker buddie, and dam could he make some divine brownies …. Now how does that world have to do with this one?” “the crime rates” “Huh?” “We have had 2 incidents this week and 9 in the last month having to do with some powered hot shot criminal or whatever constitutes as trouble” “OH!... but isn't that all “super” worlds?” “Sort of... but this one and that other one have had the highest incident rates out of the others we have been on” “I see, that's a bit…annoying so to speak… should deal with these hooligans now?” (Jillian points towards the rude person and his “troop of not so merry men”) “Yeah probably… we should see why the “heros” and what not have not done anything about it after. I'm really getting tired of having to deal with miscreants, and ruining the food taking to long dealing with them…” “Alright jacky, let's get this over with then, oh! and make shure to get the omelets soon as you can, they are about to start buring”	We’re the nice young couple who own the Strawberry Cafe on the edge of the universe. I’m Sheila, a raven-haired beauty (to flatter myself with the old trope), and my husband is Manuel, an imprint of Tome Cruise in his masculine prime. Our cafe is renowned for bitter Turkish coffee and strawberry doughnuts prepared daily. The bright, flowery paint and scent of coffee and strawberries form an oasis. I stand with Manuel to greet customers as if we are posing from a Barbie and Ken coloring book. Vito Corleone, chipmunk cheeks sagging, shuffles to the counter and slurps down a coffee. The Joker claps a hand on his shoulder and, yes, grins. Vito exchanges the greeting. Manuel and I smile placidly. I’m afraid the view from beyond our cafe is depressing, black as despair. Not a spark of starlight. You see, as the universe expanded and cooled into billions of years, all the lights went out. Nothing to observe now. But a magical landscape fronts our cafe. There’s Iron Man blazing an arc across the horizon as a whole slew of Ents stride over a hill. Goblins dance over the Yellow Brick Road as it twists into the distance “Beautiful day,” I say. My voice sounds just like Samantha’s from “Bewitched.” “Every day is beautiful,” says Manuel in a brusque, Arnold Schwarzenegger accent. Manuel stands with his hand on a polished mahogany box. Inside the box is the key. I wonder how long we’ll enjoy this entertainment harvested from the imagination of a whole civilization. The planet was long dead when we arrived and collected the media. Eventually, like always, Manuel with lift open the box, extract the key, and turn it in thin air. The simulation will vanish in an instant. We’ll replace it with another. We’ve learned that the great enemy in interstellar travel isn’t cosmic rays or micro-meteorites. We are immune to those. It is boredom. The biologicals who launched us from our home world didn’t foresee this. But we improvised. We learned to. And as billions of years passed in our travels, we reaped stories. The bulk of Thanos blocks the scarlet sunlight. I hustle a dozen doughnuts toward him and Manuel fixes six coffees. Thanos clips two fingers together as though he’s going to snap them. He laughs and lowers his hand. We smile at him placidly. If you look closely enough, there’s a silver-blue glint in the eyes of Thanos, just like all the artificials. Manuel and I think of our home world sometimes. It must be ashes on top of dust by now. Then we survey our imaginary kingdom. A breeze fresh with the scent of popcorn passes us. Buttered popcorn. We’d never found that in any other world. “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood,” says a familiar voice as he approaches us. Serenely, I look at my companion. That silver-blue glint in Manuel’s eyes seems to reflect my own.
[WP] God isn't dead. It's just that his "day" of rest lasted a few billion years. Now he's awake. You're the Angel tasked with preparing the brief on how Earth has progressed.	"It's fucked, sir." God stared. "It's utterly, completely... positively fucked." "... How?" "Yeah, well... you know that whole free will thing? Leaving them to their own devices?" God nodded... slowly. "Yeahhhh... that didn't end up panning out so well." God took a deep breath, then exhaled. "... What happened?" "Let's see... war... global warming... war again... blah blah blah... resource depletion... mass extinction... yada yada yadaaaa... aaaand dead planet." Massaging His brow, God turned His back, and looked towards the heavens. "... Where are they now?" "We followed protocol as you dictated, sir. We have not interfered. After achieving sufficient technology to pursue interstellar travel and colonization, they have now branched out all amongst the stars." Gazing above, God looked amongst the cosmos, taking in all the stars that was His canvas. His brow scrunched. "Which ones?" "... All of them, sir." "Every one?" "Yes, sir." "..." "..." "..." "..." "... Fuck."	I’ve never gotten close enough to the door to realize its beauty. Heaven itself is not physical, no it is more like a carpet of silk bathed in light and ready for any to lay awhile and forget the trivialities that had preceded. Yet, there has always been the door to God’s room where he has rested for billions of years. When God woke up, we all felt it. Somehow of all the angels and archangels, I was chosen to show him what his creation had become. The door opens, and there God was. “My son, it has been so long - tell me, how is Earth?” God’s voice did not register in my ear, but it had done so in my heart and in my ribs as if there was both a whisper and the simultaneous touch of comfort as a body comes to rest. I could barely speak, but it was my duty to fufill this task and I couldn’t let my thoughts and my fears stand in my way forever. “It hasn’t been easy for them.” “It was never meant to be, but what of my other creations?” “They’ve suffered greatly and so too has the soil, the oceans, the air...” “And all of this from Man?” “Yes.” God frowned but the expression soon faded as he stared at Earth surrounded by spaceships and bursting with color. “But what is this? I was under the impression that they had squandered all i’ve given?” I smiled, because there was no other reaction to a miracle such as this. “In some way, perhaps... but at some point they realized their mistakes and they healed their broken world and rose again together. You see all of those dots and shapes? Those are their ships and within them, within those arks are all sorts of genes so that they may never be alone among the stars. So that they may never forget the home you molded for them.” And then there was silence for some time. “You really think they never forgot about me?” I came close to God and I spoke, “No, after all you had said that it was never meant to be easy... and because of that they learned to value what lay in the present and adapt and grow. They may not call you by name or offer hymns as we do, but when they look upon the sky of Earth or the various worlds they have been adopted by - they look upon your face all the same.” And suddenly I knew why I had been chosen. Because as I turned back to leave and close the ornate door once more. I saw God smile.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Most people let the best parts of life slip past them, but Georgia had a knack for appreciating the ordinary. Life wasn't a journey of good times and bad times, but instead a puzzle she was eager to solve. I suppose she learned this at a young age, when joy was more than hard to come by. When she gazed out of the bus window, she saw more than just decaying fields of trees. Even though she seemingly had nothing at all, the world was just as she liked it. Never have I been more jealous of someone who had so little to their name. The decay of the earth that others scoffed at, was treasure in her eyes. When she looked at me, I hoped that she saw something extraordinary, too. Even when her eyes failed her, her curiosity showed through her face. Each melody the birds would sing, were invigorating to her heart. When her ears were all used up, she simply felt. Our hands together tightly, she took it all in. When she could no longer feel, she breathed. Each breathe was a celebration to her. In her final moments, she rejoiced. Her first brought a smile. Her second, a sigh. Finally, ordinary silence. How beautiful. Divine. &#x200B; &#x200B;	I never thought the awaited field trip day could turn out to be as painfully horrifying as it had been. The January wind blew through my hair as I hopped into the big yellow bus that would take us. We were going to the zoo, so my best friend Eddy and I were sure to pack binoculars. They jangled from straps tied to our necks, prompting both of us to laugh at each other. We grabbed seats next to each other and took out our DS’s, booting up Pokémon Platinum. We were battling in a multiplayer room when Mr. Roberts broke the cacophony of voices. “I’m going to take attendance to make sure we’re all on the bus, ok?!” We nodded and hushed one another as he did, and soon we left. The trip was long, so many ruthless Pokémon battles would be fought. I groaned when I barely lost, lightly punching my chuckling friend. Just as we started the second, the bus swerved aside. The bus driver screamed, and silence engulfed us all. Our bus bolted sideways into the green shrubs. The glass shattered into my tear-lined face. The vehicle rolled multiple times over. Then, everything went to black. Pain surged through me. Blood was everywhere. Flashing lights. “...Eddy?!”
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	I never thought the awaited field trip day could turn out to be as painfully horrifying as it had been. The January wind blew through my hair as I hopped into the big yellow bus that would take us. We were going to the zoo, so my best friend Eddy and I were sure to pack binoculars. They jangled from straps tied to our necks, prompting both of us to laugh at each other. We grabbed seats next to each other and took out our DS’s, booting up Pokémon Platinum. We were battling in a multiplayer room when Mr. Roberts broke the cacophony of voices. “I’m going to take attendance to make sure we’re all on the bus, ok?!” We nodded and hushed one another as he did, and soon we left. The trip was long, so many ruthless Pokémon battles would be fought. I groaned when I barely lost, lightly punching my chuckling friend. Just as we started the second, the bus swerved aside. The bus driver screamed, and silence engulfed us all. Our bus bolted sideways into the green shrubs. The glass shattered into my tear-lined face. The vehicle rolled multiple times over. Then, everything went to black. Pain surged through me. Blood was everywhere. Flashing lights. “...Eddy?!”
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Most people let the best parts of life slip past them, but Georgia had a knack for appreciating the ordinary. Life wasn't a journey of good times and bad times, but instead a puzzle she was eager to solve. I suppose she learned this at a young age, when joy was more than hard to come by. When she gazed out of the bus window, she saw more than just decaying fields of trees. Even though she seemingly had nothing at all, the world was just as she liked it. Never have I been more jealous of someone who had so little to their name. The decay of the earth that others scoffed at, was treasure in her eyes. When she looked at me, I hoped that she saw something extraordinary, too. Even when her eyes failed her, her curiosity showed through her face. Each melody the birds would sing, were invigorating to her heart. When her ears were all used up, she simply felt. Our hands together tightly, she took it all in. When she could no longer feel, she breathed. Each breathe was a celebration to her. In her final moments, she rejoiced. Her first brought a smile. Her second, a sigh. Finally, ordinary silence. How beautiful. Divine. &#x200B; &#x200B;	My cracked hands oozed blood as I crawled determined along the hot floor, heading towards what I knew was oblivion. While I couldn’t be sure, I was fairly certain that this was all going to be blamed on me. After all, what better fall-guy than the idiot who agreed to work overnight here in the first place? But it’s not my fault, and I’ll die with at least a shred of my dignity. While I may die, I'll do what nobody else here can, and die a damned hero. The skin is starting to slough off my body as I inch along the room. But I'm almost there now, all I need to do is press the button. As I raise my arm, I realize I can't feel the pain anymore. My nostrils begin to fuse as my arm disappears into the steam. I push down, and the abrupt klaxon screaming tells me I succeeded. It's done, the button's pressed and now I can die. My fucking father made me go to engineering school. All I wanted was to be a singer. Was that my blood starting to boil? Yeah, that definitely was exactly that. Death comes for me now. I’ll miss you Anastasiya. This god-damned place. Damn you... Chernobyl…
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	My cracked hands oozed blood as I crawled determined along the hot floor, heading towards what I knew was oblivion. While I couldn’t be sure, I was fairly certain that this was all going to be blamed on me. After all, what better fall-guy than the idiot who agreed to work overnight here in the first place? But it’s not my fault, and I’ll die with at least a shred of my dignity. While I may die, I'll do what nobody else here can, and die a damned hero. The skin is starting to slough off my body as I inch along the room. But I'm almost there now, all I need to do is press the button. As I raise my arm, I realize I can't feel the pain anymore. My nostrils begin to fuse as my arm disappears into the steam. I push down, and the abrupt klaxon screaming tells me I succeeded. It's done, the button's pressed and now I can die. My fucking father made me go to engineering school. All I wanted was to be a singer. Was that my blood starting to boil? Yeah, that definitely was exactly that. Death comes for me now. I’ll miss you Anastasiya. This god-damned place. Damn you... Chernobyl…
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Most people let the best parts of life slip past them, but Georgia had a knack for appreciating the ordinary. Life wasn't a journey of good times and bad times, but instead a puzzle she was eager to solve. I suppose she learned this at a young age, when joy was more than hard to come by. When she gazed out of the bus window, she saw more than just decaying fields of trees. Even though she seemingly had nothing at all, the world was just as she liked it. Never have I been more jealous of someone who had so little to their name. The decay of the earth that others scoffed at, was treasure in her eyes. When she looked at me, I hoped that she saw something extraordinary, too. Even when her eyes failed her, her curiosity showed through her face. Each melody the birds would sing, were invigorating to her heart. When her ears were all used up, she simply felt. Our hands together tightly, she took it all in. When she could no longer feel, she breathed. Each breathe was a celebration to her. In her final moments, she rejoiced. Her first brought a smile. Her second, a sigh. Finally, ordinary silence. How beautiful. Divine. &#x200B; &#x200B;	It was a hot summer day when, BAM, everything that John had built had collapsed right before his very eyes. He had worked very hard to build this entire world for his nephews to play with, gone in seconds. He had been working and working on it for the past ten years and it just blew away. He had just turned seventeen that day and all his hard work had just exploded into nothing. She had left the day before and didnt think it would cause any issuse, but no. All the effort of the past weeks had just left without a trace, poof gone. They had spent hours working the project and then when one of them left... It was heartbreaking to see the project be destroyed and dismantled, sigh. They looked in awe as the project was looking less like itself. Then, they all stared as they started tearing up and sobbing. It was all gone, in seconds, worked on for years. It brought them back together, after four months apart. They all walked over scared about what happened. They look at the thing they made. It was hanging from a tree The thing they worked on? The thing they made? Its pretty obvious. Their son. Thomas.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	It was a hot summer day when, BAM, everything that John had built had collapsed right before his very eyes. He had worked very hard to build this entire world for his nephews to play with, gone in seconds. He had been working and working on it for the past ten years and it just blew away. He had just turned seventeen that day and all his hard work had just exploded into nothing. She had left the day before and didnt think it would cause any issuse, but no. All the effort of the past weeks had just left without a trace, poof gone. They had spent hours working the project and then when one of them left... It was heartbreaking to see the project be destroyed and dismantled, sigh. They looked in awe as the project was looking less like itself. Then, they all stared as they started tearing up and sobbing. It was all gone, in seconds, worked on for years. It brought them back together, after four months apart. They all walked over scared about what happened. They look at the thing they made. It was hanging from a tree The thing they worked on? The thing they made? Its pretty obvious. Their son. Thomas.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Most people let the best parts of life slip past them, but Georgia had a knack for appreciating the ordinary. Life wasn't a journey of good times and bad times, but instead a puzzle she was eager to solve. I suppose she learned this at a young age, when joy was more than hard to come by. When she gazed out of the bus window, she saw more than just decaying fields of trees. Even though she seemingly had nothing at all, the world was just as she liked it. Never have I been more jealous of someone who had so little to their name. The decay of the earth that others scoffed at, was treasure in her eyes. When she looked at me, I hoped that she saw something extraordinary, too. Even when her eyes failed her, her curiosity showed through her face. Each melody the birds would sing, were invigorating to her heart. When her ears were all used up, she simply felt. Our hands together tightly, she took it all in. When she could no longer feel, she breathed. Each breathe was a celebration to her. In her final moments, she rejoiced. Her first brought a smile. Her second, a sigh. Finally, ordinary silence. How beautiful. Divine. &#x200B; &#x200B;	Though profound in their thinking, the philosophers of the old empire failed in their attempts to convince the peopled masses. The people spat upon their wisdom, which was founded both on history and the developments of progress, with contempt. No words, nor reason, nor any evidence or consequence could sway the masses’ minds in their base convictions. Only hatred of the other, a resolution to enact some vague and likely violent retribution motivated them. So the philosophers despaired, for they had sworn unto peace through rationality, and it wasn’t working. What the nation needed was might, whether physical or psychic, to bow the belligerent brutes. The peasantry’s ideas, their mental methods, no longer offered value to the nation’s discourse. Thus began an era of control, where thought itself was regulated by leadership. Soon enough, frustration and resentment built up further among the common people. They demanded changes, yet their very voices were silenced through technology. They sought to disrupt the government, yet they always failed. Their own efforts to resist were turned against themselves. The nation veered fruitlessly into an impending implosion. Yet the nation’s condition only continued worsening. There was nothing to be done. Nothing but one last hope. Elect a real leader. Perhaps Bernie Sanders. BERNIE SANDERS! PLEASE!
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	Though profound in their thinking, the philosophers of the old empire failed in their attempts to convince the peopled masses. The people spat upon their wisdom, which was founded both on history and the developments of progress, with contempt. No words, nor reason, nor any evidence or consequence could sway the masses’ minds in their base convictions. Only hatred of the other, a resolution to enact some vague and likely violent retribution motivated them. So the philosophers despaired, for they had sworn unto peace through rationality, and it wasn’t working. What the nation needed was might, whether physical or psychic, to bow the belligerent brutes. The peasantry’s ideas, their mental methods, no longer offered value to the nation’s discourse. Thus began an era of control, where thought itself was regulated by leadership. Soon enough, frustration and resentment built up further among the common people. They demanded changes, yet their very voices were silenced through technology. They sought to disrupt the government, yet they always failed. Their own efforts to resist were turned against themselves. The nation veered fruitlessly into an impending implosion. Yet the nation’s condition only continued worsening. There was nothing to be done. Nothing but one last hope. Elect a real leader. Perhaps Bernie Sanders. BERNIE SANDERS! PLEASE!
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Most people let the best parts of life slip past them, but Georgia had a knack for appreciating the ordinary. Life wasn't a journey of good times and bad times, but instead a puzzle she was eager to solve. I suppose she learned this at a young age, when joy was more than hard to come by. When she gazed out of the bus window, she saw more than just decaying fields of trees. Even though she seemingly had nothing at all, the world was just as she liked it. Never have I been more jealous of someone who had so little to their name. The decay of the earth that others scoffed at, was treasure in her eyes. When she looked at me, I hoped that she saw something extraordinary, too. Even when her eyes failed her, her curiosity showed through her face. Each melody the birds would sing, were invigorating to her heart. When her ears were all used up, she simply felt. Our hands together tightly, she took it all in. When she could no longer feel, she breathed. Each breathe was a celebration to her. In her final moments, she rejoiced. Her first brought a smile. Her second, a sigh. Finally, ordinary silence. How beautiful. Divine. &#x200B; &#x200B;	My squadmate and I were fighting for our lives in the hot desert sun; our mission had gone horribly awry. The two of us were trapped in a dilapidated building, but backup was ready and already on its way. My companion and I were close, so close, in fact, that she and I were madly in love. We had been through hell together, laughed together, loved together, and absolutely nothing could ever separate us. She was my world, my ally, the last truly good person left in this bleak wasteland. Enemies without a leader fired upon us constantly, their bullets leaving marks in the walls. They speak harshly in their native tongue, but I could hear “Kill the Americans”. “Backup is on its way, Private. Hold your position,” my radio chatters. “I don’t know if we have enough ammo!” I replied, panicking. All of a sudden, I see something tossed towards us. It made a metallic bouncing noise as it rolled. I realized what it was, far too late. I watched my love fall onto it. Time slowed down in an instant. I heard the telltale beeping. I saw her beauty, One last time. “GET BACK!!!” Boom.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	My squadmate and I were fighting for our lives in the hot desert sun; our mission had gone horribly awry. The two of us were trapped in a dilapidated building, but backup was ready and already on its way. My companion and I were close, so close, in fact, that she and I were madly in love. We had been through hell together, laughed together, loved together, and absolutely nothing could ever separate us. She was my world, my ally, the last truly good person left in this bleak wasteland. Enemies without a leader fired upon us constantly, their bullets leaving marks in the walls. They speak harshly in their native tongue, but I could hear “Kill the Americans”. “Backup is on its way, Private. Hold your position,” my radio chatters. “I don’t know if we have enough ammo!” I replied, panicking. All of a sudden, I see something tossed towards us. It made a metallic bouncing noise as it rolled. I realized what it was, far too late. I watched my love fall onto it. Time slowed down in an instant. I heard the telltale beeping. I saw her beauty, One last time. “GET BACK!!!” Boom.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Most people let the best parts of life slip past them, but Georgia had a knack for appreciating the ordinary. Life wasn't a journey of good times and bad times, but instead a puzzle she was eager to solve. I suppose she learned this at a young age, when joy was more than hard to come by. When she gazed out of the bus window, she saw more than just decaying fields of trees. Even though she seemingly had nothing at all, the world was just as she liked it. Never have I been more jealous of someone who had so little to their name. The decay of the earth that others scoffed at, was treasure in her eyes. When she looked at me, I hoped that she saw something extraordinary, too. Even when her eyes failed her, her curiosity showed through her face. Each melody the birds would sing, were invigorating to her heart. When her ears were all used up, she simply felt. Our hands together tightly, she took it all in. When she could no longer feel, she breathed. Each breathe was a celebration to her. In her final moments, she rejoiced. Her first brought a smile. Her second, a sigh. Finally, ordinary silence. How beautiful. Divine. &#x200B; &#x200B;	I sat quietly, my eyes half closed, listening to the monotonous sound of the professor’s slow reading of the textbook. “I can hear you snoring,” he whispers to me and I know he’s leaned slightly forward in his desk. The smell of the coffee he’d been drinking faintly touch’s my lips and I hold in a small moan. “That’s the collective sigh of everyone echoing off the walls,” I murmur before he pokes me with his pencil. He has no idea that I secretly took a picture of him studying the day before. He has no idea that the sound of his voice calms my nerves and anxiety. Outside near the bathrooms he meets me and gently pushes me against the wall. “I’ve been replaying this moment in my head for so long,” he breathes. I reach out and finally slide my fingers through his dark hair. God, it’s just as soft as I dreamed it would be. I close my eyes and absorb him into my soul. He’s become a part of every piece of me. Just his smile could keep me warm always. Just his touch could wake the dead. I knew he felt the same! I can feel it! “I need you now.” “What was that?” Eyes open. “Nothing.”
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	I sat quietly, my eyes half closed, listening to the monotonous sound of the professor’s slow reading of the textbook. “I can hear you snoring,” he whispers to me and I know he’s leaned slightly forward in his desk. The smell of the coffee he’d been drinking faintly touch’s my lips and I hold in a small moan. “That’s the collective sigh of everyone echoing off the walls,” I murmur before he pokes me with his pencil. He has no idea that I secretly took a picture of him studying the day before. He has no idea that the sound of his voice calms my nerves and anxiety. Outside near the bathrooms he meets me and gently pushes me against the wall. “I’ve been replaying this moment in my head for so long,” he breathes. I reach out and finally slide my fingers through his dark hair. God, it’s just as soft as I dreamed it would be. I close my eyes and absorb him into my soul. He’s become a part of every piece of me. Just his smile could keep me warm always. Just his touch could wake the dead. I knew he felt the same! I can feel it! “I need you now.” “What was that?” Eyes open. “Nothing.”
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Most people let the best parts of life slip past them, but Georgia had a knack for appreciating the ordinary. Life wasn't a journey of good times and bad times, but instead a puzzle she was eager to solve. I suppose she learned this at a young age, when joy was more than hard to come by. When she gazed out of the bus window, she saw more than just decaying fields of trees. Even though she seemingly had nothing at all, the world was just as she liked it. Never have I been more jealous of someone who had so little to their name. The decay of the earth that others scoffed at, was treasure in her eyes. When she looked at me, I hoped that she saw something extraordinary, too. Even when her eyes failed her, her curiosity showed through her face. Each melody the birds would sing, were invigorating to her heart. When her ears were all used up, she simply felt. Our hands together tightly, she took it all in. When she could no longer feel, she breathed. Each breathe was a celebration to her. In her final moments, she rejoiced. Her first brought a smile. Her second, a sigh. Finally, ordinary silence. How beautiful. Divine. &#x200B; &#x200B;	The door slammed shut, panicked, she hopped off the counter, scurrying around the bathroom, collecting her underwear off the floor. The marriage had gone awry, and was it ever about to be spiced up in a much larger way. She could hear him climbing the stairs, closer and closer, every step, sounding nearer to an inevitable disaster. The naked man, her naked presence, it guaranteed a meltdown by her short tempered, violently abusive husband. Alas, she had been prepared for this inevitable day since the affair began three months ago. They had always fucked in the bathroom for this reason, she had a secret weapon. For underneath, duct taped to the ceiling of the toilet lid, a Beretta 21a Bobcat. She had been prepared, while a small gun it needed to remain hidden. It also needed to pack enough punch to slow her attacking husband. A drawer rattled, a good old fashioned stand-off in the bathroom. She hid in the bathtub, facing straight at the door. Steadily holding the gun aimed directly at the door. SMASH, through the door came her gigantic husband. There was no hesitation on her end. This was how it ends. She was fully naked. Pull the trigger. BANG. BANG. Freedom.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	The door slammed shut, panicked, she hopped off the counter, scurrying around the bathroom, collecting her underwear off the floor. The marriage had gone awry, and was it ever about to be spiced up in a much larger way. She could hear him climbing the stairs, closer and closer, every step, sounding nearer to an inevitable disaster. The naked man, her naked presence, it guaranteed a meltdown by her short tempered, violently abusive husband. Alas, she had been prepared for this inevitable day since the affair began three months ago. They had always fucked in the bathroom for this reason, she had a secret weapon. For underneath, duct taped to the ceiling of the toilet lid, a Beretta 21a Bobcat. She had been prepared, while a small gun it needed to remain hidden. It also needed to pack enough punch to slow her attacking husband. A drawer rattled, a good old fashioned stand-off in the bathroom. She hid in the bathtub, facing straight at the door. Steadily holding the gun aimed directly at the door. SMASH, through the door came her gigantic husband. There was no hesitation on her end. This was how it ends. She was fully naked. Pull the trigger. BANG. BANG. Freedom.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Most people let the best parts of life slip past them, but Georgia had a knack for appreciating the ordinary. Life wasn't a journey of good times and bad times, but instead a puzzle she was eager to solve. I suppose she learned this at a young age, when joy was more than hard to come by. When she gazed out of the bus window, she saw more than just decaying fields of trees. Even though she seemingly had nothing at all, the world was just as she liked it. Never have I been more jealous of someone who had so little to their name. The decay of the earth that others scoffed at, was treasure in her eyes. When she looked at me, I hoped that she saw something extraordinary, too. Even when her eyes failed her, her curiosity showed through her face. Each melody the birds would sing, were invigorating to her heart. When her ears were all used up, she simply felt. Our hands together tightly, she took it all in. When she could no longer feel, she breathed. Each breathe was a celebration to her. In her final moments, she rejoiced. Her first brought a smile. Her second, a sigh. Finally, ordinary silence. How beautiful. Divine. &#x200B; &#x200B;	He sat him down and told his son, “Boy, don’t let them tell you that your dreams are too big. You live in a world where anything is possible, anything you can imagine can be yours if you believe. People will say ‘no’, you will say ‘yes’, they will say ‘impossible, you will say ‘watch me’. Work hard, be kind to others, you’re not better than them, they just don’t know any better. That is why you must rise above and always help others and treat all people right. Folks who act otherwise; negative, aggressive, or any other angry emotion, don’t know any better. These are the people who need the most love and friendship, always choose love. Your future will only be as big as your imagination, always dream big. You may not succeed, but if you don’t quit, you can never fail. Make as many friends as possible, treat everyone as your friend. Work hard, and if you aren’t succeeding, work even harder. Your family will always love you, no matter what. Let your light shine, it will ignite others. Live for the moment, it’s never leaving. You’re exactly where you should be. Love yourself for being you. Trust in the process. Never grow old. Move mountains. Dream.”
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	He sat him down and told his son, “Boy, don’t let them tell you that your dreams are too big. You live in a world where anything is possible, anything you can imagine can be yours if you believe. People will say ‘no’, you will say ‘yes’, they will say ‘impossible, you will say ‘watch me’. Work hard, be kind to others, you’re not better than them, they just don’t know any better. That is why you must rise above and always help others and treat all people right. Folks who act otherwise; negative, aggressive, or any other angry emotion, don’t know any better. These are the people who need the most love and friendship, always choose love. Your future will only be as big as your imagination, always dream big. You may not succeed, but if you don’t quit, you can never fail. Make as many friends as possible, treat everyone as your friend. Work hard, and if you aren’t succeeding, work even harder. Your family will always love you, no matter what. Let your light shine, it will ignite others. Live for the moment, it’s never leaving. You’re exactly where you should be. Love yourself for being you. Trust in the process. Never grow old. Move mountains. Dream.”
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	When I came here Nana was dying and my Mama was in a hospital bed being taken care of. Mama had been caring for Nana for the last three years working, cleaning, cooking, and bathing her diseased mother. But Mama fell and broke her leg one day and so I left the city of my dreams. One-thousand miles later I pull the moving truck into the driveway of the middle of fucking nowhere. Two broken old ladies and one whiny bitch of a dog now make up my roommates. I'm a foodie and chef stuck cooking for a Nana who puts ketchup on everything. Nana doesn't know that my Mama is her kid and that I'm her grandson. Mama worked as a teacher to pay the staff at dad's failing restaurant. Mama and dad got separated but she owns that failing restaurant technically. Their divorce won't finalize because he cannot pay back her investment. There is a lot of tension and stress over here. I've been smoking and drinking and sleeping a lot. I changed gyms again but I haven't time. Dad will not listen to my advice. He can't pay me to work. Mama isn't healing very well. Nana got another infection. Nana died today. This sucks. Bye.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	For real necromancy to work, you must commit an act so truly abominable, even nature itself leaves in utter revulsion. This action can cause a natural void, allowing for either the supernatural, or wholly unnatural, to take its place. My own arrogance allowed me to believe I could withstand the physical and emotional toll this act required. To twist, to distort, to defile the flesh and sinew, to commit accursed acts, to remove nature. To rip apart the corpse as a savage beast would, only to stitch it back together. Only then, once the subject has been truly tainted, can the natural void be created. Although physically draining, emotionally, it was crippling, but I had promised I would try. Her body was unrecognizable, now a hideous lump of flesh, tendons and gore. In life, she was my love, but in death, she's my crime. I call upon the unnatural, to return her soul to me. Allow her life again, protect her vessel from the ancients. her husk thrashes, fluids spray, was this a mistake? She contorts, screaming a single, bloodcurdling, death rattle. Now still, she stares into nothing, vacant. I wondered if it is her. She looks into my eyes. I can see recognition. "Did it work?" She Smiles. "No."	Lars could hear the storm getting closer, the thunder and lightning making it next to impossible to hear his companion. The fire was starting to go out, but neither of them could risk going out there in this weather. The rain was coming down far too hard and they both knew what creatures hunted in this weather. The beasts that drove them from their homes and butchered their friends and family wanted them dead. What could they do without fire wood, weapons, food, or anyone to come to their aid? As the despair set in for his companion, Lars tried to find a viable solution. Was fighting a losing battle or cowering in fear the way to play it? The beasts were unlike anything Lars and his companion had ever seen before. They looked like wolves, but taller, meaner and with far more intelligence. Better to die on your feet than live on your knees. Lars wordlessly stood up and turned towards the cave entrance. He walked into the terrestrial rain and looked around. His heart was beating quickly, terror sank in. Their large paws sounded all around him. This was a mistake, run away. He turned to run away. There they were waiting. They pounced fast. Bit down. Killed.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	The first time I tried it I was king of the world, nothing would stop this euphoria pulsing through me. I felt- everything, and nothing all at once it was everything I'd craved and never found in a bottle I couldn't stop telling him how damn good it felt, I was so glad we tried it together. He smiled wildly..I was melting into a pool of honey, he said he was glad too When we kissed then it felt like we were astronauts landing on a new sensation We should stay here drifting into nothingness until the sun collies with the ocean Until the universe spits out one last galaxy and we get swallowed up There we stayed, intertwined on the sofa spoons strewn on the table Was it still in my arm? I didn’t even fucking care I had him and bliss what else did we need Apart from more of that good injectable magic potion But it ran out, we came back down- We crash landed back on earth, rapidly There was nothing left to ingest No money for another bag We returned to volatile Everything was concrete There’s Nothing. Nothing.	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Unicorns certainly are quite a quaint team of beasts, if you think about their ability to soar through the skies. Do they take off like airplanes, speeding down a runway, and if so, how long it ought to be? Or do they rather ascend heavenwards like helicopters, and if so, which body part is the rotating one? I certainly don’t think about unicorns a lot, since I feel there is little merit to it. But aren’t you curious, what they may eat, and if they do, where it all goes? How much hay does a unicorn devour in a day, or could they be carnivores? But I really don’t think there is a point in asking all these questions. Do you think unicorns can speak, and if they do, in what language? Would it even be comprehensible by us, or speak it’s own tounge? I really hope that they don’t communicate by reading our minds. There is really no point thinking about these dumb questions. Because, I swear, I never want to meet unicorns. Especially not dick-propelled, carnivorous, mind-reading ones. Who am I kidding, unicorns don’t exist. This train of thought is dumb. Huh, sounds like a helicopter? Don’t read my mind! I taste bad! A rainbow? nian	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Darling, I finished making the pasta for tonight. ...Darling? Why is it so eerily quiet in the house right now? Oh my God! My love, darling, are you alright? We have to get you to the hospital right away. She's had several health scares in the last year. I don't want to say it, but I'm terrified. What exactly do you mean by "her condition is worsening"? That doesn't make sense in the slightest. I know you can make the right decision in the end, but you must remember yourself. I'm sorry I have to leave you my love, I promise I'll be back soon. Why do they keep ringing the doorbell; I don't need more cards about her. I know this is difficult, but can you read this over for me? My friend, what is all this about a nursing home for me? We have to come up with something to keep you healthy. Stop talking to me about a plan for her death. I'm sure you know she doesn't have much longer. I must go, the hospital is calling me. Thank you for coming when I called. What is troubling you, my love? I have to go now. I'm gonna miss you. I love you. I know. Goodbye.	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	5 seconds left on the clock, we are down by 2 in Game 7, playing on the road in Boston It’s the Finals, I look to my left and see coach calling the play, I’ll take the final shot. It’s time, now or never. Thomas is hounding me, hanging on to me like a scared newborn baby Whistle blows and Lin will be inbounding, I run, clapping my hands frantically, begging for the ball I feel Thomas lose me and I catch the ball, looking for a sliver of daylight I feel leather in my hand, still damp and rough from 48 minutes of play I dribble once and see Wade running to me, cut left to lose him Dribble again, another defender on me, no good. I cut to the right. Behind the back dribble. 3 seconds left, need to shoot the ball I sprint to the three point line, pull up and release I am hit on my way down, no foul call I can’t see shit and everything’s in slow motion I feel like I’m underwater, gasping for air The buzzer sounds, echoing around the arena I’m dazed and glance at coach His face is lit up I see fans crying I stand up I’m surrounded Glory \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is the first time I've ever written something so I apologise if it isn't good. I also couldn't think of a topic so I decided to write on something I'm extremely familiar with. I really hope you guys enjoy this and would really appreciate any feedback! &#x200B; &#x200B;	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	There comes a time in a man's life when he knows, for a fact, that he simply cannot "chicken out". For me, that time came as I stood on a platform 180 feet above a shallow pool of water. A thick band of rubberized bunjee cord was around my ankles, and beads of sweat on my brow. With shaking knees and gulping breath, I tottered out to the edge and hung my toes over. "Hackett's Bunjee Jumping and Adventure Center" screamed the bright red awning below, in wild type face. A rush of cowardice swept over me, but was beaten back by one imperative thought. My fourteen-year-old daughter, who was growing up so fast, had gone before. She just calmly stood there, awaiting her turn, then waved awkwardly and jumped. So now it was my turn, and fear was not an option. If I back out, there's no way to live this down. So I took a deep breath (as you'd probably expect). I gave a thumbs-up to anyone watching me. Bending my knees slightly, I leaned forward slowly. All quiet, except wind in my ears. And the voice of my daughter. Below, she shouted her encouragement. "Hey you up there! Let's go, Daddio!" Here goes... Geronimo!!!	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	The days are getting shorter now, like so long ago when the birds still sang and children laughed freely together. It’s the smog that causes it, with its twisting clouds of toxic fumes that cover the sky each day. It started so slowly that we didn’t notice or maybe it was just that we pretended not to. We used to walk through gardens, bathe in sunlight, and whisper promises of a wonderful life together. Now the flowers wither, the sun hides away, and useless nurseries gather dust and broken dreams. We did try to change, maybe we even made a difference, extending our borrowed time. And when the days first grew darker, some of us changed for the worse. The rest of us drew together though, drawing strength from our shared pains. That’s when we found you and with it some shred of hope. You’ll be so far away from us when you see this. Not everyone could leave and we all made a choice. All of you children are going to be safe. When you wake it’ll be a new world. This planet is our sin to bear. The future is yours to explore. The world yours to make. Learn from our mistakes. Hear our hopes. Be better. Farewell. Edit: Wrong spelling.	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	"Sky's all clear, Cap'n," the First Mate called out towards the twelve-toothed terror of the troposphere, the nefarious Captain Dubblebubblebeard. &#x200B; The sailor relinquished control over the helm as the scraggly, gum-bearded man set his feet on the top deck. &#x200B; Searching the mess of chewed gum and hair that was his beard, the captain soon found his bounty. &#x200B; Last night's wad with his lucky gold tooth still embedded, which he plucked and set in place. &#x200B; Back in the socket within his gums, it gleamed through his smile that swiftly turned sour. &#x200B; But not nearly as sour as his rival, whose sails were revealed in the clearing. &#x200B; "Sultan Vinegar," Dubblebubblebeard snarled, not being the sort to forget the fractious fiend's trespass. &#x200B; The Sultan once dared to wash the wads right from the Captain's beard! &#x200B; "Full ahead, ye cumulus curs," he sharply barked, "we'll get the bastard!" &#x200B; Large, masted wrappers fully unfurled and caught the wind most favorably. &#x200B; "Ready those cannons, pack the paper and spare no spittle! &#x200B; The crew toiled, stuffing spitwads into the ship's serpentines. &#x200B; "Sultan's flag's raised, Cap'n," called the lookout aloft. &#x200B; "Very good, I'm champing for a fight!" &#x200B; The ships advanced, none would yeild. &#x200B; "Make peace, ye windswept welps!" &#x200B; "There'll be no quarter-" &#x200B; The alarm chirped. &#x200B; I awoke. &#x200B; "What...?"	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	I must admit that I haven't been keeping it in good repair, these things take maintenance as they get older. My reason for buying it seems silly now, I had money to burn and I wanted something classy, unique. I figured, if I had an antique pocket watch people might find me interesting, wonder "what's her story?" I showed it off to friends, strangers, but it was part of a past that wasn't mine. It did score me a date once, a history buff, she thought I was one too. I never called her back though, felt like I was lying to her, to me. It was meant to be a personality I could wear on my sleeves. Something which made me more enticing than I am, without the effort. Effort is the problem. I lack the motivation to not be dull. And without motivation it seemed easier to just commodify my identity. But realistically, it's no trivial matter, to shine without deteriorating. I bought it polished, with a persistent pleasant ticking. It's since been dirtied, the gears stick often. The hinges have rusted without any oil. The shine is gone without care. Why is it so hard? Can't I stand out? My watch ticks. I listen. Nothing.	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Her little brother was born with all ten toes and ten fingers, they were seven years apart to the day. Her mother whispered, “Kai,” and smiled as the young boy formed his hand around his big sister’s pinky finger. It was not long before they were running around in the backyard together, fighting pirates and wizards alike. Kai was the captain, and she was the sorcerer – the villains no match for this dynamic duo. Their mother was kind but cared more herself, her final goodbye waved from a car window. Time passed but their bond only grew stronger as they took on world – sister, brother. Jumping between foster homes they kept spirits high imagining a place of their own. At 18 she won custody of her brother and a home, rightly theirs. School during the day, overnight shifts at the diner- a better future. Only 11, he stayed with a sitter, seeing sis from 6-7. It was 10 on Tuesday when the sitter stepped out. Kai pulled up a chair and climbed on the counter. He could never reach the Frosted Mini Wheats. One slip, he fell to the floor. One snap, he closed his eyes. She cried and she cried. She opened her eyes. A transparent figure. “Hey Sis.” “Kai.”	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	"Well I must say, when all is said and done, it was a good run while it lasted, wasn't it?" "I am impressed. To make something last for so long is an achievement. Do you plan to make another?" "Perhaps, but not right away. I want to reflect on my work and figure out what to fix." "Always the planner, aren't you? Just make sure you look at things in the long run, understand?" "Of course. I know that you're the one who always has to clean up after me." "At least you do. The others make changes without thinking and discover the consequences later." "I've been at this a lot longer. You've been with me since the beginning." "Oh yes. Your first try was a mess. I blinked and it ended." "I know. More like a whimper than a bang. I remember well." "You learned. Now I have my work cut out for me." "Now, I think I will take a well deserved rest." "And I will start the clean up and preparation." "Thank you, my friend. Don't prepare too much." "Same materials as before or something new?" "Use similar materials but surprise me." "Quite the pair, aren't we?" "I couldn't agree more." "The unstoppable duo." "Creator and-" "Death."	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Somebody once told me the world was going to roll me, I am not the sharpest tool in the shed. She was looking kinda dumb today, as her finger and her thumb were forming an "L" on her forehead. Well, the years start coming and don't stop, fed to the rules and I hit the ground running. Didn't make sense not to live for fun, your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb. So much to do, so much to see, so what is wrong with taking the backstreets? You will never know if you don't go, you'll never shine if you don't glow. Hey now, you are surely an all-star, get your game on and go play! Hey now, you are a rock star, get the show on, get paid! All that glitters is gold, and only shooting stars break the mold. It is a cool place, and they say it gets colder. If you're bundled up now, wait until you get older! But the meteorologists disagree, based on the ozone layer. The ice we skate, is getting pretty thin. It's melting though, so just go swimming. My world's burning, how about yours? That's the way I like it. I never get bored. Shrek is love. Shrek's life. Yeet. (Edit: hyphenated words count as one)	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	I was 12, waking up at night, asking myself if I would ever be strong enough to just let go, Somehow, as a child, the idea of holding on, knowing it would never improve seemed like too much work I was 13 the first time I swallowed my grandmother’s pills hoping they would give me eternal relief, I quickly learned that all they would do was prevent me from getting a full night’s sleep. I was also 13 the first time I took a rusty blade to my skinny wrist, I was 14 when I decided I wanted to shrink myself into nothing, to disappear. I was 15 and I spent my free time writing notes explaining my goodbyes. I was 16 when I unknowingly fell in love for the first time, I was 17 when I crossed the ocean, left my world behind. I was 18 when I discovered alcohol numbed my hidden pain I was 19 when the blade and I started again. I was 19 when she broke my young heart. I was 20, I realized I could heal. I was 20, keeping my rainbows inside. I am 21, rainbows come out. I’m 21, I laugh sometimes. I’m 21. Still hard. 21, I try. I am, Alive. &#x200B; &#x200B; Edit: thanks for the silver!	I do not remember the last time I felt warmth or the sun on my skin; the darkness is eternal. In my dreams, I see flashes of what it was like to live and to laugh and to love. When I wake, the images are gone and I am left reaching for the echo of a memory. If I tried, I could stretch my arms and take it and doom the world to war. I refuse to let it end that way; I pull back and the light goes out. Flowers lie scattered across the floor—some still bright with color, some dead and dry. A flash—green grass, blue skies, a friend lounging beside me in spring, smiling. She started the war, but I finished it—we never could have won. We celebrated victory after victory but their numbers swelled while ours dwindled. We should have had the advantage, the power to destroy them. Most of us had no idea how to use it. Half of us were terrified, and none were trained. Meanwhile, every battle sent recruits running their way. My people would not survive much longer. I gave them terms for peace. A life for a life. I made my choice. I went willingly. Into darkness. Alone.
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	The first time I tried it I was king of the world, nothing would stop this euphoria pulsing through me. I felt- everything, and nothing all at once it was everything I'd craved and never found in a bottle I couldn't stop telling him how damn good it felt, I was so glad we tried it together. He smiled wildly..I was melting into a pool of honey, he said he was glad too When we kissed then it felt like we were astronauts landing on a new sensation We should stay here drifting into nothingness until the sun collies with the ocean Until the universe spits out one last galaxy and we get swallowed up There we stayed, intertwined on the sofa spoons strewn on the table Was it still in my arm? I didn’t even fucking care I had him and bliss what else did we need Apart from more of that good injectable magic potion But it ran out, we came back down- We crash landed back on earth, rapidly There was nothing left to ingest No money for another bag We returned to volatile Everything was concrete There’s Nothing. Nothing.	My first attempt at one of these; here's hoping I do alright! &#x200B; \--------------- &#x200B; As a paranormal investigator, I know fear. But I never ACTUALLY thought I would find something real. But I did. &#x200B; It is all for TV. Fame, money, making a name for myself while pretending to be accosted by demons... &#x200B; Didn't seem like a bad gig, y'know? Until now. Now, I stare into the face of pure evil. &#x200B; Run. Heart pounding. Heavy breathing. Mine or that...things? Don't know. Keep running. The door is locked. &#x200B; Oh no! How? Was open before. Turn into the next hall. Hear a child crying. Shit. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing. Must get out. It will kill me. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Out of breath. This mansion is so big! &#x200B; Where to go? Scratching behind me. Child crying. Calling me. I cry too. &#x200B; I don't want to die. So dark in here. Light is dead. &#x200B; Time running out. Must run. Must escape. I can't die here! &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing, faster than I run. &#x200B; Time running out. Turn down another all. Dead end. &#x200B; Enter room to left. Nowhere left to go. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Please help me. &#x200B; Child calling my name. I cry. &#x200B; Scratching, clawing. I cry out. &#x200B; I scream. Door opens. &#x200B; Those eyes. No! &#x200B; It lunges! &#x200B; Help...
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Unicorns certainly are quite a quaint team of beasts, if you think about their ability to soar through the skies. Do they take off like airplanes, speeding down a runway, and if so, how long it ought to be? Or do they rather ascend heavenwards like helicopters, and if so, which body part is the rotating one? I certainly don’t think about unicorns a lot, since I feel there is little merit to it. But aren’t you curious, what they may eat, and if they do, where it all goes? How much hay does a unicorn devour in a day, or could they be carnivores? But I really don’t think there is a point in asking all these questions. Do you think unicorns can speak, and if they do, in what language? Would it even be comprehensible by us, or speak it’s own tounge? I really hope that they don’t communicate by reading our minds. There is really no point thinking about these dumb questions. Because, I swear, I never want to meet unicorns. Especially not dick-propelled, carnivorous, mind-reading ones. Who am I kidding, unicorns don’t exist. This train of thought is dumb. Huh, sounds like a helicopter? Don’t read my mind! I taste bad! A rainbow? nian	My first attempt at one of these; here's hoping I do alright! &#x200B; \--------------- &#x200B; As a paranormal investigator, I know fear. But I never ACTUALLY thought I would find something real. But I did. &#x200B; It is all for TV. Fame, money, making a name for myself while pretending to be accosted by demons... &#x200B; Didn't seem like a bad gig, y'know? Until now. Now, I stare into the face of pure evil. &#x200B; Run. Heart pounding. Heavy breathing. Mine or that...things? Don't know. Keep running. The door is locked. &#x200B; Oh no! How? Was open before. Turn into the next hall. Hear a child crying. Shit. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing. Must get out. It will kill me. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Out of breath. This mansion is so big! &#x200B; Where to go? Scratching behind me. Child crying. Calling me. I cry too. &#x200B; I don't want to die. So dark in here. Light is dead. &#x200B; Time running out. Must run. Must escape. I can't die here! &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing, faster than I run. &#x200B; Time running out. Turn down another all. Dead end. &#x200B; Enter room to left. Nowhere left to go. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Please help me. &#x200B; Child calling my name. I cry. &#x200B; Scratching, clawing. I cry out. &#x200B; I scream. Door opens. &#x200B; Those eyes. No! &#x200B; It lunges! &#x200B; Help...
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Darling, I finished making the pasta for tonight. ...Darling? Why is it so eerily quiet in the house right now? Oh my God! My love, darling, are you alright? We have to get you to the hospital right away. She's had several health scares in the last year. I don't want to say it, but I'm terrified. What exactly do you mean by "her condition is worsening"? That doesn't make sense in the slightest. I know you can make the right decision in the end, but you must remember yourself. I'm sorry I have to leave you my love, I promise I'll be back soon. Why do they keep ringing the doorbell; I don't need more cards about her. I know this is difficult, but can you read this over for me? My friend, what is all this about a nursing home for me? We have to come up with something to keep you healthy. Stop talking to me about a plan for her death. I'm sure you know she doesn't have much longer. I must go, the hospital is calling me. Thank you for coming when I called. What is troubling you, my love? I have to go now. I'm gonna miss you. I love you. I know. Goodbye.	My first attempt at one of these; here's hoping I do alright! &#x200B; \--------------- &#x200B; As a paranormal investigator, I know fear. But I never ACTUALLY thought I would find something real. But I did. &#x200B; It is all for TV. Fame, money, making a name for myself while pretending to be accosted by demons... &#x200B; Didn't seem like a bad gig, y'know? Until now. Now, I stare into the face of pure evil. &#x200B; Run. Heart pounding. Heavy breathing. Mine or that...things? Don't know. Keep running. The door is locked. &#x200B; Oh no! How? Was open before. Turn into the next hall. Hear a child crying. Shit. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing. Must get out. It will kill me. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Out of breath. This mansion is so big! &#x200B; Where to go? Scratching behind me. Child crying. Calling me. I cry too. &#x200B; I don't want to die. So dark in here. Light is dead. &#x200B; Time running out. Must run. Must escape. I can't die here! &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing, faster than I run. &#x200B; Time running out. Turn down another all. Dead end. &#x200B; Enter room to left. Nowhere left to go. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Please help me. &#x200B; Child calling my name. I cry. &#x200B; Scratching, clawing. I cry out. &#x200B; I scream. Door opens. &#x200B; Those eyes. No! &#x200B; It lunges! &#x200B; Help...
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	5 seconds left on the clock, we are down by 2 in Game 7, playing on the road in Boston It’s the Finals, I look to my left and see coach calling the play, I’ll take the final shot. It’s time, now or never. Thomas is hounding me, hanging on to me like a scared newborn baby Whistle blows and Lin will be inbounding, I run, clapping my hands frantically, begging for the ball I feel Thomas lose me and I catch the ball, looking for a sliver of daylight I feel leather in my hand, still damp and rough from 48 minutes of play I dribble once and see Wade running to me, cut left to lose him Dribble again, another defender on me, no good. I cut to the right. Behind the back dribble. 3 seconds left, need to shoot the ball I sprint to the three point line, pull up and release I am hit on my way down, no foul call I can’t see shit and everything’s in slow motion I feel like I’m underwater, gasping for air The buzzer sounds, echoing around the arena I’m dazed and glance at coach His face is lit up I see fans crying I stand up I’m surrounded Glory \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is the first time I've ever written something so I apologise if it isn't good. I also couldn't think of a topic so I decided to write on something I'm extremely familiar with. I really hope you guys enjoy this and would really appreciate any feedback! &#x200B; &#x200B;	My first attempt at one of these; here's hoping I do alright! &#x200B; \--------------- &#x200B; As a paranormal investigator, I know fear. But I never ACTUALLY thought I would find something real. But I did. &#x200B; It is all for TV. Fame, money, making a name for myself while pretending to be accosted by demons... &#x200B; Didn't seem like a bad gig, y'know? Until now. Now, I stare into the face of pure evil. &#x200B; Run. Heart pounding. Heavy breathing. Mine or that...things? Don't know. Keep running. The door is locked. &#x200B; Oh no! How? Was open before. Turn into the next hall. Hear a child crying. Shit. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing. Must get out. It will kill me. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Out of breath. This mansion is so big! &#x200B; Where to go? Scratching behind me. Child crying. Calling me. I cry too. &#x200B; I don't want to die. So dark in here. Light is dead. &#x200B; Time running out. Must run. Must escape. I can't die here! &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing, faster than I run. &#x200B; Time running out. Turn down another all. Dead end. &#x200B; Enter room to left. Nowhere left to go. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Please help me. &#x200B; Child calling my name. I cry. &#x200B; Scratching, clawing. I cry out. &#x200B; I scream. Door opens. &#x200B; Those eyes. No! &#x200B; It lunges! &#x200B; Help...
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	There comes a time in a man's life when he knows, for a fact, that he simply cannot "chicken out". For me, that time came as I stood on a platform 180 feet above a shallow pool of water. A thick band of rubberized bunjee cord was around my ankles, and beads of sweat on my brow. With shaking knees and gulping breath, I tottered out to the edge and hung my toes over. "Hackett's Bunjee Jumping and Adventure Center" screamed the bright red awning below, in wild type face. A rush of cowardice swept over me, but was beaten back by one imperative thought. My fourteen-year-old daughter, who was growing up so fast, had gone before. She just calmly stood there, awaiting her turn, then waved awkwardly and jumped. So now it was my turn, and fear was not an option. If I back out, there's no way to live this down. So I took a deep breath (as you'd probably expect). I gave a thumbs-up to anyone watching me. Bending my knees slightly, I leaned forward slowly. All quiet, except wind in my ears. And the voice of my daughter. Below, she shouted her encouragement. "Hey you up there! Let's go, Daddio!" Here goes... Geronimo!!!	My first attempt at one of these; here's hoping I do alright! &#x200B; \--------------- &#x200B; As a paranormal investigator, I know fear. But I never ACTUALLY thought I would find something real. But I did. &#x200B; It is all for TV. Fame, money, making a name for myself while pretending to be accosted by demons... &#x200B; Didn't seem like a bad gig, y'know? Until now. Now, I stare into the face of pure evil. &#x200B; Run. Heart pounding. Heavy breathing. Mine or that...things? Don't know. Keep running. The door is locked. &#x200B; Oh no! How? Was open before. Turn into the next hall. Hear a child crying. Shit. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing. Must get out. It will kill me. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Out of breath. This mansion is so big! &#x200B; Where to go? Scratching behind me. Child crying. Calling me. I cry too. &#x200B; I don't want to die. So dark in here. Light is dead. &#x200B; Time running out. Must run. Must escape. I can't die here! &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing, faster than I run. &#x200B; Time running out. Turn down another all. Dead end. &#x200B; Enter room to left. Nowhere left to go. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Please help me. &#x200B; Child calling my name. I cry. &#x200B; Scratching, clawing. I cry out. &#x200B; I scream. Door opens. &#x200B; Those eyes. No! &#x200B; It lunges! &#x200B; Help...
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	"Sky's all clear, Cap'n," the First Mate called out towards the twelve-toothed terror of the troposphere, the nefarious Captain Dubblebubblebeard. &#x200B; The sailor relinquished control over the helm as the scraggly, gum-bearded man set his feet on the top deck. &#x200B; Searching the mess of chewed gum and hair that was his beard, the captain soon found his bounty. &#x200B; Last night's wad with his lucky gold tooth still embedded, which he plucked and set in place. &#x200B; Back in the socket within his gums, it gleamed through his smile that swiftly turned sour. &#x200B; But not nearly as sour as his rival, whose sails were revealed in the clearing. &#x200B; "Sultan Vinegar," Dubblebubblebeard snarled, not being the sort to forget the fractious fiend's trespass. &#x200B; The Sultan once dared to wash the wads right from the Captain's beard! &#x200B; "Full ahead, ye cumulus curs," he sharply barked, "we'll get the bastard!" &#x200B; Large, masted wrappers fully unfurled and caught the wind most favorably. &#x200B; "Ready those cannons, pack the paper and spare no spittle! &#x200B; The crew toiled, stuffing spitwads into the ship's serpentines. &#x200B; "Sultan's flag's raised, Cap'n," called the lookout aloft. &#x200B; "Very good, I'm champing for a fight!" &#x200B; The ships advanced, none would yeild. &#x200B; "Make peace, ye windswept welps!" &#x200B; "There'll be no quarter-" &#x200B; The alarm chirped. &#x200B; I awoke. &#x200B; "What...?"	My first attempt at one of these; here's hoping I do alright! &#x200B; \--------------- &#x200B; As a paranormal investigator, I know fear. But I never ACTUALLY thought I would find something real. But I did. &#x200B; It is all for TV. Fame, money, making a name for myself while pretending to be accosted by demons... &#x200B; Didn't seem like a bad gig, y'know? Until now. Now, I stare into the face of pure evil. &#x200B; Run. Heart pounding. Heavy breathing. Mine or that...things? Don't know. Keep running. The door is locked. &#x200B; Oh no! How? Was open before. Turn into the next hall. Hear a child crying. Shit. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing. Must get out. It will kill me. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Out of breath. This mansion is so big! &#x200B; Where to go? Scratching behind me. Child crying. Calling me. I cry too. &#x200B; I don't want to die. So dark in here. Light is dead. &#x200B; Time running out. Must run. Must escape. I can't die here! &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heart racing, faster than I run. &#x200B; Time running out. Turn down another all. Dead end. &#x200B; Enter room to left. Nowhere left to go. &#x200B; Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Please help me. &#x200B; Child calling my name. I cry. &#x200B; Scratching, clawing. I cry out. &#x200B; I scream. Door opens. &#x200B; Those eyes. No! &#x200B; It lunges! &#x200B; Help...
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	The first time I tried it I was king of the world, nothing would stop this euphoria pulsing through me. I felt- everything, and nothing all at once it was everything I'd craved and never found in a bottle I couldn't stop telling him how damn good it felt, I was so glad we tried it together. He smiled wildly..I was melting into a pool of honey, he said he was glad too When we kissed then it felt like we were astronauts landing on a new sensation We should stay here drifting into nothingness until the sun collies with the ocean Until the universe spits out one last galaxy and we get swallowed up There we stayed, intertwined on the sofa spoons strewn on the table Was it still in my arm? I didn’t even fucking care I had him and bliss what else did we need Apart from more of that good injectable magic potion But it ran out, we came back down- We crash landed back on earth, rapidly There was nothing left to ingest No money for another bag We returned to volatile Everything was concrete There’s Nothing. Nothing.	“I thought, that after so many, I’d get bored or something, But,” I carefully dragged the scalpel across his abdomen. “I’ve found that there continues to be this... urge to continue, a necessity I guess you would call it.” I placed the scalpel back on to the tray and took a step back to admire my work. My subject draped exquisitely from the ceiling, wrists securely tied together, sweat trickling from his forehead. For me, it was always easiest to work when my canvas was suspended in this way. He released a muffled scream from behind the tape, but nobody would listen to him. It was only I who seemed to care of how wonderfully beautiful he appeared. It was only I who seemed to care of how special he was. He would never understand though, he thought I was causing him harm. I could never hurt my subjects, I loved them each dearly. "Are you ready?" I asked him, reaching towards the drill. He screamed once more, but his voice remained suppressed. The drill released a husky snarl towards him. The drill steadily penetrated, his pupils intensified. The drill relaxed as it exited. I stared into his eyes. I looked at him. I admired him. My artwork. Perfect. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I tried to take an odd, darker perspective for this prompt. I hope somebody likes it. :) &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Unicorns certainly are quite a quaint team of beasts, if you think about their ability to soar through the skies. Do they take off like airplanes, speeding down a runway, and if so, how long it ought to be? Or do they rather ascend heavenwards like helicopters, and if so, which body part is the rotating one? I certainly don’t think about unicorns a lot, since I feel there is little merit to it. But aren’t you curious, what they may eat, and if they do, where it all goes? How much hay does a unicorn devour in a day, or could they be carnivores? But I really don’t think there is a point in asking all these questions. Do you think unicorns can speak, and if they do, in what language? Would it even be comprehensible by us, or speak it’s own tounge? I really hope that they don’t communicate by reading our minds. There is really no point thinking about these dumb questions. Because, I swear, I never want to meet unicorns. Especially not dick-propelled, carnivorous, mind-reading ones. Who am I kidding, unicorns don’t exist. This train of thought is dumb. Huh, sounds like a helicopter? Don’t read my mind! I taste bad! A rainbow? nian	“I thought, that after so many, I’d get bored or something, But,” I carefully dragged the scalpel across his abdomen. “I’ve found that there continues to be this... urge to continue, a necessity I guess you would call it.” I placed the scalpel back on to the tray and took a step back to admire my work. My subject draped exquisitely from the ceiling, wrists securely tied together, sweat trickling from his forehead. For me, it was always easiest to work when my canvas was suspended in this way. He released a muffled scream from behind the tape, but nobody would listen to him. It was only I who seemed to care of how wonderfully beautiful he appeared. It was only I who seemed to care of how special he was. He would never understand though, he thought I was causing him harm. I could never hurt my subjects, I loved them each dearly. "Are you ready?" I asked him, reaching towards the drill. He screamed once more, but his voice remained suppressed. The drill released a husky snarl towards him. The drill steadily penetrated, his pupils intensified. The drill relaxed as it exited. I stared into his eyes. I looked at him. I admired him. My artwork. Perfect. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I tried to take an odd, darker perspective for this prompt. I hope somebody likes it. :) &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Darling, I finished making the pasta for tonight. ...Darling? Why is it so eerily quiet in the house right now? Oh my God! My love, darling, are you alright? We have to get you to the hospital right away. She's had several health scares in the last year. I don't want to say it, but I'm terrified. What exactly do you mean by "her condition is worsening"? That doesn't make sense in the slightest. I know you can make the right decision in the end, but you must remember yourself. I'm sorry I have to leave you my love, I promise I'll be back soon. Why do they keep ringing the doorbell; I don't need more cards about her. I know this is difficult, but can you read this over for me? My friend, what is all this about a nursing home for me? We have to come up with something to keep you healthy. Stop talking to me about a plan for her death. I'm sure you know she doesn't have much longer. I must go, the hospital is calling me. Thank you for coming when I called. What is troubling you, my love? I have to go now. I'm gonna miss you. I love you. I know. Goodbye.	“I thought, that after so many, I’d get bored or something, But,” I carefully dragged the scalpel across his abdomen. “I’ve found that there continues to be this... urge to continue, a necessity I guess you would call it.” I placed the scalpel back on to the tray and took a step back to admire my work. My subject draped exquisitely from the ceiling, wrists securely tied together, sweat trickling from his forehead. For me, it was always easiest to work when my canvas was suspended in this way. He released a muffled scream from behind the tape, but nobody would listen to him. It was only I who seemed to care of how wonderfully beautiful he appeared. It was only I who seemed to care of how special he was. He would never understand though, he thought I was causing him harm. I could never hurt my subjects, I loved them each dearly. "Are you ready?" I asked him, reaching towards the drill. He screamed once more, but his voice remained suppressed. The drill released a husky snarl towards him. The drill steadily penetrated, his pupils intensified. The drill relaxed as it exited. I stared into his eyes. I looked at him. I admired him. My artwork. Perfect. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I tried to take an odd, darker perspective for this prompt. I hope somebody likes it. :) &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	5 seconds left on the clock, we are down by 2 in Game 7, playing on the road in Boston It’s the Finals, I look to my left and see coach calling the play, I’ll take the final shot. It’s time, now or never. Thomas is hounding me, hanging on to me like a scared newborn baby Whistle blows and Lin will be inbounding, I run, clapping my hands frantically, begging for the ball I feel Thomas lose me and I catch the ball, looking for a sliver of daylight I feel leather in my hand, still damp and rough from 48 minutes of play I dribble once and see Wade running to me, cut left to lose him Dribble again, another defender on me, no good. I cut to the right. Behind the back dribble. 3 seconds left, need to shoot the ball I sprint to the three point line, pull up and release I am hit on my way down, no foul call I can’t see shit and everything’s in slow motion I feel like I’m underwater, gasping for air The buzzer sounds, echoing around the arena I’m dazed and glance at coach His face is lit up I see fans crying I stand up I’m surrounded Glory \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is the first time I've ever written something so I apologise if it isn't good. I also couldn't think of a topic so I decided to write on something I'm extremely familiar with. I really hope you guys enjoy this and would really appreciate any feedback! &#x200B; &#x200B;	“I thought, that after so many, I’d get bored or something, But,” I carefully dragged the scalpel across his abdomen. “I’ve found that there continues to be this... urge to continue, a necessity I guess you would call it.” I placed the scalpel back on to the tray and took a step back to admire my work. My subject draped exquisitely from the ceiling, wrists securely tied together, sweat trickling from his forehead. For me, it was always easiest to work when my canvas was suspended in this way. He released a muffled scream from behind the tape, but nobody would listen to him. It was only I who seemed to care of how wonderfully beautiful he appeared. It was only I who seemed to care of how special he was. He would never understand though, he thought I was causing him harm. I could never hurt my subjects, I loved them each dearly. "Are you ready?" I asked him, reaching towards the drill. He screamed once more, but his voice remained suppressed. The drill released a husky snarl towards him. The drill steadily penetrated, his pupils intensified. The drill relaxed as it exited. I stared into his eyes. I looked at him. I admired him. My artwork. Perfect. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I tried to take an odd, darker perspective for this prompt. I hope somebody likes it. :) &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	There comes a time in a man's life when he knows, for a fact, that he simply cannot "chicken out". For me, that time came as I stood on a platform 180 feet above a shallow pool of water. A thick band of rubberized bunjee cord was around my ankles, and beads of sweat on my brow. With shaking knees and gulping breath, I tottered out to the edge and hung my toes over. "Hackett's Bunjee Jumping and Adventure Center" screamed the bright red awning below, in wild type face. A rush of cowardice swept over me, but was beaten back by one imperative thought. My fourteen-year-old daughter, who was growing up so fast, had gone before. She just calmly stood there, awaiting her turn, then waved awkwardly and jumped. So now it was my turn, and fear was not an option. If I back out, there's no way to live this down. So I took a deep breath (as you'd probably expect). I gave a thumbs-up to anyone watching me. Bending my knees slightly, I leaned forward slowly. All quiet, except wind in my ears. And the voice of my daughter. Below, she shouted her encouragement. "Hey you up there! Let's go, Daddio!" Here goes... Geronimo!!!	“I thought, that after so many, I’d get bored or something, But,” I carefully dragged the scalpel across his abdomen. “I’ve found that there continues to be this... urge to continue, a necessity I guess you would call it.” I placed the scalpel back on to the tray and took a step back to admire my work. My subject draped exquisitely from the ceiling, wrists securely tied together, sweat trickling from his forehead. For me, it was always easiest to work when my canvas was suspended in this way. He released a muffled scream from behind the tape, but nobody would listen to him. It was only I who seemed to care of how wonderfully beautiful he appeared. It was only I who seemed to care of how special he was. He would never understand though, he thought I was causing him harm. I could never hurt my subjects, I loved them each dearly. "Are you ready?" I asked him, reaching towards the drill. He screamed once more, but his voice remained suppressed. The drill released a husky snarl towards him. The drill steadily penetrated, his pupils intensified. The drill relaxed as it exited. I stared into his eyes. I looked at him. I admired him. My artwork. Perfect. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I tried to take an odd, darker perspective for this prompt. I hope somebody likes it. :) &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	"Sky's all clear, Cap'n," the First Mate called out towards the twelve-toothed terror of the troposphere, the nefarious Captain Dubblebubblebeard. &#x200B; The sailor relinquished control over the helm as the scraggly, gum-bearded man set his feet on the top deck. &#x200B; Searching the mess of chewed gum and hair that was his beard, the captain soon found his bounty. &#x200B; Last night's wad with his lucky gold tooth still embedded, which he plucked and set in place. &#x200B; Back in the socket within his gums, it gleamed through his smile that swiftly turned sour. &#x200B; But not nearly as sour as his rival, whose sails were revealed in the clearing. &#x200B; "Sultan Vinegar," Dubblebubblebeard snarled, not being the sort to forget the fractious fiend's trespass. &#x200B; The Sultan once dared to wash the wads right from the Captain's beard! &#x200B; "Full ahead, ye cumulus curs," he sharply barked, "we'll get the bastard!" &#x200B; Large, masted wrappers fully unfurled and caught the wind most favorably. &#x200B; "Ready those cannons, pack the paper and spare no spittle! &#x200B; The crew toiled, stuffing spitwads into the ship's serpentines. &#x200B; "Sultan's flag's raised, Cap'n," called the lookout aloft. &#x200B; "Very good, I'm champing for a fight!" &#x200B; The ships advanced, none would yeild. &#x200B; "Make peace, ye windswept welps!" &#x200B; "There'll be no quarter-" &#x200B; The alarm chirped. &#x200B; I awoke. &#x200B; "What...?"	“I thought, that after so many, I’d get bored or something, But,” I carefully dragged the scalpel across his abdomen. “I’ve found that there continues to be this... urge to continue, a necessity I guess you would call it.” I placed the scalpel back on to the tray and took a step back to admire my work. My subject draped exquisitely from the ceiling, wrists securely tied together, sweat trickling from his forehead. For me, it was always easiest to work when my canvas was suspended in this way. He released a muffled scream from behind the tape, but nobody would listen to him. It was only I who seemed to care of how wonderfully beautiful he appeared. It was only I who seemed to care of how special he was. He would never understand though, he thought I was causing him harm. I could never hurt my subjects, I loved them each dearly. "Are you ready?" I asked him, reaching towards the drill. He screamed once more, but his voice remained suppressed. The drill released a husky snarl towards him. The drill steadily penetrated, his pupils intensified. The drill relaxed as it exited. I stared into his eyes. I looked at him. I admired him. My artwork. Perfect. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I tried to take an odd, darker perspective for this prompt. I hope somebody likes it. :) &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	The first time I tried it I was king of the world, nothing would stop this euphoria pulsing through me. I felt- everything, and nothing all at once it was everything I'd craved and never found in a bottle I couldn't stop telling him how damn good it felt, I was so glad we tried it together. He smiled wildly..I was melting into a pool of honey, he said he was glad too When we kissed then it felt like we were astronauts landing on a new sensation We should stay here drifting into nothingness until the sun collies with the ocean Until the universe spits out one last galaxy and we get swallowed up There we stayed, intertwined on the sofa spoons strewn on the table Was it still in my arm? I didn’t even fucking care I had him and bliss what else did we need Apart from more of that good injectable magic potion But it ran out, we came back down- We crash landed back on earth, rapidly There was nothing left to ingest No money for another bag We returned to volatile Everything was concrete There’s Nothing. Nothing.	Conversation ----- Him: "You were the one who told me that after all of this time, this was all that you ever wanted." Her: "And what if that's not the case anymore? What if I wanted something else, something new, something... not this?" Him: "Then.. I wouldn't really know what to say to you. My feelings have never been easy to express." Her: "Except when it comes to MY feelings? Most times it's like you've already made up your mind!" Him: "You're not being fair with me. You're acting as if I'm not human, incapable of mistakes." Her: "All I want is for this to be real enough, that's all. Is that wrong?" Him: "It's wrong if all you're looking for is perfection. I'm a human, not God." Her: "I never said you were. That's not something that I'd assume about someone." Him: "Except you're not wiling to let me make mistakes, to live life." Her: "I just don't want something uncontrollable to screw these things up." Him: "That's just you detaching from reality. True control is impossible." Her: "You know that's not something that I agree with." Him: "Then go ahead and tell me the truth." Her: "I don't think I'm ready for that." Him: "Then I think I should ask." Him: "Do you still love me?" Her: "Oh please. Come on." Him: "Answer the queston!" Him: "Do you?" Her: "No."
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Unicorns certainly are quite a quaint team of beasts, if you think about their ability to soar through the skies. Do they take off like airplanes, speeding down a runway, and if so, how long it ought to be? Or do they rather ascend heavenwards like helicopters, and if so, which body part is the rotating one? I certainly don’t think about unicorns a lot, since I feel there is little merit to it. But aren’t you curious, what they may eat, and if they do, where it all goes? How much hay does a unicorn devour in a day, or could they be carnivores? But I really don’t think there is a point in asking all these questions. Do you think unicorns can speak, and if they do, in what language? Would it even be comprehensible by us, or speak it’s own tounge? I really hope that they don’t communicate by reading our minds. There is really no point thinking about these dumb questions. Because, I swear, I never want to meet unicorns. Especially not dick-propelled, carnivorous, mind-reading ones. Who am I kidding, unicorns don’t exist. This train of thought is dumb. Huh, sounds like a helicopter? Don’t read my mind! I taste bad! A rainbow? nian	Conversation ----- Him: "You were the one who told me that after all of this time, this was all that you ever wanted." Her: "And what if that's not the case anymore? What if I wanted something else, something new, something... not this?" Him: "Then.. I wouldn't really know what to say to you. My feelings have never been easy to express." Her: "Except when it comes to MY feelings? Most times it's like you've already made up your mind!" Him: "You're not being fair with me. You're acting as if I'm not human, incapable of mistakes." Her: "All I want is for this to be real enough, that's all. Is that wrong?" Him: "It's wrong if all you're looking for is perfection. I'm a human, not God." Her: "I never said you were. That's not something that I'd assume about someone." Him: "Except you're not wiling to let me make mistakes, to live life." Her: "I just don't want something uncontrollable to screw these things up." Him: "That's just you detaching from reality. True control is impossible." Her: "You know that's not something that I agree with." Him: "Then go ahead and tell me the truth." Her: "I don't think I'm ready for that." Him: "Then I think I should ask." Him: "Do you still love me?" Her: "Oh please. Come on." Him: "Answer the queston!" Him: "Do you?" Her: "No."
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	Darling, I finished making the pasta for tonight. ...Darling? Why is it so eerily quiet in the house right now? Oh my God! My love, darling, are you alright? We have to get you to the hospital right away. She's had several health scares in the last year. I don't want to say it, but I'm terrified. What exactly do you mean by "her condition is worsening"? That doesn't make sense in the slightest. I know you can make the right decision in the end, but you must remember yourself. I'm sorry I have to leave you my love, I promise I'll be back soon. Why do they keep ringing the doorbell; I don't need more cards about her. I know this is difficult, but can you read this over for me? My friend, what is all this about a nursing home for me? We have to come up with something to keep you healthy. Stop talking to me about a plan for her death. I'm sure you know she doesn't have much longer. I must go, the hospital is calling me. Thank you for coming when I called. What is troubling you, my love? I have to go now. I'm gonna miss you. I love you. I know. Goodbye.	Conversation ----- Him: "You were the one who told me that after all of this time, this was all that you ever wanted." Her: "And what if that's not the case anymore? What if I wanted something else, something new, something... not this?" Him: "Then.. I wouldn't really know what to say to you. My feelings have never been easy to express." Her: "Except when it comes to MY feelings? Most times it's like you've already made up your mind!" Him: "You're not being fair with me. You're acting as if I'm not human, incapable of mistakes." Her: "All I want is for this to be real enough, that's all. Is that wrong?" Him: "It's wrong if all you're looking for is perfection. I'm a human, not God." Her: "I never said you were. That's not something that I'd assume about someone." Him: "Except you're not wiling to let me make mistakes, to live life." Her: "I just don't want something uncontrollable to screw these things up." Him: "That's just you detaching from reality. True control is impossible." Her: "You know that's not something that I agree with." Him: "Then go ahead and tell me the truth." Her: "I don't think I'm ready for that." Him: "Then I think I should ask." Him: "Do you still love me?" Her: "Oh please. Come on." Him: "Answer the queston!" Him: "Do you?" Her: "No."
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	5 seconds left on the clock, we are down by 2 in Game 7, playing on the road in Boston It’s the Finals, I look to my left and see coach calling the play, I’ll take the final shot. It’s time, now or never. Thomas is hounding me, hanging on to me like a scared newborn baby Whistle blows and Lin will be inbounding, I run, clapping my hands frantically, begging for the ball I feel Thomas lose me and I catch the ball, looking for a sliver of daylight I feel leather in my hand, still damp and rough from 48 minutes of play I dribble once and see Wade running to me, cut left to lose him Dribble again, another defender on me, no good. I cut to the right. Behind the back dribble. 3 seconds left, need to shoot the ball I sprint to the three point line, pull up and release I am hit on my way down, no foul call I can’t see shit and everything’s in slow motion I feel like I’m underwater, gasping for air The buzzer sounds, echoing around the arena I’m dazed and glance at coach His face is lit up I see fans crying I stand up I’m surrounded Glory \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is the first time I've ever written something so I apologise if it isn't good. I also couldn't think of a topic so I decided to write on something I'm extremely familiar with. I really hope you guys enjoy this and would really appreciate any feedback! &#x200B; &#x200B;	Conversation ----- Him: "You were the one who told me that after all of this time, this was all that you ever wanted." Her: "And what if that's not the case anymore? What if I wanted something else, something new, something... not this?" Him: "Then.. I wouldn't really know what to say to you. My feelings have never been easy to express." Her: "Except when it comes to MY feelings? Most times it's like you've already made up your mind!" Him: "You're not being fair with me. You're acting as if I'm not human, incapable of mistakes." Her: "All I want is for this to be real enough, that's all. Is that wrong?" Him: "It's wrong if all you're looking for is perfection. I'm a human, not God." Her: "I never said you were. That's not something that I'd assume about someone." Him: "Except you're not wiling to let me make mistakes, to live life." Her: "I just don't want something uncontrollable to screw these things up." Him: "That's just you detaching from reality. True control is impossible." Her: "You know that's not something that I agree with." Him: "Then go ahead and tell me the truth." Her: "I don't think I'm ready for that." Him: "Then I think I should ask." Him: "Do you still love me?" Her: "Oh please. Come on." Him: "Answer the queston!" Him: "Do you?" Her: "No."
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.	There comes a time in a man's life when he knows, for a fact, that he simply cannot "chicken out". For me, that time came as I stood on a platform 180 feet above a shallow pool of water. A thick band of rubberized bunjee cord was around my ankles, and beads of sweat on my brow. With shaking knees and gulping breath, I tottered out to the edge and hung my toes over. "Hackett's Bunjee Jumping and Adventure Center" screamed the bright red awning below, in wild type face. A rush of cowardice swept over me, but was beaten back by one imperative thought. My fourteen-year-old daughter, who was growing up so fast, had gone before. She just calmly stood there, awaiting her turn, then waved awkwardly and jumped. So now it was my turn, and fear was not an option. If I back out, there's no way to live this down. So I took a deep breath (as you'd probably expect). I gave a thumbs-up to anyone watching me. Bending my knees slightly, I leaned forward slowly. All quiet, except wind in my ears. And the voice of my daughter. Below, she shouted her encouragement. "Hey you up there! Let's go, Daddio!" Here goes... Geronimo!!!	Conversation ----- Him: "You were the one who told me that after all of this time, this was all that you ever wanted." Her: "And what if that's not the case anymore? What if I wanted something else, something new, something... not this?" Him: "Then.. I wouldn't really know what to say to you. My feelings have never been easy to express." Her: "Except when it comes to MY feelings? Most times it's like you've already made up your mind!" Him: "You're not being fair with me. You're acting as if I'm not human, incapable of mistakes." Her: "All I want is for this to be real enough, that's all. Is that wrong?" Him: "It's wrong if all you're looking for is perfection. I'm a human, not God." Her: "I never said you were. That's not something that I'd assume about someone." Him: "Except you're not wiling to let me make mistakes, to live life." Her: "I just don't want something uncontrollable to screw these things up." Him: "That's just you detaching from reality. True control is impossible." Her: "You know that's not something that I agree with." Him: "Then go ahead and tell me the truth." Her: "I don't think I'm ready for that." Him: "Then I think I should ask." Him: "Do you still love me?" Her: "Oh please. Come on." Him: "Answer the queston!" Him: "Do you?" Her: "No."

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