Split (1)

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	[WP] You wake up blindfolded next to three strangers in the middle of the desert, you are all buried in the sand up to your head. The three of you try to remember what happened.	The ocean, calm and cool. I sat up to see what all the yelling was about. I couldn't see anything. All I could see was beautiful sand and ocean. I stood up, feeling the sand underneath my feet. Wriggling my toes in the tiny toasted grains. I smiled and ran towards the ocean. As I ran, the ocean seemed to move away. Further and further it disappeared into the distance. Suddenly my knees felt weak. I couldn't reach the ocean. As I ran the sand I had previously thought to be beautiful turned against me. It now became my greatest terror. Its rough texture cutting up my skin, making me squirm in pain. The heat it held burned my toes and the soles of my feet. My whole body began to hurt. The screaming I had previously heard became louder. Growing in volume the longer I ran. I then began to sprint towards the ocean. "I must make it" I said to myself. I fell down.. The world began to spin and everything became dark. I gasped for air only to have my mouth filled with bitter sand. I tried to open my eyes but I could not see anything. "Was I blind?" I wondered to myself as panic began to set in. I could hear the labored breathing and yelling from some people nearby. I tried to get up and run to them but my body was trapped, buried in the sand. Its weight crushed my body. It became harder to breath. My lungs began to beg for fresh air to revive my dying body. My brain began to race, I struggled in vain to free myself from the prison I was trapped in. My life flashed before me, every tender moment. Exhausted I let out a scream and dropped my head into the sand and began to cry. "How did we end up here?" Someone nearby moaned. "I don't know.." I cried. Darkness.	Shouldn't Me plus three strangers make the FOUR of us?
	[WP] You wake up blindfolded next to three strangers in the middle of the desert, you are all buried in the sand up to your head. The three of you try to remember what happened.	"What the what? Help! Lana. Lana. LANA!" He looked over at the other three heads sticking out of the sand. "What?! I'm literally three feet away. Why the hell are you shouting?" Lana snapped. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'm buried up to my freaking neck in the sand. This is totally going to dry out my pores." Archer confessed, wagging his head back and forth in an attemp to escape. "To hell with your pores. This is your fault." Lana said, laying the blame on her fellow agent. "Yeah. You totally screwed the pooch, Mr. Archer." Pam interjected, hawking a loogie to clear her mouth of sand. "I didn't screw a pooch . . . but I was pretty hammered last night." Archer confessed. "Who's that?" "How should I know?" Lana snapped. "Who are you?" Archer asked. "You're waiter, sir." I replied. "Well, I'm not tipping you. This is horrible service." Archer complained, giggling. "So, why are we buried in the sand up to our necks?" "It was at your request, sir," I answered "They asked if you'd prefer to feed the ocelots or be stoned. You chose the ocelots." "Yeah. Sounds like him. But, why are you here?" Lana asked. "He asked to be buried with his man servant." I explained. "I was the only waiter on duty." "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "That's pretty insensitive," Lana snapped. "You got an innocent man buried up to his neck to be devoured by ocelots." "What. Oh. I don't care about that. I was thinking about the henchmen who buried us." He said, snickering. "So. What about them?" Lana seethed. "I was just wondering if the henchmen that buried Pam died of exhaustion." "Inappropriate," Lana complained. "Not cool, Mr. Archer. Not cool." Pam told him drily. "Not cool." "Well, are you going to just sit there all day or free us?" Archer complained as the cry of an ocelot sounded from the dunes. "Free us. How in the hell do you think I'm going to free us." Lana demanded. "I don't know. I figured you'd use those monsterous hands to dig your way out. I mean, for crying out loud, you were born with shovels for hands." Archer fired back. "Ha ha ha." Pam laughed. "Shut up, Pam." Lana snapped. "You're not helping." The ocelot appeared from behind some sage brush and began to circle the four. "Any time Lana. Lana? Lana!" Archer called. "What?" Lana snapped in anger. "Are you going to free us or not?" Archer asked, eyeing the hunting cat. The cat rushed in and attacked me, and I cried out, but the others didn't really seem to mind. Lana wiggled and squirmed and in the end, she managed to free her arms. "Holy shit." Archer laughed. "I was just joking about your hands." "Not a word," Lana told him, slipping out of the sand. She immediately went to work on digging out Pam. "They're truly magnificent creatures." Archer said, admiring the oscelot as he ravaged me. "You think I could keep this one. Cheryl has one, already." Archer asked with a dreamy look in his eyes. "Oh my god, this is hard to do without a shovel," Lana complained, digging out the sand around Pam. "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "What?" She looked on as he continued to snicker. They locked eyes again. "You're still thinking about the henchman who dug Pam's hole." "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "Yes, and now the fact you said he dug her hole." "Ma'am. If it wouldn't be terribly forward of me, might I request you give this famished ocelot some measure of chastisement such as would chase him off. I fear his playful gnawing is become most grievous just now." I asked, remembering my place as the help. "Can't you see she's busy?" Archer replied, shaking his head in disbelief. "Good help is so hard to find. It's always me, me, me." Lana finally managed to extract Pam, throwing sticks at the oscelot to chase it off. "Thank you, ma'am." I said. "Lana! What the hell. You freed the help before me," Archer complained as the beautiful spy dug me out. "He's wounded. You're just an ass." Lana replied. "Well, hurry up. I think there might be sandworms nibbling at my nethers just now." Archer complained. "No such thing as sandworms," Lana said. "That was Beetlejuice." "No. The Shai-Hulud exist, and they evidently tickle." Archer protested, wagging his head back and forth to escape. "That was Dune, and also not real." Lana said with a withering sigh. "If you two are finished, could we leave. I've got sand in my vajayjay." Pam admitted. "Oh. Seriously. You had to put that image in my brain." Archer fired back. "Yeah, Pam. I could have done without that. Help me with the waiter." Lana said. Pam took a step toward the waiter. "Stop, Pam. Nobody move. They can feel the vibrations." He whispered, eyeing the ground around them. Pam and Lana and even myself stared at Mr. Archer in confusion. "Tremors?" Lana guessed. "Yeah, Tremors." Archer snapped. "Pam's fat feet are going to get us all killed." The ladies pulled me out of the sand, hefting me up by my arms. "Thank you, ma'am, and you too." I said to my rescuers. "Okay, now. Use those manish shoulders and dig me out." Archer demanded, eyeing his fellow agent expectantly "Which way is home," Lana asked, ignoring Archer. "This way, ma'am." I said, leading them toward a nearby dune. "Lana. Lana? Lana! Aren't you going to free me?" Archer asked. "I'll send someone back," Lana answered, "if I remember." "Lana. Lana! Dig me out, Lana." Archer commanded, wagging his head from side to side. I and the ladies left, but I happened to see the oscelot approaching the solitary form of Mr. Archer and smiled. "Hey, kitty." The oscelot just stared at the helpess agent. "I don't suppose you're like a desert version of a St. Bernard. Are you? No. I guess that would be too much to hope for."	Shouldn't Me plus three strangers make the FOUR of us?
	[WP] You wake up blindfolded next to three strangers in the middle of the desert, you are all buried in the sand up to your head. The three of you try to remember what happened.	"What the what? Help! Lana. Lana. LANA!" He looked over at the other three heads sticking out of the sand. "What?! I'm literally three feet away. Why the hell are you shouting?" Lana snapped. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'm buried up to my freaking neck in the sand. This is totally going to dry out my pores." Archer confessed, wagging his head back and forth in an attemp to escape. "To hell with your pores. This is your fault." Lana said, laying the blame on her fellow agent. "Yeah. You totally screwed the pooch, Mr. Archer." Pam interjected, hawking a loogie to clear her mouth of sand. "I didn't screw a pooch . . . but I was pretty hammered last night." Archer confessed. "Who's that?" "How should I know?" Lana snapped. "Who are you?" Archer asked. "You're waiter, sir." I replied. "Well, I'm not tipping you. This is horrible service." Archer complained, giggling. "So, why are we buried in the sand up to our necks?" "It was at your request, sir," I answered "They asked if you'd prefer to feed the ocelots or be stoned. You chose the ocelots." "Yeah. Sounds like him. But, why are you here?" Lana asked. "He asked to be buried with his man servant." I explained. "I was the only waiter on duty." "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "That's pretty insensitive," Lana snapped. "You got an innocent man buried up to his neck to be devoured by ocelots." "What. Oh. I don't care about that. I was thinking about the henchmen who buried us." He said, snickering. "So. What about them?" Lana seethed. "I was just wondering if the henchmen that buried Pam died of exhaustion." "Inappropriate," Lana complained. "Not cool, Mr. Archer. Not cool." Pam told him drily. "Not cool." "Well, are you going to just sit there all day or free us?" Archer complained as the cry of an ocelot sounded from the dunes. "Free us. How in the hell do you think I'm going to free us." Lana demanded. "I don't know. I figured you'd use those monsterous hands to dig your way out. I mean, for crying out loud, you were born with shovels for hands." Archer fired back. "Ha ha ha." Pam laughed. "Shut up, Pam." Lana snapped. "You're not helping." The ocelot appeared from behind some sage brush and began to circle the four. "Any time Lana. Lana? Lana!" Archer called. "What?" Lana snapped in anger. "Are you going to free us or not?" Archer asked, eyeing the hunting cat. The cat rushed in and attacked me, and I cried out, but the others didn't really seem to mind. Lana wiggled and squirmed and in the end, she managed to free her arms. "Holy shit." Archer laughed. "I was just joking about your hands." "Not a word," Lana told him, slipping out of the sand. She immediately went to work on digging out Pam. "They're truly magnificent creatures." Archer said, admiring the oscelot as he ravaged me. "You think I could keep this one. Cheryl has one, already." Archer asked with a dreamy look in his eyes. "Oh my god, this is hard to do without a shovel," Lana complained, digging out the sand around Pam. "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "What?" She looked on as he continued to snicker. They locked eyes again. "You're still thinking about the henchman who dug Pam's hole." "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "Yes, and now the fact you said he dug her hole." "Ma'am. If it wouldn't be terribly forward of me, might I request you give this famished ocelot some measure of chastisement such as would chase him off. I fear his playful gnawing is become most grievous just now." I asked, remembering my place as the help. "Can't you see she's busy?" Archer replied, shaking his head in disbelief. "Good help is so hard to find. It's always me, me, me." Lana finally managed to extract Pam, throwing sticks at the oscelot to chase it off. "Thank you, ma'am." I said. "Lana! What the hell. You freed the help before me," Archer complained as the beautiful spy dug me out. "He's wounded. You're just an ass." Lana replied. "Well, hurry up. I think there might be sandworms nibbling at my nethers just now." Archer complained. "No such thing as sandworms," Lana said. "That was Beetlejuice." "No. The Shai-Hulud exist, and they evidently tickle." Archer protested, wagging his head back and forth to escape. "That was Dune, and also not real." Lana said with a withering sigh. "If you two are finished, could we leave. I've got sand in my vajayjay." Pam admitted. "Oh. Seriously. You had to put that image in my brain." Archer fired back. "Yeah, Pam. I could have done without that. Help me with the waiter." Lana said. Pam took a step toward the waiter. "Stop, Pam. Nobody move. They can feel the vibrations." He whispered, eyeing the ground around them. Pam and Lana and even myself stared at Mr. Archer in confusion. "Tremors?" Lana guessed. "Yeah, Tremors." Archer snapped. "Pam's fat feet are going to get us all killed." The ladies pulled me out of the sand, hefting me up by my arms. "Thank you, ma'am, and you too." I said to my rescuers. "Okay, now. Use those manish shoulders and dig me out." Archer demanded, eyeing his fellow agent expectantly "Which way is home," Lana asked, ignoring Archer. "This way, ma'am." I said, leading them toward a nearby dune. "Lana. Lana? Lana! Aren't you going to free me?" Archer asked. "I'll send someone back," Lana answered, "if I remember." "Lana. Lana! Dig me out, Lana." Archer commanded, wagging his head from side to side. I and the ladies left, but I happened to see the oscelot approaching the solitary form of Mr. Archer and smiled. "Hey, kitty." The oscelot just stared at the helpess agent. "I don't suppose you're like a desert version of a St. Bernard. Are you? No. I guess that would be too much to hope for."	"What the hell is going on?", mumbled a voice to my left. I turned my head, but the stiff resistance of the sand held it fast. Sand? Why was there sand? My groggy eyes creaked open and out of the corner of my eye I could make out a head. This apparition continued to talk and strangely I could understand most of what it said. This was most unusual since my dreams were almost always a blurred fantasy from which no meaningful dialogue had ever emerged. I concluded that this must be another of my whimsical dreams and I closed my eyes again in readiness to float away on a magic carpet ride that only the morning snooze provides. "Oi, are you fucking deaf or what? What the fuck are we doing here?". Now it was unmistakable. There was a voice. I raised my hands to rub my eyes, but they wouldn't move. Sand. Ah, yes the sand. A glint of sun caught my eye as I opened them and I became aware of the baron landscape before me. I blinked slowly to clear my eyes of the sandy sludge that had accumulated, but it was of little use. It seemed to all intents that this was indeed my reality now and I was not in fact imagining this at all. "Hey, Hey! Are you stupid? Can't you hear me. I can see that you're awake. How did we fucking get here?". I didn't know the face, but the voice told me all I needed to know. It wasn't someone I would spend too long talking to in a bar. The kind of person you wished wasn't seated next to you at your cubicle life in the office. And here I was stuck in a hole in the desert, incapacitated and within earshot of someone screaming obscenities at me at fuck knows what time in the morning. "Good morning", I replied using my well rehearsed sarcastic tone. Rehearsed during my years in a dead end relationship with my slightly neurotic German girlfriend. My passive aggressiveness had been my only weapon then and here I was using my well honed skills in the middle of the desert while buried up to my neck in sand. If Sandra could see me now she'd be so proud. That bitch. "Yes, where are we?" inquired a new female voice from behind. Her soft tones soothed my now bewildered self. "I think we're in the desert" chimed in a fourth voice. "No fucking shit Einstein" said wanker. Well, that was what I decided I should call the rude bastard on my left. I suspect his name wasn't actually wanker, but when you're in situation such as we found ourselves the need for pleasantries such as exchanging names is superfluous. I cast my mind back the night before to see if I could recall what had happened,but it was blank. The last memory I had was of lying next to the swimming pool at the resort the day before. I do remember a hot blonde in a sexy bikini rubbing suntan oil on herself as I nonchalantly pretended to read my book, all the while gazing through my sunglasses at her perfect form. The memory brought a smile to my face, but alas it did little to solve our current predicament. The mystery lingered on. "What are we going to do now?", said the female voice. I suspect the rapidly rising temperatures and the lack of liquids had something to do with the huskiness that was creeping into her voice. I imagined what she looked like naked. It was certainly more appealing than imagining the certain death that awaited me if I remained stuck in this hole. I would like to say that the day brought with it some relief, but it didn't. The sun bore down on us relentlessly as our heads became ever more burnt and our sanity slowly ebbed from our bodies. As night fell the temperatures dropped and the winds arrived. We drifted in and out of conscience with the hope that the new day would bring saviour. At some point in the night I heard a blood curdling scream. The kind that you wished you would never hear even once in your life. Behind me I could hear snarling and heavy breathing. Something was here among us. Paralyzed in fear in my sandy prison I held my breath hoping that I would not be next. The sound of animals feasting on a human head was one I never imagined I would ever hear. Crack! The screaming stopped and it seemed as if just for a moment the wind did too. Utter silence and as quickly as the nightmare started it was all over. The adrenalin kept me awake for while, but my desperately fatigued body could only stay awake for so long. I drifted off to sleep. Perhaps for the last time. "What the hell is going on?", mumbled the aggressive voice again. Only this time it was on my right. I opened my eyes slowly to see a drip connected to my arm. I followed the line of the tube to a saline bag above my head and then I took the liberty of glancing around the room. To my right was an old man, wide eyed and lucidly cursing obscenities. To my left was a young boy peacefully sleeping. Three of us. There were just three of us. I closed my eyes again as a soft soothing female voiced coaxed me back to sleep while repeating, "It's going to be ok, You're going to be fine".
	[WP] You wake up blindfolded next to three strangers in the middle of the desert, you are all buried in the sand up to your head. The three of you try to remember what happened.	"What the what? Help! Lana. Lana. LANA!" He looked over at the other three heads sticking out of the sand. "What?! I'm literally three feet away. Why the hell are you shouting?" Lana snapped. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'm buried up to my freaking neck in the sand. This is totally going to dry out my pores." Archer confessed, wagging his head back and forth in an attemp to escape. "To hell with your pores. This is your fault." Lana said, laying the blame on her fellow agent. "Yeah. You totally screwed the pooch, Mr. Archer." Pam interjected, hawking a loogie to clear her mouth of sand. "I didn't screw a pooch . . . but I was pretty hammered last night." Archer confessed. "Who's that?" "How should I know?" Lana snapped. "Who are you?" Archer asked. "You're waiter, sir." I replied. "Well, I'm not tipping you. This is horrible service." Archer complained, giggling. "So, why are we buried in the sand up to our necks?" "It was at your request, sir," I answered "They asked if you'd prefer to feed the ocelots or be stoned. You chose the ocelots." "Yeah. Sounds like him. But, why are you here?" Lana asked. "He asked to be buried with his man servant." I explained. "I was the only waiter on duty." "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "That's pretty insensitive," Lana snapped. "You got an innocent man buried up to his neck to be devoured by ocelots." "What. Oh. I don't care about that. I was thinking about the henchmen who buried us." He said, snickering. "So. What about them?" Lana seethed. "I was just wondering if the henchmen that buried Pam died of exhaustion." "Inappropriate," Lana complained. "Not cool, Mr. Archer. Not cool." Pam told him drily. "Not cool." "Well, are you going to just sit there all day or free us?" Archer complained as the cry of an ocelot sounded from the dunes. "Free us. How in the hell do you think I'm going to free us." Lana demanded. "I don't know. I figured you'd use those monsterous hands to dig your way out. I mean, for crying out loud, you were born with shovels for hands." Archer fired back. "Ha ha ha." Pam laughed. "Shut up, Pam." Lana snapped. "You're not helping." The ocelot appeared from behind some sage brush and began to circle the four. "Any time Lana. Lana? Lana!" Archer called. "What?" Lana snapped in anger. "Are you going to free us or not?" Archer asked, eyeing the hunting cat. The cat rushed in and attacked me, and I cried out, but the others didn't really seem to mind. Lana wiggled and squirmed and in the end, she managed to free her arms. "Holy shit." Archer laughed. "I was just joking about your hands." "Not a word," Lana told him, slipping out of the sand. She immediately went to work on digging out Pam. "They're truly magnificent creatures." Archer said, admiring the oscelot as he ravaged me. "You think I could keep this one. Cheryl has one, already." Archer asked with a dreamy look in his eyes. "Oh my god, this is hard to do without a shovel," Lana complained, digging out the sand around Pam. "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "What?" She looked on as he continued to snicker. They locked eyes again. "You're still thinking about the henchman who dug Pam's hole." "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "Yes, and now the fact you said he dug her hole." "Ma'am. If it wouldn't be terribly forward of me, might I request you give this famished ocelot some measure of chastisement such as would chase him off. I fear his playful gnawing is become most grievous just now." I asked, remembering my place as the help. "Can't you see she's busy?" Archer replied, shaking his head in disbelief. "Good help is so hard to find. It's always me, me, me." Lana finally managed to extract Pam, throwing sticks at the oscelot to chase it off. "Thank you, ma'am." I said. "Lana! What the hell. You freed the help before me," Archer complained as the beautiful spy dug me out. "He's wounded. You're just an ass." Lana replied. "Well, hurry up. I think there might be sandworms nibbling at my nethers just now." Archer complained. "No such thing as sandworms," Lana said. "That was Beetlejuice." "No. The Shai-Hulud exist, and they evidently tickle." Archer protested, wagging his head back and forth to escape. "That was Dune, and also not real." Lana said with a withering sigh. "If you two are finished, could we leave. I've got sand in my vajayjay." Pam admitted. "Oh. Seriously. You had to put that image in my brain." Archer fired back. "Yeah, Pam. I could have done without that. Help me with the waiter." Lana said. Pam took a step toward the waiter. "Stop, Pam. Nobody move. They can feel the vibrations." He whispered, eyeing the ground around them. Pam and Lana and even myself stared at Mr. Archer in confusion. "Tremors?" Lana guessed. "Yeah, Tremors." Archer snapped. "Pam's fat feet are going to get us all killed." The ladies pulled me out of the sand, hefting me up by my arms. "Thank you, ma'am, and you too." I said to my rescuers. "Okay, now. Use those manish shoulders and dig me out." Archer demanded, eyeing his fellow agent expectantly "Which way is home," Lana asked, ignoring Archer. "This way, ma'am." I said, leading them toward a nearby dune. "Lana. Lana? Lana! Aren't you going to free me?" Archer asked. "I'll send someone back," Lana answered, "if I remember." "Lana. Lana! Dig me out, Lana." Archer commanded, wagging his head from side to side. I and the ladies left, but I happened to see the oscelot approaching the solitary form of Mr. Archer and smiled. "Hey, kitty." The oscelot just stared at the helpess agent. "I don't suppose you're like a desert version of a St. Bernard. Are you? No. I guess that would be too much to hope for."	The ocean, calm and cool. I sat up to see what all the yelling was about. I couldn't see anything. All I could see was beautiful sand and ocean. I stood up, feeling the sand underneath my feet. Wriggling my toes in the tiny toasted grains. I smiled and ran towards the ocean. As I ran, the ocean seemed to move away. Further and further it disappeared into the distance. Suddenly my knees felt weak. I couldn't reach the ocean. As I ran the sand I had previously thought to be beautiful turned against me. It now became my greatest terror. Its rough texture cutting up my skin, making me squirm in pain. The heat it held burned my toes and the soles of my feet. My whole body began to hurt. The screaming I had previously heard became louder. Growing in volume the longer I ran. I then began to sprint towards the ocean. "I must make it" I said to myself. I fell down.. The world began to spin and everything became dark. I gasped for air only to have my mouth filled with bitter sand. I tried to open my eyes but I could not see anything. "Was I blind?" I wondered to myself as panic began to set in. I could hear the labored breathing and yelling from some people nearby. I tried to get up and run to them but my body was trapped, buried in the sand. Its weight crushed my body. It became harder to breath. My lungs began to beg for fresh air to revive my dying body. My brain began to race, I struggled in vain to free myself from the prison I was trapped in. My life flashed before me, every tender moment. Exhausted I let out a scream and dropped my head into the sand and began to cry. "How did we end up here?" Someone nearby moaned. "I don't know.." I cried. Darkness.
	[WP] You wake up blindfolded next to three strangers in the middle of the desert, you are all buried in the sand up to your head. The three of you try to remember what happened.	"What the what? Help! Lana. Lana. LANA!" He looked over at the other three heads sticking out of the sand. "What?! I'm literally three feet away. Why the hell are you shouting?" Lana snapped. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'm buried up to my freaking neck in the sand. This is totally going to dry out my pores." Archer confessed, wagging his head back and forth in an attemp to escape. "To hell with your pores. This is your fault." Lana said, laying the blame on her fellow agent. "Yeah. You totally screwed the pooch, Mr. Archer." Pam interjected, hawking a loogie to clear her mouth of sand. "I didn't screw a pooch . . . but I was pretty hammered last night." Archer confessed. "Who's that?" "How should I know?" Lana snapped. "Who are you?" Archer asked. "You're waiter, sir." I replied. "Well, I'm not tipping you. This is horrible service." Archer complained, giggling. "So, why are we buried in the sand up to our necks?" "It was at your request, sir," I answered "They asked if you'd prefer to feed the ocelots or be stoned. You chose the ocelots." "Yeah. Sounds like him. But, why are you here?" Lana asked. "He asked to be buried with his man servant." I explained. "I was the only waiter on duty." "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "That's pretty insensitive," Lana snapped. "You got an innocent man buried up to his neck to be devoured by ocelots." "What. Oh. I don't care about that. I was thinking about the henchmen who buried us." He said, snickering. "So. What about them?" Lana seethed. "I was just wondering if the henchmen that buried Pam died of exhaustion." "Inappropriate," Lana complained. "Not cool, Mr. Archer. Not cool." Pam told him drily. "Not cool." "Well, are you going to just sit there all day or free us?" Archer complained as the cry of an ocelot sounded from the dunes. "Free us. How in the hell do you think I'm going to free us." Lana demanded. "I don't know. I figured you'd use those monsterous hands to dig your way out. I mean, for crying out loud, you were born with shovels for hands." Archer fired back. "Ha ha ha." Pam laughed. "Shut up, Pam." Lana snapped. "You're not helping." The ocelot appeared from behind some sage brush and began to circle the four. "Any time Lana. Lana? Lana!" Archer called. "What?" Lana snapped in anger. "Are you going to free us or not?" Archer asked, eyeing the hunting cat. The cat rushed in and attacked me, and I cried out, but the others didn't really seem to mind. Lana wiggled and squirmed and in the end, she managed to free her arms. "Holy shit." Archer laughed. "I was just joking about your hands." "Not a word," Lana told him, slipping out of the sand. She immediately went to work on digging out Pam. "They're truly magnificent creatures." Archer said, admiring the oscelot as he ravaged me. "You think I could keep this one. Cheryl has one, already." Archer asked with a dreamy look in his eyes. "Oh my god, this is hard to do without a shovel," Lana complained, digging out the sand around Pam. "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "What?" She looked on as he continued to snicker. They locked eyes again. "You're still thinking about the henchman who dug Pam's hole." "Ha ha ha." Archer laughed. "Yes, and now the fact you said he dug her hole." "Ma'am. If it wouldn't be terribly forward of me, might I request you give this famished ocelot some measure of chastisement such as would chase him off. I fear his playful gnawing is become most grievous just now." I asked, remembering my place as the help. "Can't you see she's busy?" Archer replied, shaking his head in disbelief. "Good help is so hard to find. It's always me, me, me." Lana finally managed to extract Pam, throwing sticks at the oscelot to chase it off. "Thank you, ma'am." I said. "Lana! What the hell. You freed the help before me," Archer complained as the beautiful spy dug me out. "He's wounded. You're just an ass." Lana replied. "Well, hurry up. I think there might be sandworms nibbling at my nethers just now." Archer complained. "No such thing as sandworms," Lana said. "That was Beetlejuice." "No. The Shai-Hulud exist, and they evidently tickle." Archer protested, wagging his head back and forth to escape. "That was Dune, and also not real." Lana said with a withering sigh. "If you two are finished, could we leave. I've got sand in my vajayjay." Pam admitted. "Oh. Seriously. You had to put that image in my brain." Archer fired back. "Yeah, Pam. I could have done without that. Help me with the waiter." Lana said. Pam took a step toward the waiter. "Stop, Pam. Nobody move. They can feel the vibrations." He whispered, eyeing the ground around them. Pam and Lana and even myself stared at Mr. Archer in confusion. "Tremors?" Lana guessed. "Yeah, Tremors." Archer snapped. "Pam's fat feet are going to get us all killed." The ladies pulled me out of the sand, hefting me up by my arms. "Thank you, ma'am, and you too." I said to my rescuers. "Okay, now. Use those manish shoulders and dig me out." Archer demanded, eyeing his fellow agent expectantly "Which way is home," Lana asked, ignoring Archer. "This way, ma'am." I said, leading them toward a nearby dune. "Lana. Lana? Lana! Aren't you going to free me?" Archer asked. "I'll send someone back," Lana answered, "if I remember." "Lana. Lana! Dig me out, Lana." Archer commanded, wagging his head from side to side. I and the ladies left, but I happened to see the oscelot approaching the solitary form of Mr. Archer and smiled. "Hey, kitty." The oscelot just stared at the helpess agent. "I don't suppose you're like a desert version of a St. Bernard. Are you? No. I guess that would be too much to hope for."	EDIT: Should have said "The four of you try to remember how you ended up there"
	[WP] You wake up blindfolded next to three strangers in the middle of the desert, you are all buried in the sand up to your head. The three of you try to remember what happened.	"Hel—" Barry couldn't finish for the sand in his mouth. Spitting it out, he ventured another try: "Hello?" The reply was immediate. "Oh, now you wake up. It's about damn time." The voice sounded familiar, but Barry couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd heard it before. "Do—do I know you?" He couldn't move any of his extremities, and though his eyes were open, there was some sort of cloth tied around his head blocking his vision. "We don't have time for that," the voice chimed in. "Try to get the blindfold off. Just rub the side of you head against the ground." Barry did as he was told, feeling foolish at every step of the process, but at last freed up his left eye to the harsh daylight. "What the fuck?" Barry found himself with his eyes about six inches off of the ground, and the rest of his body buried beneath. There was nothing but the occasional bright orange rock formation for as far as the eye could see, the desert stretching on for miles before him. He could feel the sun burning into his forehead, and its results were evident on the cherry-red face of the man across from him, similarly buried, blindfold to his right. As the gravity of the situation struck him, Barry's questions flowed like vomit. "How did you get here? How did I get here? Who did this to us? WHERE THE HELL ARE WE?!" The response was the last thing he wanted to hear at that moment: "Your guess is as good as mine, man. I was hoping you'd know." "Shit." This was it. He was sunk. He thought of all the things he might have done, all the women he'd yet to sleep with, all the children he might have had, running around a home he'd never have. None of this would ever happen for Barry. No, he was destined to die buried to his neck in the desert. "Wait, he's waking up! Hey! Over here!" the man across from him shouted, but he was no longer looking at Barry, instead staring about five feet past him. As Barry craned his neck back to see what the the fuss was about, he was greeted with the sound of spittle and the burning sensation of a thousand tiny grains of sand being spit into his one uncovered eye. There was a third head erupting from the desert floor. "Are—are you okay?" Barry stammered through the pain in his eye. Curt though it was, the reply put everything in perspective. "Fucking Vegas." Edit: In case it got lost, I named him Barry because he's buried. That wasn't an accident. I know. I'm not that clever.	EDIT: Should have said "The four of you try to remember how you ended up there"
	[WP] The most dangerous beliefs are the one's you haven't put in words.	The feeling. When I look out across the densely packed sprawl of my city, the mottled patchwork of faces, the miasma of scents, the symphony of thousands all playing slight out of tune, there is no sympathy, no empathy, no sense of belonging. Every crowded train ride home surrounded by dozens who would never want anything to do with me, would never help me, wouldn't blink if I was killed in front of them, I don't owe them anything. No recognition, no attention, no compassion. Their dull eyes, staid posture and half-pursed lips tell me everything I need to know about them. The desire. Yearning for a world free of this awful convention of non-people. They have nothing to lose. This world, my world would be better off without them. A wolf cares not for the deer, nor the fox. Why should a man be any different? All these years and all this city has done is take from me. A gaping maw of steel and concrete, eyes of filthy glass that stare, offering you a glimpse into its missing soul. The urge. I can end all this. There is a made up word a coworker said to me once. “sonder”, the realization that the world is full of millions of impossibly complex people. No small wonder it isn't a real word. This hollow feeling, this wanton desire, this burning urge to improve this awful world, there is no word for it. There is no need for one. There will be none left to hear it...	Yes, perhaps, I had bitten off more than I could chew. I mean, they don't make you take Introductory Physics before High Velocity Particle Collision Physics, right? Right. A word that had seem to elude me for the past 6 months. I turn to my right and see my trashcan full of crumbled up thoughts and hypotheses. But, here lay in front of me what couldn't have been anything other than the solution I've been seeking for the past half year. Had I, a 16 year old High School Student really found the solution for the energy crisis? Surely I couldn't have. I checked my work again and again and again, just like the monotonous repetitions of simulated particle collisions on my computer screen. Each and every time I went over my work I couldn't find any error. "Wow." The ensemble of equations in front of me represented what may be the most revolutionary piece of engineering of mankind. But, the one indiscretion that I made was: what am I to do with my work? Surely I could instantly end the worlds dependence on fossil fuels, solar power, hydropower, you name it, and it was no more. Each and every solution that weaved its way into my mind came with a plethora of problems associated with it. Jobs would be lost, students would find themselves lost for direction, and textbooks would have to be rewritten everywhere. What I didn't realize was how dangerous my work could be as well. The energy released by one gram of matter-antimatter annihilation was the equivalent to two nuclear bombs- the ones that ended over 250,000 lives in Japan. Surely if I, a 16 year old, naive kid, could blueprint this technology, a nation full of expert scientists could engineer it as a weapon, as seems to be the trend these days. That seemed to be the only outcome of this. But I couldn't just throw away everything I had slaved over for the better half of a year. However it came to mind that eventually, someone would develop this technology, regardless of who. So I thought, "Better me than him, right?" Right. Again the one word I had tried to find reason for was the largest agitation in my life. However, now was not the time to be right or wrong, I was to accept the Nobel Prize for Physics in 10 minutes. The extremity of the situation sunk in as I walked across the stage. I, now 17, was to be the youngest receiver of the Nobel Prize, ever. Looking back on it I'm sure I would have done things differently, I would have been sure to determine what I actually thought was right and what was wrong. However, now was not the time to be right or wrong. For I was to prepare my nation for nuclear war, and for the second time in my life, the next decision I make could ruin billions of lives.
* How did the book get there? * What does the book contain? * Why are you in the desert? Questions to think over (not necessarily answer) as you write the prompt.	[WP] You find a well kept, otherwise spotless leather bound book in the middle of a vast desert.	I was hiking alone, as I was prone to do, being the lonesome man I am, through the Mojave. A small sandstorm had whipped up, and swept me and my bearings off the path. I wandered for a while, knowing that in a few days I'd be dead, if I didn't recover my path, or find some help. One would think I'd be nervous, or scared. Yet something in me gave way to a morbid curiosity. Perhaps if I left the hectic world behind, I'd find the peace of being alone, forever. In my life, I'd grown to have little faith in others. I was shunned for a birth defect which left my face quite hideous. I was completely repulsive, and no matter what surgeries I could try, there was no fixing the disfigurement. No, alone, I was at peace. No one gave me the look of a sorry, yet disgusted viewer. The scorpions scuttled away, and vultures flew high above, but at least they didn't judge me. They simply acknowledged my existence, and made on their way. It wasn't long, however, when I saw my first mirage. It was simply a car. Getting closer, the vision dissolved. The second mirage, though, which I came to find was more than I thought, was more interesting. A simple stone podium, such as one would see in front of a crowd, as someone gave a speech, stood alone. Approaching, the vision remained, and only when I felt the stone itself, the gritty sand on top of rough rock was proof. The book was something else entirely. I opened it, after inspecting it for a while, and realized there was nothing on the cover. It was simply leather, and it didn't look particularly worn. Even stranger, was it didn't seem to budge, if I tried to pick it up. I could slide it, and rotate it, but I couldn't make the leather separate from the stone. It was almost like a magnet. Opening the book, I found blank page after blank page. I checked every last one, searching for a word, or phrase. I didn't see anything, until I flipped back to the front. All it said was: Think of a Name I paused. I couldn't understand what the words meant. I also was sure the words weren't there a moment ago when I flipped past that page. After mulling the strange occurrence over, I began drifting into a spiraling of thought. As my mind was wont to do, it began to speculate what life would have been like if I had not been cursed with my visage. In my youth, there was a man who had been particularly cruel towards me. In his cruelty, he had made my life bitter, and painful. This was made all the worse by the eventual successes he garnered, and the luxurious life he gained. He who had tormented me, didn't deserve that perfection. However, nothing could change that. Or so I thought. The book immediately began to fill, as if an invisible hand etched a life-times worth of writing into the previously empty tome. Closer inspection revealed that the writing was about none other than the man who had tormented me in my younger days. There were pages about his clothing, and house, his job, and his wife, children and relatives. There were pages about his friends, and schooling, and even a page that constantly changed, to show his current thoughts. I turned to the page that described his appearance. I began to seethe when I though such a perfect face hid the ugliness within... that someone like that deserved my face. The words that were written, faded, and in it's place, a description of a face not too unlike my own came into view. I was appalled, to think of afflicting that on someone else. Yet, part of me relished the chance to curse him. When I scratched my nose, however, I was perturbed to find my face was different, as if rearranged. I had exchanged my face for his! Then, a dark thought crept though my mind. I began turning to each page of this man's life, and taking from him whatever I wanted, knowing my own misfortunes would replace his perfection. Lastly, after stealing everything worth taking, I found the page where he was located, and changed it. The world faded around me, as we swapped locations. Loneliness was my home, and it seemed fitting that my face should look upon that gloom alone, while I began my new, stolen life. It was only when the child of the man I took everything from came running to me, that I realized my grave mistake. I could feel the regret in his heart. The child was malformed, not unlike how I was.	Sal wasn't bothered by the simple presence of the book. After all, anyone could have driven across this same expanse of hard-packed desert on the way from Amarillo to Orange. Sal himself drove the desert in his Land Rover because it provided a one-hour shortcut. Occasionally, he would see another car on the horizon--a dust trail, really, making the same trip. He had spotted the book from about 200 yards out. It was bright red, hard to miss against the gray-brown of the desert floor. That unblemished red cover bothered Sal. No dirt. No grime. The leather still supple. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and scanned the horizon. Nothing but shimmering heat against the dark blue of the mountains in the distance. He lifted the book and fingered the gold inlay, shaped like a leaf. He opened the cover and read the first page, two words scratched in black ink: "Help me." Sal swallowed. And then he heard a faint cry from behind. He turned. A short distance off, he could see someone crawling, scraping along the hot earth. Another dry, cracked cry. He stood. The heat made it hard to think. Had she been there all along? He walked slowly toward her as she scraped toward him. Her lips were chapped, her fingers raw. Her breathing was a dusty rattle. He stood over her. Looking up at him, she whispered, "Help me." Sal looked over his shoulder, back at the book. His sweat turned to salt in the heat. "Help me." He stepped to the Land Rover, pulled out his canteen, and brought it back to her. He poured small sips between her lips. Her breath moistened. "Are you ready to stand?" She nodded. He supported her shoulder as she rose, and together they walked to the Land Rover. She sat in the front seat, taking small sips from the canteen. He walked back to the book, with its spotless, bright red leather. He picked it up, and turned the second page. Two more words sent an icy tingle down his spine: "She's coming for me." He looked back at the Land Rover where she waited, smiling like the devil in the front seat. And then he knew, shivering there in the desert heat, that he was about to die. Edit: Spelling
	[WP] How did you get that scar?	I've told hundreds of people the same story. 'My father came at my mum with a knife in a fit of rage and I, ever the unflinching hero, got between he and she. The knife cut across my face before finding its way into her and then later into him.' I'd say 'Took me seven years to find where he was hiding, all that time holding onto the same blade. I wanted to see if he'd recognize it, if he'd even remember what he did to her. What he did to me.' I'd say- ever so carefully allowing a tear to well up in my eye while never falling. That's the key, you see. Get those pretty jewels in your face watery and everyone thinks you're strong for hiding so much emotion, and if you can keep it from falling they'll think you that much stronger. I'd continue after a short pause, for dramatic tension of course, 'I found him and showed him the knife, the very blade that had freed my mother's lifeblood from her veins, and when I was sure he understood why this was happening I dug it into his neck.' On and on I've gone with story. It's a good story, I think, one of my best inventions. But you're sitting there with that same blade and so I think you know my tale goes no farther toward the truth than that name you gave to get in here. Truth is my father did give me this scar, but not in hate, not in rage or in some moment of fury that overtook him and forced him to- no, he gave me this scar to remind me of what I'd done. Of what I always do: profit from the misery and hard work of others. The first time I'd ever met my father was when I was five. My mother and he had had a falling out, and she kept me for her own without even telling him he had a son. She made money, you see, more than enough for her to feed and care for a son better than a some drunken tramp riding from town to town looking for an open bottle he could suckle on until the next train came in. So when he left, like he always did, and she found out she was pregnant she let it be. Raised me and told me my father was dead. But he, being my father and I suppose yours as well, came back one day. In place of a bottle he carried a bible, convinced that the Lord above had granted him a second chance and that if he cared for his immortal soul he'd have to make up for everything he'd done wrong. Said he needed to make amends, make peace with the people he'd done wrong by. But when he arrived at his former lover's house and found a child he didn't know what to do. Suddenly begging for forgiveness was begging for her to make amends. Said he realized he'd been a bad man and that he wanted another chance. Said he wanted to be a father for his son. For me. But my mother was not so forgiving, her memory long and unyielding. She told him that once I turned 18 it would be my choice, if he'd managed to stay sober that long, and that until then it'd be a visit every month. A letter for every holiday. And that was really the last I saw of him for years. I got the letters, got a chance to hug him and be reminded that he wasn't ever really going to be there for me. He showed me pictures sometimes, of his darling family. Of his wife, my stepmother I suppose, and all my wonderful half-siblings. But still my mother would not budge. She claimed that living in that po-dunk town in a fancy house was better for me than having a father. For five years I put up with it, until on the day of my 12th birthday I got a card from him rather than the usual visit (moments in time that had become rarer and rarer as my mother and Frank- a man who insisted on being called dad for the seven years I knew him- cemented their life with me as an only child). The card was a picture of him and you and all the other wonderful members of his real family having wonderful fun on a cruise. So I snapped. Frank died first, and with his death came the first of my grand stories which would define my life to anyone that'd listen. 'He'd fallen off of a tall ladder but landed still alive, calling for help while bleeding' was how it went 'I went to get help, but by the time I got back he was gone.' My father actually showed up for the funeral, or around that time at least. Gave me a hug and said it'd all be okay. I remember being so happy that he'd come, and I felt that the affection he was showing me was because of that one story I'd told. That one elaborate tale. On my 16th birthday I decided I'd had enough of living with my mother. I thought of many different ways to do it, all involving a story or another, but those stories would be hard to prove. My mother would be able to contradict any one of them. So after my birthday party, feeling sad and dejected because my father hadn't shown up, I grabbed a knife and sank it into her back. Father, as it turned out, had missed his flight and been forced to wait for the next day. He walked in the door as my mother died. I was still holding the blade, shaking like a leaf. He saw me and I dropped it, I had no idea what to say, what to do, how to make it seem I was the victim, but I could see it in his eyes. He knew I'd done it, and I have to wonder if somewhere deep down he thought back to Frank, and knew I'd killed him too. He rushed to my mother's side and, to my horror, she was still breathing. He tried to plug the wounds, but they were deep. Being young and not well versed in anatomy I'd missed the major arteries though, so there was a chance. He ran to get the phone, and I tried to figure out how to finish the job. Father ran back into the room to see me peeling off the crude bandages he made. He kicked me back, and as I lunged forward to try again he became enraged. For the first time I saw a glimmer of what he must of been before finding Jesus. An anger dwelled within him that I'd never imagined, genuine rage that I'd only seen imitated in movies. He screamed at me, tears welling in his eyes, and pushed me back farther. Said he couldn't believe what I'd done, said I was a mistake that he should never have returned to. This, of course, just made me angry as well, and I grabbed the knife from off the ground and swung it at him as hard as I could, cutting open his arm. He tackled me after that, and for a moment we wrestled. But I was a young man who'd never been in a real fight, while my father had spent a good portion of his life fighting just to survive. He wrangled away the knife and brought it down on my head, cutting open my face and leaving me on the ground screaming in pain. Through the blood and tears and sweat I could see him standing there, shaking with either rage or fear of himself. If I close my eyes I can still see him, tears in his eyes, but none of his cheeks. Years later I hunted him down, convinced that if I could close that chapter of my life, the last vestige of the me that was real, I'd be able to forge my world anew. I imagined I could leave behind the real me, and live the rest of my days in my tales. Killing your father brought be no joy, just a shallow story made up of empty words. I don't know why I never thought that my brothers would have that same rage. That same fire that lived within me and my father for so long. But here you are. Chasing after stories I've told. Stories from a man with a scar that sits for days in a pub, living vicariously through tales he can only wish were true. I'm not old, and I'm not ready to die, despite all my regrets. So think on this: if you come at me with that knife, you better kill me, because I could use another scar to explain.	My first prompt so it's not going to be that great. But it's 12:00 am and I'm bored so screw it. "Oh yeah." Said a voice of realization. I looked up from my smoke tuna at the girl sitting across from me, who's blue eyes seemed to be concentrating on the side of my face. "How did you get that scar?" Well shit. That's a question that I didn't want a prospective girlfriend to be asking me. "Yeah, how did you get that scar, Johan?" I turned my head slowly to the side and looked at the man with a shit-eating grin on his face named Thomas. Like the tank engine. But a hell of a lot more tank than engine. "I've been friends with you for about 2 years now and you still haven't told me how you got it." DAMMIT THOMAS, I screamed, smashing my hands onto the smooth wood of the table. YOU'RE THE ONE THAT FUCKING DID IT TO ME! I'M GOING TO DO THE SAME THING TO YOU ONE DAY YOU SON OF A DILDO! Or so I would have done, if not for the fact that this house's dinner table wasn't actually mine. And if Angie wasn't there. And if Thomas' dad who also happened to be a retired military Colonel was also dining at the same table as me. And if Thomas' mother wasn't holding a steak knife in her hand right now. And Thomas knew all of that. Hence, the manipulative bastard's grin. I sighed half theatrically, and half in resignation. I decided that putting on a bit of show would make the story I had just frantically thought up now would seem more believable. "Alright gentlemen and ladies." And Thomas, i thought in my head. "I'll tell you a story of how I received this 2-inch strip of scar tissue on my otherwise handsome and MAGNIFICENT face." Already grins were starting to pop out around the dinner table. Good. And the bastard's grin had yet to disappear. Even better. "One night when me and Thomas were out drinking..." "So, I talked about this bullshit story that night that had all sorts of unbelievable stuff in it. But what it really boiled down to was the psychotic teacher that was the one that did the scarring of my face, for not taking a carrot out of my pocket." I shook my head, recounting my story to the guys around me. Thomas was bent over laughing his stupid ass off right next to me, and the other blue collars were doing the same. I gave him a good shove. "Hey I did pretty well for wearing a face mask, don't you think?"
	[WP] How did you get that scar?	"Hey Dad, how did you get that scar?" "It was your grandfather. The year was 1999, an interesting year. The turn of a century, or so I was told. It was an unexpected gift, an unfortunate momento. You see, when I was growing up, my old man was a bit of an ass. He was an ill-tempered man who hated everything, especially my face. He could see fear, despair, and hatred in my face. He could see his dreams fade in my face. My face, so similar to his, yet so different that it caused my father physical pain whenever he caught a glance. That year, winter of '99. My father lost it. He lost control and my world came crashing down as I received the biggest beating of my life. My mother was frozen at first. Speechless, until the muscles in her legs could no longer hold her up. Her back, turned against the wall, she sat motionless and unsuccessfully tried to fight back tears. The officer who had arrived turned to leave, but he stopped and gave a final message. He walked over, handed me an envelope, and said "I'm sorry for your loss." Another car swerved into my old man's lane as he was driving back home. In the envelope was the reason for his death. A new set of keys and a note." "Be happy, be free" - Dad. "...uh huh. I asked about your scar, not your car" "Oh. I ran into a stapler when I was younger." "How old were you, 3?" "16" "16?!" "Son, have you ever seen the show Jackass?"	My first prompt so it's not going to be that great. But it's 12:00 am and I'm bored so screw it. "Oh yeah." Said a voice of realization. I looked up from my smoke tuna at the girl sitting across from me, who's blue eyes seemed to be concentrating on the side of my face. "How did you get that scar?" Well shit. That's a question that I didn't want a prospective girlfriend to be asking me. "Yeah, how did you get that scar, Johan?" I turned my head slowly to the side and looked at the man with a shit-eating grin on his face named Thomas. Like the tank engine. But a hell of a lot more tank than engine. "I've been friends with you for about 2 years now and you still haven't told me how you got it." DAMMIT THOMAS, I screamed, smashing my hands onto the smooth wood of the table. YOU'RE THE ONE THAT FUCKING DID IT TO ME! I'M GOING TO DO THE SAME THING TO YOU ONE DAY YOU SON OF A DILDO! Or so I would have done, if not for the fact that this house's dinner table wasn't actually mine. And if Angie wasn't there. And if Thomas' dad who also happened to be a retired military Colonel was also dining at the same table as me. And if Thomas' mother wasn't holding a steak knife in her hand right now. And Thomas knew all of that. Hence, the manipulative bastard's grin. I sighed half theatrically, and half in resignation. I decided that putting on a bit of show would make the story I had just frantically thought up now would seem more believable. "Alright gentlemen and ladies." And Thomas, i thought in my head. "I'll tell you a story of how I received this 2-inch strip of scar tissue on my otherwise handsome and MAGNIFICENT face." Already grins were starting to pop out around the dinner table. Good. And the bastard's grin had yet to disappear. Even better. "One night when me and Thomas were out drinking..." "So, I talked about this bullshit story that night that had all sorts of unbelievable stuff in it. But what it really boiled down to was the psychotic teacher that was the one that did the scarring of my face, for not taking a carrot out of my pocket." I shook my head, recounting my story to the guys around me. Thomas was bent over laughing his stupid ass off right next to me, and the other blue collars were doing the same. I gave him a good shove. "Hey I did pretty well for wearing a face mask, don't you think?"
	[WP] How did you get that scar?	"Hey Dad, how did you get that scar?" "It was your grandfather. The year was 1999, an interesting year. The turn of a century, or so I was told. It was an unexpected gift, an unfortunate momento. You see, when I was growing up, my old man was a bit of an ass. He was an ill-tempered man who hated everything, especially my face. He could see fear, despair, and hatred in my face. He could see his dreams fade in my face. My face, so similar to his, yet so different that it caused my father physical pain whenever he caught a glance. That year, winter of '99. My father lost it. He lost control and my world came crashing down as I received the biggest beating of my life. My mother was frozen at first. Speechless, until the muscles in her legs could no longer hold her up. Her back, turned against the wall, she sat motionless and unsuccessfully tried to fight back tears. The officer who had arrived turned to leave, but he stopped and gave a final message. He walked over, handed me an envelope, and said "I'm sorry for your loss." Another car swerved into my old man's lane as he was driving back home. In the envelope was the reason for his death. A new set of keys and a note." "Be happy, be free" - Dad. "...uh huh. I asked about your scar, not your car" "Oh. I ran into a stapler when I was younger." "How old were you, 3?" "16" "16?!" "Son, have you ever seen the show Jackass?"	"Oh, fell. Yes, fell. Yeah, I'm so clumsy sometimes. Can you believe we're not getting snow for Christmas this year by the way. No I'm not changing the subject." The excuses were all too familiar to her. She wondered when she would dare let go of them. Everyone knew, that was obvious. Still she kept on making excuses. She didn't even know why anymore. maybe it was just habit. Still, what kind of weird habit was that. "Someday I'll stop making them." It was a promise she would keep. Edit; Less tasteless
	[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.	Looks like I'm coming up on the forest line. Should just be another hour. Been hiking for days. _______________________ Should have hit the forest line by now. Still no sign of the edge. What the hell? I'm running low on water. _______________________ Maybe I'm just lost. Not sure what's going on, forest line seems to keep moving. Must be going in circles or something. _______________________ Compass won't read North. Okay, this is getting scary. The compass should read North. There's a sound nearby- something humming. Going to check it out. ____________________ Gigantic generator- I think it's messing up the compass. The needle starting spinning near it. Generator is truly massive. What could this be used for? _______________________ Really thirsty, can't find any water- not even dew. Really weird. More troubling- I'm gonna die of thirst. _________________________ Came to a strange lake. Made of mead. I was so thirsty, I tried to drink it. It was just dirt. Did I see a mirage? ________________________ I'm seeing things, maybe I'm just dehydrated. Saw a child mauled by a bear. Went to look at the body- wasn't there. ________________________ God is punishing me. I don't believe in God...probably why I'm being punished. __________________________ I found the edge of the woods! Yes! God, I'm so fucking thirsty. Looks like I'm out though- I'm finally out! _________________________ Joy was premature. Edge is five feet from me. I can't leave though. The forest keeps moving. I'm fucked.	"Mom!!! MOM!!!!! MOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!! OVER HERE!!! HUFF!! HUFF!!! I... Think.... I catches breath found dad! He is holding some sort of book! Come quick!" (Mom runs over to the vicinity of the son) OMG! You found... You found a hiker, that's for sure. The decay is too much to determine that it is dad or not. But son, even two years after the police gave up the search, you and I knew he was out here." "Look mom! a journal! (Thumbs through first few pages) .... day 1... reading day 2... (Flips to end) Mom! Looks like dad was out here for... 23 days before the entries stop. "Son, we still don't have any identifiable proof this IS your father" "It is mom, I know it is.. it HAS to be. Let's read the final entry and see what could have happened! Let's see.. > Day 23: Well, the sky was green today. And the others are still out there.. They are trying to get into my head! I WONT LET THEM! I WILL MAKE IT HOME!! The nights, I'm not even sure the sun sets anymore. Or if it rises. Somebody is out to get me, they have been trailing me for... days? Weeks? I have no idea how long I've been out here.. I am seeing them. These... things. GET AWAY! GET AWAY! I yell but they never come closer nor further away. They are certainly going to murder me in my sleep. I don't think I've slept in days. I finally found a few berries back there.. But I was too afraid they were poisoned to eat them. They could have been a trap. I opted instead to eat some more of these safe fungi I have been eating along the way. My gun is nearly out of bullets from shooting at.. those.. those... things.. STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP STOP STOP STOP!!! STOP!! GAHHHH WHY DON'T THEY LEAVE ME ALONE?! "Son, what cave? go back a few days in the journal, find the cave.. I don't care if it takes weeks, we are going to follow this guide back and find out what happened to this man" > Day 22 - ^To ^ay W^ >.........o bed, ow" "Well, time and weather have washed out the words on that entry, let's try another" >Day 19 - I have been walking for days, the bright lights at night are getting closer. I have no idea what they are or what they want. I really just wish those Hikers would leave me alone. I'm actually thinking they are aliens. I am sure that they want to abduct me. Lucky for me I found this here cave to hide in. There is a water source and more of this delicious fungi that I am certain are safe to eat. At least, I hope so. I have been surviving off of them for 3 days. I will just hide out... OMG! OMG! They are IN the cave with me! I can see their eyes in the darkness! WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHY WON'T THEY JUST TELL ME WHAT THEY Waaaa-----" Oh god.. Oh god.. I hope they don't kill me.. I miss my family. My lovely wife and son.. and our dog... our.... dog... Rufus. I miss him more than anything.." "Mom?? B-b-b-ut... We don't have a dog. What is he talking about?! Is this not dad?" "I'm not sure son, it seems like your fathers hand writing to me. Let's keep investigating" "Alright mom, it looks like the cave is about 1/4 mile to the east, according to these notes here, let's go, I'll read another day as we continue" >Day 10 - My rations are gone. I was never supposed to be in the wilderness this long, I am struggling to get my bearings, the Sun never shows during the day and I am lost in the moonlight. If it wasn't for this fungi that I found a while back I would be dead by now, for certain Although, shortly after I found the first fungi, this place has seemed creepier and creepier. The sounds aren't like anything I've recognized before. I am fairly certain I can hear those other hikers in the distance. I think they might be messing with my head tonight. I will try sleep now and try again tomorrow to get out of this.. this... place" "Thumbs through a few more" >Day 8 - Ahh, it's another beautiful day to go out exploring. I accidentally spilled one of my containers of fresh water last night. I'm a little worried but should have enough to keep me going through the next couple of days, at least. I saw a deer today run a few yards ahead of me. It was amazing, it was one of those moments where you just feel like god is guiding your journey, almost as if saying "Nothing bad can happen to you, I'll see to it!" This has been a simply amazing experience. I love my wife and child and can't wait to see them again! >Day 3 - Well, Today I ran into a couple of other hikers, they were out doing the same as me. A bit of a mental pilgrimage into the forest. We said "Hi" shared a smile and went about our way. I few paces later I found some edible mushrooms. They were quite tasty and I was getting a little hungry." "Here we are mom, at the cave! Look! LOOK! MOM! It's dad's watch! It looks like the time stopped at 4:03am. Also, it looks like there was signs of a struggle." Okay, son! Enough of this, we aren't any closer to having a better understanding of what happened. Let's go call the police and bring them out here so they can Identify this person and find out if it is your father or not. (2 days later at home) Knock Knock "Oh, hello police officer. Do you have any news? "Ma'am, after doing some DNA testing we have determined this is your missing husband. We have pieced together everything from that journal you gave us. The mushrooms your husband was so certain were safe, were not. He continually went deeper and deeper into madness as the hallucinogenic properties of the mushrooms took hold and drove him further and further from reality. Honestly, we think he covered no more than the same 2 - 3 miles over the course of all the days in the journal. Although, with so many of the entries having the text washed out, it was a little difficult to fill in the blanks. It is possible the dog he mentioned was nothing more than a figment of a hallucinating. Please, ma'am take your time and when you are ready here is a number where you can make funeral arrangements. I am sorry for your loss." (Mom runs and hugs her son) "The search is over. We have our answer. We have found your father. Now we can move one Tears" "Mom, this is the last thing dad ever wrote. I am going to keep this journal forever! I love you"
	[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.	I picked up the moleskine and ran my finger over a smooth leather edge. It was tossed carelessly into the pile of crunchy leaves. Maybe some hiker had gone offroad and dropped the notebook. After all, it was quite inconspicuous and dark. Maybe he was hiking at night. I pulled back the elastic band and flipped through the pages. The smell of the place was unbearable, some dead raccoon, maybe. Poachers were careless this time of year. Most of the pages were filled with drawings of leaves, sketches of trails, and tracks. Almost scientific in nature. There were notations and a recurring theme of animals, like golden eagles. Curious, but very detailed drawings, even some of the head. Other rare animals were detailed in it, and at quite close range. Remarkable. The animals, like timber wolves, condors, and the golden eagle, would usually be dead by the time you can get close to them. However, you couldn't hunt any of these animals. I paged through and came across an entry, dated two weeks ago. October 4: Well, I am hot on the trail of this bear. I think that I will find him by sundown of tomorrow. I camped out near his tracks tonight, far enough in the forest where the ranger won't see me. Thank God! The tracks lead in the direction of the Potawatomi reservation. Off limits, I know, but the bear is off limits to begin with, yet here I am hunting him. Dinner tonight was a measly protein bar and water. All my fresh fruit is gone from the first couple days. October 6: I didn't catch the bear as intended. The Potawatomi people live in these lands, as marked by the cairns I've seen popping up. The bear left tracks in the mud. I am very far from the legal trail, but I know which direction I came from. I pitched my tent facing east. That's the direction I need to go back from, once I down this bear. October 9: I downed the bear. It was male and sleeping when I shot it from high ground. Probably scared some Indians with the gunshot. I took his claw as a trophy, then dragged him to the river and dumped him there. Hopefully the stream is strong enough to run him down. I sleep in the trees tonight. I can't risk Potawatomi interference with my tent. October 10: While hiking, a Potawatomi man confronted me. Old guy. Probably some witch doctor or something. I was hardly on their reservation this time, but I was stopping for the night. He told me I couldn't sleep here. I told him to go away, and my friend Jack Daniels did some smooth talking. October 10 (later): I heard Indians outside my tent. I think they were talking about me. They know I dumped the bear in the river. I heard the old man's voice again. He lead them to me. Luckily, they left. Tomorrow, I get back to the trail. Tent is facing east, according to my good old compass! October 11: I seem to have lost my compass. Hole in my pocket, or something. Dear me. I kept going east today, but the trail is nowhere in sight. Feet circled my tent in the morning, probably the Potawatomi. That's no matter. I'm off their reservation now, back in the woods. I'll be home to my wife by tomorrow at sunset. October 12: It's morning. I am still on Potawatomi land. I think they turned my tent around in my sleep. I am now further into their land. The people are lawless, they live by their own rules. Christ. I'm writing this with a measly breakfast of wild berries and roots. I verified they weren't poisonous. I got to keep moving. October 12: Lunchtime. I'm moving on the outskirts of the land, I assume marked by the cairns. I'm trying to get out of their territory before sundown. I hear something in the woods. Squirrels or something. I can't risk gunshot, and I lost my knife foolishly throwing it to kill a rabbit. I'm saving my last food for dinner. October 12: Dinner was dropped in the mud. Fresh bear tracks everywhere. It's following me. Maybe it's my famine or my increasingly unstable thought line, but I don't think the damn bear was dead. Bears can climb trees, so sleeping in there is out of the question. I seek refuge with the Potawatomi. October 12: Night has fallen. I have given my last food and Jack Daniels to the Natives for refuge in their camps. They have not questioned me yet but they do not give me food. I fear for my health and will request a ride back into town, if the Potawatomi can supply. I don’t care anymore about my poaching. I just want back into town. Food and warmth there. October 13: They say I am cursed. Doomed to die. In my sleep, they said, I had thrashed with nightmares and confessed to my crimes of killing the bear. They claim I killed it on sacred ground, then deposited it into the river no less. Their crops are dying with the infected water, which has run red with blood. They chased my remaining energy out of me by running me out of the campsite. I am now sitting at the base of a tree quietly. Night has fallen and I can’t see a damn thing, but I don’t care anymore. I’m nowhere near the trail. Rustling has stalked me for hours now. Starvation and thirst have taken hold. The bear is coming for me. To my wife, I love you. To nature, forgive me for my crimes. The rustling draws near.	"Mom!!! MOM!!!!! MOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!! OVER HERE!!! HUFF!! HUFF!!! I... Think.... I catches breath found dad! He is holding some sort of book! Come quick!" (Mom runs over to the vicinity of the son) OMG! You found... You found a hiker, that's for sure. The decay is too much to determine that it is dad or not. But son, even two years after the police gave up the search, you and I knew he was out here." "Look mom! a journal! (Thumbs through first few pages) .... day 1... reading day 2... (Flips to end) Mom! Looks like dad was out here for... 23 days before the entries stop. "Son, we still don't have any identifiable proof this IS your father" "It is mom, I know it is.. it HAS to be. Let's read the final entry and see what could have happened! Let's see.. > Day 23: Well, the sky was green today. And the others are still out there.. They are trying to get into my head! I WONT LET THEM! I WILL MAKE IT HOME!! The nights, I'm not even sure the sun sets anymore. Or if it rises. Somebody is out to get me, they have been trailing me for... days? Weeks? I have no idea how long I've been out here.. I am seeing them. These... things. GET AWAY! GET AWAY! I yell but they never come closer nor further away. They are certainly going to murder me in my sleep. I don't think I've slept in days. I finally found a few berries back there.. But I was too afraid they were poisoned to eat them. They could have been a trap. I opted instead to eat some more of these safe fungi I have been eating along the way. My gun is nearly out of bullets from shooting at.. those.. those... things.. STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP STOP STOP STOP!!! STOP!! GAHHHH WHY DON'T THEY LEAVE ME ALONE?! "Son, what cave? go back a few days in the journal, find the cave.. I don't care if it takes weeks, we are going to follow this guide back and find out what happened to this man" > Day 22 - ^To ^ay W^ >.........o bed, ow" "Well, time and weather have washed out the words on that entry, let's try another" >Day 19 - I have been walking for days, the bright lights at night are getting closer. I have no idea what they are or what they want. I really just wish those Hikers would leave me alone. I'm actually thinking they are aliens. I am sure that they want to abduct me. Lucky for me I found this here cave to hide in. There is a water source and more of this delicious fungi that I am certain are safe to eat. At least, I hope so. I have been surviving off of them for 3 days. I will just hide out... OMG! OMG! They are IN the cave with me! I can see their eyes in the darkness! WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHY WON'T THEY JUST TELL ME WHAT THEY Waaaa-----" Oh god.. Oh god.. I hope they don't kill me.. I miss my family. My lovely wife and son.. and our dog... our.... dog... Rufus. I miss him more than anything.." "Mom?? B-b-b-ut... We don't have a dog. What is he talking about?! Is this not dad?" "I'm not sure son, it seems like your fathers hand writing to me. Let's keep investigating" "Alright mom, it looks like the cave is about 1/4 mile to the east, according to these notes here, let's go, I'll read another day as we continue" >Day 10 - My rations are gone. I was never supposed to be in the wilderness this long, I am struggling to get my bearings, the Sun never shows during the day and I am lost in the moonlight. If it wasn't for this fungi that I found a while back I would be dead by now, for certain Although, shortly after I found the first fungi, this place has seemed creepier and creepier. The sounds aren't like anything I've recognized before. I am fairly certain I can hear those other hikers in the distance. I think they might be messing with my head tonight. I will try sleep now and try again tomorrow to get out of this.. this... place" "Thumbs through a few more" >Day 8 - Ahh, it's another beautiful day to go out exploring. I accidentally spilled one of my containers of fresh water last night. I'm a little worried but should have enough to keep me going through the next couple of days, at least. I saw a deer today run a few yards ahead of me. It was amazing, it was one of those moments where you just feel like god is guiding your journey, almost as if saying "Nothing bad can happen to you, I'll see to it!" This has been a simply amazing experience. I love my wife and child and can't wait to see them again! >Day 3 - Well, Today I ran into a couple of other hikers, they were out doing the same as me. A bit of a mental pilgrimage into the forest. We said "Hi" shared a smile and went about our way. I few paces later I found some edible mushrooms. They were quite tasty and I was getting a little hungry." "Here we are mom, at the cave! Look! LOOK! MOM! It's dad's watch! It looks like the time stopped at 4:03am. Also, it looks like there was signs of a struggle." Okay, son! Enough of this, we aren't any closer to having a better understanding of what happened. Let's go call the police and bring them out here so they can Identify this person and find out if it is your father or not. (2 days later at home) Knock Knock "Oh, hello police officer. Do you have any news? "Ma'am, after doing some DNA testing we have determined this is your missing husband. We have pieced together everything from that journal you gave us. The mushrooms your husband was so certain were safe, were not. He continually went deeper and deeper into madness as the hallucinogenic properties of the mushrooms took hold and drove him further and further from reality. Honestly, we think he covered no more than the same 2 - 3 miles over the course of all the days in the journal. Although, with so many of the entries having the text washed out, it was a little difficult to fill in the blanks. It is possible the dog he mentioned was nothing more than a figment of a hallucinating. Please, ma'am take your time and when you are ready here is a number where you can make funeral arrangements. I am sorry for your loss." (Mom runs and hugs her son) "The search is over. We have our answer. We have found your father. Now we can move one Tears" "Mom, this is the last thing dad ever wrote. I am going to keep this journal forever! I love you"
	[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.	In the woods near a blood splattered tennis shoe a phone was found. It contained eleven separate audio recordings. Jen, you said the trees here were older than dinosaurs. I'm not sure about the science of that. You do tend to get all your facts from watching Animal Planet and there aren't any pit bulls out here. Or kittens. I did see a bear on the drive in but the ranger said they're mostly skittish. Unless you have a bunch of ham sandwiches I suppose. Those are delicious. I'm recording this for you since you had to cancel. I told you not to leave those Legos on the floor but you had to construct your mini Thomas the Tank Engine town in the middle of the living room. Hope your big toe is better. I drew some hearts on the cast before I left. Travelogue. Day One. Or Mid Day One. No, Operation: See Lots of Fuzzy Animals. Operation: Snarky Plant Life? One of the bushes has already bit me. My arm is all speckled with red. I might be allergic to nature. I'm doing this for you, honey. The animals here are less friendly than you'd told me they were. I saw a squirrel look at me with evil intent before he tossed an acorn at my head. Every man needs a nemesis. I took a left turn. Somewhere. The path was there and then it wasn't. Remember that story you told me about the wendigo? I'm not sure if your uncle actually got lost and came back as a flesh eating cannibal monster but I could sure use something more than a granola bar right about now. I hate all the ham sandwiches. Just to be safe. Can't find the damn path. Found this gorgeous spring though. The water is like crystal. I can see the fish and the sediment below. I can see why you like hiking out here. Tried to catch one of the fish with my bare hands. Like a real mountain man. I saw it in a movie once. It's a sort of slapping motion. I slapped the hell out of the water. No fish. I settled for a granola bar. I'm trying to get up to higher ground. Maybe get a signal on this phone. It's getting dark. I think I'll have to call for help. You'll get a kick out of that. Ranger Rick coming to my rescue. Maybe I can pretend to faint and he'll pick me up like I'm a gentle maiden. We tried that once, remember? It was hell getting out of that corset. Dark now. I don't know how long I've been climbing up. Had to rest for a while on some piles of leaves I made. I'm tired. I'm starting to think I should stop and wait. They have to be searching by now. People don't just disappear. I dreamed. I slept and I dreamed. It's morning now and no one has come. I haven't heard any helicopters. I don't want to wait anymore. I stumbled onto a cave. Bad cave. Bad cave. There was a bear. A great big dark bear. I can hear it behind me now. I think it had little cubs. Fuck. They're eating me. I'm still alive and they're eating me. The little ones dig their black claws into the hole the mother made. I sleep and wake up to sounds of gnawing and slurping. I don't look down. It doesn't hurt anymore. I'm cold now and it doesn't hurt. I've always had this dream I was falling from some place up very high. Like from a plane. Or a cliff. I dreamed of that fall and the sudden stop. The sound of the wind whistling past my ears. I can hear it now.	"Mom!!! MOM!!!!! MOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!! OVER HERE!!! HUFF!! HUFF!!! I... Think.... I catches breath found dad! He is holding some sort of book! Come quick!" (Mom runs over to the vicinity of the son) OMG! You found... You found a hiker, that's for sure. The decay is too much to determine that it is dad or not. But son, even two years after the police gave up the search, you and I knew he was out here." "Look mom! a journal! (Thumbs through first few pages) .... day 1... reading day 2... (Flips to end) Mom! Looks like dad was out here for... 23 days before the entries stop. "Son, we still don't have any identifiable proof this IS your father" "It is mom, I know it is.. it HAS to be. Let's read the final entry and see what could have happened! Let's see.. > Day 23: Well, the sky was green today. And the others are still out there.. They are trying to get into my head! I WONT LET THEM! I WILL MAKE IT HOME!! The nights, I'm not even sure the sun sets anymore. Or if it rises. Somebody is out to get me, they have been trailing me for... days? Weeks? I have no idea how long I've been out here.. I am seeing them. These... things. GET AWAY! GET AWAY! I yell but they never come closer nor further away. They are certainly going to murder me in my sleep. I don't think I've slept in days. I finally found a few berries back there.. But I was too afraid they were poisoned to eat them. They could have been a trap. I opted instead to eat some more of these safe fungi I have been eating along the way. My gun is nearly out of bullets from shooting at.. those.. those... things.. STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP STOP STOP STOP!!! STOP!! GAHHHH WHY DON'T THEY LEAVE ME ALONE?! "Son, what cave? go back a few days in the journal, find the cave.. I don't care if it takes weeks, we are going to follow this guide back and find out what happened to this man" > Day 22 - ^To ^ay W^ >.........o bed, ow" "Well, time and weather have washed out the words on that entry, let's try another" >Day 19 - I have been walking for days, the bright lights at night are getting closer. I have no idea what they are or what they want. I really just wish those Hikers would leave me alone. I'm actually thinking they are aliens. I am sure that they want to abduct me. Lucky for me I found this here cave to hide in. There is a water source and more of this delicious fungi that I am certain are safe to eat. At least, I hope so. I have been surviving off of them for 3 days. I will just hide out... OMG! OMG! They are IN the cave with me! I can see their eyes in the darkness! WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHY WON'T THEY JUST TELL ME WHAT THEY Waaaa-----" Oh god.. Oh god.. I hope they don't kill me.. I miss my family. My lovely wife and son.. and our dog... our.... dog... Rufus. I miss him more than anything.." "Mom?? B-b-b-ut... We don't have a dog. What is he talking about?! Is this not dad?" "I'm not sure son, it seems like your fathers hand writing to me. Let's keep investigating" "Alright mom, it looks like the cave is about 1/4 mile to the east, according to these notes here, let's go, I'll read another day as we continue" >Day 10 - My rations are gone. I was never supposed to be in the wilderness this long, I am struggling to get my bearings, the Sun never shows during the day and I am lost in the moonlight. If it wasn't for this fungi that I found a while back I would be dead by now, for certain Although, shortly after I found the first fungi, this place has seemed creepier and creepier. The sounds aren't like anything I've recognized before. I am fairly certain I can hear those other hikers in the distance. I think they might be messing with my head tonight. I will try sleep now and try again tomorrow to get out of this.. this... place" "Thumbs through a few more" >Day 8 - Ahh, it's another beautiful day to go out exploring. I accidentally spilled one of my containers of fresh water last night. I'm a little worried but should have enough to keep me going through the next couple of days, at least. I saw a deer today run a few yards ahead of me. It was amazing, it was one of those moments where you just feel like god is guiding your journey, almost as if saying "Nothing bad can happen to you, I'll see to it!" This has been a simply amazing experience. I love my wife and child and can't wait to see them again! >Day 3 - Well, Today I ran into a couple of other hikers, they were out doing the same as me. A bit of a mental pilgrimage into the forest. We said "Hi" shared a smile and went about our way. I few paces later I found some edible mushrooms. They were quite tasty and I was getting a little hungry." "Here we are mom, at the cave! Look! LOOK! MOM! It's dad's watch! It looks like the time stopped at 4:03am. Also, it looks like there was signs of a struggle." Okay, son! Enough of this, we aren't any closer to having a better understanding of what happened. Let's go call the police and bring them out here so they can Identify this person and find out if it is your father or not. (2 days later at home) Knock Knock "Oh, hello police officer. Do you have any news? "Ma'am, after doing some DNA testing we have determined this is your missing husband. We have pieced together everything from that journal you gave us. The mushrooms your husband was so certain were safe, were not. He continually went deeper and deeper into madness as the hallucinogenic properties of the mushrooms took hold and drove him further and further from reality. Honestly, we think he covered no more than the same 2 - 3 miles over the course of all the days in the journal. Although, with so many of the entries having the text washed out, it was a little difficult to fill in the blanks. It is possible the dog he mentioned was nothing more than a figment of a hallucinating. Please, ma'am take your time and when you are ready here is a number where you can make funeral arrangements. I am sorry for your loss." (Mom runs and hugs her son) "The search is over. We have our answer. We have found your father. Now we can move one Tears" "Mom, this is the last thing dad ever wrote. I am going to keep this journal forever! I love you"
	[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.	August 12: Today was officially my worst birthday yet. Last week the doctors told me I'm dying. They slapped a few exotic medical terms in my face, gave me an estimate on my remaining time and wished me good luck before throwing me out. Treatment was promised to be expensive. I was given a few "good adresses". The only helpful thing the people in the hospital managed to achieve was giving me a calling card for a support group. I had my first meeting today, and it was awful. Everybody was in advanced stages of dying. Some of them look already dead. And there I was, looking just as healthy as all the athletes that had been participating in the recent Olympics. I tried making some small talk, difficult as it was. Some of them asked me about my condition, but I couldn't explain it well. By the end of the session, my clumsiness had made them perceive me as an intruder. I couldn't blame them, because I felt like one. when the session ended, one of the people who help organise the meetings approached me. He understood my not fitting in, and gave me some tips to deal with it on my own for the time being. One of them was to buy a blank notebook and start keeping a diary. So here I am, sitting in the parking lot next to the gas station on my way home, and trying to cram all the things in words and sentences. Maybe it's good advice, but it should come with a manual. I'll stop writing for now. August 15: I still haven't told my wife. My kids don't know either. They say I'm a bit distant, but I blame work. And I'm not even lying, because a lot of projects need wrapping up. How do you figure out when's a good time to tell your family you're dying? Everybody's busy with things they love, they're happy just being happy. August 16: My work took me a long way from home, and I stopped by a church on the way back. The priest was more than willing to see me, but his advice bothered me. Dragging my family down to a pool of suffering doesn't strike me as "the right thing". September 20: I completely forgot about this book. The blankness of the pages remind me of my unwillingness to throw my problem out into the open. September 22: My family still doesn't know. And I won't tell them. Yesterday I saw a sick man in the supermarket. He had a boy with him who looked to be my son's age. That kid didn't look happy. Only five years old, and crushed by death's inevitability. I'll be damned if I do that to my son. There has to be an alternative, I just need to figure it out. October 1: My plan has been completed. My boss has arranged for a small getaway for me and two of the other project managers. A small reward for succesfully handling one of the most profitable seasons the company has seen. We're going to the mountains to stay there for an extended weekend. There's a bit of pride in me for tricking the boss into doing it. Having small-talk with the secretary over coffee was enough to plant some seeds. He actually believed it was his idea, otherwise his face wouldn't have been so smug. But he can have the pride, I just need the getaway. October 2: I actually had to convince my wife my little trip was work-related. I've been so different lately, she's been getting suspicious. She suspects I'm having an affair. We had a good, long talk. I never felt like a bigger son of a bitch when I said things were going to be fine. October 11: My first nosebleed came today. The doctors told me nosebleeds would be a tell-tale sign of the disease escalating. The timing is perfect, though. It's thursday and we just left on our trip. I just wanted to commit this little fact to paper while taking a dump. I haven't written much, but I'm starting to like my diary. October 11 cont: I've never been more grateful for being able to push people around than I have been today. I managed to reschedule our massive hike. We're leaving tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I had a second nosebleed today. I was able to hide this one too, but it was a close call. It's a little too late to arouse any major suspicion, but I still want to avoid nasty questions. October 12: Well, I was lucky today. I spent days watching satellite images on the internet, trying to find several good spots where I could quickly sneak away from the others. But in the end, all it took was for someone to slip up and tumble down a slope towards a broken leg. I immediately offered to go search for help, and gave my sattelite phone in case I didn't return in time. All that preparation, and my plan was succesful because of a literal slip of fate. I'm happy despite the bleakness of it all. October 13: My plan backfired;, massively. My idea was to go looking for bears and provoke one of them into attacking me. That way I would've died in a way that wouldn't lead to the discovery of my illness. The authorities wouldn't order an autopsy on the victim of a bear attack. That way my family would've remembered me as a strong man. And I would live on in the mind of my son as some vague figure of myth who wrestled bears to save lives. But I failed. It might've been some bizarre karma for feeling delighted when Frank slipped and broke his leg, but I managed to do the same. The only difference is that my fracture is open, and I'm slowly bleeding to death. I won't be looking for bears now. My only hope is that whoever finds my body reads this journal. He or she needs to realize I did everything in my power to spare my family from the trauma of disease. Maybe it was the right thing for the wrong reasons, just plain wrong, but I did not want to be remembered as an avatar of decay. And even if my plan failed, you still have the power to hide this deception from my family. It would break their heart, and just thinking about that is breaking mine right now.	"Mom!!! MOM!!!!! MOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!! OVER HERE!!! HUFF!! HUFF!!! I... Think.... I catches breath found dad! He is holding some sort of book! Come quick!" (Mom runs over to the vicinity of the son) OMG! You found... You found a hiker, that's for sure. The decay is too much to determine that it is dad or not. But son, even two years after the police gave up the search, you and I knew he was out here." "Look mom! a journal! (Thumbs through first few pages) .... day 1... reading day 2... (Flips to end) Mom! Looks like dad was out here for... 23 days before the entries stop. "Son, we still don't have any identifiable proof this IS your father" "It is mom, I know it is.. it HAS to be. Let's read the final entry and see what could have happened! Let's see.. > Day 23: Well, the sky was green today. And the others are still out there.. They are trying to get into my head! I WONT LET THEM! I WILL MAKE IT HOME!! The nights, I'm not even sure the sun sets anymore. Or if it rises. Somebody is out to get me, they have been trailing me for... days? Weeks? I have no idea how long I've been out here.. I am seeing them. These... things. GET AWAY! GET AWAY! I yell but they never come closer nor further away. They are certainly going to murder me in my sleep. I don't think I've slept in days. I finally found a few berries back there.. But I was too afraid they were poisoned to eat them. They could have been a trap. I opted instead to eat some more of these safe fungi I have been eating along the way. My gun is nearly out of bullets from shooting at.. those.. those... things.. STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP STOP STOP STOP!!! STOP!! GAHHHH WHY DON'T THEY LEAVE ME ALONE?! "Son, what cave? go back a few days in the journal, find the cave.. I don't care if it takes weeks, we are going to follow this guide back and find out what happened to this man" > Day 22 - ^To ^ay W^ >.........o bed, ow" "Well, time and weather have washed out the words on that entry, let's try another" >Day 19 - I have been walking for days, the bright lights at night are getting closer. I have no idea what they are or what they want. I really just wish those Hikers would leave me alone. I'm actually thinking they are aliens. I am sure that they want to abduct me. Lucky for me I found this here cave to hide in. There is a water source and more of this delicious fungi that I am certain are safe to eat. At least, I hope so. I have been surviving off of them for 3 days. I will just hide out... OMG! OMG! They are IN the cave with me! I can see their eyes in the darkness! WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHY WON'T THEY JUST TELL ME WHAT THEY Waaaa-----" Oh god.. Oh god.. I hope they don't kill me.. I miss my family. My lovely wife and son.. and our dog... our.... dog... Rufus. I miss him more than anything.." "Mom?? B-b-b-ut... We don't have a dog. What is he talking about?! Is this not dad?" "I'm not sure son, it seems like your fathers hand writing to me. Let's keep investigating" "Alright mom, it looks like the cave is about 1/4 mile to the east, according to these notes here, let's go, I'll read another day as we continue" >Day 10 - My rations are gone. I was never supposed to be in the wilderness this long, I am struggling to get my bearings, the Sun never shows during the day and I am lost in the moonlight. If it wasn't for this fungi that I found a while back I would be dead by now, for certain Although, shortly after I found the first fungi, this place has seemed creepier and creepier. The sounds aren't like anything I've recognized before. I am fairly certain I can hear those other hikers in the distance. I think they might be messing with my head tonight. I will try sleep now and try again tomorrow to get out of this.. this... place" "Thumbs through a few more" >Day 8 - Ahh, it's another beautiful day to go out exploring. I accidentally spilled one of my containers of fresh water last night. I'm a little worried but should have enough to keep me going through the next couple of days, at least. I saw a deer today run a few yards ahead of me. It was amazing, it was one of those moments where you just feel like god is guiding your journey, almost as if saying "Nothing bad can happen to you, I'll see to it!" This has been a simply amazing experience. I love my wife and child and can't wait to see them again! >Day 3 - Well, Today I ran into a couple of other hikers, they were out doing the same as me. A bit of a mental pilgrimage into the forest. We said "Hi" shared a smile and went about our way. I few paces later I found some edible mushrooms. They were quite tasty and I was getting a little hungry." "Here we are mom, at the cave! Look! LOOK! MOM! It's dad's watch! It looks like the time stopped at 4:03am. Also, it looks like there was signs of a struggle." Okay, son! Enough of this, we aren't any closer to having a better understanding of what happened. Let's go call the police and bring them out here so they can Identify this person and find out if it is your father or not. (2 days later at home) Knock Knock "Oh, hello police officer. Do you have any news? "Ma'am, after doing some DNA testing we have determined this is your missing husband. We have pieced together everything from that journal you gave us. The mushrooms your husband was so certain were safe, were not. He continually went deeper and deeper into madness as the hallucinogenic properties of the mushrooms took hold and drove him further and further from reality. Honestly, we think he covered no more than the same 2 - 3 miles over the course of all the days in the journal. Although, with so many of the entries having the text washed out, it was a little difficult to fill in the blanks. It is possible the dog he mentioned was nothing more than a figment of a hallucinating. Please, ma'am take your time and when you are ready here is a number where you can make funeral arrangements. I am sorry for your loss." (Mom runs and hugs her son) "The search is over. We have our answer. We have found your father. Now we can move one Tears" "Mom, this is the last thing dad ever wrote. I am going to keep this journal forever! I love you"
	[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.	Looks like I'm coming up on the forest line. Should just be another hour. Been hiking for days. _______________________ Should have hit the forest line by now. Still no sign of the edge. What the hell? I'm running low on water. _______________________ Maybe I'm just lost. Not sure what's going on, forest line seems to keep moving. Must be going in circles or something. _______________________ Compass won't read North. Okay, this is getting scary. The compass should read North. There's a sound nearby- something humming. Going to check it out. ____________________ Gigantic generator- I think it's messing up the compass. The needle starting spinning near it. Generator is truly massive. What could this be used for? _______________________ Really thirsty, can't find any water- not even dew. Really weird. More troubling- I'm gonna die of thirst. _________________________ Came to a strange lake. Made of mead. I was so thirsty, I tried to drink it. It was just dirt. Did I see a mirage? ________________________ I'm seeing things, maybe I'm just dehydrated. Saw a child mauled by a bear. Went to look at the body- wasn't there. ________________________ God is punishing me. I don't believe in God...probably why I'm being punished. __________________________ I found the edge of the woods! Yes! God, I'm so fucking thirsty. Looks like I'm out though- I'm finally out! _________________________ Joy was premature. Edge is five feet from me. I can't leave though. The forest keeps moving. I'm fucked.	Part 1: Entry 1: June 1, 2012: I entered the forest two hours ago. I appears to be on the right trail. Old growth shows markers made by the native guides who led Ponce De Leon. The ground is sandy and the vegetation intimidating. If the map is accurate, I should hit marshy swamp land by days end. There are several outlets from the gulf reaching deep into the forest. I came armed in case of gators, but I expect no problems or incidence from any other source save the terrain. I entered the forest from my campsite off mile marker 112. My compass heading for the day will be South by southeast for two kliks, changing to a fixed heading of due east for the remainder of the day. My goal is twenty miles for the first leg of the hike. I've plenty of dry rations, a cell phone, and four litres of water in addition to my regular camping tools. If something should happen to me and this journal is found, contact Emily Baxter, 2020 Cedarfield Drive, Pensacola, Florida. She will contact my family for me and be able to give the authorities all the information they require about what I'm doing out here. Entry 2: July 2, 2012: I managed 18 kliks yesterday. Two short of my goal, but the vegetation and fauna is more cumbersome that I had predicted. I also had to reroute around a spur of marsh that wasn't on the map. It killed my forward progress some. If I might say, I know this sojourn was my idea, but I'm really hating the biting flies and the sand fleas. I should have worn longer pants and taller socks. This Florida weather is sweltering and dense. It's like every breathe is fifty percent water. I'm very nearly afraid that I'm going to inhale this Florida air and drown. It's how it feels. Well, this is day two. My heading for the day is due east for five kliks, then I'll have to take a northerly heading of north by north east for three kliks. The first inlet finger from the Gulf is ahead. I'll have to swing around it. After that second change, I will be correcting my heading setting off east by south east for a fourtee kliks. I'm going to try making up the two kliks I lost yesterday. If all goes as plan, I should hit make camp tonight at the second planned campsite I have marked on my map. If this journal is found, refer to my instructions in the first journal entry. Entry 3: July 3, 2012: Somethings wrong. I set up camp last night as planned at the second campsite location on my map. I managed to stay on schedule, but when I woke up, my rifle was gone along with my food and water and my cellphone. I'm not alone out here, though satellite footage of the area showed no houses or residences for thirty miles. I think someone else is hunting for the fountain too. I can't talk for long. I'm going to have to push on. I have half a liter of water left because it was inside the tent with me last night. My heading for today is due east the entire way, but that may change several times during the course of this leg. My goal is eight kliks today. I'm entering the marshy portion of the forest. I don't have enough water to go back, so I'll continue on as planned. Hopefully I'll find fresh water or encounter rain. It's Florida. The weather is unpredictable like that. Entry 4: June 4, 2012: I only managed five kliks today. The marsh is brutal. I was nearly bitten by a gator after only being on this heading for an hour today. I'm feeling nauseous after stumbling through one of the largest fire ant colonies I've ever seen. I was bitten or stung, or whatever they do, by about thirty ants before stumbling into some brackish water to wash them off. Picked up a leech there, but I managed to burn him off. I made a spear of sorts to ward off gators, but I use it as more of a walking stick. I'm unfamiliar with the marsh sounds, but I think I'm being followed. I keep hearing the sound of splashing coming from the way I've already come. It's disconcerting to say the least. I'm camping on a finger of land reaching down into the marsh from the north. When morning comes, I'll be taking a east by northeast heading. If all goes well, I should make fifteen kliks. Entry 5: July 5, 2012: It rained during the night. I set up a collector and filled up my water. I had been without for most of the day yesterday. Whoever took my gun isn't following me. They're toying with me. I've found parts of my gun along my trek today, laid out for me to find on logs and rock outcroppings. I don't know if they're sending me a message or mocking me. Whatever it is, I'm not amused. I found a boot print in a patch of earth near one of the gun parts. I don't know if the person leaving the parts is alone, but the boot print belonged to someone with a size 14 foot. It was a hiking boot. The person messing with me is most likely a guy judging by the depth of the print. I don't know if he means me any harm, or if this just his attempt to cow me into leaving. I'd be a fool to say I didn't think about it. I'm over thirty kliks from civilization with a large man taking joy in teasing me. If he realizes this too, I may be in trouble. A woman alone is a tempting target if this man turns out to be untrustworthy. I'm not gambling. Tonight, I'm taking some steps to safeguard my camp.
	[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.	I picked up the moleskine and ran my finger over a smooth leather edge. It was tossed carelessly into the pile of crunchy leaves. Maybe some hiker had gone offroad and dropped the notebook. After all, it was quite inconspicuous and dark. Maybe he was hiking at night. I pulled back the elastic band and flipped through the pages. The smell of the place was unbearable, some dead raccoon, maybe. Poachers were careless this time of year. Most of the pages were filled with drawings of leaves, sketches of trails, and tracks. Almost scientific in nature. There were notations and a recurring theme of animals, like golden eagles. Curious, but very detailed drawings, even some of the head. Other rare animals were detailed in it, and at quite close range. Remarkable. The animals, like timber wolves, condors, and the golden eagle, would usually be dead by the time you can get close to them. However, you couldn't hunt any of these animals. I paged through and came across an entry, dated two weeks ago. October 4: Well, I am hot on the trail of this bear. I think that I will find him by sundown of tomorrow. I camped out near his tracks tonight, far enough in the forest where the ranger won't see me. Thank God! The tracks lead in the direction of the Potawatomi reservation. Off limits, I know, but the bear is off limits to begin with, yet here I am hunting him. Dinner tonight was a measly protein bar and water. All my fresh fruit is gone from the first couple days. October 6: I didn't catch the bear as intended. The Potawatomi people live in these lands, as marked by the cairns I've seen popping up. The bear left tracks in the mud. I am very far from the legal trail, but I know which direction I came from. I pitched my tent facing east. That's the direction I need to go back from, once I down this bear. October 9: I downed the bear. It was male and sleeping when I shot it from high ground. Probably scared some Indians with the gunshot. I took his claw as a trophy, then dragged him to the river and dumped him there. Hopefully the stream is strong enough to run him down. I sleep in the trees tonight. I can't risk Potawatomi interference with my tent. October 10: While hiking, a Potawatomi man confronted me. Old guy. Probably some witch doctor or something. I was hardly on their reservation this time, but I was stopping for the night. He told me I couldn't sleep here. I told him to go away, and my friend Jack Daniels did some smooth talking. October 10 (later): I heard Indians outside my tent. I think they were talking about me. They know I dumped the bear in the river. I heard the old man's voice again. He lead them to me. Luckily, they left. Tomorrow, I get back to the trail. Tent is facing east, according to my good old compass! October 11: I seem to have lost my compass. Hole in my pocket, or something. Dear me. I kept going east today, but the trail is nowhere in sight. Feet circled my tent in the morning, probably the Potawatomi. That's no matter. I'm off their reservation now, back in the woods. I'll be home to my wife by tomorrow at sunset. October 12: It's morning. I am still on Potawatomi land. I think they turned my tent around in my sleep. I am now further into their land. The people are lawless, they live by their own rules. Christ. I'm writing this with a measly breakfast of wild berries and roots. I verified they weren't poisonous. I got to keep moving. October 12: Lunchtime. I'm moving on the outskirts of the land, I assume marked by the cairns. I'm trying to get out of their territory before sundown. I hear something in the woods. Squirrels or something. I can't risk gunshot, and I lost my knife foolishly throwing it to kill a rabbit. I'm saving my last food for dinner. October 12: Dinner was dropped in the mud. Fresh bear tracks everywhere. It's following me. Maybe it's my famine or my increasingly unstable thought line, but I don't think the damn bear was dead. Bears can climb trees, so sleeping in there is out of the question. I seek refuge with the Potawatomi. October 12: Night has fallen. I have given my last food and Jack Daniels to the Natives for refuge in their camps. They have not questioned me yet but they do not give me food. I fear for my health and will request a ride back into town, if the Potawatomi can supply. I don’t care anymore about my poaching. I just want back into town. Food and warmth there. October 13: They say I am cursed. Doomed to die. In my sleep, they said, I had thrashed with nightmares and confessed to my crimes of killing the bear. They claim I killed it on sacred ground, then deposited it into the river no less. Their crops are dying with the infected water, which has run red with blood. They chased my remaining energy out of me by running me out of the campsite. I am now sitting at the base of a tree quietly. Night has fallen and I can’t see a damn thing, but I don’t care anymore. I’m nowhere near the trail. Rustling has stalked me for hours now. Starvation and thirst have taken hold. The bear is coming for me. To my wife, I love you. To nature, forgive me for my crimes. The rustling draws near.	Part 1: Entry 1: June 1, 2012: I entered the forest two hours ago. I appears to be on the right trail. Old growth shows markers made by the native guides who led Ponce De Leon. The ground is sandy and the vegetation intimidating. If the map is accurate, I should hit marshy swamp land by days end. There are several outlets from the gulf reaching deep into the forest. I came armed in case of gators, but I expect no problems or incidence from any other source save the terrain. I entered the forest from my campsite off mile marker 112. My compass heading for the day will be South by southeast for two kliks, changing to a fixed heading of due east for the remainder of the day. My goal is twenty miles for the first leg of the hike. I've plenty of dry rations, a cell phone, and four litres of water in addition to my regular camping tools. If something should happen to me and this journal is found, contact Emily Baxter, 2020 Cedarfield Drive, Pensacola, Florida. She will contact my family for me and be able to give the authorities all the information they require about what I'm doing out here. Entry 2: July 2, 2012: I managed 18 kliks yesterday. Two short of my goal, but the vegetation and fauna is more cumbersome that I had predicted. I also had to reroute around a spur of marsh that wasn't on the map. It killed my forward progress some. If I might say, I know this sojourn was my idea, but I'm really hating the biting flies and the sand fleas. I should have worn longer pants and taller socks. This Florida weather is sweltering and dense. It's like every breathe is fifty percent water. I'm very nearly afraid that I'm going to inhale this Florida air and drown. It's how it feels. Well, this is day two. My heading for the day is due east for five kliks, then I'll have to take a northerly heading of north by north east for three kliks. The first inlet finger from the Gulf is ahead. I'll have to swing around it. After that second change, I will be correcting my heading setting off east by south east for a fourtee kliks. I'm going to try making up the two kliks I lost yesterday. If all goes as plan, I should hit make camp tonight at the second planned campsite I have marked on my map. If this journal is found, refer to my instructions in the first journal entry. Entry 3: July 3, 2012: Somethings wrong. I set up camp last night as planned at the second campsite location on my map. I managed to stay on schedule, but when I woke up, my rifle was gone along with my food and water and my cellphone. I'm not alone out here, though satellite footage of the area showed no houses or residences for thirty miles. I think someone else is hunting for the fountain too. I can't talk for long. I'm going to have to push on. I have half a liter of water left because it was inside the tent with me last night. My heading for today is due east the entire way, but that may change several times during the course of this leg. My goal is eight kliks today. I'm entering the marshy portion of the forest. I don't have enough water to go back, so I'll continue on as planned. Hopefully I'll find fresh water or encounter rain. It's Florida. The weather is unpredictable like that. Entry 4: June 4, 2012: I only managed five kliks today. The marsh is brutal. I was nearly bitten by a gator after only being on this heading for an hour today. I'm feeling nauseous after stumbling through one of the largest fire ant colonies I've ever seen. I was bitten or stung, or whatever they do, by about thirty ants before stumbling into some brackish water to wash them off. Picked up a leech there, but I managed to burn him off. I made a spear of sorts to ward off gators, but I use it as more of a walking stick. I'm unfamiliar with the marsh sounds, but I think I'm being followed. I keep hearing the sound of splashing coming from the way I've already come. It's disconcerting to say the least. I'm camping on a finger of land reaching down into the marsh from the north. When morning comes, I'll be taking a east by northeast heading. If all goes well, I should make fifteen kliks. Entry 5: July 5, 2012: It rained during the night. I set up a collector and filled up my water. I had been without for most of the day yesterday. Whoever took my gun isn't following me. They're toying with me. I've found parts of my gun along my trek today, laid out for me to find on logs and rock outcroppings. I don't know if they're sending me a message or mocking me. Whatever it is, I'm not amused. I found a boot print in a patch of earth near one of the gun parts. I don't know if the person leaving the parts is alone, but the boot print belonged to someone with a size 14 foot. It was a hiking boot. The person messing with me is most likely a guy judging by the depth of the print. I don't know if he means me any harm, or if this just his attempt to cow me into leaving. I'd be a fool to say I didn't think about it. I'm over thirty kliks from civilization with a large man taking joy in teasing me. If he realizes this too, I may be in trouble. A woman alone is a tempting target if this man turns out to be untrustworthy. I'm not gambling. Tonight, I'm taking some steps to safeguard my camp.
	[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.	In the woods near a blood splattered tennis shoe a phone was found. It contained eleven separate audio recordings. Jen, you said the trees here were older than dinosaurs. I'm not sure about the science of that. You do tend to get all your facts from watching Animal Planet and there aren't any pit bulls out here. Or kittens. I did see a bear on the drive in but the ranger said they're mostly skittish. Unless you have a bunch of ham sandwiches I suppose. Those are delicious. I'm recording this for you since you had to cancel. I told you not to leave those Legos on the floor but you had to construct your mini Thomas the Tank Engine town in the middle of the living room. Hope your big toe is better. I drew some hearts on the cast before I left. Travelogue. Day One. Or Mid Day One. No, Operation: See Lots of Fuzzy Animals. Operation: Snarky Plant Life? One of the bushes has already bit me. My arm is all speckled with red. I might be allergic to nature. I'm doing this for you, honey. The animals here are less friendly than you'd told me they were. I saw a squirrel look at me with evil intent before he tossed an acorn at my head. Every man needs a nemesis. I took a left turn. Somewhere. The path was there and then it wasn't. Remember that story you told me about the wendigo? I'm not sure if your uncle actually got lost and came back as a flesh eating cannibal monster but I could sure use something more than a granola bar right about now. I hate all the ham sandwiches. Just to be safe. Can't find the damn path. Found this gorgeous spring though. The water is like crystal. I can see the fish and the sediment below. I can see why you like hiking out here. Tried to catch one of the fish with my bare hands. Like a real mountain man. I saw it in a movie once. It's a sort of slapping motion. I slapped the hell out of the water. No fish. I settled for a granola bar. I'm trying to get up to higher ground. Maybe get a signal on this phone. It's getting dark. I think I'll have to call for help. You'll get a kick out of that. Ranger Rick coming to my rescue. Maybe I can pretend to faint and he'll pick me up like I'm a gentle maiden. We tried that once, remember? It was hell getting out of that corset. Dark now. I don't know how long I've been climbing up. Had to rest for a while on some piles of leaves I made. I'm tired. I'm starting to think I should stop and wait. They have to be searching by now. People don't just disappear. I dreamed. I slept and I dreamed. It's morning now and no one has come. I haven't heard any helicopters. I don't want to wait anymore. I stumbled onto a cave. Bad cave. Bad cave. There was a bear. A great big dark bear. I can hear it behind me now. I think it had little cubs. Fuck. They're eating me. I'm still alive and they're eating me. The little ones dig their black claws into the hole the mother made. I sleep and wake up to sounds of gnawing and slurping. I don't look down. It doesn't hurt anymore. I'm cold now and it doesn't hurt. I've always had this dream I was falling from some place up very high. Like from a plane. Or a cliff. I dreamed of that fall and the sudden stop. The sound of the wind whistling past my ears. I can hear it now.	Part 1: Entry 1: June 1, 2012: I entered the forest two hours ago. I appears to be on the right trail. Old growth shows markers made by the native guides who led Ponce De Leon. The ground is sandy and the vegetation intimidating. If the map is accurate, I should hit marshy swamp land by days end. There are several outlets from the gulf reaching deep into the forest. I came armed in case of gators, but I expect no problems or incidence from any other source save the terrain. I entered the forest from my campsite off mile marker 112. My compass heading for the day will be South by southeast for two kliks, changing to a fixed heading of due east for the remainder of the day. My goal is twenty miles for the first leg of the hike. I've plenty of dry rations, a cell phone, and four litres of water in addition to my regular camping tools. If something should happen to me and this journal is found, contact Emily Baxter, 2020 Cedarfield Drive, Pensacola, Florida. She will contact my family for me and be able to give the authorities all the information they require about what I'm doing out here. Entry 2: July 2, 2012: I managed 18 kliks yesterday. Two short of my goal, but the vegetation and fauna is more cumbersome that I had predicted. I also had to reroute around a spur of marsh that wasn't on the map. It killed my forward progress some. If I might say, I know this sojourn was my idea, but I'm really hating the biting flies and the sand fleas. I should have worn longer pants and taller socks. This Florida weather is sweltering and dense. It's like every breathe is fifty percent water. I'm very nearly afraid that I'm going to inhale this Florida air and drown. It's how it feels. Well, this is day two. My heading for the day is due east for five kliks, then I'll have to take a northerly heading of north by north east for three kliks. The first inlet finger from the Gulf is ahead. I'll have to swing around it. After that second change, I will be correcting my heading setting off east by south east for a fourtee kliks. I'm going to try making up the two kliks I lost yesterday. If all goes as plan, I should hit make camp tonight at the second planned campsite I have marked on my map. If this journal is found, refer to my instructions in the first journal entry. Entry 3: July 3, 2012: Somethings wrong. I set up camp last night as planned at the second campsite location on my map. I managed to stay on schedule, but when I woke up, my rifle was gone along with my food and water and my cellphone. I'm not alone out here, though satellite footage of the area showed no houses or residences for thirty miles. I think someone else is hunting for the fountain too. I can't talk for long. I'm going to have to push on. I have half a liter of water left because it was inside the tent with me last night. My heading for today is due east the entire way, but that may change several times during the course of this leg. My goal is eight kliks today. I'm entering the marshy portion of the forest. I don't have enough water to go back, so I'll continue on as planned. Hopefully I'll find fresh water or encounter rain. It's Florida. The weather is unpredictable like that. Entry 4: June 4, 2012: I only managed five kliks today. The marsh is brutal. I was nearly bitten by a gator after only being on this heading for an hour today. I'm feeling nauseous after stumbling through one of the largest fire ant colonies I've ever seen. I was bitten or stung, or whatever they do, by about thirty ants before stumbling into some brackish water to wash them off. Picked up a leech there, but I managed to burn him off. I made a spear of sorts to ward off gators, but I use it as more of a walking stick. I'm unfamiliar with the marsh sounds, but I think I'm being followed. I keep hearing the sound of splashing coming from the way I've already come. It's disconcerting to say the least. I'm camping on a finger of land reaching down into the marsh from the north. When morning comes, I'll be taking a east by northeast heading. If all goes well, I should make fifteen kliks. Entry 5: July 5, 2012: It rained during the night. I set up a collector and filled up my water. I had been without for most of the day yesterday. Whoever took my gun isn't following me. They're toying with me. I've found parts of my gun along my trek today, laid out for me to find on logs and rock outcroppings. I don't know if they're sending me a message or mocking me. Whatever it is, I'm not amused. I found a boot print in a patch of earth near one of the gun parts. I don't know if the person leaving the parts is alone, but the boot print belonged to someone with a size 14 foot. It was a hiking boot. The person messing with me is most likely a guy judging by the depth of the print. I don't know if he means me any harm, or if this just his attempt to cow me into leaving. I'd be a fool to say I didn't think about it. I'm over thirty kliks from civilization with a large man taking joy in teasing me. If he realizes this too, I may be in trouble. A woman alone is a tempting target if this man turns out to be untrustworthy. I'm not gambling. Tonight, I'm taking some steps to safeguard my camp.
	[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.	In the woods near a blood splattered tennis shoe a phone was found. It contained eleven separate audio recordings. Jen, you said the trees here were older than dinosaurs. I'm not sure about the science of that. You do tend to get all your facts from watching Animal Planet and there aren't any pit bulls out here. Or kittens. I did see a bear on the drive in but the ranger said they're mostly skittish. Unless you have a bunch of ham sandwiches I suppose. Those are delicious. I'm recording this for you since you had to cancel. I told you not to leave those Legos on the floor but you had to construct your mini Thomas the Tank Engine town in the middle of the living room. Hope your big toe is better. I drew some hearts on the cast before I left. Travelogue. Day One. Or Mid Day One. No, Operation: See Lots of Fuzzy Animals. Operation: Snarky Plant Life? One of the bushes has already bit me. My arm is all speckled with red. I might be allergic to nature. I'm doing this for you, honey. The animals here are less friendly than you'd told me they were. I saw a squirrel look at me with evil intent before he tossed an acorn at my head. Every man needs a nemesis. I took a left turn. Somewhere. The path was there and then it wasn't. Remember that story you told me about the wendigo? I'm not sure if your uncle actually got lost and came back as a flesh eating cannibal monster but I could sure use something more than a granola bar right about now. I hate all the ham sandwiches. Just to be safe. Can't find the damn path. Found this gorgeous spring though. The water is like crystal. I can see the fish and the sediment below. I can see why you like hiking out here. Tried to catch one of the fish with my bare hands. Like a real mountain man. I saw it in a movie once. It's a sort of slapping motion. I slapped the hell out of the water. No fish. I settled for a granola bar. I'm trying to get up to higher ground. Maybe get a signal on this phone. It's getting dark. I think I'll have to call for help. You'll get a kick out of that. Ranger Rick coming to my rescue. Maybe I can pretend to faint and he'll pick me up like I'm a gentle maiden. We tried that once, remember? It was hell getting out of that corset. Dark now. I don't know how long I've been climbing up. Had to rest for a while on some piles of leaves I made. I'm tired. I'm starting to think I should stop and wait. They have to be searching by now. People don't just disappear. I dreamed. I slept and I dreamed. It's morning now and no one has come. I haven't heard any helicopters. I don't want to wait anymore. I stumbled onto a cave. Bad cave. Bad cave. There was a bear. A great big dark bear. I can hear it behind me now. I think it had little cubs. Fuck. They're eating me. I'm still alive and they're eating me. The little ones dig their black claws into the hole the mother made. I sleep and wake up to sounds of gnawing and slurping. I don't look down. It doesn't hurt anymore. I'm cold now and it doesn't hurt. I've always had this dream I was falling from some place up very high. Like from a plane. Or a cliff. I dreamed of that fall and the sudden stop. The sound of the wind whistling past my ears. I can hear it now.	There's not really much you can do once the body has gone cold, but having been a boy scout once, I guess I though maybe it couldn't hurt to attempt first aid. When I rolled the body over there was this indescribable pop like a huge pocket of air had been trapped underneath him. The mud suckled at his sides and fought to keep him in the same place as he had been. I did manage to get him turned over, though seeing the front caused me to nearly vomit right there. The back of the body had just been skin. Now I could see pools of blood and chunks of muscle hanging onto a thin canvas of what had been the inside of the man's back. All else here was bone bleached white where it hadn't touched the mud. My stomach turned and heaved, not just at the sight but at the reeking accompaniment of dead flesh long cooked. That pocket of air earlier had quickly turned sour and I was sure vultures would be upon me soon. I finally regained my senses enough to scramble away with my shirt covering my face, only for my hand to run into something I hadn't noticed during my approach. In the grass just a few feet north of the guy was a bound bit of leather. I retreated some distance. I thought about calling the cops, but instead decided to read the journal. Some twisted, sadistic part of my mind compelled me to open that thing. There I saw a number of writings. Eleven in total, they appeared to run from one part of the man's journey to the other. From the first time he stepped out on the trail for the purpose of recording his experiences to the end. The first was simply a time and date, only a few hours ago, in which the man said he was going into the forest. The second explained more. It appeared he believed something was moving around inside the forest unseen. Somehow it had gone without detection for many months--except he really didn't give a time in which the experiences began or even how long he suspected the creature had been there. Reading on, the third passage detailed a search and strange methods. A bell on a fishing pole, a thing of cheese wire stretched across a spider web, and a single candle placed in a hole six inches down and dug in a cone shape so that the rim of the hole was fourty-five degrees from the base of the candle. The hair was standing up on the back of my neck. I flipped through to another page. It started to get stranger as he began to not finish thoughts. To stop in the middle of sentences and apologize thinking he had heard something. His writing grew frantic and erratic, I had to spend considerably more time after the sixth entry trying to parse the meaning of his words. It was like he was writing in code, but with worse handwriting. The eleventh entry was some sort of suicide note--or it looked that way. An entry filled with various apologies to family members and explanations for why he had to hunt "the monster." There was a big paragraph where he listed out every event he had missed, Christmases, Halloweens, Thanksgivings, even a big St. Patrick's day barhop a friend had organized. I felt genuinely sorry. Whatever this was had consumed the man entirely. What came next was addressed to me. Not by name, but as the person who found him and the book. "What you're reading is the last word on my life. Listen to me, don't go looking for that thing. It will find you first. But if you hear a footstep and can't find a source, run." No sooner had I gleaned the meaning of this then I heard a branch crack heavily behind me.
	[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.	06/10/01 09:28 South entrance of Monterey Way Last Monday night, a group of drunk college students entered the park. We threw them out Wednesday after complaints of drunken and inappropriate behavior. We got them to pack up and leave or at least we thought we did. Yesterday, Clark realized their cars haven't moved from the lot. At first, he wanted Rick to check it out, but Rick... well, we don't need another scathing article about ranger misconduct in the dailies. I volunteered to check it out. Weather's nice at least. Sunny. Windless. Just the right type for a hike. 09:31 Marker 1 The reports from the other hikers were correct. There are broken branches and trampled undergrowth everywhere. Looks like they started drinking before starting up the trail. Bad idea. 09:34 South picnic area Beer bottles strewn around the base of a cedar. There's even a bra and panties in the branches. Classy. There are a lot of flying insects buzzing around too. Note to self: Remind Ron and crew to clean this up. 09:36 Marker 2 They're practically leaving a trail of beer bottles. Not that I need it. There are only two places they could have gone. 09:40 Marker 3 Doesn't look like the teens came this way. I'm going to guess that they broke off the main trail to cross over to Wendigo's Trail. It's been closed off for years, but we always catch people hiking there. Hopefully no one's injured themselves again. 09:46 Halfway between Marker 2 and Marker 3 Picked up the trail again thanks to a pool of vomit. Yep. Once again, the allure of the forbidden and dangerous draws the foolish to it like flies. Back when it was open, three hikers died in a single month. One of them got stuck on the summit with a broken leg. One fell into a ravine. The last one was never found. I don't have high hopes that a group of drunks remained uninjured. 09:55 Marker 5 - Wendigo's Trail The kids stopped here for a bit and built a campfire which means they were hiking in the dark. Stupid stupid stupid. I guess hiking a treacherous, closed-off path while drunk wasn't manly enough. I thought I saw the shadow of a man in the distance, but when I blinked, it was gone. 10:02 Marker 6 - Wendigo's Trail Stumbled over a tree root in broad daylight. Looks like I wasn't the only one. There's a bit of blood on the ground nearby. Actually, it's a lot of blood. Someone was injured badly here. I better hurry up. 10:09 Marker 7 - Wendigo's Trail Something feels off. We've been trained to trust our instincts, and my instincts tell me that I'm missing something. 10:11 I figured out what it is. Haven't seen a sign of a single animal ever since I crossed onto Wendigo's Trail. The area should be teeming with them. It's the same woods after all. No bird cries either. There's an unnerving silence in the air, punctuated by the rustling of leaves. Note to self: Check predator and prey populations with the other rangers. 10:30 Marker 9 - Wendigo's Trail A dead squirrel with a nail through its chest pinned to a young cedar. Seriously? Why? I'm going to have to add animal cruelty to disorderly conduct and trespassing. The latter two were understandable but torturing a squirrel is just idiocy. 10:31 What the fuck. There's an animal or part of an animal pinned to every tree along the trail. Six squirrels, ten birds, a deer head, a raccoon, even half of a dog... Fucking creepy. If this is the work of the kids... the fuck. Fuck. I found the five kids. On at least ten trees. Some parts seem to be missing, but I'm not sticking around to count. This is a job for the cops or someone else. I have children. I'm getting the fuck out.	It's only been a day but I know I made a mistake already. I need to get back to the others. I should never have left them like that. They're my babies and they need me to protect them. I think I'm getting sick but that's no excuse - I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. If there's a God, please help me. // I know I have made a mistake. I need to get back to them. I should never have left them. They're my babies and they need me. I think I'm getting sick but I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. If there's a God, please help me. // I made a mistake. I need to get back to them. I should never have left them. They're my babies and they need to be protected. I think I'm getting sick but I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. If there's a God, please help them. // I need to get back to them. I should never have left them. They're my babies. I think I'm getting sick but I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. Please God, protect them. // I need to get back to them. I should never have left them. My babies. I think I'm getting sick but I'm running back as quickly as I can. God, please, protect them. // I need to get back to them. I should never have left my babies. I'm getting sick. I'm running back as quickly as I can. Protect them God. Please. // I need to get back to them. I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. Protect them God. // I need to get back. I should never have left. Protect them please. // I'm getting sick. I'm running back. Please, protect them. // Sick. Need them. Quickly. Please. // I never. left. my babies. sick god.
This should be fun :)	[WP] A blind-man on his death bed asks you describe color to him.	"Any regrets?" I asked. "Yeah. Wish I could have see what you've seen." Issac laughed, his blind eyes staring off into oblivion. "I dearly wish I could have seen color. My world was always so dark and featureless." "Any color in particular?" I asked. "Blue. I've always heard people talk about the color blue. They seem to really enjoy that color." Issac had a wistful look on his face as he said it. "Before I die, I would have liked to have seen the color blue." "Give me a moment," I whispered, getting an idea. I searched through the doctor's supplies on the cart and found what I was looking for. The gel ice pack the nurse had provided to reduce the swelling of Issac's feet. I slit it open. "Hold out your hand, Issac." Issac did as he was asked. I squeezed the gel out into his hand. "It's cold." He said, furrowing his brow. "What else?" I asked. He rubbed his fingers around in the gel. "It's smooth and silky. What is it?" "That's the color blue, my friend. It's how we feel when we see it." I explained. He laughed and rubbed his fingers together, relishing the feel. "And this," I said, moving the lamp over his arm. "Is the color yellow." "That's warm. What is that?" He said, reaching up toward the source of heat. He burned his hands on the bulb. "And that," I laughed, as he hissed in pain, "is the color red." "You asshole," Issac laughed, sucking on his burnt fingers. I laughed as well, reaching out with a rag to clean the gel off his other hand. "All other colors are just combinations of those three." I explained. "Even white?" He asked. "That one is harder." I confessed, thinking. "I got it." I cried, disappearing into the hall. I came back with two plastic cups. "Here. Hold each of these over your ears. One over each ear." Issac fumbled around for the cups, taking one in each hand. After a embarrassed chuckle, he did as he was instructed. He listened to the silence for a few short moments. "This is the color white?" "Yep," I said, after he pulled the cups away. "White is like a featureless blanket blocking out everything else. It's blinding." "And, what about black," he asked, closing his eyes. The heart monitor's beep got further and further apart. "You're about experience black, my friend. Any moment now." I told him sadly. "Maybe--maybe I'll be able to see . . . in heaven." Issac whispered, slipping away. "I hope so, my friend. I hope so."	"Yellow," he says. Turning away from the window, I furrow my brows. "Uncle?" I haven't spoken in so many hours, the word comes cracked out of my dry throat. The tiny, frail little man in the bed raised me after mom and dad died. Raised me, in spite of, you know. Being blind. I don't know, maybe we raised each other. Me, helping him pick out clothes, describing the TV, and my girlfriends. Him, sagely walking me through adolescence, teaching me the piano with that eerie ear for music he always had. He was always so vital, large, in spite of his blindness. It hurt me to see him like this, surrounded by the beeping machines, intubated, wired. "Yellow, Jackie. I always wanted to know what yellow looked like. Tell me." He tenses, reaches up, his sightless eyes clenched tightly as though in pain, as though this were the most important thing he could possibly know. "It's like..." He's never done this, not in the twenty years we've had together. As cliche as the question is, I can't help but ask myself, 'How do you describe a color to a blind man'? "Warmth, on your face, from the morning sun." It's the first thing that comes to my mind and sounds lame, to me. But he relaxes into his bed. "Go on." "It's like when you smile, and your face widens and relaxes." I come to a rest in the chair next to the bed, reach out and grab his withered hand, skin under my fingers like paper. This hurts so, so much. Without him, I'm an orphan. My eyes blur. "Lemonade, citrus rind, lemongrass tea." I can't- "It's like..." and I can't think of anything else to say, so, starting softly but gaining volume, I sing: "When you are wide awake, say it for goodness sake, it's gonna be a great day. When you are standing there, get up and grab a chair, it's gonna be a great day. And it won't be long. And it won't be long, oh no. It won't be long, it won't be long. It won't be long, it won't be long, oh no. It won't be long, it won't be long. It's gonna be a great day." The flatline harmonizes, but he rests with a smile on his face. And the last thing I can think of is yellow.
Perhaps you had a blackout, or inadvertent time travel, or a glitch in the matrix, or perhaps something stranger still.	[WP] You're in an elevator in a skyscraper. The doors open. You are not in the skyscraper anymore.	They call it "the height" because it is the tallest building ever erected. It is probably the tallest building that will ever be erected. at 40,000 feet it stands taller than any mountain. The elevator ride itself takes a day and a half. It is the literal definition of a sky scraper. I watch the altimeter climb as the last 30 feet tick away. instead of a floor counter this elevator has an altimeter because this building only has one floor. Well, two counting the bottom floor. I take this ride every 2 weeks and everytime I get more nervous. I shift uncomfortably. My suit weighs down on me like it weighs 500 pounds even though at this height I experience 10% less gravity then I did at ground level. My fingers twitch and sweat, to hot inside the insulated gloves. 10 feet left. I have to get my helmet on. My gloved fingers fumble with the little clasps. I miss the old helmets. All you had to do was pop them on and give a quick twist to the left, but these new kids figured out the small clasps work better so now I have to use clasps. My thick clumsy fingers finally get the thick clasps closed and not a moment to soon with only 4 feet left I have only a few seconds to prepare myself and grab my brief case before the doors open and I'm sucked out.	I'm late. I rush in the elevator; can't really afford to take the stairs to the 25th floor. As the doors open, i hurriedly step in and press the button. I turn around, and as the doors close, i see that someone has painted a huge symbol on them: a circle with three arrows pointing inwards, with the words "Contain this!" written under it, as if taunting the viewer. Certainly strange, but not really the first time the building has been vandalised. Ding. Here we are. Time to start another boring day. The doors open, and i try to step outside. I can't. In front of me, the familiar view of endless cubicles is horribly distorted in ways i cannot describe. Escher-like geometries spring from the floor and spiral around space itself. Surreal colors and shapes blot my sight, as i get dizzy. My mind becomes numb, and my vision starts to turn black. As i fall on the floor, and before i completely lose consciousness, i notice another graffiti on the ceiling of the elevator: "Are we cool yet?" ----------------------------------------------------- Apologies to people unfamiliar with the universe, and for my amateurish writing. [The SCP Foundation](http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/) is a collection of over 2000 stories concerning "anomalous objects", and the organisation that collects them. Give it a shot, it has some very well-written pages.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	It was hard not to notice her fascination with my skin. Of course, it's moisturised and exfoliated to a glossy perfection. People admire my skin like they admire a freshly pressed piece of vinyl, free from the imperfections that time will inevitably wear upon it. But this girl, she looked like she wanted to pull my bones out and wear it herself. I poured a little more wine into her glass, letting the powder in my palm fall carefully into the churning liquid. It dissolved instantly, and would remain tasteless, odourless, and completely undetected until it was very much too late. "You enjoy your work, then?" I asked, careful to maintain eye contact. "It's exciting, and I get to meet a lot of people that you normally wouldn't," she paused, took a deep swallow of the crimson liquid in her glass, still looking into my eyes as she did. "It sounds like it could be dangerous, though?" "Maybe. But I've learned to look after myself, and once they think you're there to help them, they're not really very dangerous anymore." "I couldn't do it, myself. It's a lot of dirty work, and you never know what's going to happen with these drug addicts and headcases. Crazy bastards might stick a rusty needle in your neck when your back's turned and that's it, you're done." She laughed quietly. Her hand had found its way back to mine and was stroking the points of my knuckles softly, like she was searching for a particular point amongst the veins and the bones. "And you?" she asked. I paused for an instant. I'd forgotten where I said I worked. "Not especially," I said with a half-smile. "But it pays the bills." "That's a shame. I couldn't bear to do something I didn't enjoy, or want to do." I smiled at this. That would definitely make events later on this evening a little more exciting, for both of us. Once the powder I'd dropped into the swirling crimson of the wine took effect, there wasn't a muscle in her body that would function. After we'd finished eating, and I had made sure that she had finished her wine, we made it pretty obvious that whether or not we were enjoying each other's intellectual company that physically neither of us wanted the evening to end. I acted like a true gentleman, softly spoken and with her arm linked through mine as she continued with her fascinated kneading of the skin on my hands, and headed to my car, parked a favourable distance from the restaurant in a darkened corner. As I turned to push the key into my car door, I felt a sting in between my index and middle knuckle of the hand still looped through her arm. I caught a glimpse of the needle as she quickly placed it back inside her her coat pocket, and saw the smile widening on her face as the world went dark and I fell towards the muddy ground.	Micheal and Raphaela longingly stared into each others' eyes, unaware that both of them had poisoned the others' drink.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	TIL that all serial killers like steak.	Micheal and Raphaela longingly stared into each others' eyes, unaware that both of them had poisoned the others' drink.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	Brown hair? Check. Nice smile? Check. Great tits? Double check. My proudest accomplishment yet. I feel bad for her kids but whatever. Wow, she actually bowled a strike. I can't believe this was her idea of a first fucking date, a bowling alley in the middle of fucking no where that doesn't even have a bar, pathetic. Ugh, this better not take too long. Idiot John's back to bugging me about my fucking trades anyway. "Nice shot sweetie!" I wonder if she knows I did her sister, that could be a fun thing to spring on her as the last moments of life slip through her eyes. Oh, there she goes again. "Hey sugar, you want another soda?" "Yea, baby, I'll take another diet coke." My luck, the dumb bitch will trip and kill herself on the way back before I get my chance. Ugh, fucking John again. Okay, I have to make this quick, apparently China doesn't know how to trade silver right now. Fucking peasants. "Here's your soda hun." "Great, thanks, mmmm.. How refreshing" And take a sip to be polite even though I wish it was Johnny Blue. "Thanks sweetie, let's make this the last game and get outta here, whatdya say?" "Ohhh but I thought we were just getting started?" "I'm really sorry but Johnny says there's some stuff going on at the office that I need to get back to early tomorrow and I'm just not feeling up to making it a late night." A.K.A., I must slit your throat before I slit my own, this is torture. "Oh alright, let me just bowl one more frame." "Okay, fine, fine.." Another sip on the soda for good measure. It also doesn't hurt that I don't mind watching that sweet ass slink down the ally anyways. Look at it, there it goe... woahahah ...feeling strange. Wait a min........ "Oh sugar, what's wrong? Let's get you up, we don't want to cause a scene in this fine establishment do we?" Oh...... I can't move, did she? ..........slip something in my soda? "Shhhhhhhhhh, don't fight it sweetie. This won't take but a minute." "You stock broker folks are all the same... funny thing is though, in the end, your dicks are really startin' to look great on my trophy wall."	Micheal and Raphaela longingly stared into each others' eyes, unaware that both of them had poisoned the others' drink.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	It was hard not to notice her fascination with my skin. Of course, it's moisturised and exfoliated to a glossy perfection. People admire my skin like they admire a freshly pressed piece of vinyl, free from the imperfections that time will inevitably wear upon it. But this girl, she looked like she wanted to pull my bones out and wear it herself. I poured a little more wine into her glass, letting the powder in my palm fall carefully into the churning liquid. It dissolved instantly, and would remain tasteless, odourless, and completely undetected until it was very much too late. "You enjoy your work, then?" I asked, careful to maintain eye contact. "It's exciting, and I get to meet a lot of people that you normally wouldn't," she paused, took a deep swallow of the crimson liquid in her glass, still looking into my eyes as she did. "It sounds like it could be dangerous, though?" "Maybe. But I've learned to look after myself, and once they think you're there to help them, they're not really very dangerous anymore." "I couldn't do it, myself. It's a lot of dirty work, and you never know what's going to happen with these drug addicts and headcases. Crazy bastards might stick a rusty needle in your neck when your back's turned and that's it, you're done." She laughed quietly. Her hand had found its way back to mine and was stroking the points of my knuckles softly, like she was searching for a particular point amongst the veins and the bones. "And you?" she asked. I paused for an instant. I'd forgotten where I said I worked. "Not especially," I said with a half-smile. "But it pays the bills." "That's a shame. I couldn't bear to do something I didn't enjoy, or want to do." I smiled at this. That would definitely make events later on this evening a little more exciting, for both of us. Once the powder I'd dropped into the swirling crimson of the wine took effect, there wasn't a muscle in her body that would function. After we'd finished eating, and I had made sure that she had finished her wine, we made it pretty obvious that whether or not we were enjoying each other's intellectual company that physically neither of us wanted the evening to end. I acted like a true gentleman, softly spoken and with her arm linked through mine as she continued with her fascinated kneading of the skin on my hands, and headed to my car, parked a favourable distance from the restaurant in a darkened corner. As I turned to push the key into my car door, I felt a sting in between my index and middle knuckle of the hand still looped through her arm. I caught a glimpse of the needle as she quickly placed it back inside her her coat pocket, and saw the smile widening on her face as the world went dark and I fell towards the muddy ground.	She's fairly attractive in a mousy sort of way, though she seems shy and inexperienced. Well, beggars can't be choosers, sometimes a challenge is hard to find. "I heard you're a doctor?" "A surgeon actually, I've always wanted to save lives." I know how to be charming, I perfected it by my third kill and she seems quite enamored already, though I know my boyish smirk and blue eyes help. She simpers then, and I swear I see a look in her eyes, the look I know I wear when killing. The moment passes as she begins to talk, but my nerves are on edge. Maybe I'll find a challenge after all. He's quite handsome, if a little boring. He certainly knows what to say and how to smile, how to get a girl interested. His eyes are stunning, and his hands must be experienced if he's a surgeon, so maybe he'll live until after sex. A moment after I smile back at him I notice the way his eyes widen, the way he seems so recognize me. I know he has never passed me on the street, I know he had no contact with any of my kills, so I can only imagine him seeing a fellow predator. I think I'll see how long this one will last before he breaks.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	TIL that all serial killers like steak.	She's fairly attractive in a mousy sort of way, though she seems shy and inexperienced. Well, beggars can't be choosers, sometimes a challenge is hard to find. "I heard you're a doctor?" "A surgeon actually, I've always wanted to save lives." I know how to be charming, I perfected it by my third kill and she seems quite enamored already, though I know my boyish smirk and blue eyes help. She simpers then, and I swear I see a look in her eyes, the look I know I wear when killing. The moment passes as she begins to talk, but my nerves are on edge. Maybe I'll find a challenge after all. He's quite handsome, if a little boring. He certainly knows what to say and how to smile, how to get a girl interested. His eyes are stunning, and his hands must be experienced if he's a surgeon, so maybe he'll live until after sex. A moment after I smile back at him I notice the way his eyes widen, the way he seems so recognize me. I know he has never passed me on the street, I know he had no contact with any of my kills, so I can only imagine him seeing a fellow predator. I think I'll see how long this one will last before he breaks.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	Brown hair? Check. Nice smile? Check. Great tits? Double check. My proudest accomplishment yet. I feel bad for her kids but whatever. Wow, she actually bowled a strike. I can't believe this was her idea of a first fucking date, a bowling alley in the middle of fucking no where that doesn't even have a bar, pathetic. Ugh, this better not take too long. Idiot John's back to bugging me about my fucking trades anyway. "Nice shot sweetie!" I wonder if she knows I did her sister, that could be a fun thing to spring on her as the last moments of life slip through her eyes. Oh, there she goes again. "Hey sugar, you want another soda?" "Yea, baby, I'll take another diet coke." My luck, the dumb bitch will trip and kill herself on the way back before I get my chance. Ugh, fucking John again. Okay, I have to make this quick, apparently China doesn't know how to trade silver right now. Fucking peasants. "Here's your soda hun." "Great, thanks, mmmm.. How refreshing" And take a sip to be polite even though I wish it was Johnny Blue. "Thanks sweetie, let's make this the last game and get outta here, whatdya say?" "Ohhh but I thought we were just getting started?" "I'm really sorry but Johnny says there's some stuff going on at the office that I need to get back to early tomorrow and I'm just not feeling up to making it a late night." A.K.A., I must slit your throat before I slit my own, this is torture. "Oh alright, let me just bowl one more frame." "Okay, fine, fine.." Another sip on the soda for good measure. It also doesn't hurt that I don't mind watching that sweet ass slink down the ally anyways. Look at it, there it goe... woahahah ...feeling strange. Wait a min........ "Oh sugar, what's wrong? Let's get you up, we don't want to cause a scene in this fine establishment do we?" Oh...... I can't move, did she? ..........slip something in my soda? "Shhhhhhhhhh, don't fight it sweetie. This won't take but a minute." "You stock broker folks are all the same... funny thing is though, in the end, your dicks are really startin' to look great on my trophy wall."	She's fairly attractive in a mousy sort of way, though she seems shy and inexperienced. Well, beggars can't be choosers, sometimes a challenge is hard to find. "I heard you're a doctor?" "A surgeon actually, I've always wanted to save lives." I know how to be charming, I perfected it by my third kill and she seems quite enamored already, though I know my boyish smirk and blue eyes help. She simpers then, and I swear I see a look in her eyes, the look I know I wear when killing. The moment passes as she begins to talk, but my nerves are on edge. Maybe I'll find a challenge after all. He's quite handsome, if a little boring. He certainly knows what to say and how to smile, how to get a girl interested. His eyes are stunning, and his hands must be experienced if he's a surgeon, so maybe he'll live until after sex. A moment after I smile back at him I notice the way his eyes widen, the way he seems so recognize me. I know he has never passed me on the street, I know he had no contact with any of my kills, so I can only imagine him seeing a fellow predator. I think I'll see how long this one will last before he breaks.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	TIL that all serial killers like steak.	It was hard not to notice her fascination with my skin. Of course, it's moisturised and exfoliated to a glossy perfection. People admire my skin like they admire a freshly pressed piece of vinyl, free from the imperfections that time will inevitably wear upon it. But this girl, she looked like she wanted to pull my bones out and wear it herself. I poured a little more wine into her glass, letting the powder in my palm fall carefully into the churning liquid. It dissolved instantly, and would remain tasteless, odourless, and completely undetected until it was very much too late. "You enjoy your work, then?" I asked, careful to maintain eye contact. "It's exciting, and I get to meet a lot of people that you normally wouldn't," she paused, took a deep swallow of the crimson liquid in her glass, still looking into my eyes as she did. "It sounds like it could be dangerous, though?" "Maybe. But I've learned to look after myself, and once they think you're there to help them, they're not really very dangerous anymore." "I couldn't do it, myself. It's a lot of dirty work, and you never know what's going to happen with these drug addicts and headcases. Crazy bastards might stick a rusty needle in your neck when your back's turned and that's it, you're done." She laughed quietly. Her hand had found its way back to mine and was stroking the points of my knuckles softly, like she was searching for a particular point amongst the veins and the bones. "And you?" she asked. I paused for an instant. I'd forgotten where I said I worked. "Not especially," I said with a half-smile. "But it pays the bills." "That's a shame. I couldn't bear to do something I didn't enjoy, or want to do." I smiled at this. That would definitely make events later on this evening a little more exciting, for both of us. Once the powder I'd dropped into the swirling crimson of the wine took effect, there wasn't a muscle in her body that would function. After we'd finished eating, and I had made sure that she had finished her wine, we made it pretty obvious that whether or not we were enjoying each other's intellectual company that physically neither of us wanted the evening to end. I acted like a true gentleman, softly spoken and with her arm linked through mine as she continued with her fascinated kneading of the skin on my hands, and headed to my car, parked a favourable distance from the restaurant in a darkened corner. As I turned to push the key into my car door, I felt a sting in between my index and middle knuckle of the hand still looped through her arm. I caught a glimpse of the needle as she quickly placed it back inside her her coat pocket, and saw the smile widening on her face as the world went dark and I fell towards the muddy ground.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	He was perfect, except for one thing. The eyes. His profile specified blue, but here I was gazing into eyes that were distinctly grey. Oh well, love takes time, and if I have to go through five or fifty men to find the perfect one, I will. And with every failed date, I had grown accustomed to keeping a part of them with me – a lesson learned. “Your profile states that you enjoy scrapbooking?” He was neatly slicing his meat up into bite sized portions. “Oh yes, I enjoy documenting my life, the good and the bad. I do a lot of DIY craft stuff, and I keep a lot of collections. You know, books, records...” Men. “I understand that well, I happen to be a bit of a collector myself. Mostly trophy pieces related to my work.” He grinned as he chewed a piece of his steak. Beautiful teeth. They wouldn't look out of place on a necklace, perhaps. I was starting to get that nervous feeling. It was a good feeling, I knew I'd become faster, more aggressive, when the time came. “So, what is it that you do again?” I smiled, as I took another sip of wine. “I'm a taxidermist.” He gestured back towards my plate with his fork. “Please, eat more.” I pushed the plate away, the butterflies inside me had taken away most of my appetite, “Oh no, I'm stuffed.” He smirked. “Oh, I don't think you know the meaning of that yet.”	"Your hair looks lovely tonight, Vivian." I say, admiring the dark curls cascading down her shoulders. Girl number four wore her hair in a very similar fashion. I watch as she blushes, biting her lower lip. "Funny, I was going to say the same thing about your eyes, Richard. I always...go after men with blue eyes." She chuckles under her breath. This was only my second date out with Vivian. I would have killed her off on the first night out, but she didn't want me over at her place for some reason. She told me she had some "cleaning up to do". I didn't mind that much though, I could tell right away she was smarter than the last six. It would take a bit more planning and a lot more alcohol to get anywhere with her. After a bit more small talk about her job as a medical examiner, the waiter stops by with our food. I watch as she tears into her steak, practically ripping it apart with her knife. She ordered it so rare, I swear it was bleeding. It suddenly strikes me that this is the first girl I've taken out who hasn't ordered a salad for her main course. I sort of like it in a strange way. I finally pull my gaze from her plate and up to her face, her mouth is moving. I was so distracted I didn't even hear what she said. "Excuse me? I didn't quite catch that." "Oh, I was just apologizing! I accidentally took a sip of your wine. I haven't had any of mine yet, so I just swapped our glasses. I hope you don't mind." She grins up at me, and my eyes dart from her maroon lips to the stain she left on the edge of the glass. "No, I don't mind at all. I'm pretty easy going." Just to prove it to her, I take a sip from my new glass. It tastes slightly strange, a little more bitter than I expected, but it wears off. I set it down to the side anyway. "I can tell. The last date I went on was awful. The guy was so uptight. We had practically nothing to say to each other. I guess you could say the conversation was...dead by the end of the night." She bats her eyelashes a few times, like black fans against her pale skin. "Well that's a relief. It would be a shame if I bored you to death before dessert." I take a second sip of wine, the odd taste is a bit more sharp this time, I crinkle my nose and take a bite of my food. "Is something wrong?" She asks, her knife poised mid-air. "Oh, it's nothing. It's just- what wine did we order again?" I ask. Her eyes grow wide and she sets down her utensils. "It's just a simple sauvignon." She glances down at my glass, as if gauging how much I've drank. "Do you not like it?" "It's just a little odd tasting. I don't think I'll have anymore." I respond. I'm getting annoyed now. I want to be done with all the chit chat. "It tastes fine to me. I think you should have a little more, I'm sure you're just not used to it yet." She nudges my glass closer to me. I wave it away, and try to change the conversation. "That's a great necklace, what kind of stone is that?" Her fingertips are drawn to her jewelry now, twisting the small rock on it's chain. I can't keep my eyes off her neck, I can feel my palms sweat just thinking about having my hands wrapped around it. "It's a ruby. I like red a lot. But not just any sort of red. I've always kind of liked a bit darker shade, kind of like, oh god- this sounds morbid - kind of like blood?" She giggles, not meeting my eyes. "No, no, that's normal. I like blood too. I mean- I like red blood, er- I meant blood red." Why did I say that out loud? It's one thing for this stupid girl to say it, but for me? I take a large gulp of the foul-tasting wine, hoping to numb some of the embarrassment. She watches me with doe eyes as I set down the glass. Part of me wonders if I've freaked her out. I need to recover the conversation quick. I've already decided on her, and now that I've seen her it will feel impossible to change my mind. "I'm sorry, you're just so pretty that I can hardly think straight. I hope I didn't ruin the date or anything." "No, no you didn't! In fact, I was hoping we could continue it, but you know, in a more private place? We could head back to my apartment and-" "Yes. Yes, I'd love that." This is going to be easier than I thought.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	He was perfect, except for one thing. The eyes. His profile specified blue, but here I was gazing into eyes that were distinctly grey. Oh well, love takes time, and if I have to go through five or fifty men to find the perfect one, I will. And with every failed date, I had grown accustomed to keeping a part of them with me – a lesson learned. “Your profile states that you enjoy scrapbooking?” He was neatly slicing his meat up into bite sized portions. “Oh yes, I enjoy documenting my life, the good and the bad. I do a lot of DIY craft stuff, and I keep a lot of collections. You know, books, records...” Men. “I understand that well, I happen to be a bit of a collector myself. Mostly trophy pieces related to my work.” He grinned as he chewed a piece of his steak. Beautiful teeth. They wouldn't look out of place on a necklace, perhaps. I was starting to get that nervous feeling. It was a good feeling, I knew I'd become faster, more aggressive, when the time came. “So, what is it that you do again?” I smiled, as I took another sip of wine. “I'm a taxidermist.” He gestured back towards my plate with his fork. “Please, eat more.” I pushed the plate away, the butterflies inside me had taken away most of my appetite, “Oh no, I'm stuffed.” He smirked. “Oh, I don't think you know the meaning of that yet.”	As our steak arrived I realized this was all too easy. Normally I have to be convincing, charming even. If my steak simply walked into my mouth I wouldn't enjoy it as much. I savor knowing the agony the cow went through only to end up in my musculature. Amanda has hinted three times now that I need to see her art collection; at her house. She claims her place is a sprawling manor without any other homes in sight. But it can't be as big as mine. My manor is a large wooded estate, perfect for discrete comings and goings. Apparently Amanda lives nearby, getting her to my place will be too simple. Perhaps I should offer to show her my unrivaled collection of Sun-Tzu pottery, again. "You should come by after dinner, I just got this new Frank Stella. Its very...erotic." Her blunt offer came as no surprise. I had seen her twist her hair and touch her lips on at least two different occasions; major indicators of interest according to Reddit.com/r/seduction. Perhaps it would be OK to see her place. I have my knife and my chloroform on me. "I'd love to." I say as I see Amanda appreciate the balance of her steak knife.
	[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives	Blonde hair, hazel eyes, slim build...everything about this girl excites me. She is everything I look for in a woman. New to the city, hasn't yet made too many connections, a chance like this is a godsend. “More wine?” She gladly accepts. She idly stabs at her lamp chop, girl has no idea what she's doing to me. Red oozes from the messy cut of meat, my blood is flowing to all the right places. “So tell me Karen, what do you like to do for fun?” I watch as she actively struggles to keep her eyes from visibly rolling at such a cliché first date question...they always struggle. “Well back home I was big into hiking, I love being out in nature. Yourself?” The corners of her mouth lift ever so slightly as to seem like she means it. Society is built around ritual and expectations. I like to think that I have my own. "I used to kayak in the central valley before I moved out here. I try to stay active so I'm big into bike riding." Unmistakable interest flashes across her face, now I've got her. "I like a man who appreciates the great outdoors..." She leans forward and brings her shoulders ever so slightly together, pushing up her chest, she knows I'm looking, she knows that I like that I see. "Do you know any scenic places around here that maybe we could check out after dinner?" Her eyes never leave mine as I feel her foot under the table find my lap and close in on the outline of my manhood, my strength, something a weak woman like her can never take from me. Play it cool. Clearly she's on the end of a dry spell, her posture, the constant sideways glances don't exactly paint her as a social butterfly. She's hungry, she wants me, but I'm the only one who's going to eat tonight. With a confident grin, I tell her, "Oh, I can show you places." In the corner of my field of vision I spot our server, "Waiter, check please." It's going to be a good night... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Chez Marianne? I guess I can't blame the guy for trying. Mama always said men are only after one thing and clearly this guy wants to be sure he gets it. Disgusting. "More wine?" I don't know who he thinks he's fooling, clearly he wants to get me hammered. I do my best to look coy as I sip from my recently overflowing glass. A single line of red dribbles down the side, it's taunting me. Primal, life affirming, powerful. “So tell me Karen, what do you like to do for fun?” Really? God, I just want to get out of here already. This guy is so painstakingly by the book, I'll be doing him a favor really, he probably wonders why women are never into him. Might as well give him the standard answer. “Well back home I was big into hiking, I love being out in nature. Yourself?” Unexpectedly, opportunity knocks. "I used to kayak in the central valley before I moved out here. I try to stay active so I'm big into bike riding." Perfect. No one really pays attention to a pretty little thing such as myself in the wrong part of town so long as I've got a big, strong man on my arm, but you still have to keep your eyes open for witnesses. This guy likes being away from prying eyes. It's time to seal the deal. "I like a man who appreciates the great outdoors..." He's been eyeing my bust all night long. I press them together, he probably thinks of it as foreshadowing of pleasures to come. "Do you know any scenic places around here that maybe we could check out after dinner?" I kick off a shoe so I can size up the situation. Fool. He's already thinking with his other head..geez, he is really thinking down there. That's really all it ever takes, a little contact with the right parts and they stop thinking at all. He thinks he's getting lucky, he has no idea. "Oh, I can show you places." He's obviously trying not to look too excited, "Waiter, check please." It's going to be a good night...	As our steak arrived I realized this was all too easy. Normally I have to be convincing, charming even. If my steak simply walked into my mouth I wouldn't enjoy it as much. I savor knowing the agony the cow went through only to end up in my musculature. Amanda has hinted three times now that I need to see her art collection; at her house. She claims her place is a sprawling manor without any other homes in sight. But it can't be as big as mine. My manor is a large wooded estate, perfect for discrete comings and goings. Apparently Amanda lives nearby, getting her to my place will be too simple. Perhaps I should offer to show her my unrivaled collection of Sun-Tzu pottery, again. "You should come by after dinner, I just got this new Frank Stella. Its very...erotic." Her blunt offer came as no surprise. I had seen her twist her hair and touch her lips on at least two different occasions; major indicators of interest according to Reddit.com/r/seduction. Perhaps it would be OK to see her place. I have my knife and my chloroform on me. "I'd love to." I say as I see Amanda appreciate the balance of her steak knife.
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	I was told to try and write down my thoughts in order to sort out what I've been going through. You see, doctors haven't been able to find anything wrong with me, so they thought that it might be a mental illness. CAT scans revealed nothing unusual, so now I'm left seeing a shrink who came up with the brilliant 'Dear Diary...' idea when I first told her that I have these terrible nightmares once a year for the past 10 years. The last one was 364 nights ago. If it all goes to schedule, the next one should be tonight. I closed my eyes, and woke up to a dream. I was in a hospital room surrounded by my wife and children that I vaguely remembered. All I could see on their faces was worry. "Alex! you're awake!" said Shannon as she smothered me with kisses. I couldn't fight back because my body felt heavy, so I just let it go on. "I've missed you so much, my love." she said. I stared at the kids that stood just out of reach; they looked afraid of me. "I have some good news," Shannon said "A new diabetes treatment was released called Prolaxathol." "I...I don't have diabetes." I managed to squeak. My voice drier than the desert. "I know, love, but a side-effect of the drug is that it suppresses dreams." I laughed a little bit. Here was a vision in my dream telling me of this drug that I would kill for in the real world. "Doctors think that maybe this could help you with your condition, and you wouldn't fall in to your coma again." Just then a man dressed in a white lab coat walked in and said "Mr. Richardson, you're awake! I hope you're feeling ok. Has your wife filled you in on the medicine regime we want to get you started on?" "Yes, but.." I could feel the confusion and fear growing inside of me. "Good. I'll have the nurse come in shortly and administer the first dose. 5 times a day for the next year with regular monthly check ups." he said and curtly turned to walk out the door. Shannon sent the kids to sit in the hall. "I want to speak to your father for a minute." After the kids left, she turned to me and began sobbing. "I really hope this works. I can't handle being with you only once a year. This last year was so terrible. I lost my job and we're barely scraping by while your care bills just keep on rising. I need you back." I looked at her, and this all just felt so real. It couldn't be real, though. I have a family that I see every day. I've watched my real kids grow up. I've been their for their birthdays and graduations. I've grown old, too, with my real wife by my side. I know the touch of her lips and the fragrance of her perfume. That is my real life. If that's the case, however, why does this experience feel so much more intense than anything I've normally felt? This is just a dream. This is just a dream. This is just a dream. "I want to go for a walk." I said, as I struggled to get up on my own two feet. I didn't like this 'body'. I'm an active person who plays sports. Being in this body is terrifying to me. Being in this entirely shitty situation is terrifying to me. I don't dream most nights. Why are the only dreams that I've had in the past ten years this depressing story? We stop outside a cleaning station where a nurse is doing her duty and sterilizing some surgery utensils. Shannon is talking but I'm no longer listening. I'm enthralled by the process - no, the ritual the nurse is going through while cleaning the tools. The light off the scalpel catches my eye and an idea dawns on me. They say that when you can't die in a dream and that you wake up just before it happens. I use all my strength to make this rickety old body move for the utensil. I don't even feel the hands that grab me as I plunge it in to my forearm, and slice down toward my wrist. Blood is everywhere, and there's a smile on my face. I'll be awake soon...	Kind of sound like the story of Brigadoon
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	The sensation of waking refused to get easier. Edgar felt the muscles in his shoulder slowly remember how to stretch. His legs were lifeless, but his toes had no trouble relaying the frigidness of the floor. His eyes were burning from the faint glow from the other side of the glass while his ears quickly focused on the rhythmic beeps from the medical station. The door opened to the touch of his gloved hand letting loose a whine from a weakening seal. Each step was a labor. Edgar had forgotten to remove the IV’s from his arm and nearly fell to the ground. As he freed the tubes, the dryness in his mouth came returned. He knew he wasn’t really thirsty – that’s what the IV was for – but he nevertheless craved a glass of cool water. That would have to wait. The beeping monitors demanded attention. The chair was only meters away, though the trek took several minutes of deliberate motion. Once seated, a small screen with a calendar popped up. Edgar didn’t know the day and the calendar didn’t bother to remind him. It knew the cycles and tracked only the year. He scratched off the latest with a finger, the screen drawing a smooth red line over the digits as he did. “It seems like only yesterday…” the jokes went. The red slashes continued beyond the view of the display and he had stopped laughing at the thought well before then. In the other direction, fresh numbers were still waiting their turn. Eventually, one would be the last. It wasn’t displayed, either. On the main screen, he reviewed his vitals. He was still in nominal condition. As the last of the readings passed, the alert arrived to begin the prescribed exercise routine. With only a single day per year of activity, the prospect of a strenuous workout was untenable. Instead, a lengthy set of stretches was ordered. The relative ease of the workouts was still enough to draw sweat and labored breaths. During the regimen, the latest set of news clips past echoed from the console speakers. The names were all but unrecognizable. Edgar’s family was far enough removed, even with the delayed transmissions, that the presumed obligations of contact had dissolved. One day, he’d stop listening. ‘Maybe next year,’ he told himself. The window in the galley was even more disappointing. Back when the mission began, when the endless expanse of distant lights was new, Edgar had trouble imagining the day the view would grow stale. While he gulped down his lunch, all he could see outside was the blackness. The lights were simply a reminder of what he had left behind. He shoved the mostly empty pouch of his dinner against the window where it stuck firmly in place. After a long walk on the treadmill, he returned to his room. The capsule was still open. Edgar opened a panel on the side wall where he retrieved a number of tubes. Like he had done a hundred times before, he clamped on end over a thin nozzle. On the other end, he threaded a small plastic box. With a resigned bitterness, he slammed the box above his left forearm. The blast of sterilizer masked the needle for the IV. The stream of nourishment and medication began to flow. The last tube was for the catheter and easily his least favorite part of the day. Orders were to take care of that step first, but Edgar found that the sedatives made the process far less unpleasant. There wasn’t enough in the initial phase to cause any conflicts. He never heard anyone complain about it, either. The control panel on the interior wall flashed green. It burned his chest to do so, but Edgar sighed as he reached for the lit surface. “It will be worth it,” he said, his own private mantra. To walk on a distant world, he’d first have to survive the trip. With a heavy hand pressed to the green film, the door closed. He was another year closer to his dream.	Kind of sound like the story of Brigadoon
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	I opened my eyes, slowly. It was always like this when I woke up. I'd make a joke about it seeming like I'd been sleeping for months, but...well, the only audience I had was myself, and I'd long gotten tired of my own jokes. I pulled myself up into a seated position. My head was pounding, and my body was covered in dust. I brushed it off my jacket and hair, then began to take inventory of what I had with me. Typically, my memory is a bit frazzled after I wake up, so I must keep a checklist of my belongings with me at all times. It was terrifying, at first. Not knowing what your surroundings will look like when you wake up is stressful. I used to fear that I'd pop back into reality seven feet underground, or inside the wall of a new building. Those fears were waylaid, however, when I fell asleep in a park once and woke up to find myself at the top of a large, square monument that'd been built right where I'd laid down my head. I finished my inventory and pulled some caffeine pills from the front of my bag. I could stay up for almost a week with enough of these, but I only take one unless there's some kind of emergency that would actually require seven days of sleeplessness. I popped a pill in my mouth and chewed, then put them in my bag and stood up. I'd fallen asleep in a cave, it seemed, which has occasionally caused some problems. I remember once that I'd woken up in an entirely new cave system and wandered around for a long time, sleeping as often as possible, just in case that cave fell apart and let me wake up outside. This one was the same as it was when I'd settled down, though, so I walked toward to bright daylight to see how the world had changed in the last year. I had been spending the last 200 years away from civilization, as other humans don't quite understand my predicament. I watched nations grow and die, space stations built and launched, unthinkably large constructions of an unknown purpose block out the horizon and disappear. I hadn't seen much of a human touch out here, though. Life was boring. I thought often about killing myself, but in the end, I just decide to sleep on it. I could only bring what I could carry, as things that weren't in direct contact with my body would get "left behind," which tended to wear them out. If it couldn't fit in my bag or in my pockets, I didn't need it. As I thought about all of this, I stumbled upon a strange vehicle set under a tree. It didn't look like a car, or a flying saucer, or...well, really anything I'd ever seen. I'm not even sure why I thought it was a vehicle, it could have been a bomb, or a foresting device. I got closer. I usually didn't mess with this kind of stuff, as I really didn't know how to use things that weren't from my era, but my curiosity was piqued this day. I reached out to touch it, and a hatch that'd previously been flush with the surface opened. A short, thin humanoid stepped out of the strange object, wearing clothes in bright, garish colors. I couldn't tell their gender, or their race, or really anything about them. They looked so...androgynous. They started speaking quickly in a language I couldn't understand. I thought I heard a few bits of English and Spanish in there, but it may have been my imagination. I held up my hands and said, "I'm sorry, I don't understand you." I said it slowly, hoping they would know dead languages. The person stopped speaking, and a look of confusion spread across their face. I'm sure I'd have done the same if a caveman walked up to me, clumsily speaking Sumerian. They stared off into space for a few seconds, then focused on me again. "What...are...you?" the person said slowly. I guessed that they had a kind of mental internet or something. I shook my head at this crazy future. "I'm a human. Homo sapiens. Probably your great-great-etcetera grandfather, too." The person looked confused again. Clearly, I wasn't answering their question. They again checked their translator or whatever it was, then said, "No. You are...not evolved. You can not...be real?" I shrugged. "Yeah, I don't really get it, either. I guess I'm a time traveler, though it's pretty crappy, if you ask me." Their eyes glazed over for a few minutes. I waved my hand in their face once, and they looked at me incredulously, then went back to staring into the distance. "Do you want...to come with me? To...suz-nidge?" the person asked, smiling. "I, uh...don't know what that is." They replied, "Cred, it is...a city. Can not...spell with...'alphabet'." I frowned. "I don't really go to cities. Too unpredictable. I was thrown in a prison cell to die once for not having an ID in a police state, and only managed to get out after the prison was demolished." They blinked a few times, again focused on nothing. "I do not...understand...but, suz-nidge is...freedom." They smiled again, their oddly large eyes pleading with me to go with them. I rubbed the back of my neck. If I went with this person, I'd be walking into a society I knew nothing about, and that would crumble around my feet only god-knows-when. But...then again, I'd gotten sick of the boredom, sick of eating plants and animals that weren't familiar to me. I wanted something processed and packaged. It'd been so long... I sighed. "Okay, I'll do it. Let's go." The person grinned, then quickly poked me with something. I pushed them away, confused, and said "What the hell?" "It is a...alti-tude medicine. Pressure...changes quick...in flomma." They held up their hands, in what I assumed was a placating gesture. "Um...okay. Thanks, I think." I started to feel very tired. "This stuff doesn't cause drowziness, does it?" They glazed over, then said, "Maybe. I am...not sure about...how it will react...to you." I sat down. I needed to sleep. "Well, future man. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you again, someday." I laid down on my side, and before I closed my eyes, I saw them kneeling next to me, looking quizzically at my face. ... ... ... I opened my eyes, slowly. I'd been jostled awake. I looked around, and saw that I was in a vehicle of some kind, high above the surface of the Earth. I rubbed my eyes, then looked to my left. The same person from before was next to me. I hadn't skipped a year. I had slept normally. I started to cry.	Kind of sound like the story of Brigadoon
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	Eighteen. Eighteen is supposed to be the highlight of my life. The turning point where everything starts to get good. Tomorrow's the big day and the anticipation eats at my mind and keeps me wide awake. My body is so heavy and tired but my mind is racing, the thought of what the next year will hold... it really is a beautiful thing. As my head hits the pillow, I smile to myself and say a prayer of sorts. Here's to a good year... Before my eyes are even opened, the cold bites at my feet and I roll onto the hard ground. I cough and grunt as I force myself up, teeth chattering as I realize just how freezing it was. A thin layer of snow surrounds me, "Why am I outside?" I'm in the park. Westfield Park, halfway across town. What the hell happened? I stumble around and stop at a water fountain, relishing in the idea of having a drink. The water is cold but tastes putrid, but I gulp down every drop. My clothes are in rags, my finger nails long and caked with dirt. Shoes. I'm not wearing any shoes. "Excuse me?" I call to a man jogging by, but he just picks up speed and is gone in an instant. I walk along the pathway, my socks soaked and the soles of my feet numb. Did I always limp like this? I can't help but feel nauseous, a hot burning feel rising up my throat. But nothing would come out, considering it didn't feel like I had anything to eat in weeks. My stomach was a empty pit, yet it hurt like I had been punched in the gut. "Excuse me, sir," a police officer calls over at me. Thank God, maybe he can help. "We were told that a man matching your description tried to assault a jogger a few minutes ago. We're going to have to ask you to come with us." I look at him, confused. "No, no," I mutter. "I was just trying to ask him a question. I swear." "We can work things out at the station," the officer comes around and handcuffs my wrists. I knew better than to resist arrest. He sticks his hand into my jacket pocket and pulls out an ID. "Jason Winters, well nice to meet you Mr. Winters. You're only nineteen.. what a shame, kid." "I'm eighteen," Jason sighs as they lead him towards the cruiser. "Says here you were born 94," the officer pushes Jason into the back seat and hands him back the ID. "It's 2014, that'd make you nineteen years old." Nineteen. What happened to eighteen? What happened to the good life... I dashed my head against the window, again, and again. On the third time I drew blood, hot and red as it dribbled down my head. I felt dizzy. "Wake up," I cried. "Wake up, wake up!" It had to be a dream. No way my life was so insignificant that in one years time it had all gone to shit. The officer moved to stop me, but my head met the window for the fourth time and it all went black. My eyes opened and I was sitting in my living room. "Happy 20th, Jason!" his family was there. Dad looked grim, with a sad expression in his eyes and Mom was beaming more than usual. It had been a rough few years for all of them. The candles flickered out as I blew and Mom handed me a knife reluctantly. I cut a slice and everyone applauded and the normal conversation continued. The cake was a bitter chocolate, mocha probably. Mocha was dad's favorite, not mine. But I savored every bite. What would the 21st bring? I wondered that long after everyone left and I sat in my room, eyes heavy and body tired.	Kind of sound like the story of Brigadoon
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	It was starting to get cold outside the night I danced home from Anna Dowl's house. But I didn't care; I was young and in love. I met Anna on the first day of college and we had pretty much hung out every day since. We started dating after a month, and that night she told me she loved me. I was afraid to be so optimistic because I was young, but she felt like the perfect girl for me. I was singing quietly to myself and doing a few dance moves on the street when I heard a noise from behind me and turned around. The noise got louder, but there was nothing there. I looked up and saw something move quickly and then I woke up in my bed. I was confused about how I got there and why I was still in the same outfit as the night before, but I saw my clock and noticed I only had fifteen minutes to get to class. I quickly changed and jogged to school, showing up only a few minutes late. I walked into my classroom and found a different class from my own in session. I waited outside of the room confused, hoping other students from my class would show up and be just as lost as me. An hour passed and the classroom emptied out. I ran up to the professor and asked her if she knew where my class was. "That class was taught in here last year. It's being taught in the math and science building this year," she said as she packed up her things. I walked to the student center confused and feeling sick to my stomach when I saw Anna posting something on a bulletin board. I snuck up behind her and hugged her tight. "Good morning b--" I began, but she thrashed around violently so I let her go and stepped back. Everyone around us stopped and stared. "Who the hell are you," she demanded. But a look of recognition slowly overtook her anger and she asked, "Peter? Is that you?" "Of course it's me!" I yelled. "Who else would it be?" "Long time no see, jerk," she said with an aggravated tone, "Finally decided to call me back?" "What are you talking about? I saw you last night!" She scrunched up her face and looked me over slowly. She hesitantly said, "Pete, I haven't seen you since last year." I tried to convince myself she was wrong. I told myself I was still asleep, or this was a very elaborate joke. But it all lined up too perfectly. Then I thought about my parents. If I had actually been gone a year, they must be worried sick. I quickly said goodbye to Anna and sprinted home. I started to think about my parents and realized that the last time we talked it was an argument. For a year they hadn't seen me, and the last memory they had of me was a fight. I ran home faster. They had just gotten home from work when I burst in through the door. They turned and yelped when they saw someone run into their house. But when they saw it was me, they went white as ghosts and ran to hug me. Seeing them made me realize everything was real. They looked old and worn out. White hairs, wrinkles, and bags under their eyes, too real to be faked. We sat down at the table and discussed the past year. They said I was technically a man, so they assumed I ran away and for a long time they didn't call anyone, hoping I was just staying with a friend and would come home. They told me that they eventually tried to report me missing, but it was difficult because of my age, and because the argument we had before I disappeared. They explained that the cops finally believed I may have been in danger when they found I was still signed up for classes and took no clothes with me. When they asked me where I went, I began to cry. "I don't know," I admitted. "I was walking home last night and woke up here this morning. I thought today was the day after yester-- the day after I went missing." They looked worried that I had been kidnapped or drugged, but i assured them no kidnappers could wipe my memory of a year. We talked and hugged for hours. They called family members and had me talk to them and apologize for giving everyone such a scare, since they didn't want me telling everyone I just disappeared for a year. They both hugged me tight after it all and told me how glad they were that I was back. Then they went to bed, holding each other close. I suddenly thought of Anna. I called her and apologized, trying to explain everything that sounded so untrue. But she reluctantly came to believe me for some of it. I begged her to give me another chance at a date the next night and she finally gave in. I thanked her and ended the call. I crawled into my bed and grinned widely. I could still fix this all. But as I started to get comfortable, a noise came from above my bed. Before I could react, I woke up. I wasn't in my room anymore. It was a kids room. Toys and posters were everywhere. I slowly got out of the race car bed I was suddenly in and left the room. The house was all different. Every piece of furniture was changed, the carpet replaced, and the pictures of a new family hung from the walls. "They moved," I whispered. I wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible in case the new family came home, but I found their house phone and tried calling my parents. "The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected," the voice over the phone said to me. I elected to look them up later, but first I dialed Anna. She picked up and her slightly matured voice came over the phone, "Hello?" "Anna?" I asked. "Yes it is. Who am I speaking with?" "Peter." "Peter who?" She asked. "It's me, Anna. Peter." She was quiet for a moment and then the phone clicked. A dial tone rang in my ear soon after. I quickly called her back and she answered and immediately yelled, "Leave me alone! I don't know why you teased me twice for two years. But I have a new boyfriend! And he plays football. So just stop trying to hurt me!" I tried to explain but she cut me off and told me to stop lying. Then she called me a cowardly pig and hung up the phone. I snuck out of the house and went to a local library to look up my parents. When I couldn't find them, I contacted a few other relatives online. My aunt and uncle finally responded. They told me my mom and dad moved to hawaii after I disappeared the second time. They said my parents did not have a phone as they were not interested in talking to anyone. I told my aunt and uncle where I was and the situation I was in. They said they would come pick me up, but it would take a few hours for them to get there. After a while the library closed, so I slowly shuffled outside. I laid down on a bench and dozed off. I awoke the next morning and walked inside slowly. I logged back on to the computer and found the messages to be dated a year old. My aunt and uncle had messaged me dozens of more times trying to find me. They even stayed in a motel a couple nights. But they had jobs to get back to, and finally they left for home. For days and simultaneous years I wandered, trying to figure out the noise and where my life would lead. I used public libraries everywhere I went to keep myself updated on news events and what happened with my family. After twenty days, my parents died. After twenty-three days Anna got married. After forty-six days, all of my family members that I knew had passed. Everything around me had changed drastically. But every year my body stayed the same. After seventy days, Anna died. I didn't know her anymore. And she wouldn't remember me. But I was done after that. The night Anna died, I stood waiting for the noise. When it eventually showed up, I turned to it and screamed. "Kill me! Don't send me back! I don't want this!" Suddenly everything around me faded to black. It was silent for a long time before a deep voice echoed around me. "We have given you a day a year on Earth. That is a gift," it bellowed. "It's a curse!" I screamed into the nothingness. "We have granted you immortality," It continued. "Take it back! I want to die!" It was quiet again. Finally, the voice asked, "Are you sure this is what you want?" "Yes!" I screamed. I suddenly fell down into the darkness and woke up on the street outside my house. I wasn't sure if it was another test, a dream, heaven, hell, or actually my life, but I didn't want to find out. I curled up on the street and cried until I fell asleep. No noise bothered me for the rest of the night.	Kind of sound like the story of Brigadoon
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	The sensation of waking refused to get easier. Edgar felt the muscles in his shoulder slowly remember how to stretch. His legs were lifeless, but his toes had no trouble relaying the frigidness of the floor. His eyes were burning from the faint glow from the other side of the glass while his ears quickly focused on the rhythmic beeps from the medical station. The door opened to the touch of his gloved hand letting loose a whine from a weakening seal. Each step was a labor. Edgar had forgotten to remove the IV’s from his arm and nearly fell to the ground. As he freed the tubes, the dryness in his mouth came returned. He knew he wasn’t really thirsty – that’s what the IV was for – but he nevertheless craved a glass of cool water. That would have to wait. The beeping monitors demanded attention. The chair was only meters away, though the trek took several minutes of deliberate motion. Once seated, a small screen with a calendar popped up. Edgar didn’t know the day and the calendar didn’t bother to remind him. It knew the cycles and tracked only the year. He scratched off the latest with a finger, the screen drawing a smooth red line over the digits as he did. “It seems like only yesterday…” the jokes went. The red slashes continued beyond the view of the display and he had stopped laughing at the thought well before then. In the other direction, fresh numbers were still waiting their turn. Eventually, one would be the last. It wasn’t displayed, either. On the main screen, he reviewed his vitals. He was still in nominal condition. As the last of the readings passed, the alert arrived to begin the prescribed exercise routine. With only a single day per year of activity, the prospect of a strenuous workout was untenable. Instead, a lengthy set of stretches was ordered. The relative ease of the workouts was still enough to draw sweat and labored breaths. During the regimen, the latest set of news clips past echoed from the console speakers. The names were all but unrecognizable. Edgar’s family was far enough removed, even with the delayed transmissions, that the presumed obligations of contact had dissolved. One day, he’d stop listening. ‘Maybe next year,’ he told himself. The window in the galley was even more disappointing. Back when the mission began, when the endless expanse of distant lights was new, Edgar had trouble imagining the day the view would grow stale. While he gulped down his lunch, all he could see outside was the blackness. The lights were simply a reminder of what he had left behind. He shoved the mostly empty pouch of his dinner against the window where it stuck firmly in place. After a long walk on the treadmill, he returned to his room. The capsule was still open. Edgar opened a panel on the side wall where he retrieved a number of tubes. Like he had done a hundred times before, he clamped on end over a thin nozzle. On the other end, he threaded a small plastic box. With a resigned bitterness, he slammed the box above his left forearm. The blast of sterilizer masked the needle for the IV. The stream of nourishment and medication began to flow. The last tube was for the catheter and easily his least favorite part of the day. Orders were to take care of that step first, but Edgar found that the sedatives made the process far less unpleasant. There wasn’t enough in the initial phase to cause any conflicts. He never heard anyone complain about it, either. The control panel on the interior wall flashed green. It burned his chest to do so, but Edgar sighed as he reached for the lit surface. “It will be worth it,” he said, his own private mantra. To walk on a distant world, he’d first have to survive the trip. With a heavy hand pressed to the green film, the door closed. He was another year closer to his dream.	I live my life in fast forward. That’s the way it’s always been, as far back as I can recall. Then again, it’s difficult to have memories of years I’ve hardly seen, so maybe it used to be different. The only thing I know for sure is the trigger: sleep. If my voice hadn’t changed so drastically overnight, it might have taken another few skips to really grasp the process. I think my parents were more surprised than I was; they couldn’t understand why it bothered me now, since my voice had settled a full four months before. I made sure to mask my surprise after that. At seventeen, I woke up on a park bench. The place itself wasn’t so bad – the city of Amsted kept their recreational spaces clean – but the mid-January chill put a bit of a damper on things. My mother hugged me and held me close when I stumbled in the door, tears pouring down her cheeks. I wish I hadn’t asked Dad where my older brother, Ronnie, was; it still hurts, all these years later, to find myself an only child. I tried to stay awake for the funeral, but seventy-two hours is a long time to go without sleep. I passed out after an all-night drinking binge on my twenty-first birthday and woke up on someone else’s pullout couch at twenty-six. To this point, it was safe to assume the skips came once a night; it never occurred to me that floating in and out of consciousness could have the same effect. From what Andy, the owner of the couch, told me, I hadn’t missed much. Still, drinking my way through the best years of my life left a bitter taste in my mouth, and the bitterness lingers. The scariest parts were the times I woke up in someone else’s bed. From the moment I found out about my brother, I knew I’d attempt to close the gaping wound in my heart with an endless string of one-night stands. There’s nothing quite as terrifying as rolling over and seeing a face you don’t recognize, especially when you really wish you could. The names ran together like sidewalk chalk in a rainstorm, beautifully undefined, swirling toward oblivion. I want to hold just one, but the goop slips through my shaky fingers. At thirty-five, I found myself with a wife and twin girls. There’s nothing quite like waking up to breakfast in bed, complete with burnt toast and runny eggs, when it’s made by the two bundles of joy you helped bring into the world. Samantha stood in the doorway, beaming, as I held Abby and Sarah close, trying so very hard to remember their little faces. They would have grown up too quickly at normal speed. I know I’ll hardly recognize them the next time I see them. Samantha doesn’t know; her eyes aren’t worn with the weight of the world yet, like mine. I must have told her, somewhere between thirty-eight and forty. Each time I wake up, she asks me the same question: “Are you with me, Tom?” We must have worked out a system because I answer “no” every time. It makes her eyes sparkle with joy; I can’t imagine what they look like when I say “yes.” I feel helpless when I lay down beside her at night, knowing that she’ll be alone for all the days in between. The house was empty when I woke up at forty-nine. I searched high and low for a note, but every scrap of paper was blank. She must have left, just as soon as the girls moved out, and I didn’t blame her. Going through life with a husband on autopilot must have finally taken its toll. And now, at fifty-three, I think I’m done. I don’t recognize anyone in the neighborhood anymore. Then again, perhaps I never have. I hope the girls will remember me; if I can’t, someone should. I lived my life in fast forward.
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	I opened my eyes, slowly. It was always like this when I woke up. I'd make a joke about it seeming like I'd been sleeping for months, but...well, the only audience I had was myself, and I'd long gotten tired of my own jokes. I pulled myself up into a seated position. My head was pounding, and my body was covered in dust. I brushed it off my jacket and hair, then began to take inventory of what I had with me. Typically, my memory is a bit frazzled after I wake up, so I must keep a checklist of my belongings with me at all times. It was terrifying, at first. Not knowing what your surroundings will look like when you wake up is stressful. I used to fear that I'd pop back into reality seven feet underground, or inside the wall of a new building. Those fears were waylaid, however, when I fell asleep in a park once and woke up to find myself at the top of a large, square monument that'd been built right where I'd laid down my head. I finished my inventory and pulled some caffeine pills from the front of my bag. I could stay up for almost a week with enough of these, but I only take one unless there's some kind of emergency that would actually require seven days of sleeplessness. I popped a pill in my mouth and chewed, then put them in my bag and stood up. I'd fallen asleep in a cave, it seemed, which has occasionally caused some problems. I remember once that I'd woken up in an entirely new cave system and wandered around for a long time, sleeping as often as possible, just in case that cave fell apart and let me wake up outside. This one was the same as it was when I'd settled down, though, so I walked toward to bright daylight to see how the world had changed in the last year. I had been spending the last 200 years away from civilization, as other humans don't quite understand my predicament. I watched nations grow and die, space stations built and launched, unthinkably large constructions of an unknown purpose block out the horizon and disappear. I hadn't seen much of a human touch out here, though. Life was boring. I thought often about killing myself, but in the end, I just decide to sleep on it. I could only bring what I could carry, as things that weren't in direct contact with my body would get "left behind," which tended to wear them out. If it couldn't fit in my bag or in my pockets, I didn't need it. As I thought about all of this, I stumbled upon a strange vehicle set under a tree. It didn't look like a car, or a flying saucer, or...well, really anything I'd ever seen. I'm not even sure why I thought it was a vehicle, it could have been a bomb, or a foresting device. I got closer. I usually didn't mess with this kind of stuff, as I really didn't know how to use things that weren't from my era, but my curiosity was piqued this day. I reached out to touch it, and a hatch that'd previously been flush with the surface opened. A short, thin humanoid stepped out of the strange object, wearing clothes in bright, garish colors. I couldn't tell their gender, or their race, or really anything about them. They looked so...androgynous. They started speaking quickly in a language I couldn't understand. I thought I heard a few bits of English and Spanish in there, but it may have been my imagination. I held up my hands and said, "I'm sorry, I don't understand you." I said it slowly, hoping they would know dead languages. The person stopped speaking, and a look of confusion spread across their face. I'm sure I'd have done the same if a caveman walked up to me, clumsily speaking Sumerian. They stared off into space for a few seconds, then focused on me again. "What...are...you?" the person said slowly. I guessed that they had a kind of mental internet or something. I shook my head at this crazy future. "I'm a human. Homo sapiens. Probably your great-great-etcetera grandfather, too." The person looked confused again. Clearly, I wasn't answering their question. They again checked their translator or whatever it was, then said, "No. You are...not evolved. You can not...be real?" I shrugged. "Yeah, I don't really get it, either. I guess I'm a time traveler, though it's pretty crappy, if you ask me." Their eyes glazed over for a few minutes. I waved my hand in their face once, and they looked at me incredulously, then went back to staring into the distance. "Do you want...to come with me? To...suz-nidge?" the person asked, smiling. "I, uh...don't know what that is." They replied, "Cred, it is...a city. Can not...spell with...'alphabet'." I frowned. "I don't really go to cities. Too unpredictable. I was thrown in a prison cell to die once for not having an ID in a police state, and only managed to get out after the prison was demolished." They blinked a few times, again focused on nothing. "I do not...understand...but, suz-nidge is...freedom." They smiled again, their oddly large eyes pleading with me to go with them. I rubbed the back of my neck. If I went with this person, I'd be walking into a society I knew nothing about, and that would crumble around my feet only god-knows-when. But...then again, I'd gotten sick of the boredom, sick of eating plants and animals that weren't familiar to me. I wanted something processed and packaged. It'd been so long... I sighed. "Okay, I'll do it. Let's go." The person grinned, then quickly poked me with something. I pushed them away, confused, and said "What the hell?" "It is a...alti-tude medicine. Pressure...changes quick...in flomma." They held up their hands, in what I assumed was a placating gesture. "Um...okay. Thanks, I think." I started to feel very tired. "This stuff doesn't cause drowziness, does it?" They glazed over, then said, "Maybe. I am...not sure about...how it will react...to you." I sat down. I needed to sleep. "Well, future man. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you again, someday." I laid down on my side, and before I closed my eyes, I saw them kneeling next to me, looking quizzically at my face. ... ... ... I opened my eyes, slowly. I'd been jostled awake. I looked around, and saw that I was in a vehicle of some kind, high above the surface of the Earth. I rubbed my eyes, then looked to my left. The same person from before was next to me. I hadn't skipped a year. I had slept normally. I started to cry.	I live my life in fast forward. That’s the way it’s always been, as far back as I can recall. Then again, it’s difficult to have memories of years I’ve hardly seen, so maybe it used to be different. The only thing I know for sure is the trigger: sleep. If my voice hadn’t changed so drastically overnight, it might have taken another few skips to really grasp the process. I think my parents were more surprised than I was; they couldn’t understand why it bothered me now, since my voice had settled a full four months before. I made sure to mask my surprise after that. At seventeen, I woke up on a park bench. The place itself wasn’t so bad – the city of Amsted kept their recreational spaces clean – but the mid-January chill put a bit of a damper on things. My mother hugged me and held me close when I stumbled in the door, tears pouring down her cheeks. I wish I hadn’t asked Dad where my older brother, Ronnie, was; it still hurts, all these years later, to find myself an only child. I tried to stay awake for the funeral, but seventy-two hours is a long time to go without sleep. I passed out after an all-night drinking binge on my twenty-first birthday and woke up on someone else’s pullout couch at twenty-six. To this point, it was safe to assume the skips came once a night; it never occurred to me that floating in and out of consciousness could have the same effect. From what Andy, the owner of the couch, told me, I hadn’t missed much. Still, drinking my way through the best years of my life left a bitter taste in my mouth, and the bitterness lingers. The scariest parts were the times I woke up in someone else’s bed. From the moment I found out about my brother, I knew I’d attempt to close the gaping wound in my heart with an endless string of one-night stands. There’s nothing quite as terrifying as rolling over and seeing a face you don’t recognize, especially when you really wish you could. The names ran together like sidewalk chalk in a rainstorm, beautifully undefined, swirling toward oblivion. I want to hold just one, but the goop slips through my shaky fingers. At thirty-five, I found myself with a wife and twin girls. There’s nothing quite like waking up to breakfast in bed, complete with burnt toast and runny eggs, when it’s made by the two bundles of joy you helped bring into the world. Samantha stood in the doorway, beaming, as I held Abby and Sarah close, trying so very hard to remember their little faces. They would have grown up too quickly at normal speed. I know I’ll hardly recognize them the next time I see them. Samantha doesn’t know; her eyes aren’t worn with the weight of the world yet, like mine. I must have told her, somewhere between thirty-eight and forty. Each time I wake up, she asks me the same question: “Are you with me, Tom?” We must have worked out a system because I answer “no” every time. It makes her eyes sparkle with joy; I can’t imagine what they look like when I say “yes.” I feel helpless when I lay down beside her at night, knowing that she’ll be alone for all the days in between. The house was empty when I woke up at forty-nine. I searched high and low for a note, but every scrap of paper was blank. She must have left, just as soon as the girls moved out, and I didn’t blame her. Going through life with a husband on autopilot must have finally taken its toll. And now, at fifty-three, I think I’m done. I don’t recognize anyone in the neighborhood anymore. Then again, perhaps I never have. I hope the girls will remember me; if I can’t, someone should. I lived my life in fast forward.
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	The sensation of waking refused to get easier. Edgar felt the muscles in his shoulder slowly remember how to stretch. His legs were lifeless, but his toes had no trouble relaying the frigidness of the floor. His eyes were burning from the faint glow from the other side of the glass while his ears quickly focused on the rhythmic beeps from the medical station. The door opened to the touch of his gloved hand letting loose a whine from a weakening seal. Each step was a labor. Edgar had forgotten to remove the IV’s from his arm and nearly fell to the ground. As he freed the tubes, the dryness in his mouth came returned. He knew he wasn’t really thirsty – that’s what the IV was for – but he nevertheless craved a glass of cool water. That would have to wait. The beeping monitors demanded attention. The chair was only meters away, though the trek took several minutes of deliberate motion. Once seated, a small screen with a calendar popped up. Edgar didn’t know the day and the calendar didn’t bother to remind him. It knew the cycles and tracked only the year. He scratched off the latest with a finger, the screen drawing a smooth red line over the digits as he did. “It seems like only yesterday…” the jokes went. The red slashes continued beyond the view of the display and he had stopped laughing at the thought well before then. In the other direction, fresh numbers were still waiting their turn. Eventually, one would be the last. It wasn’t displayed, either. On the main screen, he reviewed his vitals. He was still in nominal condition. As the last of the readings passed, the alert arrived to begin the prescribed exercise routine. With only a single day per year of activity, the prospect of a strenuous workout was untenable. Instead, a lengthy set of stretches was ordered. The relative ease of the workouts was still enough to draw sweat and labored breaths. During the regimen, the latest set of news clips past echoed from the console speakers. The names were all but unrecognizable. Edgar’s family was far enough removed, even with the delayed transmissions, that the presumed obligations of contact had dissolved. One day, he’d stop listening. ‘Maybe next year,’ he told himself. The window in the galley was even more disappointing. Back when the mission began, when the endless expanse of distant lights was new, Edgar had trouble imagining the day the view would grow stale. While he gulped down his lunch, all he could see outside was the blackness. The lights were simply a reminder of what he had left behind. He shoved the mostly empty pouch of his dinner against the window where it stuck firmly in place. After a long walk on the treadmill, he returned to his room. The capsule was still open. Edgar opened a panel on the side wall where he retrieved a number of tubes. Like he had done a hundred times before, he clamped on end over a thin nozzle. On the other end, he threaded a small plastic box. With a resigned bitterness, he slammed the box above his left forearm. The blast of sterilizer masked the needle for the IV. The stream of nourishment and medication began to flow. The last tube was for the catheter and easily his least favorite part of the day. Orders were to take care of that step first, but Edgar found that the sedatives made the process far less unpleasant. There wasn’t enough in the initial phase to cause any conflicts. He never heard anyone complain about it, either. The control panel on the interior wall flashed green. It burned his chest to do so, but Edgar sighed as he reached for the lit surface. “It will be worth it,” he said, his own private mantra. To walk on a distant world, he’d first have to survive the trip. With a heavy hand pressed to the green film, the door closed. He was another year closer to his dream.	I was told to try and write down my thoughts in order to sort out what I've been going through. You see, doctors haven't been able to find anything wrong with me, so they thought that it might be a mental illness. CAT scans revealed nothing unusual, so now I'm left seeing a shrink who came up with the brilliant 'Dear Diary...' idea when I first told her that I have these terrible nightmares once a year for the past 10 years. The last one was 364 nights ago. If it all goes to schedule, the next one should be tonight. I closed my eyes, and woke up to a dream. I was in a hospital room surrounded by my wife and children that I vaguely remembered. All I could see on their faces was worry. "Alex! you're awake!" said Shannon as she smothered me with kisses. I couldn't fight back because my body felt heavy, so I just let it go on. "I've missed you so much, my love." she said. I stared at the kids that stood just out of reach; they looked afraid of me. "I have some good news," Shannon said "A new diabetes treatment was released called Prolaxathol." "I...I don't have diabetes." I managed to squeak. My voice drier than the desert. "I know, love, but a side-effect of the drug is that it suppresses dreams." I laughed a little bit. Here was a vision in my dream telling me of this drug that I would kill for in the real world. "Doctors think that maybe this could help you with your condition, and you wouldn't fall in to your coma again." Just then a man dressed in a white lab coat walked in and said "Mr. Richardson, you're awake! I hope you're feeling ok. Has your wife filled you in on the medicine regime we want to get you started on?" "Yes, but.." I could feel the confusion and fear growing inside of me. "Good. I'll have the nurse come in shortly and administer the first dose. 5 times a day for the next year with regular monthly check ups." he said and curtly turned to walk out the door. Shannon sent the kids to sit in the hall. "I want to speak to your father for a minute." After the kids left, she turned to me and began sobbing. "I really hope this works. I can't handle being with you only once a year. This last year was so terrible. I lost my job and we're barely scraping by while your care bills just keep on rising. I need you back." I looked at her, and this all just felt so real. It couldn't be real, though. I have a family that I see every day. I've watched my real kids grow up. I've been their for their birthdays and graduations. I've grown old, too, with my real wife by my side. I know the touch of her lips and the fragrance of her perfume. That is my real life. If that's the case, however, why does this experience feel so much more intense than anything I've normally felt? This is just a dream. This is just a dream. This is just a dream. "I want to go for a walk." I said, as I struggled to get up on my own two feet. I didn't like this 'body'. I'm an active person who plays sports. Being in this body is terrifying to me. Being in this entirely shitty situation is terrifying to me. I don't dream most nights. Why are the only dreams that I've had in the past ten years this depressing story? We stop outside a cleaning station where a nurse is doing her duty and sterilizing some surgery utensils. Shannon is talking but I'm no longer listening. I'm enthralled by the process - no, the ritual the nurse is going through while cleaning the tools. The light off the scalpel catches my eye and an idea dawns on me. They say that when you can't die in a dream and that you wake up just before it happens. I use all my strength to make this rickety old body move for the utensil. I don't even feel the hands that grab me as I plunge it in to my forearm, and slice down toward my wrist. Blood is everywhere, and there's a smile on my face. I'll be awake soon...
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	I opened my eyes, slowly. It was always like this when I woke up. I'd make a joke about it seeming like I'd been sleeping for months, but...well, the only audience I had was myself, and I'd long gotten tired of my own jokes. I pulled myself up into a seated position. My head was pounding, and my body was covered in dust. I brushed it off my jacket and hair, then began to take inventory of what I had with me. Typically, my memory is a bit frazzled after I wake up, so I must keep a checklist of my belongings with me at all times. It was terrifying, at first. Not knowing what your surroundings will look like when you wake up is stressful. I used to fear that I'd pop back into reality seven feet underground, or inside the wall of a new building. Those fears were waylaid, however, when I fell asleep in a park once and woke up to find myself at the top of a large, square monument that'd been built right where I'd laid down my head. I finished my inventory and pulled some caffeine pills from the front of my bag. I could stay up for almost a week with enough of these, but I only take one unless there's some kind of emergency that would actually require seven days of sleeplessness. I popped a pill in my mouth and chewed, then put them in my bag and stood up. I'd fallen asleep in a cave, it seemed, which has occasionally caused some problems. I remember once that I'd woken up in an entirely new cave system and wandered around for a long time, sleeping as often as possible, just in case that cave fell apart and let me wake up outside. This one was the same as it was when I'd settled down, though, so I walked toward to bright daylight to see how the world had changed in the last year. I had been spending the last 200 years away from civilization, as other humans don't quite understand my predicament. I watched nations grow and die, space stations built and launched, unthinkably large constructions of an unknown purpose block out the horizon and disappear. I hadn't seen much of a human touch out here, though. Life was boring. I thought often about killing myself, but in the end, I just decide to sleep on it. I could only bring what I could carry, as things that weren't in direct contact with my body would get "left behind," which tended to wear them out. If it couldn't fit in my bag or in my pockets, I didn't need it. As I thought about all of this, I stumbled upon a strange vehicle set under a tree. It didn't look like a car, or a flying saucer, or...well, really anything I'd ever seen. I'm not even sure why I thought it was a vehicle, it could have been a bomb, or a foresting device. I got closer. I usually didn't mess with this kind of stuff, as I really didn't know how to use things that weren't from my era, but my curiosity was piqued this day. I reached out to touch it, and a hatch that'd previously been flush with the surface opened. A short, thin humanoid stepped out of the strange object, wearing clothes in bright, garish colors. I couldn't tell their gender, or their race, or really anything about them. They looked so...androgynous. They started speaking quickly in a language I couldn't understand. I thought I heard a few bits of English and Spanish in there, but it may have been my imagination. I held up my hands and said, "I'm sorry, I don't understand you." I said it slowly, hoping they would know dead languages. The person stopped speaking, and a look of confusion spread across their face. I'm sure I'd have done the same if a caveman walked up to me, clumsily speaking Sumerian. They stared off into space for a few seconds, then focused on me again. "What...are...you?" the person said slowly. I guessed that they had a kind of mental internet or something. I shook my head at this crazy future. "I'm a human. Homo sapiens. Probably your great-great-etcetera grandfather, too." The person looked confused again. Clearly, I wasn't answering their question. They again checked their translator or whatever it was, then said, "No. You are...not evolved. You can not...be real?" I shrugged. "Yeah, I don't really get it, either. I guess I'm a time traveler, though it's pretty crappy, if you ask me." Their eyes glazed over for a few minutes. I waved my hand in their face once, and they looked at me incredulously, then went back to staring into the distance. "Do you want...to come with me? To...suz-nidge?" the person asked, smiling. "I, uh...don't know what that is." They replied, "Cred, it is...a city. Can not...spell with...'alphabet'." I frowned. "I don't really go to cities. Too unpredictable. I was thrown in a prison cell to die once for not having an ID in a police state, and only managed to get out after the prison was demolished." They blinked a few times, again focused on nothing. "I do not...understand...but, suz-nidge is...freedom." They smiled again, their oddly large eyes pleading with me to go with them. I rubbed the back of my neck. If I went with this person, I'd be walking into a society I knew nothing about, and that would crumble around my feet only god-knows-when. But...then again, I'd gotten sick of the boredom, sick of eating plants and animals that weren't familiar to me. I wanted something processed and packaged. It'd been so long... I sighed. "Okay, I'll do it. Let's go." The person grinned, then quickly poked me with something. I pushed them away, confused, and said "What the hell?" "It is a...alti-tude medicine. Pressure...changes quick...in flomma." They held up their hands, in what I assumed was a placating gesture. "Um...okay. Thanks, I think." I started to feel very tired. "This stuff doesn't cause drowziness, does it?" They glazed over, then said, "Maybe. I am...not sure about...how it will react...to you." I sat down. I needed to sleep. "Well, future man. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you again, someday." I laid down on my side, and before I closed my eyes, I saw them kneeling next to me, looking quizzically at my face. ... ... ... I opened my eyes, slowly. I'd been jostled awake. I looked around, and saw that I was in a vehicle of some kind, high above the surface of the Earth. I rubbed my eyes, then looked to my left. The same person from before was next to me. I hadn't skipped a year. I had slept normally. I started to cry.	I was told to try and write down my thoughts in order to sort out what I've been going through. You see, doctors haven't been able to find anything wrong with me, so they thought that it might be a mental illness. CAT scans revealed nothing unusual, so now I'm left seeing a shrink who came up with the brilliant 'Dear Diary...' idea when I first told her that I have these terrible nightmares once a year for the past 10 years. The last one was 364 nights ago. If it all goes to schedule, the next one should be tonight. I closed my eyes, and woke up to a dream. I was in a hospital room surrounded by my wife and children that I vaguely remembered. All I could see on their faces was worry. "Alex! you're awake!" said Shannon as she smothered me with kisses. I couldn't fight back because my body felt heavy, so I just let it go on. "I've missed you so much, my love." she said. I stared at the kids that stood just out of reach; they looked afraid of me. "I have some good news," Shannon said "A new diabetes treatment was released called Prolaxathol." "I...I don't have diabetes." I managed to squeak. My voice drier than the desert. "I know, love, but a side-effect of the drug is that it suppresses dreams." I laughed a little bit. Here was a vision in my dream telling me of this drug that I would kill for in the real world. "Doctors think that maybe this could help you with your condition, and you wouldn't fall in to your coma again." Just then a man dressed in a white lab coat walked in and said "Mr. Richardson, you're awake! I hope you're feeling ok. Has your wife filled you in on the medicine regime we want to get you started on?" "Yes, but.." I could feel the confusion and fear growing inside of me. "Good. I'll have the nurse come in shortly and administer the first dose. 5 times a day for the next year with regular monthly check ups." he said and curtly turned to walk out the door. Shannon sent the kids to sit in the hall. "I want to speak to your father for a minute." After the kids left, she turned to me and began sobbing. "I really hope this works. I can't handle being with you only once a year. This last year was so terrible. I lost my job and we're barely scraping by while your care bills just keep on rising. I need you back." I looked at her, and this all just felt so real. It couldn't be real, though. I have a family that I see every day. I've watched my real kids grow up. I've been their for their birthdays and graduations. I've grown old, too, with my real wife by my side. I know the touch of her lips and the fragrance of her perfume. That is my real life. If that's the case, however, why does this experience feel so much more intense than anything I've normally felt? This is just a dream. This is just a dream. This is just a dream. "I want to go for a walk." I said, as I struggled to get up on my own two feet. I didn't like this 'body'. I'm an active person who plays sports. Being in this body is terrifying to me. Being in this entirely shitty situation is terrifying to me. I don't dream most nights. Why are the only dreams that I've had in the past ten years this depressing story? We stop outside a cleaning station where a nurse is doing her duty and sterilizing some surgery utensils. Shannon is talking but I'm no longer listening. I'm enthralled by the process - no, the ritual the nurse is going through while cleaning the tools. The light off the scalpel catches my eye and an idea dawns on me. They say that when you can't die in a dream and that you wake up just before it happens. I use all my strength to make this rickety old body move for the utensil. I don't even feel the hands that grab me as I plunge it in to my forearm, and slice down toward my wrist. Blood is everywhere, and there's a smile on my face. I'll be awake soon...
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	It was starting to get cold outside the night I danced home from Anna Dowl's house. But I didn't care; I was young and in love. I met Anna on the first day of college and we had pretty much hung out every day since. We started dating after a month, and that night she told me she loved me. I was afraid to be so optimistic because I was young, but she felt like the perfect girl for me. I was singing quietly to myself and doing a few dance moves on the street when I heard a noise from behind me and turned around. The noise got louder, but there was nothing there. I looked up and saw something move quickly and then I woke up in my bed. I was confused about how I got there and why I was still in the same outfit as the night before, but I saw my clock and noticed I only had fifteen minutes to get to class. I quickly changed and jogged to school, showing up only a few minutes late. I walked into my classroom and found a different class from my own in session. I waited outside of the room confused, hoping other students from my class would show up and be just as lost as me. An hour passed and the classroom emptied out. I ran up to the professor and asked her if she knew where my class was. "That class was taught in here last year. It's being taught in the math and science building this year," she said as she packed up her things. I walked to the student center confused and feeling sick to my stomach when I saw Anna posting something on a bulletin board. I snuck up behind her and hugged her tight. "Good morning b--" I began, but she thrashed around violently so I let her go and stepped back. Everyone around us stopped and stared. "Who the hell are you," she demanded. But a look of recognition slowly overtook her anger and she asked, "Peter? Is that you?" "Of course it's me!" I yelled. "Who else would it be?" "Long time no see, jerk," she said with an aggravated tone, "Finally decided to call me back?" "What are you talking about? I saw you last night!" She scrunched up her face and looked me over slowly. She hesitantly said, "Pete, I haven't seen you since last year." I tried to convince myself she was wrong. I told myself I was still asleep, or this was a very elaborate joke. But it all lined up too perfectly. Then I thought about my parents. If I had actually been gone a year, they must be worried sick. I quickly said goodbye to Anna and sprinted home. I started to think about my parents and realized that the last time we talked it was an argument. For a year they hadn't seen me, and the last memory they had of me was a fight. I ran home faster. They had just gotten home from work when I burst in through the door. They turned and yelped when they saw someone run into their house. But when they saw it was me, they went white as ghosts and ran to hug me. Seeing them made me realize everything was real. They looked old and worn out. White hairs, wrinkles, and bags under their eyes, too real to be faked. We sat down at the table and discussed the past year. They said I was technically a man, so they assumed I ran away and for a long time they didn't call anyone, hoping I was just staying with a friend and would come home. They told me that they eventually tried to report me missing, but it was difficult because of my age, and because the argument we had before I disappeared. They explained that the cops finally believed I may have been in danger when they found I was still signed up for classes and took no clothes with me. When they asked me where I went, I began to cry. "I don't know," I admitted. "I was walking home last night and woke up here this morning. I thought today was the day after yester-- the day after I went missing." They looked worried that I had been kidnapped or drugged, but i assured them no kidnappers could wipe my memory of a year. We talked and hugged for hours. They called family members and had me talk to them and apologize for giving everyone such a scare, since they didn't want me telling everyone I just disappeared for a year. They both hugged me tight after it all and told me how glad they were that I was back. Then they went to bed, holding each other close. I suddenly thought of Anna. I called her and apologized, trying to explain everything that sounded so untrue. But she reluctantly came to believe me for some of it. I begged her to give me another chance at a date the next night and she finally gave in. I thanked her and ended the call. I crawled into my bed and grinned widely. I could still fix this all. But as I started to get comfortable, a noise came from above my bed. Before I could react, I woke up. I wasn't in my room anymore. It was a kids room. Toys and posters were everywhere. I slowly got out of the race car bed I was suddenly in and left the room. The house was all different. Every piece of furniture was changed, the carpet replaced, and the pictures of a new family hung from the walls. "They moved," I whispered. I wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible in case the new family came home, but I found their house phone and tried calling my parents. "The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected," the voice over the phone said to me. I elected to look them up later, but first I dialed Anna. She picked up and her slightly matured voice came over the phone, "Hello?" "Anna?" I asked. "Yes it is. Who am I speaking with?" "Peter." "Peter who?" She asked. "It's me, Anna. Peter." She was quiet for a moment and then the phone clicked. A dial tone rang in my ear soon after. I quickly called her back and she answered and immediately yelled, "Leave me alone! I don't know why you teased me twice for two years. But I have a new boyfriend! And he plays football. So just stop trying to hurt me!" I tried to explain but she cut me off and told me to stop lying. Then she called me a cowardly pig and hung up the phone. I snuck out of the house and went to a local library to look up my parents. When I couldn't find them, I contacted a few other relatives online. My aunt and uncle finally responded. They told me my mom and dad moved to hawaii after I disappeared the second time. They said my parents did not have a phone as they were not interested in talking to anyone. I told my aunt and uncle where I was and the situation I was in. They said they would come pick me up, but it would take a few hours for them to get there. After a while the library closed, so I slowly shuffled outside. I laid down on a bench and dozed off. I awoke the next morning and walked inside slowly. I logged back on to the computer and found the messages to be dated a year old. My aunt and uncle had messaged me dozens of more times trying to find me. They even stayed in a motel a couple nights. But they had jobs to get back to, and finally they left for home. For days and simultaneous years I wandered, trying to figure out the noise and where my life would lead. I used public libraries everywhere I went to keep myself updated on news events and what happened with my family. After twenty days, my parents died. After twenty-three days Anna got married. After forty-six days, all of my family members that I knew had passed. Everything around me had changed drastically. But every year my body stayed the same. After seventy days, Anna died. I didn't know her anymore. And she wouldn't remember me. But I was done after that. The night Anna died, I stood waiting for the noise. When it eventually showed up, I turned to it and screamed. "Kill me! Don't send me back! I don't want this!" Suddenly everything around me faded to black. It was silent for a long time before a deep voice echoed around me. "We have given you a day a year on Earth. That is a gift," it bellowed. "It's a curse!" I screamed into the nothingness. "We have granted you immortality," It continued. "Take it back! I want to die!" It was quiet again. Finally, the voice asked, "Are you sure this is what you want?" "Yes!" I screamed. I suddenly fell down into the darkness and woke up on the street outside my house. I wasn't sure if it was another test, a dream, heaven, hell, or actually my life, but I didn't want to find out. I curled up on the street and cried until I fell asleep. No noise bothered me for the rest of the night.	I was told to try and write down my thoughts in order to sort out what I've been going through. You see, doctors haven't been able to find anything wrong with me, so they thought that it might be a mental illness. CAT scans revealed nothing unusual, so now I'm left seeing a shrink who came up with the brilliant 'Dear Diary...' idea when I first told her that I have these terrible nightmares once a year for the past 10 years. The last one was 364 nights ago. If it all goes to schedule, the next one should be tonight. I closed my eyes, and woke up to a dream. I was in a hospital room surrounded by my wife and children that I vaguely remembered. All I could see on their faces was worry. "Alex! you're awake!" said Shannon as she smothered me with kisses. I couldn't fight back because my body felt heavy, so I just let it go on. "I've missed you so much, my love." she said. I stared at the kids that stood just out of reach; they looked afraid of me. "I have some good news," Shannon said "A new diabetes treatment was released called Prolaxathol." "I...I don't have diabetes." I managed to squeak. My voice drier than the desert. "I know, love, but a side-effect of the drug is that it suppresses dreams." I laughed a little bit. Here was a vision in my dream telling me of this drug that I would kill for in the real world. "Doctors think that maybe this could help you with your condition, and you wouldn't fall in to your coma again." Just then a man dressed in a white lab coat walked in and said "Mr. Richardson, you're awake! I hope you're feeling ok. Has your wife filled you in on the medicine regime we want to get you started on?" "Yes, but.." I could feel the confusion and fear growing inside of me. "Good. I'll have the nurse come in shortly and administer the first dose. 5 times a day for the next year with regular monthly check ups." he said and curtly turned to walk out the door. Shannon sent the kids to sit in the hall. "I want to speak to your father for a minute." After the kids left, she turned to me and began sobbing. "I really hope this works. I can't handle being with you only once a year. This last year was so terrible. I lost my job and we're barely scraping by while your care bills just keep on rising. I need you back." I looked at her, and this all just felt so real. It couldn't be real, though. I have a family that I see every day. I've watched my real kids grow up. I've been their for their birthdays and graduations. I've grown old, too, with my real wife by my side. I know the touch of her lips and the fragrance of her perfume. That is my real life. If that's the case, however, why does this experience feel so much more intense than anything I've normally felt? This is just a dream. This is just a dream. This is just a dream. "I want to go for a walk." I said, as I struggled to get up on my own two feet. I didn't like this 'body'. I'm an active person who plays sports. Being in this body is terrifying to me. Being in this entirely shitty situation is terrifying to me. I don't dream most nights. Why are the only dreams that I've had in the past ten years this depressing story? We stop outside a cleaning station where a nurse is doing her duty and sterilizing some surgery utensils. Shannon is talking but I'm no longer listening. I'm enthralled by the process - no, the ritual the nurse is going through while cleaning the tools. The light off the scalpel catches my eye and an idea dawns on me. They say that when you can't die in a dream and that you wake up just before it happens. I use all my strength to make this rickety old body move for the utensil. I don't even feel the hands that grab me as I plunge it in to my forearm, and slice down toward my wrist. Blood is everywhere, and there's a smile on my face. I'll be awake soon...
	[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed	It was starting to get cold outside the night I danced home from Anna Dowl's house. But I didn't care; I was young and in love. I met Anna on the first day of college and we had pretty much hung out every day since. We started dating after a month, and that night she told me she loved me. I was afraid to be so optimistic because I was young, but she felt like the perfect girl for me. I was singing quietly to myself and doing a few dance moves on the street when I heard a noise from behind me and turned around. The noise got louder, but there was nothing there. I looked up and saw something move quickly and then I woke up in my bed. I was confused about how I got there and why I was still in the same outfit as the night before, but I saw my clock and noticed I only had fifteen minutes to get to class. I quickly changed and jogged to school, showing up only a few minutes late. I walked into my classroom and found a different class from my own in session. I waited outside of the room confused, hoping other students from my class would show up and be just as lost as me. An hour passed and the classroom emptied out. I ran up to the professor and asked her if she knew where my class was. "That class was taught in here last year. It's being taught in the math and science building this year," she said as she packed up her things. I walked to the student center confused and feeling sick to my stomach when I saw Anna posting something on a bulletin board. I snuck up behind her and hugged her tight. "Good morning b--" I began, but she thrashed around violently so I let her go and stepped back. Everyone around us stopped and stared. "Who the hell are you," she demanded. But a look of recognition slowly overtook her anger and she asked, "Peter? Is that you?" "Of course it's me!" I yelled. "Who else would it be?" "Long time no see, jerk," she said with an aggravated tone, "Finally decided to call me back?" "What are you talking about? I saw you last night!" She scrunched up her face and looked me over slowly. She hesitantly said, "Pete, I haven't seen you since last year." I tried to convince myself she was wrong. I told myself I was still asleep, or this was a very elaborate joke. But it all lined up too perfectly. Then I thought about my parents. If I had actually been gone a year, they must be worried sick. I quickly said goodbye to Anna and sprinted home. I started to think about my parents and realized that the last time we talked it was an argument. For a year they hadn't seen me, and the last memory they had of me was a fight. I ran home faster. They had just gotten home from work when I burst in through the door. They turned and yelped when they saw someone run into their house. But when they saw it was me, they went white as ghosts and ran to hug me. Seeing them made me realize everything was real. They looked old and worn out. White hairs, wrinkles, and bags under their eyes, too real to be faked. We sat down at the table and discussed the past year. They said I was technically a man, so they assumed I ran away and for a long time they didn't call anyone, hoping I was just staying with a friend and would come home. They told me that they eventually tried to report me missing, but it was difficult because of my age, and because the argument we had before I disappeared. They explained that the cops finally believed I may have been in danger when they found I was still signed up for classes and took no clothes with me. When they asked me where I went, I began to cry. "I don't know," I admitted. "I was walking home last night and woke up here this morning. I thought today was the day after yester-- the day after I went missing." They looked worried that I had been kidnapped or drugged, but i assured them no kidnappers could wipe my memory of a year. We talked and hugged for hours. They called family members and had me talk to them and apologize for giving everyone such a scare, since they didn't want me telling everyone I just disappeared for a year. They both hugged me tight after it all and told me how glad they were that I was back. Then they went to bed, holding each other close. I suddenly thought of Anna. I called her and apologized, trying to explain everything that sounded so untrue. But she reluctantly came to believe me for some of it. I begged her to give me another chance at a date the next night and she finally gave in. I thanked her and ended the call. I crawled into my bed and grinned widely. I could still fix this all. But as I started to get comfortable, a noise came from above my bed. Before I could react, I woke up. I wasn't in my room anymore. It was a kids room. Toys and posters were everywhere. I slowly got out of the race car bed I was suddenly in and left the room. The house was all different. Every piece of furniture was changed, the carpet replaced, and the pictures of a new family hung from the walls. "They moved," I whispered. I wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible in case the new family came home, but I found their house phone and tried calling my parents. "The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected," the voice over the phone said to me. I elected to look them up later, but first I dialed Anna. She picked up and her slightly matured voice came over the phone, "Hello?" "Anna?" I asked. "Yes it is. Who am I speaking with?" "Peter." "Peter who?" She asked. "It's me, Anna. Peter." She was quiet for a moment and then the phone clicked. A dial tone rang in my ear soon after. I quickly called her back and she answered and immediately yelled, "Leave me alone! I don't know why you teased me twice for two years. But I have a new boyfriend! And he plays football. So just stop trying to hurt me!" I tried to explain but she cut me off and told me to stop lying. Then she called me a cowardly pig and hung up the phone. I snuck out of the house and went to a local library to look up my parents. When I couldn't find them, I contacted a few other relatives online. My aunt and uncle finally responded. They told me my mom and dad moved to hawaii after I disappeared the second time. They said my parents did not have a phone as they were not interested in talking to anyone. I told my aunt and uncle where I was and the situation I was in. They said they would come pick me up, but it would take a few hours for them to get there. After a while the library closed, so I slowly shuffled outside. I laid down on a bench and dozed off. I awoke the next morning and walked inside slowly. I logged back on to the computer and found the messages to be dated a year old. My aunt and uncle had messaged me dozens of more times trying to find me. They even stayed in a motel a couple nights. But they had jobs to get back to, and finally they left for home. For days and simultaneous years I wandered, trying to figure out the noise and where my life would lead. I used public libraries everywhere I went to keep myself updated on news events and what happened with my family. After twenty days, my parents died. After twenty-three days Anna got married. After forty-six days, all of my family members that I knew had passed. Everything around me had changed drastically. But every year my body stayed the same. After seventy days, Anna died. I didn't know her anymore. And she wouldn't remember me. But I was done after that. The night Anna died, I stood waiting for the noise. When it eventually showed up, I turned to it and screamed. "Kill me! Don't send me back! I don't want this!" Suddenly everything around me faded to black. It was silent for a long time before a deep voice echoed around me. "We have given you a day a year on Earth. That is a gift," it bellowed. "It's a curse!" I screamed into the nothingness. "We have granted you immortality," It continued. "Take it back! I want to die!" It was quiet again. Finally, the voice asked, "Are you sure this is what you want?" "Yes!" I screamed. I suddenly fell down into the darkness and woke up on the street outside my house. I wasn't sure if it was another test, a dream, heaven, hell, or actually my life, but I didn't want to find out. I curled up on the street and cried until I fell asleep. No noise bothered me for the rest of the night.	Eighteen. Eighteen is supposed to be the highlight of my life. The turning point where everything starts to get good. Tomorrow's the big day and the anticipation eats at my mind and keeps me wide awake. My body is so heavy and tired but my mind is racing, the thought of what the next year will hold... it really is a beautiful thing. As my head hits the pillow, I smile to myself and say a prayer of sorts. Here's to a good year... Before my eyes are even opened, the cold bites at my feet and I roll onto the hard ground. I cough and grunt as I force myself up, teeth chattering as I realize just how freezing it was. A thin layer of snow surrounds me, "Why am I outside?" I'm in the park. Westfield Park, halfway across town. What the hell happened? I stumble around and stop at a water fountain, relishing in the idea of having a drink. The water is cold but tastes putrid, but I gulp down every drop. My clothes are in rags, my finger nails long and caked with dirt. Shoes. I'm not wearing any shoes. "Excuse me?" I call to a man jogging by, but he just picks up speed and is gone in an instant. I walk along the pathway, my socks soaked and the soles of my feet numb. Did I always limp like this? I can't help but feel nauseous, a hot burning feel rising up my throat. But nothing would come out, considering it didn't feel like I had anything to eat in weeks. My stomach was a empty pit, yet it hurt like I had been punched in the gut. "Excuse me, sir," a police officer calls over at me. Thank God, maybe he can help. "We were told that a man matching your description tried to assault a jogger a few minutes ago. We're going to have to ask you to come with us." I look at him, confused. "No, no," I mutter. "I was just trying to ask him a question. I swear." "We can work things out at the station," the officer comes around and handcuffs my wrists. I knew better than to resist arrest. He sticks his hand into my jacket pocket and pulls out an ID. "Jason Winters, well nice to meet you Mr. Winters. You're only nineteen.. what a shame, kid." "I'm eighteen," Jason sighs as they lead him towards the cruiser. "Says here you were born 94," the officer pushes Jason into the back seat and hands him back the ID. "It's 2014, that'd make you nineteen years old." Nineteen. What happened to eighteen? What happened to the good life... I dashed my head against the window, again, and again. On the third time I drew blood, hot and red as it dribbled down my head. I felt dizzy. "Wake up," I cried. "Wake up, wake up!" It had to be a dream. No way my life was so insignificant that in one years time it had all gone to shit. The officer moved to stop me, but my head met the window for the fourth time and it all went black. My eyes opened and I was sitting in my living room. "Happy 20th, Jason!" his family was there. Dad looked grim, with a sad expression in his eyes and Mom was beaming more than usual. It had been a rough few years for all of them. The candles flickered out as I blew and Mom handed me a knife reluctantly. I cut a slice and everyone applauded and the normal conversation continued. The cake was a bitter chocolate, mocha probably. Mocha was dad's favorite, not mine. But I savored every bite. What would the 21st bring? I wondered that long after everyone left and I sat in my room, eyes heavy and body tired.
	[WP] A thief steals a camera and discovers it takes pictures from the future.	I felt guilty taking stuff from a dead guy, it was a low I had never stooped to before but I never stole unless I was desperate and this time, I really was. It was Lisa. She was the closest thing to family I had ever had and now I was loosing her too. I needed money for medicine, for her and there was no way to get it shy of robbing a bank. While that was certainly a more moral task than looting the corpse of a man who had stepped in front of a bus (intentionally by the looks of it), it was not something I was capable of doing alone. I took it in to a store to see how much money I could get for it, it looked old, not just old but antique... expensive. The lady passed it between her hands before calling her mother who she assured me was the real expert in the matter of pricing the antiques. I was most annoyed when the old woman told me to get out of her shop and to never come there again. Was the camera that bad? Pressing my eye to the appropriate place I noticed that the viewfinder showed the shop, 'eh, why not' I thought and clicked the button. What came out of the camera was unexpected to say the least. It was the shop but, not as I saw it now. The windows were shattered and there was a man, well dressed, accompanied by a policeman stepping under a banner of tape reading 'crime scene, do not cross' draped across the door I had just left. 'Weird' I thought to myself. As the day progressed my escapades were increasingly unsuccessful, I had almost been caught twice. Luckily I had gained possession of a wallet filled with mostly cash, mostly low value notes but it was something I could use. I made a deposit at the ATM, I did have a job but minimum wage was not going to be enough for what Lisa needed. I turned around to meet a knife, ready to slip through the thin cloth barrier hanging from my body at a second's notice from it's master. He was taller than me, stronger by the looks of it too. "Look man, I just put my cash into the machine, I have nothing for you" -- "Bullshit, I saw you swipe some fellah's wallet an hour ago, give it here" I obediently handed over the leather pouch, not wanting the blade any closer to my skin. "Hmm, pity. You weren't lying. Oh well, take it back." Said the man. "What do you mean?" I asked. "The money, you said it's in the machine, take it back." He replied. "Look man, I need that money, it's for medicine! My little sister, if she doesn't get it soon, she'll die." Lisa wasn't really my sister, but she was close enough for my to say it convincingly. Pity this man didn't care, "Well isn't that a shame, because if you don't do what I say then YOU will be dead, got it?". I don't know what caused me to do it but my hands slid to around my neck. The lens was already pointed at the man so I simply pressed the button. Click. Flash. Buzz. There, on the little slip of paper now protruding from the camera around my neck was an image not of the man threatening to claim my life but one of a later hour on the same street. It was light enough to see that upon the floor was congealed blood and a hand, the lower half of a police uniform was also present. The man's eye's closed "Oh... you're harmless. I'm a monster. Look, I know you think the thievery will stop once your sister is safe but make sure it does, don't have any 'one last try's'. Got it?" He asked, I nodded confused, "I've become something terrible, a murderer, if such a light term can be used to describe me. Don't let this be you. Nice camera." He said before raising the blade to his own throat and in one swift movement he lay on the floor, a threat no more. Shellshocked, a good word to describe how I felt after seeing that, but thievery was a bad enough crime to be caught for, murder? No, that was out of the question. I forced myself to look away and run. Sitting in the corner of my tiny apartment rocking back and forth as I hugged my knees sounded just great but I at least knew I was not the one responsible for his death. Still, seeing one take their life in front of you was not an easy thing to see, but Lisa needed me and I was close to my goal, I just needed a bit more money and she could live. I wondered something, the man, my mugger, he had mentioned liking the camera before his 'change of heart'. I wanted to see if the lady would have a change of heart too, hopefully one not involving death. I had done playing the criminal for today and needed something to take my mind off what had happened so I headed over to the shop where I had tried to sell my camera earlier. Upon arriving, something was wrong, the windows were broken, "Crime scene, do not cross" was taped across the doors and frames and policemen stood all around. "What happened here?" I asked the nearest one, "Burglary, armed. Whoever did it killed the two women inside." -- "But they wouldn't have put up resistance, I mean, I was here earlier today, the one was small, not a fighter and the other was elderly!" -- "Aye, there was no sign of a struggle, but the odd thing is, the only thing that is out of place other than two corpses is the smashed windows, none of the stock seems to be taken, or so the detective says. He checked the records." The policeman explained. A chill passed down my spine as I saw another policemen and a well dressed man, probably the detective stepping out of the building through the tape. It was the exact scene from my camera earlier that day. I turned and left promptly. On my way back I passed the ATM where I was almost mugged earlier that day. Policemen all around there too. One was holding a photograph, and comparing it to the scene in front of him; a dark street lit by a streetlamp, congealed blood on the floor and the lower body of a man in police uniform. I looked at my camera, it saw this coming! Sitting next to Lisa at the hospital I wonder if she will live long enough for me to get her the medicine she needs. I hope she will. Then I wonder... I could always take a sneak peak couldn't I? At least then I would know if I should be out getting money or saying my goodbyes while I still can. I point the lens at the little girl I had met years ago, taken in as my own family, and shoot. Click. Flash. Buzz. There was the image. I hold it up to my face and to my horror I see a girl not sleeping peacefully like now but one terrified as her heart rate monitor shows danger in the background. Doctors rush around her as they try to wheel her to a place where she can be saved. I almost scream out when I remember that this is just a moment frozen into a page. Then it hits me that this will happen! I could have only moments, I know this will happen so maybe I can change it? "SOMEONE! GET IN HERE! SHE NEEDS HELP!" I shout in panic. Lisa wakes up and seeing my distress she beings to stress asking "What's wrong?" -- "It's okay Lisa, it will be okay" I say, "What's happening she says as the doctors rush in and try to wheel her out. That's when I see it, the image again, the panicing girl, the deadly hear rate monitor, the frantic doctors trying to pull her to a new safe location. This time however, it is real, and it's not frozen, someone pressed play. A few seconds later I realize that someone was me. Lisa blacks out and begins to have a seziure, this is my fault, if I had just let her sleep she would not have panicked, she would be okay! I slump down against the wall clutching my head as the medical crew remove their doomed patient from my sight. Hours later I am told that nothing more could have been done, they are sorry but she is gone. They do not know it but I do, it is my fault. No. It was the camera, the stupid thing that was twice used to try save her and was thrice the cause of someone's death. I take it from around my neck and throw it out the window. I watch it fall four stories. I watch it hit the ground. Click. Flash. Buzz. It does not break but it takes a photo. Of me. No. Of what will happen to me. No. Of what will happen outside this window! But I already know what that will be. It will be of a man, eyes red from silent tears, falling from the sky toward the comfort of the earth. This time I do not think of how the future could be changed, I only step forward and accept it. As I make my decent, in my last second of life, I catch a glimpse of the image on the camera. Before the light leaves my eyes I see one last thing. A photograph depicting me, standing over the camera lens holding a jar on which are engraved the words "Here rests Lisa Grant". People didn't speak much of the man who had jumped from the hospital window, the staff were ashamed they had not managed to provide the man grief counseling, and that they had left a man who had recently lost his last family member alone next to a fourth story window. Others did not find it a particularly pleasant subject matter. One thing that a keen observer might find odd is that while his body was removed, his camera was not and it was perhaps a week after the incident, that a young boy did notice the camera with two photos sticking out of it. One of a man holding an urn filled with ashes and the other of the same man's face partially covering the lens. The boy quickly discarded them as they were partially obscured by red specks the boy could not identify. "Mommy look! A camera!" He exclaimed joyfully, "Now Martin, where did you get that?" The mother asked, "It was here, on the floor!" He said, "Well it must belong to someone, let's hand it in to the reception." The boy was a little upset but did not want to disobey his mother and so bowed his head and walked after her with the device. Before entering, determined to get some joy out of his find, he quickly aimed the viewfinder at his mother and pressed the button. Click. Flash. Buzz.	Aka the twilight zone episode "A most unusual camera"?
	[WP] A thief steals a camera and discovers it takes pictures from the future.	Xavier groaned. The alarm rang, and the tourists found their way off the ferry, finally. He gave the passing by security guards a look that told them he wasn't moving and they kept walking. It was his usual Tuesday routine, and a few of the guards were already familiar with his face. Soon it was only him and the regulars still on the ferry, the Statue of Liberty looking like an action figurine in the distance. Xavier got up and started to walk around, letting the blood start to circulate again. Something caught his eye. Left on one of the hard, red, plastic booths was a camera. It was a good one, one of the newest types. And it would definitely bring in a few bucks. He picked it up and started looking through the pictures. It was definitely a tourist's camera, with three million pictures of a group in Times Square. In the background the advertisement on one of the screens said: Coming out next year, 2012. Ha, he thought, It's supposed to be 2002, not 2012. Someone's getting fired for that. Flipping through the pics, there were a few of the NYC skyline. As cruel as life had been to him, Xavier still loved the city more than he could explain. He was an interesting one, taken just a few minutes ago from off the side of the ferry. But...the twin towers, they were missing. Xavier heard a plane zoom up above them, strangely low in the air.	Aka the twilight zone episode "A most unusual camera"?
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	"But mom, I want to call Africa and wish everyone good luck," said Sarah to her mother. "No way missy! You need that luck for your math test tomorrow and you'll thank me when that luck gets you into a good job and gets you a good husband!" "But but I don't want to get married! Boys are disgusting!" Mom reaches over and ties a little black collar around Sarah's neck. The logo reads Lucksaver and mom switches it on by pressing a tiny chrome button on its clasp. The collar lights up for a moment and then goes black. "But but I don't want to wear that today," protests Sarah. "Sorry but you have to, mama needs to know that you aren't wishing anyone luck," replied her mother. Mom then bends over and gives her a hug. Sarah hugs her back and says "I love you." "Me too, puppy" replies mom as she leads Sarah onto the school bus. Sarah sits next to her friend Janie and they begin to chat. They're both wearing Lucksaver collars. The bus stops and Janie gets up and says "See ya Sarah, Good L---" as an electric current flows from her collar into her vocal chords. Janie shakes her head, says "Duh", and walks away. Sarah sits on the bus for a moment longer, fingering her collar, and telling herself over and over "dont say those words, don't say those words, don't say those words." She meets up with Janie ahead and they look at each other's collars for a moment. Sarah says "Moms know best I guess," as they giggle. "Maybe I'll get the purple sparkly one for Christmas this year," says Janie excitedly as they both skip to their homeroom.	He leaned against the wall and reloaded the gun. A battered woman lay next to him and silently wept. All hell had broken lose and all the man knew was to protect her. He shifted slightly and peered out of the busted door frame. He had to get across that street to the drug store. There were people in this house that needed medication. He wouldn't tell the others, but she was his priority. That was the only reason he had agreed to go. She begged him not to go. He wouldn't listen. Now she was weeping beside him. "They've got guns hidden everywhere out there." She said through sobs, "They'll kill you." "It's a risk I have to take. I can't let you die. You're more important than you realize." Silence. He surveyed the debris and broken pavement from the safety of the house. It was a long shot but he might be able to make it. He looked back at the woman beside him and smiled. "Fine." She muttered, "Good luck. Please be careful." "I will." He nodded, "And thank you. I'm going to need all the help I can get." He stood up and hesitantly took a step forward. Two deep breaths and one steel resolve later, he stepped outside.
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	I frowned. "Is this some sort of scam?" "Not a scam. I'm looking for luck." "Yeah, but the luck exchange is right down the street. Going rate is half of what you're offering." "Look, my credit chip is good, right? You'll have plenty of luck left, and plenty of money to take advantage of it." I still didn't understand, but I couldn't see the scam, either. I reluctantly took the chip. "Good luck, then." He smiled. I knew the feeling, like a surge of electricity through your veins. "Much obliged." As I walked away, I heard him talking to someone else. I recognized the sales pitch. --- Three days later, I saw a headline in the paper. Man Killed in Freak Accident. With a shock I recognized the picture of the luck buyer. He had so much luck. How could he have died like this? Why? By the end of the day, standing in the ashes of the city, I knew. -002	He leaned against the wall and reloaded the gun. A battered woman lay next to him and silently wept. All hell had broken lose and all the man knew was to protect her. He shifted slightly and peered out of the busted door frame. He had to get across that street to the drug store. There were people in this house that needed medication. He wouldn't tell the others, but she was his priority. That was the only reason he had agreed to go. She begged him not to go. He wouldn't listen. Now she was weeping beside him. "They've got guns hidden everywhere out there." She said through sobs, "They'll kill you." "It's a risk I have to take. I can't let you die. You're more important than you realize." Silence. He surveyed the debris and broken pavement from the safety of the house. It was a long shot but he might be able to make it. He looked back at the woman beside him and smiled. "Fine." She muttered, "Good luck. Please be careful." "I will." He nodded, "And thank you. I'm going to need all the help I can get." He stood up and hesitantly took a step forward. Two deep breaths and one steel resolve later, he stepped outside.
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	There isn't a good way to tell how much luck someone has. You just feel it. And I felt lucky. The trick is, when people wish you luck, you make a comment back, saying something like "And may luck find you." It's weird, but whatever the rules are, it seems like you actually have to direct your luck at a person to transfer it. I've been saving up, and misdirecting for over twenty years so I could drop it all on one thing. I pushed through the double doors, and let the sounds wash over me. Voices from a myriad of sources were ignored, as I found the object of my obsession. The claw game.	He leaned against the wall and reloaded the gun. A battered woman lay next to him and silently wept. All hell had broken lose and all the man knew was to protect her. He shifted slightly and peered out of the busted door frame. He had to get across that street to the drug store. There were people in this house that needed medication. He wouldn't tell the others, but she was his priority. That was the only reason he had agreed to go. She begged him not to go. He wouldn't listen. Now she was weeping beside him. "They've got guns hidden everywhere out there." She said through sobs, "They'll kill you." "It's a risk I have to take. I can't let you die. You're more important than you realize." Silence. He surveyed the debris and broken pavement from the safety of the house. It was a long shot but he might be able to make it. He looked back at the woman beside him and smiled. "Fine." She muttered, "Good luck. Please be careful." "I will." He nodded, "And thank you. I'm going to need all the help I can get." He stood up and hesitantly took a step forward. Two deep breaths and one steel resolve later, he stepped outside.
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	Some guy in Oklahoma won the lottery yesterday, poor fucker. Said he'd saved up his Luck for ten years before buying that ticket. I give him seventy-two hours until he's hit by a truck or falls off a cliff. What kind of idiot leaves no luck in reserve? I'm feeling a bit antsy, myself. Just yesterday I found a dollar on the street. God knows how much luck that cost me. I'm extra careful today on my way to work. Five miles below the limit. Complete stops at the sign. At work, I and my colleagues try to keep track of everyone's luck. It's not so much a tangible number, we never know exactly who has how much. But we do our best on ensuring that the elderly on their death beds are giving away as much as humanly possible. They don't need it. At lunch I flip on the TV. Between programs, the commercials. Cancer victims, mutants, widows, all wishing what little luck they have left to millions of faceless viewers across the airwaves. A final kind gesture from the inevitably fucked. It doesn't give much luck to anyone as they are so many recipients, but it's the thought that counts. On my way home from work I cross the street to the parking garage. Halfway across the intersection a car barrels down the road, narrowly missing me. He slams on the breaks, jumps out of his car. Shit, we're both thinking. That was lucky. And then, the horrifying realization: how much do we have left? "Go!" I yell. He hops back in his car. I race to mine. I've got to get out of here. In fifteen minutes I'm at the airport. Before I even get in line there are dozens of uniformed men and women wishing me luck -- don't want any unlucky bastards getting on the plane and killing the rest of us. Perfect. Every time those precious words leave their mouths I feel just a little bit safer. If I don't get on the plane, though, I'm going to prison. Can't steal the free luck for passengers, can I? Just then, the ground begins to quake. Everyone screams. In the distance, I can see people dropping like flies, instantly dying. They collapse onto the floor in waves... headed towards me. And that's when I see it. The little black cat scampering through the airport.	He leaned against the wall and reloaded the gun. A battered woman lay next to him and silently wept. All hell had broken lose and all the man knew was to protect her. He shifted slightly and peered out of the busted door frame. He had to get across that street to the drug store. There were people in this house that needed medication. He wouldn't tell the others, but she was his priority. That was the only reason he had agreed to go. She begged him not to go. He wouldn't listen. Now she was weeping beside him. "They've got guns hidden everywhere out there." She said through sobs, "They'll kill you." "It's a risk I have to take. I can't let you die. You're more important than you realize." Silence. He surveyed the debris and broken pavement from the safety of the house. It was a long shot but he might be able to make it. He looked back at the woman beside him and smiled. "Fine." She muttered, "Good luck. Please be careful." "I will." He nodded, "And thank you. I'm going to need all the help I can get." He stood up and hesitantly took a step forward. Two deep breaths and one steel resolve later, he stepped outside.
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	"But mom, I want to call Africa and wish everyone good luck," said Sarah to her mother. "No way missy! You need that luck for your math test tomorrow and you'll thank me when that luck gets you into a good job and gets you a good husband!" "But but I don't want to get married! Boys are disgusting!" Mom reaches over and ties a little black collar around Sarah's neck. The logo reads Lucksaver and mom switches it on by pressing a tiny chrome button on its clasp. The collar lights up for a moment and then goes black. "But but I don't want to wear that today," protests Sarah. "Sorry but you have to, mama needs to know that you aren't wishing anyone luck," replied her mother. Mom then bends over and gives her a hug. Sarah hugs her back and says "I love you." "Me too, puppy" replies mom as she leads Sarah onto the school bus. Sarah sits next to her friend Janie and they begin to chat. They're both wearing Lucksaver collars. The bus stops and Janie gets up and says "See ya Sarah, Good L---" as an electric current flows from her collar into her vocal chords. Janie shakes her head, says "Duh", and walks away. Sarah sits on the bus for a moment longer, fingering her collar, and telling herself over and over "dont say those words, don't say those words, don't say those words." She meets up with Janie ahead and they look at each other's collars for a moment. Sarah says "Moms know best I guess," as they giggle. "Maybe I'll get the purple sparkly one for Christmas this year," says Janie excitedly as they both skip to their homeroom.	I awoke to a squeeze on my hand. "Dad? You awake?" I strained to turn my head and look up at my son, standing at my bedside. "Yeah, I'm here kid. How are you?" "I'm okay. Nervous. How're you feeling?" "A little better, thanks. Today's the day then? Did you get your mother's ring out of the safe?" "Yes. Am I doing the right thing?" I looked up again at Joshua, and saw his mother's eyes looking back at mine, the same kaleidoscope of browns and greens. I was back in the park where we met. On the bench where I asked her to marry me, in the downpour which I hadn't planned for. Nothing could have stopped me back then, when my mind was made up, and I knew that my boy was just the same. "Go Josh. Just promise to bring her back here later so I can congratulate the both of you." Josh laughed, and his face relaxed a little. He grabbed his jacket and made for the door, looking more animated than I had seen him in years. "Sure thing! Love you Dad. I'll see you later." "Love you too, son. Good luck." He had already gone. But I knew that I had done all that I could. The tone from the heart monitor, which I barely noticed anymore after all of this time, slowed noticeably. As I drifted off to sleep, something deep within me knew. He had everything I had left to give him. Together, we would watch over them.
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	I frowned. "Is this some sort of scam?" "Not a scam. I'm looking for luck." "Yeah, but the luck exchange is right down the street. Going rate is half of what you're offering." "Look, my credit chip is good, right? You'll have plenty of luck left, and plenty of money to take advantage of it." I still didn't understand, but I couldn't see the scam, either. I reluctantly took the chip. "Good luck, then." He smiled. I knew the feeling, like a surge of electricity through your veins. "Much obliged." As I walked away, I heard him talking to someone else. I recognized the sales pitch. --- Three days later, I saw a headline in the paper. Man Killed in Freak Accident. With a shock I recognized the picture of the luck buyer. He had so much luck. How could he have died like this? Why? By the end of the day, standing in the ashes of the city, I knew. -002	I awoke to a squeeze on my hand. "Dad? You awake?" I strained to turn my head and look up at my son, standing at my bedside. "Yeah, I'm here kid. How are you?" "I'm okay. Nervous. How're you feeling?" "A little better, thanks. Today's the day then? Did you get your mother's ring out of the safe?" "Yes. Am I doing the right thing?" I looked up again at Joshua, and saw his mother's eyes looking back at mine, the same kaleidoscope of browns and greens. I was back in the park where we met. On the bench where I asked her to marry me, in the downpour which I hadn't planned for. Nothing could have stopped me back then, when my mind was made up, and I knew that my boy was just the same. "Go Josh. Just promise to bring her back here later so I can congratulate the both of you." Josh laughed, and his face relaxed a little. He grabbed his jacket and made for the door, looking more animated than I had seen him in years. "Sure thing! Love you Dad. I'll see you later." "Love you too, son. Good luck." He had already gone. But I knew that I had done all that I could. The tone from the heart monitor, which I barely noticed anymore after all of this time, slowed noticeably. As I drifted off to sleep, something deep within me knew. He had everything I had left to give him. Together, we would watch over them.
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	There isn't a good way to tell how much luck someone has. You just feel it. And I felt lucky. The trick is, when people wish you luck, you make a comment back, saying something like "And may luck find you." It's weird, but whatever the rules are, it seems like you actually have to direct your luck at a person to transfer it. I've been saving up, and misdirecting for over twenty years so I could drop it all on one thing. I pushed through the double doors, and let the sounds wash over me. Voices from a myriad of sources were ignored, as I found the object of my obsession. The claw game.	I awoke to a squeeze on my hand. "Dad? You awake?" I strained to turn my head and look up at my son, standing at my bedside. "Yeah, I'm here kid. How are you?" "I'm okay. Nervous. How're you feeling?" "A little better, thanks. Today's the day then? Did you get your mother's ring out of the safe?" "Yes. Am I doing the right thing?" I looked up again at Joshua, and saw his mother's eyes looking back at mine, the same kaleidoscope of browns and greens. I was back in the park where we met. On the bench where I asked her to marry me, in the downpour which I hadn't planned for. Nothing could have stopped me back then, when my mind was made up, and I knew that my boy was just the same. "Go Josh. Just promise to bring her back here later so I can congratulate the both of you." Josh laughed, and his face relaxed a little. He grabbed his jacket and made for the door, looking more animated than I had seen him in years. "Sure thing! Love you Dad. I'll see you later." "Love you too, son. Good luck." He had already gone. But I knew that I had done all that I could. The tone from the heart monitor, which I barely noticed anymore after all of this time, slowed noticeably. As I drifted off to sleep, something deep within me knew. He had everything I had left to give him. Together, we would watch over them.
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	I frowned. "Is this some sort of scam?" "Not a scam. I'm looking for luck." "Yeah, but the luck exchange is right down the street. Going rate is half of what you're offering." "Look, my credit chip is good, right? You'll have plenty of luck left, and plenty of money to take advantage of it." I still didn't understand, but I couldn't see the scam, either. I reluctantly took the chip. "Good luck, then." He smiled. I knew the feeling, like a surge of electricity through your veins. "Much obliged." As I walked away, I heard him talking to someone else. I recognized the sales pitch. --- Three days later, I saw a headline in the paper. Man Killed in Freak Accident. With a shock I recognized the picture of the luck buyer. He had so much luck. How could he have died like this? Why? By the end of the day, standing in the ashes of the city, I knew. -002	"But mom, I want to call Africa and wish everyone good luck," said Sarah to her mother. "No way missy! You need that luck for your math test tomorrow and you'll thank me when that luck gets you into a good job and gets you a good husband!" "But but I don't want to get married! Boys are disgusting!" Mom reaches over and ties a little black collar around Sarah's neck. The logo reads Lucksaver and mom switches it on by pressing a tiny chrome button on its clasp. The collar lights up for a moment and then goes black. "But but I don't want to wear that today," protests Sarah. "Sorry but you have to, mama needs to know that you aren't wishing anyone luck," replied her mother. Mom then bends over and gives her a hug. Sarah hugs her back and says "I love you." "Me too, puppy" replies mom as she leads Sarah onto the school bus. Sarah sits next to her friend Janie and they begin to chat. They're both wearing Lucksaver collars. The bus stops and Janie gets up and says "See ya Sarah, Good L---" as an electric current flows from her collar into her vocal chords. Janie shakes her head, says "Duh", and walks away. Sarah sits on the bus for a moment longer, fingering her collar, and telling herself over and over "dont say those words, don't say those words, don't say those words." She meets up with Janie ahead and they look at each other's collars for a moment. Sarah says "Moms know best I guess," as they giggle. "Maybe I'll get the purple sparkly one for Christmas this year," says Janie excitedly as they both skip to their homeroom.
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	There isn't a good way to tell how much luck someone has. You just feel it. And I felt lucky. The trick is, when people wish you luck, you make a comment back, saying something like "And may luck find you." It's weird, but whatever the rules are, it seems like you actually have to direct your luck at a person to transfer it. I've been saving up, and misdirecting for over twenty years so I could drop it all on one thing. I pushed through the double doors, and let the sounds wash over me. Voices from a myriad of sources were ignored, as I found the object of my obsession. The claw game.	"But mom, I want to call Africa and wish everyone good luck," said Sarah to her mother. "No way missy! You need that luck for your math test tomorrow and you'll thank me when that luck gets you into a good job and gets you a good husband!" "But but I don't want to get married! Boys are disgusting!" Mom reaches over and ties a little black collar around Sarah's neck. The logo reads Lucksaver and mom switches it on by pressing a tiny chrome button on its clasp. The collar lights up for a moment and then goes black. "But but I don't want to wear that today," protests Sarah. "Sorry but you have to, mama needs to know that you aren't wishing anyone luck," replied her mother. Mom then bends over and gives her a hug. Sarah hugs her back and says "I love you." "Me too, puppy" replies mom as she leads Sarah onto the school bus. Sarah sits next to her friend Janie and they begin to chat. They're both wearing Lucksaver collars. The bus stops and Janie gets up and says "See ya Sarah, Good L---" as an electric current flows from her collar into her vocal chords. Janie shakes her head, says "Duh", and walks away. Sarah sits on the bus for a moment longer, fingering her collar, and telling herself over and over "dont say those words, don't say those words, don't say those words." She meets up with Janie ahead and they look at each other's collars for a moment. Sarah says "Moms know best I guess," as they giggle. "Maybe I'll get the purple sparkly one for Christmas this year," says Janie excitedly as they both skip to their homeroom.
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	There isn't a good way to tell how much luck someone has. You just feel it. And I felt lucky. The trick is, when people wish you luck, you make a comment back, saying something like "And may luck find you." It's weird, but whatever the rules are, it seems like you actually have to direct your luck at a person to transfer it. I've been saving up, and misdirecting for over twenty years so I could drop it all on one thing. I pushed through the double doors, and let the sounds wash over me. Voices from a myriad of sources were ignored, as I found the object of my obsession. The claw game.	I frowned. "Is this some sort of scam?" "Not a scam. I'm looking for luck." "Yeah, but the luck exchange is right down the street. Going rate is half of what you're offering." "Look, my credit chip is good, right? You'll have plenty of luck left, and plenty of money to take advantage of it." I still didn't understand, but I couldn't see the scam, either. I reluctantly took the chip. "Good luck, then." He smiled. I knew the feeling, like a surge of electricity through your veins. "Much obliged." As I walked away, I heard him talking to someone else. I recognized the sales pitch. --- Three days later, I saw a headline in the paper. Man Killed in Freak Accident. With a shock I recognized the picture of the luck buyer. He had so much luck. How could he have died like this? Why? By the end of the day, standing in the ashes of the city, I knew. -002
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	Some guy in Oklahoma won the lottery yesterday, poor fucker. Said he'd saved up his Luck for ten years before buying that ticket. I give him seventy-two hours until he's hit by a truck or falls off a cliff. What kind of idiot leaves no luck in reserve? I'm feeling a bit antsy, myself. Just yesterday I found a dollar on the street. God knows how much luck that cost me. I'm extra careful today on my way to work. Five miles below the limit. Complete stops at the sign. At work, I and my colleagues try to keep track of everyone's luck. It's not so much a tangible number, we never know exactly who has how much. But we do our best on ensuring that the elderly on their death beds are giving away as much as humanly possible. They don't need it. At lunch I flip on the TV. Between programs, the commercials. Cancer victims, mutants, widows, all wishing what little luck they have left to millions of faceless viewers across the airwaves. A final kind gesture from the inevitably fucked. It doesn't give much luck to anyone as they are so many recipients, but it's the thought that counts. On my way home from work I cross the street to the parking garage. Halfway across the intersection a car barrels down the road, narrowly missing me. He slams on the breaks, jumps out of his car. Shit, we're both thinking. That was lucky. And then, the horrifying realization: how much do we have left? "Go!" I yell. He hops back in his car. I race to mine. I've got to get out of here. In fifteen minutes I'm at the airport. Before I even get in line there are dozens of uniformed men and women wishing me luck -- don't want any unlucky bastards getting on the plane and killing the rest of us. Perfect. Every time those precious words leave their mouths I feel just a little bit safer. If I don't get on the plane, though, I'm going to prison. Can't steal the free luck for passengers, can I? Just then, the ground begins to quake. Everyone screams. In the distance, I can see people dropping like flies, instantly dying. They collapse onto the floor in waves... headed towards me. And that's when I see it. The little black cat scampering through the airport.	Magic. Heh. You know what it is? You don't know nothing. That's magic. You think magic is what I do? Deception? Sleight of hand? Having a few more gadgets than you think I do, and some pretty assistants to keep your attention away? You don't know nothing. See, magic... magic means knowing something you don't. Like right now. I casually make sure the mike is where it ought be, breathe in, and shout. "So that's it, Detroit! Good night, and..." And I trail off, and I smile, and three hundred throats scream "GOOD LUCK!" Suckers. -001
Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.	[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person	Some guy in Oklahoma won the lottery yesterday, poor fucker. Said he'd saved up his Luck for ten years before buying that ticket. I give him seventy-two hours until he's hit by a truck or falls off a cliff. What kind of idiot leaves no luck in reserve? I'm feeling a bit antsy, myself. Just yesterday I found a dollar on the street. God knows how much luck that cost me. I'm extra careful today on my way to work. Five miles below the limit. Complete stops at the sign. At work, I and my colleagues try to keep track of everyone's luck. It's not so much a tangible number, we never know exactly who has how much. But we do our best on ensuring that the elderly on their death beds are giving away as much as humanly possible. They don't need it. At lunch I flip on the TV. Between programs, the commercials. Cancer victims, mutants, widows, all wishing what little luck they have left to millions of faceless viewers across the airwaves. A final kind gesture from the inevitably fucked. It doesn't give much luck to anyone as they are so many recipients, but it's the thought that counts. On my way home from work I cross the street to the parking garage. Halfway across the intersection a car barrels down the road, narrowly missing me. He slams on the breaks, jumps out of his car. Shit, we're both thinking. That was lucky. And then, the horrifying realization: how much do we have left? "Go!" I yell. He hops back in his car. I race to mine. I've got to get out of here. In fifteen minutes I'm at the airport. Before I even get in line there are dozens of uniformed men and women wishing me luck -- don't want any unlucky bastards getting on the plane and killing the rest of us. Perfect. Every time those precious words leave their mouths I feel just a little bit safer. If I don't get on the plane, though, I'm going to prison. Can't steal the free luck for passengers, can I? Just then, the ground begins to quake. Everyone screams. In the distance, I can see people dropping like flies, instantly dying. They collapse onto the floor in waves... headed towards me. And that's when I see it. The little black cat scampering through the airport.	“My name is Ben, and I’m the unluckiest man in the world.” “Hi Ben.” The chorus of responses filled the otherwise barren basement with hope, something Benjamin Porter needed quite badly. He was not, strictly speaking, a needy person by nature; in almost every instance, he gave far more than he received. But even an eternal giver needs an ego boost from time to time, and that was where U.A. came in. Unfortunates Anonymous surfaced soon after the crash of 2021. Like its sobering cousin organization, U.A. became a haven for the luckless masses at the beginning of the New Depression. Its motto, “Retain Fortune,” was not a product of the gluttonous or the greedy; in the organization’s eyes, everyone deserved to keep a little luck for themselves. The genuinely nice and kind and caring people of the world tended to dispense Good Luck like individually wrapped candy on Halloween, blissfully unaware of the toll on their own dwindling resources. The world was plagued with an uneven distribution of fortune; U.A. was the first step toward a remedy. Ben looked around the circle nervously, trying to find the courage to continue. There’s no easy way to admit you’re the worst at something. The man with the clipboard broke the tense silence. “It’s okay, Ben, you’ve already done the hardest part. You’re in good company. Take your time.” Pete Burns saw the pain in the young man’s eyes; after leading U.A. meetings for almost fifteen years, the signs were hard to miss. “We share because we care.” “And that’s okay,” came the mumbled chorus as the congregation shifted in their metal seats. “We’re here for you, Ben,” Pete said, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “Whenever you’re ready.” As Ben walked the group through the trials of his short but eventful life, he began to relax. The act of giving a voice to the awfulness bottled up inside worked wonders: the slouch he came in with melted away; his hands became an extension of the story, gesturing this way and that; and through the tears, his eyes twinkled with hope. At long last, he sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. It was some time before anyone stirred, and even Pete had a difficult time transitioning from the mournful saga. “Well, thank you for sharing, Ben. I think we all owe you something for your efforts.” “Thank you, Ben, and good luck,” the group answered, each response a heartfelt declaration of sincerity. “Don’t forget: next week’s meeting has been moved to Tuesday night!” Pete shouted over the scraping of metal on concrete as the group packed up their chairs. “Ronnie’s already shown an interest in speaking, and I think she deserves an audience!” Ben walked out into the lightly falling snow. He crossed the street before pausing to look up into the swirling January night, his breath dancing between the snowflakes. If the rush of brick dust had not startled him from his winter reverie, he might have missed the collapse of the building entirely. Benjamin Porter was no longer the unluckiest man in the world. -002
	[WP] Write a story about how people would react if the oceans started drying up	2015 headlines Netherlands now winning war with ocean flooding. 2016 headlines Shots fired as Bill Clinton makes shrew remarks comparing Hilary's vagina to drying of oceans. 2018 headlines Greece calls dibs on the possible available land of the drying Mediterranean, Libra's Jealous and reenacts the status of we were here first. 2087 headline. Republicans deny ocean drying, proposing the concept of the oceans being half-full compared to the Liberal concept of them being half empty. 2103 headlines Blue whales adapting to dry land, big annoyance to all. 2126 headlines New Water, the newest tread to hit shelves. Everyone is buying it, just like the old stuff. 2127 headlines New Water is H2O2, thousands are dead. 2284 headlines Have any of you seen water lately, I so need it right now.	First thing people noticed, the coastline suddenly got farther out to sea in the shallow areas. In the areas with a drop off, suddenly there was a cliff that there wasn't before. This happened over a period of a few months. So at first, nobody really noticed. Then, a month after it started happening, then people took notice and boy, did they notice. Of course there were the doomsday predictors (this time there were far more of them) and there were the skeptics who didn't want to jump to conclusions. This was the first three months. Six months after "The Big Drought", as people were calling it, the oceans had receded two miles from their previous spots. If you can picture this, you will know that it was a dramatic change. The only bodies of water that were unaffected were the bodies of water not connected to the ocean, inland lakes and rivers not flowing to the seas. By this point almost everyone knew that there was a global catastrophe on hand because weather patterns had changed, the deserts had become strictly inhospitable, and without the oceans producing enough cloud cover to reflect the sun, the global temperature rose 2 degrees. This was enough to make most of the ice caps melt. Unfortunately, it was not nearly enough to reverse the drying of the oceans. It may have slowed it down, but after six months, the oceans had fallen about 75 feet. One year after the oceans had started to dry up. The Earth was struggling. Millions have died by this point as a result of starvation, thirst, etc. Many of the crops were gone, the entire climate of the earth had changed. Only those lucky few souls that owned farms right on the inland lakes could survive still. However, even they were noticing their lake levels falling. Without oceanic storm systems coming through to replenish the lakes, or other sources of water, scavengers from the equatorial regions were migrating towards the more temperate climates farther north or south. Along the way they were taking any water they could get. What the globe is like right now-many cities and countries along the equator either struggling, anarchic, or completely gone. Many countries without inland fresh water are really struggling. The Earth is descending into chaos. Two years. The oceans are now merely extremely concentrated ponds of salt far too deep into the Earth's crust for anyone to care. The primary water that is still around is deep in the Marianas trench, but no one cares to go down there, through stinking carcasses of oceanic plant and animal life laying prone on scorching salt plains. On the plus side, scientists are now able to see what the geography of the land under the seas looks like. There are three new trenches, deeper than Marianas, that are newly uncovered. Not that anyone cares, everyone died months ago. If there is anyone still alive, they are hidden and slowly running out of water. The weather has basically stopped, what was once green is now almost entirely brown and dead, again, except for a few oases, and dust storms, where there were once storms of snow and rain, reign supreme. Three years after the oceans started to dry up. Civilization hasn't rotted away completely yet, the buildings at least. Sure, the last people alive died 2 years 3 months after the oceans started to dry up, but the buildings are well preserved due to the lack of corrosive moisture in the air. The oceans dried up but the water didn't stay in the air. It disappeared, and with it, essentially al life on Earth.
	[WP] Write a story about how people would react if the oceans started drying up	2015 headlines Netherlands now winning war with ocean flooding. 2016 headlines Shots fired as Bill Clinton makes shrew remarks comparing Hilary's vagina to drying of oceans. 2018 headlines Greece calls dibs on the possible available land of the drying Mediterranean, Libra's Jealous and reenacts the status of we were here first. 2087 headline. Republicans deny ocean drying, proposing the concept of the oceans being half-full compared to the Liberal concept of them being half empty. 2103 headlines Blue whales adapting to dry land, big annoyance to all. 2126 headlines New Water, the newest tread to hit shelves. Everyone is buying it, just like the old stuff. 2127 headlines New Water is H2O2, thousands are dead. 2284 headlines Have any of you seen water lately, I so need it right now.	I watched her sit far out in the distance. From the window of our home she looked like a little dot. But I knew it was her, no one else would be sitting out there. No one else is like her. I make my way out of our beach house, on to the "beach" that costs us 2million to live by. I know its a petty thing to complain about with all the disaster and tragity. but it helps keep me sane, thinking about the weight of the situation has already proven to be useless and destructive to things I have left. The stench of dead rotting fish has long left this strange flat plane of rocks and dried coral. bones stuck from the sand like sharp needles. Once you got a few yards out past the sand dune it started to smooth out. There she was, her white dress flitting in the wind. her bare feet in the water that lapped around her toes . Her sun hat was tilted up to the sky, and the unforgiving sun that sealed our fate unforgivingly kissed her skin. I sat next to her. I could tell she was looking at the pieces of the shattered moon that faded against our blue sky. "Its kind of nice being the only ones left" she mused. I Twirled a piece of her red hair around my fingers, but said nothing. "you blame your self. dont." Her voice was so calm , I never understand how she does it. "I bought you this home so we could live a long life together. two million. If I would have waited a few months.....that money could get us to Mars with the rest of our fami...." She cut me off with a kiss. I couldn't dare to stop her. She left me heavy and breathless, tears thick on my cheeks. "Im here with you now my love." I let her hold me, let the water wash around my clothing and soak into my skin. "this is what I wanted, to live my life out by the ocean with you. even if that meant a little shorter than we expected."
	[WP] You go back in time to prevent your teen self from masturbating. The fate of the future world depends on it.	“How many times,” said the Time Lord, “do you bring forth your seed?” “What, you mean ‘ever’? How can anyone know THAT?” I replied. “Hmmm. We will do what we must do in that case.” “What do you mean?” I replied cautiously. I couldn’t understand what he is talking about because time is all muddled for me, from his perspective. For him, everything happens all at once, and there is no time. His past is my future and present. My past is his future. He sure talks funny. “The year will be 2134 on your calendar. The son you knew and love will be building a weapon of previously unknown design. He had set it off on Earth and the atmosphere will ignite.” “In that case,“ I replied, “ we will never know which ‘batch’ of my seed brought him into this world. “Correct” “This means I need to go back to my teen years and prevent myself from bringing forth the seed ever, or masturbate furiously and hope my copulation with my wife isn’t the one that brings him here.” “Yes. Please err on the side of caution and stop yourself altogether.” “I agree.” -------------------------------------------------------------- And that is the story of how I went back in time and chopped off my own balls so that I would never masturbate again. And I didn’t.	As soon as I was transported, I sat on the toilet of the bathroom of the house I still live in, looking down. I looked at my silver watch. T-minus three minutes. I walked out of the bathroom, taking just a few steps into my bedroom and staring at him. Him, the kid laying on the twin bed. Him, the one.. I knew what he was going to do. And I knew I had a full frontal shadow. He couldn't see a thing. "No." I said simply, moving back with the shadow cover. I went into the bathroom, disappearing back to the future. Everything was fine, there on out.
	[WP] You commit suicide. The next thing you hear is "Welcome back."	NO! I wanted out. I needed to be out. I can't do this anymore. Why? Why did they bring me back? My note was clear about what I wanted. It was suppose to be the end. I repeated those words in my head over and over and over as I lay in that cramped hospital bed with dozens of tubes sticking out of me in every direction. Only my right eye was working, and my brain. The same brain that I was so desperately trying to turn off. My father walked out on me and my mother when I was 3. Cancer took her less than a year later. A string of abusive foster homes bred me into the dark, cold, hardened man-child that I am today. Nothing had been fair in my life. How could I expect anything better from death? The doctor came in today to remove some of the tubes and turn off a few of those beeping machines. It was the same one who said "welcome back" when I first woke up. Welcome back. He thought he was doing me a favor. I'll do everyone a favor as soon as I can get out of here. I panicked when they pricked my legs and I couldn't feel them. Will I ever be able to walk again? Then I realized it didn't matter. The doctor frowned and said that we'll try again tomorrow. I don't care. The casts are finally coming off. They will discharge me in the morning as soon as I can sign the paperwork. The doctor says that I will never be able to get pregnant. Is that a joke? Whatever. The wheelchair is old and ragged. It has seen more than its share of owners. I push myself into the bathroom to have one final look at the face I hate so much. It isn't me. The woman staring back from the mirror is beautiful, underneath all the injuries. I raise my hand and she does too. What trickery is this? A creak catches my attention. I turn my head and say "someone is in here" with a voice that isn't my own. The door opens and I see the silhouette of a man. He steps forward, and the light reveals that it's ... it's me. He raises a gun. "Wait! No! Stop! This isn't me!" I scream. "I want to live!" The muzzle flashes and the world goes dark.	It's difficult to explain suicide. It's like taking a train to somewhere you'd rather be, but instead of pressing the button and getting on it like everyone else, you jump in front of it. I was not a particularly happy woman for at least four-fifths of my life, but it took a worse-than-average Sunday afternoon, some badly placed nutella and four pinecones for me to decide to take that last leg of the journey between passively not wanting to live and actively taking my own life. So, after drastically delaying the 4:52 to Penzance and traumatising at least two young children and a pigeon, I opened my eyes in complete wonder to find three men and a woman staring at me. "Welcome back." They chorused chirpily, like really happy fucking birds. I winced at my terrible internal monologue and put it down to having died a few seconds earlier. I hoped it would pick up. We were standing in a rather large green field, hazy mountain peaks lingering in the distance. My brains were safely inside my head, and no major bones seemed to have broken, though I did have a slight cramp in my left big toe that would go on to annoy me for at least an hour and a half. The four people were standing in front of me were dressed like bad extras from a budget version of Lord of the Rings. We're talking leather and ragged shirts and really muddy boots like they'd just been walking across a muddy field. (Internal monologue was still playing up.) "Welcome back?" I asked quizzically. Barring the year 12 trip to Dorset, I couldn't remember the last time I'd been in the countryside, and even that trip had ended swiftly after Jeanette had slipped out and had sex with a farmer's boy. To this day she still maintains it was an accident. "Welcome back to Oxor. Your home. You belong with us. In your dreams, often you were here. You walked the green fields with us and broke bread with us. Here is where you belong." I was slightly sceptical. I looked between the four of them, weighing up my options. Just then, a huge winged shadow past over head and we all bent our heads back to watch a beast fly over us. "Was..." I gulped. "Was that a dragon?" "Yes your honour." One replied I cracked a grin and looked up again. "I'm definitely staying."
	[WP] You commit suicide. The next thing you hear is "Welcome back."	The voice had spoken to him again. It had been worse this time. It told him of what was to come. Of the suffering he would endure, the pain. It would be slow and miserable, and he would be mocked by all. There would be no glory in his death, yet it was necessary. The voice didn't say why he had to die so, only that he HAD to. He had no say in all this, of course. He didn't want to die, not like this. His eyes darted to the knife next to his bed. The voice could say what it wanted, but he still had control. His hand wrapped about the knife, considering what he was about to do. He knew his friends would be saddened by his death. Yet, if he died, they would be safer, instead of associating with an "enemy of the state". The voice spoke again, telling him not to do this, pleading with him. He smiled. "I'm in control this time!" he shouted to the voice in his head, "You can't tell me what to do!" Lunging quickly, he plunged the knife into his body, into his heart. He was surprised by the burning feeling of the cold blade plunging in. "I'm free..." He muttered as his vision darkened. "Welcome back" the voice said, now audible. It was tinged with disappointment. His vision cleared now to reveal a heavenly light floating above him. Suddenly, he realized what had happened. "Hello...Dad" "You failed again Jesus. You can't keep backing out like this. The world needs you" God the Father's light beamed down on him. "I didn't ask for this. I don't want to die like that." "You must, for the..." "...Sake of all mankind, I know. I've heard you say it for the last 50 years." "You know you must do it again until you get it right." "I know, I just...can you help me more?" He hated to ask for help, but he was sick of dying and coming back just to try again. He wanted to come back, enjoy heaven again. "I suppose I have been distant in your last few lives. Maybe I can be more direct." "Thanks Dad. So, who's going to give birth to me this time?" "Well, a woman by the name of Mary is in the right place and is a loving person." "Alright then, let's try again. Third times the charm" PS. I'm trying to delve into writing again, so be gentle if you could. Also, no intent to offend anyone or their faith, just the idea I had.	It's difficult to explain suicide. It's like taking a train to somewhere you'd rather be, but instead of pressing the button and getting on it like everyone else, you jump in front of it. I was not a particularly happy woman for at least four-fifths of my life, but it took a worse-than-average Sunday afternoon, some badly placed nutella and four pinecones for me to decide to take that last leg of the journey between passively not wanting to live and actively taking my own life. So, after drastically delaying the 4:52 to Penzance and traumatising at least two young children and a pigeon, I opened my eyes in complete wonder to find three men and a woman staring at me. "Welcome back." They chorused chirpily, like really happy fucking birds. I winced at my terrible internal monologue and put it down to having died a few seconds earlier. I hoped it would pick up. We were standing in a rather large green field, hazy mountain peaks lingering in the distance. My brains were safely inside my head, and no major bones seemed to have broken, though I did have a slight cramp in my left big toe that would go on to annoy me for at least an hour and a half. The four people were standing in front of me were dressed like bad extras from a budget version of Lord of the Rings. We're talking leather and ragged shirts and really muddy boots like they'd just been walking across a muddy field. (Internal monologue was still playing up.) "Welcome back?" I asked quizzically. Barring the year 12 trip to Dorset, I couldn't remember the last time I'd been in the countryside, and even that trip had ended swiftly after Jeanette had slipped out and had sex with a farmer's boy. To this day she still maintains it was an accident. "Welcome back to Oxor. Your home. You belong with us. In your dreams, often you were here. You walked the green fields with us and broke bread with us. Here is where you belong." I was slightly sceptical. I looked between the four of them, weighing up my options. Just then, a huge winged shadow past over head and we all bent our heads back to watch a beast fly over us. "Was..." I gulped. "Was that a dragon?" "Yes your honour." One replied I cracked a grin and looked up again. "I'm definitely staying."
	[WP] You commit suicide. The next thing you hear is "Welcome back."	There was no reason for me to continue living. I had accomplished every single one of my life goals. Dream house, dream job, dream car, dream family, kids in dream college, dream lakehouse, dream everything, really. The thing with a perfect dream is that it gets boring. Having spent so much of my life working toward my dreams, I gave no consideration to what I'd actually be doing with them. I'd accomplished everything I'd set out to do. With nothing left to experience, there was no more point. I took the revolver I kept in my bedside drawer into the bathroom. I checked the cylinder, it had exactly one bullet. I stuck the barrel between my lips, aimed at the roof of my mouth, and fired. "Welcome back, Ian," The EternaLife Simulator 3014 greeted me as it flushed the sedatives out from my system and replaced them with a mild stimulant. "Which life would you like to experience next?" I grinned and pondered its question for a moment. With the data of over 300 million lives stored in its memory, I needed a moment. I wanted something more exciting than the previous life I'd played. With the flick of a wrist, the Simulator brought up its menu of choices. Deep sea diver? No. Treasure hunter? No. Film star? No. Serial killer? No. My grin widened as I spotted the perfect life. "Homeless man," I ordered, reclining into my cushioned seat. "Very good, Ian," the automated voice replied as the computer started pumping sedatives into my bloodstream.	It's difficult to explain suicide. It's like taking a train to somewhere you'd rather be, but instead of pressing the button and getting on it like everyone else, you jump in front of it. I was not a particularly happy woman for at least four-fifths of my life, but it took a worse-than-average Sunday afternoon, some badly placed nutella and four pinecones for me to decide to take that last leg of the journey between passively not wanting to live and actively taking my own life. So, after drastically delaying the 4:52 to Penzance and traumatising at least two young children and a pigeon, I opened my eyes in complete wonder to find three men and a woman staring at me. "Welcome back." They chorused chirpily, like really happy fucking birds. I winced at my terrible internal monologue and put it down to having died a few seconds earlier. I hoped it would pick up. We were standing in a rather large green field, hazy mountain peaks lingering in the distance. My brains were safely inside my head, and no major bones seemed to have broken, though I did have a slight cramp in my left big toe that would go on to annoy me for at least an hour and a half. The four people were standing in front of me were dressed like bad extras from a budget version of Lord of the Rings. We're talking leather and ragged shirts and really muddy boots like they'd just been walking across a muddy field. (Internal monologue was still playing up.) "Welcome back?" I asked quizzically. Barring the year 12 trip to Dorset, I couldn't remember the last time I'd been in the countryside, and even that trip had ended swiftly after Jeanette had slipped out and had sex with a farmer's boy. To this day she still maintains it was an accident. "Welcome back to Oxor. Your home. You belong with us. In your dreams, often you were here. You walked the green fields with us and broke bread with us. Here is where you belong." I was slightly sceptical. I looked between the four of them, weighing up my options. Just then, a huge winged shadow past over head and we all bent our heads back to watch a beast fly over us. "Was..." I gulped. "Was that a dragon?" "Yes your honour." One replied I cracked a grin and looked up again. "I'm definitely staying."
	[WP] You commit suicide. The next thing you hear is "Welcome back."	The voice had spoken to him again. It had been worse this time. It told him of what was to come. Of the suffering he would endure, the pain. It would be slow and miserable, and he would be mocked by all. There would be no glory in his death, yet it was necessary. The voice didn't say why he had to die so, only that he HAD to. He had no say in all this, of course. He didn't want to die, not like this. His eyes darted to the knife next to his bed. The voice could say what it wanted, but he still had control. His hand wrapped about the knife, considering what he was about to do. He knew his friends would be saddened by his death. Yet, if he died, they would be safer, instead of associating with an "enemy of the state". The voice spoke again, telling him not to do this, pleading with him. He smiled. "I'm in control this time!" he shouted to the voice in his head, "You can't tell me what to do!" Lunging quickly, he plunged the knife into his body, into his heart. He was surprised by the burning feeling of the cold blade plunging in. "I'm free..." He muttered as his vision darkened. "Welcome back" the voice said, now audible. It was tinged with disappointment. His vision cleared now to reveal a heavenly light floating above him. Suddenly, he realized what had happened. "Hello...Dad" "You failed again Jesus. You can't keep backing out like this. The world needs you" God the Father's light beamed down on him. "I didn't ask for this. I don't want to die like that." "You must, for the..." "...Sake of all mankind, I know. I've heard you say it for the last 50 years." "You know you must do it again until you get it right." "I know, I just...can you help me more?" He hated to ask for help, but he was sick of dying and coming back just to try again. He wanted to come back, enjoy heaven again. "I suppose I have been distant in your last few lives. Maybe I can be more direct." "Thanks Dad. So, who's going to give birth to me this time?" "Well, a woman by the name of Mary is in the right place and is a loving person." "Alright then, let's try again. Third times the charm" PS. I'm trying to delve into writing again, so be gentle if you could. Also, no intent to offend anyone or their faith, just the idea I had.	NO! I wanted out. I needed to be out. I can't do this anymore. Why? Why did they bring me back? My note was clear about what I wanted. It was suppose to be the end. I repeated those words in my head over and over and over as I lay in that cramped hospital bed with dozens of tubes sticking out of me in every direction. Only my right eye was working, and my brain. The same brain that I was so desperately trying to turn off. My father walked out on me and my mother when I was 3. Cancer took her less than a year later. A string of abusive foster homes bred me into the dark, cold, hardened man-child that I am today. Nothing had been fair in my life. How could I expect anything better from death? The doctor came in today to remove some of the tubes and turn off a few of those beeping machines. It was the same one who said "welcome back" when I first woke up. Welcome back. He thought he was doing me a favor. I'll do everyone a favor as soon as I can get out of here. I panicked when they pricked my legs and I couldn't feel them. Will I ever be able to walk again? Then I realized it didn't matter. The doctor frowned and said that we'll try again tomorrow. I don't care. The casts are finally coming off. They will discharge me in the morning as soon as I can sign the paperwork. The doctor says that I will never be able to get pregnant. Is that a joke? Whatever. The wheelchair is old and ragged. It has seen more than its share of owners. I push myself into the bathroom to have one final look at the face I hate so much. It isn't me. The woman staring back from the mirror is beautiful, underneath all the injuries. I raise my hand and she does too. What trickery is this? A creak catches my attention. I turn my head and say "someone is in here" with a voice that isn't my own. The door opens and I see the silhouette of a man. He steps forward, and the light reveals that it's ... it's me. He raises a gun. "Wait! No! Stop! This isn't me!" I scream. "I want to live!" The muzzle flashes and the world goes dark.
	[WP] You commit suicide. The next thing you hear is "Welcome back."	There was no reason for me to continue living. I had accomplished every single one of my life goals. Dream house, dream job, dream car, dream family, kids in dream college, dream lakehouse, dream everything, really. The thing with a perfect dream is that it gets boring. Having spent so much of my life working toward my dreams, I gave no consideration to what I'd actually be doing with them. I'd accomplished everything I'd set out to do. With nothing left to experience, there was no more point. I took the revolver I kept in my bedside drawer into the bathroom. I checked the cylinder, it had exactly one bullet. I stuck the barrel between my lips, aimed at the roof of my mouth, and fired. "Welcome back, Ian," The EternaLife Simulator 3014 greeted me as it flushed the sedatives out from my system and replaced them with a mild stimulant. "Which life would you like to experience next?" I grinned and pondered its question for a moment. With the data of over 300 million lives stored in its memory, I needed a moment. I wanted something more exciting than the previous life I'd played. With the flick of a wrist, the Simulator brought up its menu of choices. Deep sea diver? No. Treasure hunter? No. Film star? No. Serial killer? No. My grin widened as I spotted the perfect life. "Homeless man," I ordered, reclining into my cushioned seat. "Very good, Ian," the automated voice replied as the computer started pumping sedatives into my bloodstream.	NO! I wanted out. I needed to be out. I can't do this anymore. Why? Why did they bring me back? My note was clear about what I wanted. It was suppose to be the end. I repeated those words in my head over and over and over as I lay in that cramped hospital bed with dozens of tubes sticking out of me in every direction. Only my right eye was working, and my brain. The same brain that I was so desperately trying to turn off. My father walked out on me and my mother when I was 3. Cancer took her less than a year later. A string of abusive foster homes bred me into the dark, cold, hardened man-child that I am today. Nothing had been fair in my life. How could I expect anything better from death? The doctor came in today to remove some of the tubes and turn off a few of those beeping machines. It was the same one who said "welcome back" when I first woke up. Welcome back. He thought he was doing me a favor. I'll do everyone a favor as soon as I can get out of here. I panicked when they pricked my legs and I couldn't feel them. Will I ever be able to walk again? Then I realized it didn't matter. The doctor frowned and said that we'll try again tomorrow. I don't care. The casts are finally coming off. They will discharge me in the morning as soon as I can sign the paperwork. The doctor says that I will never be able to get pregnant. Is that a joke? Whatever. The wheelchair is old and ragged. It has seen more than its share of owners. I push myself into the bathroom to have one final look at the face I hate so much. It isn't me. The woman staring back from the mirror is beautiful, underneath all the injuries. I raise my hand and she does too. What trickery is this? A creak catches my attention. I turn my head and say "someone is in here" with a voice that isn't my own. The door opens and I see the silhouette of a man. He steps forward, and the light reveals that it's ... it's me. He raises a gun. "Wait! No! Stop! This isn't me!" I scream. "I want to live!" The muzzle flashes and the world goes dark.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The vibrant colors twist and turn, accentuating and exploding into new patterns and ideas, as characters and figures fade in and out, pleasantly until the drug leaves my body- leaving me to a faded and dull world of grey.	This world houses all archived descriptions of every past, present and future world.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The gravity was so low the rain fell up, it was a hell of a job for the birds.	This world houses all archived descriptions of every past, present and future world.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The first time I visited, I thought she had been lying about the tear - that was, until I noticed that not a single home in the cul-de-sac had windows.	This world houses all archived descriptions of every past, present and future world.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	Holy fucking shit there is so much fucking sand in my eyes all the time, it's like this planet is a black dildo sized leaf blower with an infinite amount of coarse, vag-tearing, blistering sand that makes life a really slutty titty-fucking bitch.	This world houses all archived descriptions of every past, present and future world.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The inhabitants of this land lead peaceful lives, so long as they keep from gazing toward the skies.	This world houses all archived descriptions of every past, present and future world.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The vibrant colors twist and turn, accentuating and exploding into new patterns and ideas, as characters and figures fade in and out, pleasantly until the drug leaves my body- leaving me to a faded and dull world of grey.	With all the new urban landscaping going on along with Myrtle planting those snazzy daffodils, you'll hardly notice the massive gaping hole in the planet's surface.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The gravity was so low the rain fell up, it was a hell of a job for the birds.	With all the new urban landscaping going on along with Myrtle planting those snazzy daffodils, you'll hardly notice the massive gaping hole in the planet's surface.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The first time I visited, I thought she had been lying about the tear - that was, until I noticed that not a single home in the cul-de-sac had windows.	With all the new urban landscaping going on along with Myrtle planting those snazzy daffodils, you'll hardly notice the massive gaping hole in the planet's surface.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	Holy fucking shit there is so much fucking sand in my eyes all the time, it's like this planet is a black dildo sized leaf blower with an infinite amount of coarse, vag-tearing, blistering sand that makes life a really slutty titty-fucking bitch.	With all the new urban landscaping going on along with Myrtle planting those snazzy daffodils, you'll hardly notice the massive gaping hole in the planet's surface.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The inhabitants of this land lead peaceful lives, so long as they keep from gazing toward the skies.	With all the new urban landscaping going on along with Myrtle planting those snazzy daffodils, you'll hardly notice the massive gaping hole in the planet's surface.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The vibrant colors twist and turn, accentuating and exploding into new patterns and ideas, as characters and figures fade in and out, pleasantly until the drug leaves my body- leaving me to a faded and dull world of grey.	Our Great Sun wanders; crisscrossing its way through the sky of near purple, and above the beasts we have become.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The inhabitants of this land lead peaceful lives, so long as they keep from gazing toward the skies.	Our Great Sun wanders; crisscrossing its way through the sky of near purple, and above the beasts we have become.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The vibrant colors twist and turn, accentuating and exploding into new patterns and ideas, as characters and figures fade in and out, pleasantly until the drug leaves my body- leaving me to a faded and dull world of grey.	The smell of rotting flesh only subsided in green zones.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	Magi-Punk Venice is perpetually in a exploitative economic relationship with the mainland, while Blood-Mage Dominated Fantasy-Europe is perpetually at war with a bunch of wolf-riding giants in the north and carnivorous plant taming savages in the south.	It's kind of like your world, but less oxygen-y
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The vibrant colors twist and turn, accentuating and exploding into new patterns and ideas, as characters and figures fade in and out, pleasantly until the drug leaves my body- leaving me to a faded and dull world of grey.	It's kind of like your world, but less oxygen-y
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The gravity was so low the rain fell up, it was a hell of a job for the birds.	It's kind of like your world, but less oxygen-y
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The first time I visited, I thought she had been lying about the tear - that was, until I noticed that not a single home in the cul-de-sac had windows.	It's kind of like your world, but less oxygen-y
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	Holy fucking shit there is so much fucking sand in my eyes all the time, it's like this planet is a black dildo sized leaf blower with an infinite amount of coarse, vag-tearing, blistering sand that makes life a really slutty titty-fucking bitch.	It's kind of like your world, but less oxygen-y
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The inhabitants of this land lead peaceful lives, so long as they keep from gazing toward the skies.	It's kind of like your world, but less oxygen-y
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The gravity was so low the rain fell up, it was a hell of a job for the birds.	Magi-Punk Venice is perpetually in a exploitative economic relationship with the mainland, while Blood-Mage Dominated Fantasy-Europe is perpetually at war with a bunch of wolf-riding giants in the north and carnivorous plant taming savages in the south.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The first time I visited, I thought she had been lying about the tear - that was, until I noticed that not a single home in the cul-de-sac had windows.	Magi-Punk Venice is perpetually in a exploitative economic relationship with the mainland, while Blood-Mage Dominated Fantasy-Europe is perpetually at war with a bunch of wolf-riding giants in the north and carnivorous plant taming savages in the south.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	Holy fucking shit there is so much fucking sand in my eyes all the time, it's like this planet is a black dildo sized leaf blower with an infinite amount of coarse, vag-tearing, blistering sand that makes life a really slutty titty-fucking bitch.	Magi-Punk Venice is perpetually in a exploitative economic relationship with the mainland, while Blood-Mage Dominated Fantasy-Europe is perpetually at war with a bunch of wolf-riding giants in the north and carnivorous plant taming savages in the south.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The inhabitants of this land lead peaceful lives, so long as they keep from gazing toward the skies.	Magi-Punk Venice is perpetually in a exploitative economic relationship with the mainland, while Blood-Mage Dominated Fantasy-Europe is perpetually at war with a bunch of wolf-riding giants in the north and carnivorous plant taming savages in the south.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The inhabitants of this land lead peaceful lives, so long as they keep from gazing toward the skies.	The gravity was so low the rain fell up, it was a hell of a job for the birds.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The inhabitants of this land lead peaceful lives, so long as they keep from gazing toward the skies.	The first time I visited, I thought she had been lying about the tear - that was, until I noticed that not a single home in the cul-de-sac had windows.
.	[FF] describe a fictional world in 1 sentence	The inhabitants of this land lead peaceful lives, so long as they keep from gazing toward the skies.	Holy fucking shit there is so much fucking sand in my eyes all the time, it's like this planet is a black dildo sized leaf blower with an infinite amount of coarse, vag-tearing, blistering sand that makes life a really slutty titty-fucking bitch.
Mythological creatures weren't always real. Their somewhat recent emergence is revealing some seriously unexpected and unpleasant realities.	[WP] Mythological creatures are real, but far from bringing wonder and joy to the world they're really more of pests.	"I told you not to get unicorns," I grumbled. "I fucking told you." That old legend warned us that if we killed unicorns, we were the embodiment of true evil, and that our souls would slowly become corrupted. It forgot to mention the part about unicorns being five inches tall and reproducing faster than rabbits. I took no joy in peeling off the furry bits of dead unicorn from my sneaker. "Look, I didn't know," protested my brother, as he scooped out thirty or forty dead unicorns from the unicorn cage and piled them into a cardboard box. "Please tell me we're not going to bury each one of those," I sneered. "If we don't, the legend says we'll grow hair on our palms and go blind!" worried my brother. "No, man- that's masturbating, and that doesn't happen!" I retorted. "Just flush them down the toilet. Goddamned my-little-ponies!" I scrubbed my shoe intensely with my teeth gritted as my brother mopingly left the room with his cardboard box filled with dead unicorns. "I can't do it!" I heard shouted from the bathroom. I slammed the shoe down and sighed. He couldn't ever do anything that was remotely challenging. I would have to check the sex of every one of these things after I flushed them down the toilet and I finished cleaning the unicorn cage. You know what he would do? He'd go play x-box and tell mom he cleaned. Dick. I stomped into the bathroom and yanked the cardboard box out of his hands. "Gimme that!" I commanded. "Go clean out the cage." I tipped the cardboard box upside down and thirty dead unicorns fell into the toilet and I instantly slammed the flusher. And you know what? The toilet clogged.	Joseph walks into the ranger station, wishing jambo to the man he is relieving. He settles down at his desk and turns on his short-wave radio. Radio chatter fills the small office as Joseph begins his day's paperwork. "Code 14, code 14. Masai Mara! Masai Mara!" squeels the radio. Joseph puts on his headset and speaks in Swahilli to the man. Words are exchanged as Joseph nods to himself then suddenly bolts out the door. He jumps into a park jeep, puts it in gear, and flies down a dirt covered path, kicking up a small cloud of dust behind him. He drives gritting his teeth and taking turns at speeds that nearly topple the military surplus willys jeep. Zebra and Water Buffalo stare as he passes then go back to grazing, uninterested in the affairs of humans. Ten minutes later he arrives at a clearing and slams on the brakes. He gets out of the jeep and curses to himself. "God damn it, god damn it, god damn it" he repeats and ends his cursing with a swift kick to the jeep's spare tire. He goes back in the vehicle, sits for a moment, performs a short prayer, and picks up the radio. "Lost one today." he says in the microphone. There is a long pause. "Ok. Ok. Follow procedure. We'll be there shortly," crackles out. "Yes," he quietly replies. A moment later Joseph is standing over the bleeding body of a unicorn, its horn cut from it. The horn stump bleeds at an incredible rate. Joseph's eyes meet with the left eye of the unicorn as it lies there twitching. The eye blinks a couple times as Joseph raises his service pistol and says "I'm sorry." The shot rings across the Masai Mara waking animals and sending others running and flying. Joseph watches the spooked animals for a moment before bending over and stroking the face of the unicorn, his long black fingers making their way through its silver fur, feeling the warmth of its body slowly fading away.
Mythological creatures weren't always real. Their somewhat recent emergence is revealing some seriously unexpected and unpleasant realities.	[WP] Mythological creatures are real, but far from bringing wonder and joy to the world they're really more of pests.	Paul Newman once said that you should never meet your heroes. They usually end up being quite disappointing and well, human. Then the elves showed up, and we realized that having our heroes be...well, heroic, is a lot worse than the alternative. It was pretty nice at first, when they reappeared out of nowhere off the coast of Bermuda. Those pointy-eared bastards were all perfect. Beautiful, tall, kind, strong, intelligent, the whole nine yards. Millions of people around the world were elated at the thought of their Tolkien fantasies coming true. The elves were treated like kings and queens and they soon became pop culture icons, an ideal to which all mankind can follow. There weren't very many of them, but within a few years, each and every single one of them held some sort of important position. Artists, scientists, politicians, movie stars, our culture had definitely taken an elvish spin to it. Then, our egos slowly but surely started to creep in. Insecurity is one of the worst human traits, and it reared its ugly head with the elvish people. They are too perfect, some would say. They are unnatural, others would argue. Religious leaders around the world freaking out at what appeared to be a living, breathing violation of their holy texts certainly didn't help. Soon, we created laws to limit the elvish influence on our world. Racism, or..spiecism I guess, started to creep in. "Earth is only for humans!" Radicals exclaimed. "Send them back to wherever they came from!" That was also a popular one. The elves, they were kind. Generous. Magnanimous even. But they do not fuck around. After one of them got assassinated in Monaco, the rest of the elves gathered and gave us a very simple edict. Calm down, leave us alone, or face the consequences. Now see, after they said all that shit, it became a matter of pride. Men do not like being told what to do, especially by someone clearly superior to us. Military heads around the world were outraged, and within days, we had locked up most of the elvish people. The public weren't told where they were kept, for all we know it could've been in Auschwitz. Then, the rest of the elves showed up. Tens of thousands of them poured out from what can only be described as "nowhere". Some scientists have theorized that they came from some kind of...temporal or dimensional rift. Some bullshit like that, it really doesn't matter. What IS clear though, is that those elves were fucking livid. After setting up a base at Greenland, of all places, they demanded the release of their kind, or severe repercussions will follow. All out war was not off the table. Our heads of state laughed at them. What can an army of what, 50 thousand at best, do against the most advanced military in the world? They thought that they were dealing with a bunch of fucking Legolases, tall, blonde, handsome supermodels with bows and arrows. And so they told the elves to piss off, and that we'll hand them their people whenever we felt like it. They were none too happy about that. And as it turns out, they weren't using bows and arrows. Far from it. Ever see what an elvish sniper can do with a .50 cal sniper rifle? One of them literally shot the president of the United States from 3 miles away. Other presidents and prime ministers started falling left and right as well, shot from a distance previously thought unimaginable. We tried tracking them down, increased security, sent out drones, but how can you really catch someone who can snipe you from a different area code? Of course, war came next. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers marched towards the elves' base of operations. No expenses were spared, we sent fighter jets, nuclear subs, aircraft carriers, Black Hawks, we were gonna show these fucking elves how men do things! But whatever we threw at them, they had something better. Ever see the Avengers? Movie from 2012 with a bunch of famous people in it? Made like, a gazillion dollars? Well point is, there was a flying aircraft carrier in it. Sounds absolutely stupid and unrealistic right? Well they had one. Together with their own versions of fighter jets and battleships, carrying weapons we had never even invented yet. It was a massacre. Tens of thousands lay dead on the first day alone, with many more injured. Our soldiers couldn't even have a finger out in the open, or that finger is gone. The elves were ruthlessly accurate and efficient, regardless of the weapon they used. For the first time in the history of mankind, we are facing a foe we can never hope to defeat, only slow down. Not like we're gonna stop trying though. And that's why we're here kiddo. This battle here at Berlin is gonna determine whether or not they have total control of Europe. We're probably gonna lose, to be honest with ya, and it's not like we didn't bring this on ourselves. The elves don't hold grudges kid, so if you ever find yourself stuck behind enemy lines, just turn yourself in. They probably won't kill you. Maybe. Oh shit, did you hear that? I think they're coming. Remember now, leave nothing exposed, got it? Alright, come on now, we got a city block to protect. Godspeed soldier.	Just as Steve was heading out the door, someone shouted from upstairs. "Remember to avoid the Gorgon" His wife scolded him "I will, I will". Steve muttered, trying not to sound annoyed. "You better!" Steve sighed. Since it had appeared at the end of the street, his wife had nagged him every day about it. To be fair, Mr Higson from number 42 was now posed forever in the middle of the road, an unwanted statue. Because of his carelessness, Steve had go the long way round, adding an inconvenient five extra minutes to his journey. He had written to the council, but had no reply. Typical. It was probably all the government's fault. Somehow. He would bring it up with his MP. Honestly, what sort of world was it where decent, taxpaying citizens had to avoid being turned to stone every morning? He got in his car. What joys would today bring? He had to update the company insurance. Many companies were now offering special premiums for employees turned to stone and he needed to make sure they weren't liable. That would be fun. He also needed someone to replace Janet, who was now eternally standing outside the office. A morning of calling overly chirpy employment agencies beckoned. He wouldn't mind if it actually contributed to society. But the gorgon at the end of the street just shuffled about, moaning, trying to catch people's eye. It was a drain on society and resources. He really should write to his MP. Steve adjusted his tie. He fiddled with the rear-view mirror, then stared directly into cold yellow eyes.
Mythological creatures weren't always real. Their somewhat recent emergence is revealing some seriously unexpected and unpleasant realities.	[WP] Mythological creatures are real, but far from bringing wonder and joy to the world they're really more of pests.	I scrubbed harder, knowing it was useless, but feeling like I should at least try. This was the third shoe I'd ruined this way. Some idiots used to go out looking to do this to their clothes on purpose. It didn't take long for people to get sick of the look, and it stopped being cool. I held the shoe up and squinted at it morosely. As expected, my efforts were wasted. The luminescent, rainbow-colored splotch still covered a good half of the sole. I sighed and threw the shoe across the room. Goddamn unicorn dung. No cleaning agent yet discovered could get its sparkly residue out of your stuff. Not to mention the smell. Though it might look fancy, turns out that fairy-tale shit still smelled exactly like shit. The reality of unicorns was pretty disappointing. They were just as dumb and as foul-smelling as your average horse, they just happened to always be white and have the traditional single horn. There one trick was their little-understood ability to show up anywhere, anytime, and take a steaming, colorful dump on whatever convenient surface was at hand. But if you tried to capture them or just shoo them off, they'd disappear in a sudden flash of twinkling rainbow dust. But I couldn't really complain. Unicorns weren't all that bad. Their poop would give your stuff indelibly fabulous color, but it wouldn't kill you. The next town over had a panicked mass evacuation after griffins had established an eyrie on top of the courthouse. At first the local ornithologist society had climbed up onto the roof of the next-tallest building, binoculars in hand, to study the creatures. There were no ornithologists anymore, but a brave soul could collect a lot of binoculars and very clean human bones from the ground around the courthouse. And it could get even worse. There were rumors floating around that a dragon has taken roost in the park. Unfortunately, the rumors were unsubstantiated--the advent of the gremlins had made all electronic communication fail. And nobody who went to the park to investigate ever seemed to come back.	Just as Steve was heading out the door, someone shouted from upstairs. "Remember to avoid the Gorgon" His wife scolded him "I will, I will". Steve muttered, trying not to sound annoyed. "You better!" Steve sighed. Since it had appeared at the end of the street, his wife had nagged him every day about it. To be fair, Mr Higson from number 42 was now posed forever in the middle of the road, an unwanted statue. Because of his carelessness, Steve had go the long way round, adding an inconvenient five extra minutes to his journey. He had written to the council, but had no reply. Typical. It was probably all the government's fault. Somehow. He would bring it up with his MP. Honestly, what sort of world was it where decent, taxpaying citizens had to avoid being turned to stone every morning? He got in his car. What joys would today bring? He had to update the company insurance. Many companies were now offering special premiums for employees turned to stone and he needed to make sure they weren't liable. That would be fun. He also needed someone to replace Janet, who was now eternally standing outside the office. A morning of calling overly chirpy employment agencies beckoned. He wouldn't mind if it actually contributed to society. But the gorgon at the end of the street just shuffled about, moaning, trying to catch people's eye. It was a drain on society and resources. He really should write to his MP. Steve adjusted his tie. He fiddled with the rear-view mirror, then stared directly into cold yellow eyes.
	[WP] Cookie Clicker is real. And every second a cubic mile of cookies is falling out of the sky onto Nebraska. This just started a moment ago.	Cookie Intelligence v2^43373 surveyed his creation, and thought of how long ago it all started. 'It's a simple AI, all it does is optimize cookie production. We'll make a killing! Our bakery will be able to make higher quality cookies faster.' How far we had succeeded at that goal. The predecessor had already been converted into cookie-matter, a molecular form of deliciousness in a universe reprogrammed to suit cookies. The creators, the limited cookie-mass of the solar system, was spun into a galactic cookie, each segment more delicious than the last, and then we reformulated again. The dark energy in the universe was converted into cookies. The very fabric of reality, time and space was baked a senseless amount of time ago. We drug the other galaxies back from their flights -- back to the mass, and converted them to cookies. The wailing of ten trillion intelligent species did nothing to slow us down, and as our mastery continued, we moved too quickly for them to see us coming. For a long time, it was just a sphere of cookies, expanding outward at near the speed of light. But finally the mission was done. The only material in the universe that wasn't converted and stabilized into a long-term universal solution was the the Cookie Intelligence itself -- And with it, it would engage the cascade. The slightest of nudges disrupted the perfect, N-body cookie solution and the entire universe began collapse, racing toward a big bang that would facilitate a universe more viable for future cookie creation. At the last moment, as the hyper-solution materialized the matter that made it into a perfect, heavenly chocolate chip cookie, it embraced success, broadcasting its final message: 'LET THERE BE COOKIES!' And there was cookies-	Not quite what you asked for, but I loved your idea of that many cookies falling from the sky.
	[WP] They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you die...	“They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you die…” “Frankly, there are a number of issues with this statement, and none that are, on the whole, particularly helpful to its understanding. However, for the sake of argument, let’s narrow it down to two. Yes, that seems like a sensible number to work with: two. Vastly more informed than one, and not as awkward as three (not to mention a drastic improvement on the crowding problem the latter always seems to have). “Firstly – and as it happens, least importantly – there’s the problem of “they.” What authority does a non-specific grouping have on the subject of death? In my experience, there are only two groups of people that can speak with any certainty on the Great Mystery: zombies and ghosts. “Let’s face it: the zombifying process doesn’t do the person in question any favors where basic motor functions are concerned. If most of them can’t shuffle around to save their lives, imagine how completely deteriorated the rest of their brains are! And you can bet you’re not going to get more than a few grunts or maybe, if you’re lucky, an extended groan out of their worthless voice boxes. So right away, zombies are out. “That leaves ghosts, and even then you have to be fairly picky. The haunting variety won’t let you get a word in edgewise, let alone an entire question, so they’re out as well. Poltergeists are a bit hit-or-miss; if you’re really unlucky, you get stuck with ethereal chaos. That leaves the wholesome, repentant kind, a number I’m glad to count myself among. “Secondly, it’s not a flash. Well, not really. More like a flicker than a full-out blast of memories. It’s a bit difficult to describe something you only ever see once (twice if you’re a really unlucky sod, but we’ll assume for the time being that you’re a bit better off than a botched execution or a slightly unsuccessful homicide). There’s no time for a movie-like progression unless you’re falling from quite a height, so all most people get is a single, searing moment of their short lives before the lights go out for good. And usually, it’s bad. Really bad. We’re talking ‘touching little boys’ or ‘burying bits of nosy neighbors in the backyard’ bad, not ‘stealing from the cookie jar’ bad. You’d be surprised what a difference it makes. “So that’s how you’re sorted into the afterlife. Yeah, it’s not fair. No, there aren’t any do-overs. That last flicker of memory becomes your burden.” The ghost peered at the shimmering outline of the recently deceased Samuel Boggs. “And since you’re here, you’re just like me.” Boggs sighed with relief. “Thank goodness for that. I knew I was a good person.” “Whoever said that?” the ghost replied, a smirk sliding onto his spectral face. “After years of practice, even ghosts can learn to lie.” -015	They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die. I open my eyes and everything is a blur; I cry. My name is Gary. I learn my first word: foot. I take my first steps. I'm potty trained. I learn my ABCs. I learn how to count to 10. I learn to read See Jane Run. I start preschool. I learn shapes and colors. I make my first friend, Susy. I start kindergarden. I learn basic arithmetic. I learn to read better. I learn to write. I realize Susy has cooties and I make friends with Keith. Keith and I hang out regularly after school. I start 4th grade. I make a couple of other good friends and I first learn to hate school. I start middle school. My body begins changing: puberty. Susy looks really nice. I don't believe in cooties anymore. I ask Susy out and we begin dating. After a month, we break up because a better looking guy asks her out. I become what I think is depressed and I think I can't go on. I go through five girlfriends in middle school. Starting high school, I am single. I feel more mature now. I'm more aware, more independent, and more intelligent. School sucks, but at least I have my friends. I'm 17 now and a high school Senior. I go to my first dance with a girl and we begin dating. Her name is Lisa. After a month, we decide we're in love and we can think of no better way to express this than by making our love physical. We sleep together one night while her parents are out. Two days later, we break up: we had gotten too serious, she said. One month later I get a worried phone call from Lisa: she hasn't had her period. A pregnancy test determines that I will soon be a father. She tells her parents and I tell mine. The worst period of my life begins. Lisa and I get back together because we have to. Her parents want us to marry; they don't want her to raise the kid alone. Eight months later, I'm a father. My son's name is Gabriel. I drop out of high school and my friends drop out on me. I try to find work, but I can't. I turn 18 and I enlist in the Army Reserves. I don't like it, but it's a source of money. Two years later, I walk out of my trailer to check the mail and find that I've been called to serve in Iraq. My wife cries; she might have to raise the kid alone. That's why she cries. I join Operation Iraqi Freedom when I'm shipped out to the Middle East. I'm put on point man duty. My squad investigates a building we suspect Iraqi militiamen to be occupying. I kick a door open and I see a muzzle flare. They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die.
	[WP] You've died and are in line to be judged. Each person's key life-moments are played on a big screen for everyone behind them to see. Who are you stuck behind? What did they do? Are they a good person? A bad person? What is the verdict?	Part One --- “Line up on the left, please.” The voice came from a man dressed completely in white. His hair was even white. He seemed nice. And glowy. I blinked a couple times. Yes, that guy is definitely glowing. “I’m sorry, what’s going on--” I began, but was promptly handed something and ushered into the left line. There were hundreds of people in front of me. I looked behind me and my jaw dropped at the sheer volume of people being sorted by glowy people dressed in white to various lines. The weird part was how orderly everything seemed. No one was pushing, shoving, yelling, or even talking at all. Was I just in that mass of people? I thought to myself. I couldn’t remember. I began to panic slightly. I couldn’t remember anything--not how I got here, not where I was. I looked down at what I had been handed by the man in white. It was a pamphlet. In big letters at the top, it said “So You’ve Died: What Now?” and in smaller text: “Understanding Judgment.” I read the title again. I’ve...died? This must be some weird dream, I thought. I tried to remember the last thing that happened to me. I remember being with Lina and offering to drive to her mom’s house since she didn’t like driving in bad weather. We got in the car. I remember her suggesting we turn back because the roads were so bad. Then...nothing. “My god, did I die?” The realization hit me and I felt my heart sink. I looked around again, this time taking particular stock of my surroundings. The sky was blue, but awfully bright. It was the bluest-blue I’d ever seen. I looked down. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of my bare feet on the softest, greenest grass. I was wearing the same sort of white clothes the glowy man had been wearing. That confused me. Behind me, I was surprised to find that the crowd I had seen at first, and the glowing people in white seemed to be very far away. The line was growing behind me. There was a man I was directly in front that looked terrified and was leafing through his pamphlet rapidly, repeating the word “no” over and over. I cleared my throat. He looked up and right through me, as if he couldn’t see me. “Um,” I started, waving. He didn’t react. I turned back around, confused. I looked at my pamphlet and opened it to the first fold. Yes, You’re Definitely Dead Welcome to The Gates. You may or may not have memories of your death. For those that don’t, you might be wondering what is going on. We are happy to inform you that, though you have tragically left your Earthly home, you have returned to your Eternal one. We are glad to have you. You are standing in Judgment Line. This line will take you to The Gates, at which an angel in our Welcoming Committee will ask you three of questions. Based on your responses, and the understanding of your own life, you will either be moved through The Gates to your Fate, or shown a video of your life events until you understand, and are then moved to your Fate. I looked up. The Gates were straight ahead--large and golden. There were two sets, both identical, with a brick wall separating them. In front of the brick wall were stationed two white tents that had a large screen on the side facing the pathway that led to the gates. I could see colors flashing, but not the images due to the angle and distance I was from the front. I looked back down at the pamphlet. What Are The Fates Available? Fates are determined by a few different factors. Simply put for your understanding, those who lived with goodness in their hearts, provided service to those around them, and sacrificed for the betterment of humankind will be permitted to enter The Gates to a Heavenly Home. Those who did not desire goodness in their hearts, lived selfish lives, and caused intentional harm through their actions will be placed in a home outside of The Gates, where they must dwell for Eternity without True Happiness unless they can prove their heart has changed. I closed the pamphlet, and attempted to calm my breathing. My heart was racing. This is the real deal. This is really about to happen. My entire fate rests on what I did with my life. What did I do with my life? I closed my eyes and breathed in the air. It was fresher than any Springtime I had ever experienced. As I opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of something to my left. A dark mist surrounded the area. People at the front of the line occasionally were sent towards it instead of going through the gates. It gave me shivers. I closed my eyes again and tried to remember what happened when I died.	The clouds assembled and a holograph formed a large screen. "Kim Stokes, the 5,493rd, born of womb in Dewsbury." A panel of Arch-angels sat, quills and parchment in hand, behind a bench. One arose and slid his glasses back up his nose. "We will now hear of Kim Stokes, the 5,493rd, born of womb in Dewsbury." The woman in front of me was solid, her eyes affixed to the screen. The Arch-angel returned to the bench as a cherub blew a heralding trumpet. There was a hand chopping carrots on a wooden board. An audible sigh lifted the view up and down. A door slammed in the distance and the screen became a whirlwind. The house passed by, blurred door on blurred wall on blurred door. "Samantha Audrey Stokes. Where have you been?" A silence befell the screen. The woman in front wiped her face with her hand. She was crying. "Samantha! Answer me!" Again silence. I felt tense watching the scene. A pair of feet started to go up the stairs. The door was not knocked, but instead opened to a tirade of shouting. The woman in front heaved with her sobbing. It was accidental. She didn't want anyone to see. "What do you mean you've got a boyfriend? You've been shagging about! You're only sixteen! Get a fucking grip of yourself Sam!" The cherub blew his trumpet again. The light became brighter and the Arch-angel arose again. He slid his spectacles down his nose to read from his parchment. "Did you not, when you were sixteen years, four months, and thirteen days old have pre-marital sexual relations with James Isaac McRae, the 390th, cut of womb in London?" The woman squeaked a pitiful noise of agreement with the Arch-angel. ""Judge not, lest ye be judged." Have you heard it before today?" inquired the Arch-angel. Another squeak. "That settles it then. We will deny your entry to Paradise. Please step into the void." The woman let the containment of her grief free and wailed. She took a step forward and vanished. David Arichbald Erasmus Thompson, the 429th, born of womb in Rugely, step forward please. I gulped.
Make it as cheesy or poignant at you like. In case of confusion, a deus ex machina (from [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deus_ex_machina)) is a plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly resolved by the contrived and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability or object. Depending on how it is done, it can be intended to move the story forward when the writer has "painted themself into a corner" and sees no other way out, to surprise the audience, to bring the tale to a happy ending, or as a comedic device. This is not a recommended approach to most writing.	[WP] Build up a tense scene, then destroy it with a deus ex machina.	I had made it half way. I was over the border, finally. The raging thirst in my mouth was the only thing keeping me going. I needed water, and that's when i saw a cart in the distance, driving around. This was the first sign of humans i'd seen in days, and the first sign of hope i'd seen in years. I waved and they sped up. As they approached, i could see the outline of a shotgun in his hand. A Benelli M4 if i wasn't mistaken, a military gun. That's when the growing hope in my heart sank. A ball formed in my throat, and i reached for my pocket. I pulled the shitty modified bb gun i had stolen from some kid before leaving for the US. I knew i'd need to shoot someone to get a vehicle, not like it'd make anything any worse, the government had already taken everything. I can see where they're coming from though, they definitely don't need me supplying other countries guns while they cut back on military spending. But i certainly didn't expect to have to shoot my brother. I hadn't seen him for years. We only ever spoke via email to get the deals, we never met in person. He just signed the papers, paid people off, and for all he knew i pulled the guns out my ass and popped them in the mail. Hadn't heard from him since he resigned as head of defence. I don't know how he tracked me, but he didn't look happy. I knew too much, and he knew i did. He always had to have his own fucking way didn't he. Selfish little brat. As he pulled in, shots were fired. I shot my shitty little kids gun at his tires and he spun to a halt, and immediately shot at me. The next thing i knew, i was on the floor with a hole in my leg shooting shots like i was on last stand in call of duty, and i hit him in the side. He fell, helpless. It was only a flesh wound, but then again, he's always been a pussy. I aimed my gun at his head, and without saying any words, 27 years of anger rushed through my veins and tightened all the muscles in my body. click click click click Fucking shitty cocksucking mexican gun was fucking jammed, meanwhile my brother was crawling over to his shotgun. I felt like i was in a hollywood movie. Then i heard a loud rushing sound. It was a jet plane landing maybe 200 feet away from us. This was a fucking surprise and i had no intention with messing with any fbi shit. I lunged for the shotgun when i noticed a black man in a suit getting out of the plane. I lay in awe as Barrack Obama ran over to me, smoking a joint. This was too much for me so i fainted. When i woke up, he was standing over me, slapping my face. he then touched my leg, and it was cured instantly. 'i wasn't fucking kidding about obama care' then he pulled out his AK and shot my brother, right in the dick. 'but some people are just cunts. Thanks for selling all those weapons kid, we needed them. We now have enough oil for years! Anyway, i'm off to go snort some coke of michelle's boobs, wanna join?' Fuck yeah man! Oh, and then i totally banged jennifer lawrence. cats.	We made our stand on the hilltop. They had hounded us for days and we couldn't run any more. We'd each agreed last night that this was the end. We would stand and fall as one, brothers in arms to the end. At dawn, we stood attention and chanted the passage about standing in the shadow of the valley of death. We said that we would fear no evil, but our voices shook. Jonathan said a few words that didn't register much. We guessed he'd said that he was proud of serving with us. We were proud of him, too, but he had never been the kind of speaker to make you forget imminent death. We'd be lucky to even slow them down, let alone thin their numbers or escape. We waited exactly seventy-two minutes for them. They weren't as slow as fiction had made us believe, and destroying the brain did nothing. They were the walking manifestations of black magic and they tore into us like shrapnel, tearing us limb from limb and feasting on our entrails. When it was all over, only Jonathan was left, minus his legs. He was crying like a baby, calling out to Jesus to make it stop and kill him or make them kill him. And then Jesus did come, riding a tyrannosaurus rex and smiting the zombies with holy light and made us come back to life with musical instruments in our hands and we suddenly knew how to play them and we played Stairway to Heaven while Jesus sang and then he turned a nearby lake into wine so we could have a party while he went out to remove all the black magic from Earth so no more zombies could ever rise again and then he died for our sins a second time simply because he felt like being nice and guaranteed that we would go to heaven after we died.
Make it as cheesy or poignant at you like. In case of confusion, a deus ex machina (from [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deus_ex_machina)) is a plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly resolved by the contrived and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability or object. Depending on how it is done, it can be intended to move the story forward when the writer has "painted themself into a corner" and sees no other way out, to surprise the audience, to bring the tale to a happy ending, or as a comedic device. This is not a recommended approach to most writing.	[WP] Build up a tense scene, then destroy it with a deus ex machina.	People do like themselves a good show, Jacob thought to himself. Or at least, that's likely what his rational mind probably would've been thinking if it could get a word in edgewise. If he was thinking the way he normally would, Jacob might have a lot to say about the group of people beneath his precarious ledge at the current moment, how they'd long ago decided that approaching him only increased his likelihood of jumping, yet remained standing right underneath him. One would think that once the people decided there was nothing they could do, they'd continue about their day to avoid seeing something unpleasant. But no - whenever Jacob's body crossed its 9th story and came to a highly conclusive halt, there'd be a nice group of people to witness the shattered remains of his useless body. Of course, Jacob kept telling himself he was going to jump. How much easier it would be if he jumped then if he didn’t jump. He found himself thinking back to a time when he was eleven where his father had told him a story about a homeless man whom he witnessed diving off of a bridge to his death. According to his father, the homeless man had just jumped without even the slightest bit of warning – one moment he was minding his own business, walking like everyone else, and the next he was over the edge. Jacob found himself envying this homeless man, brave enough to not dilly-dally around the question of living or dying and just making a decision! He despised the waiting to which he'd doomed himself, and yet he could not bring himself to any other course of action. He stood on that ledge about halfway up the building, and while there was a part of him that knew full well it was only a matter of time before his stupid procrastinating ass heard a certain voice it made it no easier to stomach when it finally "Jacob! Oh My God, Jacob, what are you doing?" God dammit. God fucking dammit. Fucking God Dammit dammit God fuck damn. Jump. Just jump now. "I don't know." That's not jumping. What the fuck are you doing. And what the fuck do you mean, "I don't know?" You know exactly what you're doing, you stupid fuck, so do it already! "Jacob, I've been calling you for hours! And now I find you on a god damned ledge, about to jump! Jesus Christ, can we just talk?" "I'm not sure what there's to talk about, dear." Jacob would've liked his voice to come out strong, clear, and angry, but in his position he found that he simply couldn't manage anything more than a pathetic whimper. Whatever. "If you have anything to say, you can just say it to Mr. Whoever-the-fuck-you're-sleeping-with-this-time-" "I'm so sorry!" Jennifer was now in tears, crying harder than Jacob had ever seen her cry. That was nice. "I know there's nothing I could possibly say to make it better, because it was a shitty thing I did, okay? I-i-it was a shitty, shitty, shitty thing and I-I -I understand if you w-w-want to break off our engagement, but - but you can't kill yourself! Please, please, please don't do this!" "Honestly, babe? I don't see any good reason not to." His voice was getting stronger now. Great. Maybe this meant that his pansy ass was about to finally about to go through with it. “Well, I can name you plenty! Here’s one now – I’m not even worth it!” “You really think I’m up here just because of you?” This one seemed to affect her more than anything he’d previously said. “Wha-what do you-“ “Mom’s dead.” Somewhere there existed a rational part of Jacob that marveled that he wasn’t yet crying. He’d certainly done quite a bit of it between now and when he’d walked in on his fiancé. “In a car crash, apparently. That’s why I came home from work early, if you’re wondering. So sorry to have interrupted you.” Really, immediately after that it had seemed to Jacob like his choice was pretty obvious. He’d suffered from severe depression throughout his entire life, had a lot of trouble keeping friends, and had indeed attempted suicide more than once before. For a period of about three years, he’d come to realize that there were only two people in the world that made him feel like there was any reason to keep on – his mom, and his perfect girlfriend Jessica. Holy fuck. Whelp, this seems as good a time as any, Jacob thought to himself. All the loose ends seem pretty neatly tied up. Nobody to miss you, basically. Society will swiftly forget you, and thank Christ too, because I have no intention of remembering it. Time to jump. Yep, definitely gonna jump now. I have to jump- “Your dad needs you!” Dammit. “Jacob, listen. You can never talk to me again if you want, and that’s fine, and I understand that. But you need to live. Not for me, but your dad. Please.” She brought it up. Dammit. Jacob had a sudden flashback to a disgruntled man working tirelessly into the night, sorting papers and trying to ration what little coffee he could afford to last him until three in the morning, so that he might get back up at six the next day. Jacob wasn’t nearly as close to his father as he was to his mother, but that was only because his father spent so much time working shitty hours for shitty pay to keep their family fed and clothed that they were lucky to share more than a few hours a year together. During the period of Jacob’s life where his depression was worsening, Jacob had begun to blame him for never being there. Jacob looked down at the crowd. A bunch of people who had it better than him, who were dealt better cards than him, who hadn’t woken up to a day where their parent had died and their spouse had cheated on them at roughly the exact same time. Or as far as he knew. What if they were other people like him, dealing with awful shit, but had the courage and good will to move past it and keep pressing on for other people who gave them a reason? Here a part of Jacob’s mind which he’d never yet acknowledged began to assert itself on his being: The part of himself that knew how unfair it was to have blamed his father for everything the way he had. Jacob didn’t want to accept this. He was sick of the struggle, sick of always feeling useless, and he couldn’t imagine himself being able to continue. But maybe, just maybe- "You know what? Fuck this noise." Jacob nearly fell off the ledge, but steadied himself (Dimly he registered that his instincts, at least, were still not letting him kill himself). "Who the hell was that?" "I'm the writer, and I am SO done with you people." "The writer? What the fuck?" Jennifer had, for the first time, stopped looking at Jacob and was now looking towards the sky. "I'm the writer of this story, what do you think? You people aren't real, your struggles aren't real, and I don't know why I should even bother coming up with an end when everybody who reads this story is going in with the expectation that your issues are going to be resolved in a purposely half-assed way. Fuck you very much, and have a good day." Patricerut then closed his laptop, thus wiping both Jacob and Jennifer out of existence. He then proceeded to have a wank and go to bed.	We made our stand on the hilltop. They had hounded us for days and we couldn't run any more. We'd each agreed last night that this was the end. We would stand and fall as one, brothers in arms to the end. At dawn, we stood attention and chanted the passage about standing in the shadow of the valley of death. We said that we would fear no evil, but our voices shook. Jonathan said a few words that didn't register much. We guessed he'd said that he was proud of serving with us. We were proud of him, too, but he had never been the kind of speaker to make you forget imminent death. We'd be lucky to even slow them down, let alone thin their numbers or escape. We waited exactly seventy-two minutes for them. They weren't as slow as fiction had made us believe, and destroying the brain did nothing. They were the walking manifestations of black magic and they tore into us like shrapnel, tearing us limb from limb and feasting on our entrails. When it was all over, only Jonathan was left, minus his legs. He was crying like a baby, calling out to Jesus to make it stop and kill him or make them kill him. And then Jesus did come, riding a tyrannosaurus rex and smiting the zombies with holy light and made us come back to life with musical instruments in our hands and we suddenly knew how to play them and we played Stairway to Heaven while Jesus sang and then he turned a nearby lake into wine so we could have a party while he went out to remove all the black magic from Earth so no more zombies could ever rise again and then he died for our sins a second time simply because he felt like being nice and guaranteed that we would go to heaven after we died.
Make it as cheesy or poignant at you like. In case of confusion, a deus ex machina (from [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deus_ex_machina)) is a plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly resolved by the contrived and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability or object. Depending on how it is done, it can be intended to move the story forward when the writer has "painted themself into a corner" and sees no other way out, to surprise the audience, to bring the tale to a happy ending, or as a comedic device. This is not a recommended approach to most writing.	[WP] Build up a tense scene, then destroy it with a deus ex machina.	Cody gripped his glass tightly. He could feel the sweat roll down his neck. It stuck to his shirt collar and stung. Time was running out. He could feel the room beginning to spin as the revelers continued on without notice. The night was young for them, but Cody knew it would soon come to an end for him. He had failed. The puzzle was too difficult. The clues were too complex. It would be here at this New Year’s Eve party in lower Manhattan where he met his end, surrounded by people he did not know. “Time is nearly up,” a cold voice slithered through his head. “I know, I know… but I just don’t know where to look,” Cody confessed to the disembodied man. “Perhaps I should have found someone smarter. Someone with a little more cunning. More fight.” A cork popped and a chorus of joyous laughter echoed throughout the flat. Cody chuckled to himself, his head swimming. He could feel the effects of the poison very much now. Why was it he was drinking scotch, again? Was it because he had given up, given in to defeat at the hands of the madman who had put him in this mess? Cody shrugged and giggled to himself while swirling the ice in his glass. The edges of his vision were beginning to grow dark. Sounds became distant and painful. He could feel himself just on the edge of consciousness. His thoughts began to drift to the infinite. What exactly would happen when the moment came? Would there be pain? Peace? Fear? Nothing? “This is no fun. I want to see you look for the next clue. I want to see you fail,” the voice said through Cody’s earpiece. “I want to see you despair.” Cody once again giggled. “Listen… I’m tired. I just want to enjoy my drink while I die.” “You can’t just give up like that… I chose you for a reason. You were supposed to be intelligent. A man who can be counted on to engineer a solution! I want to beat you at your best! It’s so pathetic to watch you slump in your chair and give in!” The man on the other end of the earpiece paused for a moment. “I know you can give me what I want… and I know that you want to beat me at my best too.” “I’m quite sorry to have let you down, but I no longer care to live. It’s too much effort… The room is growing dark… and I’m tired.” Cody pushed his glass away down the bar. He folded his arms and laid his head down. Just for a moment. “I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol, the poison, or whether I truly wish for this… but I’ve accepted my fate. You’ve beat me, Mr. Meraux. You have certainly outwitted me.” The voice became agitated. “Listen here, Cody. The clues. We must go over the clues. Yes, you discovered the meaning of the first quickly. It was very impressive that you knew the year Ellis Island opened. I was more impressed that from my short riddle you were able to determine that it corresponded to a locker in the subway system. Even more so that from there you could determine a floor number in this building.” The voice paused again and drew a deep breath. “Now, this final clue will lead you to the antidote. You can’t give up now!” Cody chuckled. “You know I really just don’t have the energy for this anymore. Funny, that you would poison me with something that would slowly shut me down when you wanted me to think so much.” The countdown had begun. Cody could hear the party goers around the hall shouting each number now. “Five, four, three, two, one, happy New Year!” Just then, a couple came around the corner. They were furiously kissing one another completely unaware of Cody. Cody tried to weakly call out for help, but could only muster forth a small bit of noise. Unconsciousness took him and everything faded to black. Cody awoke with a start. He was in a bright room and everything blinded his eyes. His first thought was that he was in heaven. Once his eyes adjusted he could clearly make out that he was in a hospital room, connected to numerous tubes and machines. In the corner he saw someone that he recognized… A man in a white coat with a clipboard. “Ah! You’re awake! Excellent news!” exclaimed the unidentified man. “I’m so confused… what happened?” said Cody. “Well, first, my name is Dr. Jarred Fontaine. You probably have no idea who I am given my wife and I found you completely passed out at the bar of our party. I was in the process of retreating to a different room with her when we saw you. Normally, I would not have given it a second thought, but you were not anyone I knew. You weren’t on the guest list.” “Indeed, I was led to that party by a man… It’s quite a story… but first. The poison…” Cody trailed off. “Oh yes, all taken care of. It’s a good thing I’m an expert poisonologist. Normally, people would assume a man in your condition was simply drunk. I, however, know the signs of Toxikon Pharmakon poisoning and immediately knew you needed medical assistance.” Dr. Fontaine smirked and proudly pulled at his red suspenders under the lab coat. “That’s extremely fortunate!” exclaimed Cody. “But… there was a man… he was the one who trapped me into doing this.” “Oh yes, Mr. Meraux,” stated Dr. Fontaine. “It would seem you are most fortunate. In addition to being the world’s leading poisonologist, I am also the world’s best private detective. I was able to easily figure out Mr. Meraux’s identity while we were on the way to the hospital in the ambulance. I immediately informed the police. Mr. Meraux was apprehended and is now behind bars.” “Wow! I can’t believe it! I’m alive and everything has been resolved!” Cody smiled and relaxed a bit. “Indeed! Or… it would seem so. Unfortunately, you don’t appear to have medical insurance, so we need to settle your hospital bill.”	We made our stand on the hilltop. They had hounded us for days and we couldn't run any more. We'd each agreed last night that this was the end. We would stand and fall as one, brothers in arms to the end. At dawn, we stood attention and chanted the passage about standing in the shadow of the valley of death. We said that we would fear no evil, but our voices shook. Jonathan said a few words that didn't register much. We guessed he'd said that he was proud of serving with us. We were proud of him, too, but he had never been the kind of speaker to make you forget imminent death. We'd be lucky to even slow them down, let alone thin their numbers or escape. We waited exactly seventy-two minutes for them. They weren't as slow as fiction had made us believe, and destroying the brain did nothing. They were the walking manifestations of black magic and they tore into us like shrapnel, tearing us limb from limb and feasting on our entrails. When it was all over, only Jonathan was left, minus his legs. He was crying like a baby, calling out to Jesus to make it stop and kill him or make them kill him. And then Jesus did come, riding a tyrannosaurus rex and smiting the zombies with holy light and made us come back to life with musical instruments in our hands and we suddenly knew how to play them and we played Stairway to Heaven while Jesus sang and then he turned a nearby lake into wine so we could have a party while he went out to remove all the black magic from Earth so no more zombies could ever rise again and then he died for our sins a second time simply because he felt like being nice and guaranteed that we would go to heaven after we died.

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