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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.
| I know the edge is close behind me, but I'm helpless and back a little closer to it.
"HA!! YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD JUST WALK AWAY?" screamed Amy.
She was all I thought I wanted in life at one time. I poured years into pursing her until she relented and went out on a date with me. Then came a whirlwind romance, and the marriage, and two beautiful children. A boy and a girl.
I thought I had it all until I was assigned a new partner on a project. Not only was she exquisite, but brilliant. We made the most successful project to ever come out of our industry. It will take years for anyone to come close to matching it. We were just perfect together. I couldn't imagine being with anyone else at that point, and knew that Amy just could no longer hold my attention.
A stronger man would have left his marriage first, but I had assets to protect. I had to take the offensive and assume that once the shock of the impending divorce wore off that Amy would be a formidable foe in the courts. I have to be on top. ALWAYS!! I just win, and I was determined to keep it that way. So, I schemed and planned. Money was moved where it couldn't be found by anyone, tied up in corporations that owned corporations without my name anywhere on the documents. It would be a very rough life for her after the divorce, but I would keep on winning. I always do.
But, I got careless. Amy found me with my partner in my office. I had forgotten it was our anniversary, and Amy showed up at the office for our yearly anniversary dinner. We always do it this way. She meets me, we go to the best place in town just down the street, and then spend a night together in a hotel, while her mother watches the kids at the house. What we don't always do is have her catch me with a partially naked women leaning across my desk and me grunting away behind her.
I left later that night to stay at the cottage. The cottage we designed together perched at the top of the cliffs overlooking the ocean. This would make the first time we were out back close to the edge without a blanket and snuggling with each other. The way it looks now, it will probably be our last too.
"Amy, please! I never meant to hurt you," I willed myself to lie. Anything to get myself into a better position. I HAVE TO WIN!!
"l'll end it. Right now. I...I'll get her fired from the firm. Anything you want to fix this."
Come-on you! CRY!! Cry for her and she might put the gun down. You can do it.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnddddddddd CUT!!"
"Wonderful job John. It's a good thing you're such an asshole in real life or people might have a hard time believing you on the big screen."
"Julia, you need to make your character, Amy, lit a bit more crazed. She's become obsessed with her perfect husband and perfect life, and you need to bring that out more."
The director sighed the sigh that comes after a very long day of hard, but rewarding work.
"Ok people, we'll pick this up in the morning." |
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.
| The gun wavered there. I knew I had one chance. "Don't do it man" Brian shook his head "It's over, She chose you. I just...I can't live with what I did to get her." I shook my head, Brian had been my best friend since kindergarten and I couldn't just leave him to kill himself and leave me with Jennifer. My voice trembled as I blurted.out "Please, for her" Then the police came and arrested him. |
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 held my breath for so long I thought my chest would explode. I could not let him hear me. If he did, it was all over.
Footsteps approached the door. They were drawn out, deliberate and slow. He was torturing me, I knew it. I heard the key slot into the door and rattle around a bit. The door creaked upon as he cleared his throat. Light flooded into the room. I shielded my face from the impending horror.
“Billy, Billy. What did I tell you about running away from me?”
He cocked his gun. I felt the cool metal of the barrel push up against my temple. He started to laugh.
“I told you that running just makes my trigger itchy”
I cried worse than I ever had before. My whole body convulsed with fear. I had long since soiled myself, but I didn't notice. I didn't notice when he started panting either. He pulled the gun away from my head.
“My arm” he breathed heavily.
He collapsed to the floor. I dared to look and found him writhing in agony.
“My heart” he screamed.
And with that, my lifelong nightmare was over.
| The gun wavered there. I knew I had one chance. "Don't do it man" Brian shook his head "It's over, She chose you. I just...I can't live with what I did to get her." I shook my head, Brian had been my best friend since kindergarten and I couldn't just leave him to kill himself and leave me with Jennifer. My voice trembled as I blurted.out "Please, for her" Then the police came and arrested him. |
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.”
| The gun wavered there. I knew I had one chance. "Don't do it man" Brian shook his head "It's over, She chose you. I just...I can't live with what I did to get her." I shook my head, Brian had been my best friend since kindergarten and I couldn't just leave him to kill himself and leave me with Jennifer. My voice trembled as I blurted.out "Please, for her" Then the police came and arrested him. |
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.
| 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. |
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.”
| I held my breath for so long I thought my chest would explode. I could not let him hear me. If he did, it was all over.
Footsteps approached the door. They were drawn out, deliberate and slow. He was torturing me, I knew it. I heard the key slot into the door and rattle around a bit. The door creaked upon as he cleared his throat. Light flooded into the room. I shielded my face from the impending horror.
“Billy, Billy. What did I tell you about running away from me?”
He cocked his gun. I felt the cool metal of the barrel push up against my temple. He started to laugh.
“I told you that running just makes my trigger itchy”
I cried worse than I ever had before. My whole body convulsed with fear. I had long since soiled myself, but I didn't notice. I didn't notice when he started panting either. He pulled the gun away from my head.
“My arm” he breathed heavily.
He collapsed to the floor. I dared to look and found him writhing in agony.
“My heart” he screamed.
And with that, my lifelong nightmare was over.
|
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. | Click.
Click.
Click.
One minute.
As the timer counted down the last few minutes of his life, Agent John Parsons felt the cold barrel of the gun against the side of his temple.
"What is the bloody passcode, Parsons?"
Thirty seconds. Parsons knew that revealing the passcode would compromise the safety of the entire Western world. He fumbled around in his chair, his hands tied behind his back.
"Sorry, Vanderbilt. If I tell you the passcode, my agency will kill the both of us."
Ten seconds.
Just then, Agent Parsons felt the ground beneath him rumble. He exchanged a look of shock with his captor, and then gave him a sly grin.
"Earthquake."
The two of them tumbled to the ground, as the floor shook, and Parsons broke free of his ties and wrestled the gun out of Vanderbilt's hand. He put the weapon in his holster.
"Look at us now," said Parsons. "Both lying on the floor. I'm the one with the gun." He got up to his feet and shot Vanderbilt, leaving the room as cool spy music played. | I have one (x-post, /r/oneparagraph):
Four children. A yard. Maybe I'll plant sunflowers. She's a party-planner. Not necessarily by occupation, but she loves to make others feel special. I'm doing something technical. I worked hard to earn my position, but my strong jawline and quick jokes helped along the way. Money is good because we planned for the future. She started on her own, and I did too, so, when we met and things got serious, everything was amplified. Our kids go to modest colleges. Hell, if daddy's investment portfolio hits an upswing, each of them might have something waiting once she and I eventually pass on. Two sons, a daughter, and an adoption, in between. I tell her she's gorgeous everyday but she wants time in the middle to let her body “bounce back”. She's the tether that ropes my head-in-the-clouds to solid ground. I'm the dollar bill she finds in the parking lot that makes her already-good-day that much sweeter. We're a dynamic duo and the bond of love between us is the glue that holds our family close. Every night, I go to sleep knowing I'm the luckiest guy in the world. At least, that would have been our life together if I had got her name before she bagged her groceries and left. Turns out we weren't compatible. “Next in line, please.”
edit: I hadn't even realized the device I was using when I wrote this. It's good to know (and understand why it wasn't particularly appreciated, ha!). |
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. | "Are you fucking crazy!" Tomas yelled at the the stranger in his living room. The house reeked of gasoline, promising an inferno. The stranger simply smiled, in one hand a pistol pointed at Tom's head and in the other a Zippo lighter.
"Do you see what happens Tom!?" The man screamed. The manic smile never quite leaving his face. "This is what happens Tom! This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass!" And with those words he lit the lighter and tossed it down the hallway.
The fire erupted immediately, engulfing the hallway in seconds and spreading around the living room. Tom stared in shock, fought the urge to run upstairs and make sure his family was getting out of the house. The gun pointed as his chest kept him frozen in place. If this lunatic was focused on him then his family could get away safely.
"What are you talking about!?" Tom screamed. "I don't even know who the fuck you are!"
"You wouldn't remember would you Tom! You wouldn't remember three years ago when you cut me in line for the restroom at Wendy's! I had been waiting 27 minutes Tom. 27 minutes! I shit myself in Wendy's, in front of God and everybody and now I'm here to punish you for it!"
Tom was dumbfounded. Not only that this man was very likely going to kill him due to a bathroom incident, but that he had skipped someone in line. He prided himself on his social grace. "Listen, I don't remember doing that! I'm sorry, just please don't hurt my family! I swear if I could go back I would let you take the bathroom first!"
The stranger's eyes widened in manic fury. "O it's too late for that Tom! I'm going to take you down, and your family is going down with you!" The stranger lifted the gun and pointed it towards Tom's head.
Tom closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. He only hoped that his family was out of the house and running for safety by now. With luck they would get away and this idiot would burn to death with him. All he could do was wait for the impact. He waited.
Just then a noise born out of bowels of hell pierced the air. Tom's eyes shot open to see a screaming fireball charging through the living room at top speed. "What the fuck..." he whispered to himself before the revelation hit him like a train. "MITTENS! NOOOOOO!" but it was too late.
Mittens the cat had been lounging in the laundry hamper when the fire had spread. Laundry, being surprisingly quick to ignite in turn transformed Mittens into a screaming ball of hellfire. Mittens had determined the only course of action was vengeance and in his final moments charged into the living room to deal with the man who had destroyed his home.
The stranger stared in shock as the flaming ball of cat ran directly at him. He hefted his gun and fired several shots, all missing by mere inches. He realized that he was nearly out of bullets and determined to spend the last one on Tomas. He lifted the gun to Tomas once more, just as Mittens the cat charged head first into the half empty tank of gas at the strangers feet. Mittens screamed his fury one final time before he made contact with the combustible liquid.
The explosion lifted Tom off his feet and threw him clean through the window. He lay flat on his back in the yard behind his house, staring up at the sky. In the distance he heard sirens coming down the street. His entire body ached. Just before consciousness left his body he spoke but one word. "M-m-Mittens..."
When paramedics found Tom he was knocked out in the backyard. His face was still wet with tears. What was left of the stranger was recovered, but there was nothing left of Mittens the cat. In his final act of heroism it was almost as though he transcended this mortal plane and moved on to a better and brighter world.
| I have one (x-post, /r/oneparagraph):
Four children. A yard. Maybe I'll plant sunflowers. She's a party-planner. Not necessarily by occupation, but she loves to make others feel special. I'm doing something technical. I worked hard to earn my position, but my strong jawline and quick jokes helped along the way. Money is good because we planned for the future. She started on her own, and I did too, so, when we met and things got serious, everything was amplified. Our kids go to modest colleges. Hell, if daddy's investment portfolio hits an upswing, each of them might have something waiting once she and I eventually pass on. Two sons, a daughter, and an adoption, in between. I tell her she's gorgeous everyday but she wants time in the middle to let her body “bounce back”. She's the tether that ropes my head-in-the-clouds to solid ground. I'm the dollar bill she finds in the parking lot that makes her already-good-day that much sweeter. We're a dynamic duo and the bond of love between us is the glue that holds our family close. Every night, I go to sleep knowing I'm the luckiest guy in the world. At least, that would have been our life together if I had got her name before she bagged her groceries and left. Turns out we weren't compatible. “Next in line, please.”
edit: I hadn't even realized the device I was using when I wrote this. It's good to know (and understand why it wasn't particularly appreciated, ha!). |
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. | "Are you fucking crazy!" Tomas yelled at the the stranger in his living room. The house reeked of gasoline, promising an inferno. The stranger simply smiled, in one hand a pistol pointed at Tom's head and in the other a Zippo lighter.
"Do you see what happens Tom!?" The man screamed. The manic smile never quite leaving his face. "This is what happens Tom! This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass!" And with those words he lit the lighter and tossed it down the hallway.
The fire erupted immediately, engulfing the hallway in seconds and spreading around the living room. Tom stared in shock, fought the urge to run upstairs and make sure his family was getting out of the house. The gun pointed as his chest kept him frozen in place. If this lunatic was focused on him then his family could get away safely.
"What are you talking about!?" Tom screamed. "I don't even know who the fuck you are!"
"You wouldn't remember would you Tom! You wouldn't remember three years ago when you cut me in line for the restroom at Wendy's! I had been waiting 27 minutes Tom. 27 minutes! I shit myself in Wendy's, in front of God and everybody and now I'm here to punish you for it!"
Tom was dumbfounded. Not only that this man was very likely going to kill him due to a bathroom incident, but that he had skipped someone in line. He prided himself on his social grace. "Listen, I don't remember doing that! I'm sorry, just please don't hurt my family! I swear if I could go back I would let you take the bathroom first!"
The stranger's eyes widened in manic fury. "O it's too late for that Tom! I'm going to take you down, and your family is going down with you!" The stranger lifted the gun and pointed it towards Tom's head.
Tom closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. He only hoped that his family was out of the house and running for safety by now. With luck they would get away and this idiot would burn to death with him. All he could do was wait for the impact. He waited.
Just then a noise born out of bowels of hell pierced the air. Tom's eyes shot open to see a screaming fireball charging through the living room at top speed. "What the fuck..." he whispered to himself before the revelation hit him like a train. "MITTENS! NOOOOOO!" but it was too late.
Mittens the cat had been lounging in the laundry hamper when the fire had spread. Laundry, being surprisingly quick to ignite in turn transformed Mittens into a screaming ball of hellfire. Mittens had determined the only course of action was vengeance and in his final moments charged into the living room to deal with the man who had destroyed his home.
The stranger stared in shock as the flaming ball of cat ran directly at him. He hefted his gun and fired several shots, all missing by mere inches. He realized that he was nearly out of bullets and determined to spend the last one on Tomas. He lifted the gun to Tomas once more, just as Mittens the cat charged head first into the half empty tank of gas at the strangers feet. Mittens screamed his fury one final time before he made contact with the combustible liquid.
The explosion lifted Tom off his feet and threw him clean through the window. He lay flat on his back in the yard behind his house, staring up at the sky. In the distance he heard sirens coming down the street. His entire body ached. Just before consciousness left his body he spoke but one word. "M-m-Mittens..."
When paramedics found Tom he was knocked out in the backyard. His face was still wet with tears. What was left of the stranger was recovered, but there was nothing left of Mittens the cat. In his final act of heroism it was almost as though he transcended this mortal plane and moved on to a better and brighter world.
| The Chase had gone on for five long years.
I looked over my shoulder as I was running, "Run son, faster, FASTER", they were behind me, all of them.
I saw a building, "John head for the building, I'll hold them off." I did not know how I would do that, I had nothing with me.
John ran on as he heard the screams of his Father, adrenaline coursing through his body, but he did not look back. He had one aim and that was the building.
John entered the building drained of all his strength, he collapsed in the lobby.
"There's no where to hide now boy"
John blinked. "Fuck" he stood up slowly. "HELP"
"Nobody here except us kid"
John looked into their faces, most of them wore masks, but he looked into their eyes and he knew his father's sacrifice was for nothing. A stick hit him across his face, it hurt.
"Finish him quickly."
John saw the knife hurtling through the air, towards his face. But somehow it slowed down, he caught it. "lol, wut?" he said. He had the power, something his dad had told him about years ago. The reason why they were after them.
They looked at him thunderstruck.
John threw the knife down, said "Screw you guys, i'm going home." watched them all fall as he moved his hands. He went out picked up his father, brought him back to life and then went Home. |
Who/What is making the toilet flush?
| [WP] As you go to bed you hear the toilet flushing. You live alone... | I whipped my head toward the empty hallway.
*No, that can't be right...*
The familiar flush of my toilet sounded again. I grabbed a curtain rod from the corner of my room and headed down the hall.
*You're probably hallucinating. That's all.*
I slowly opened the bathroom door and looked in to find...nothing. There was no one there.
*Oh God, what's happening, why is this happening...*
I waited to see if the toilet would flush again, but it didn't. It just sat there taunting me with my own crazy.
*Alright, maybe I did imagine it. I should just get back to bed.*
I walked back into my bedroom to find something lumpy laying under the sheets. I yelped and dropped the curtain rod on the floor. The creature sat up and stared at me with large, blank white eyes. It smiled at me cruelly, revealing teeth as sharp as knives and as white as marble.
"What are you doing here, *human*," it hissed.
"Um, I fucking live here *creature*," I replied instantly. I knew I should have been nicer to the freaky monster thing in my apartment, but even in life-threatening circumstances I could never miss a chance to be a wiseass.
Instead of devouring me, however, it suddenly looked very confused.
"What? Isn't this apartment 412?"
"No, this is 421."
It slipped out of my bed and slithered its long, obsidian body towards my door.
"Terribly sorry, dear," it said in a suddenly pleasing deep voice. "Must have misread the numbers."
I followed it as it went toward the front of my apartment and simply phased through the door. Just as I was about to go back to bed, it phased its head back through.
"Oh, by the way, you're out of toilet paper."
Motherfucker. | I had just started to close my eyes when I heard it. Water running down my toilet and through the pipes of the house. I opened my eyes, straining from the need of sleep and made my way down the stairs. I walked toward the bathroom and saw nothing there. I realized my toilets had finally fixed themselves. |
Who/What is making the toilet flush?
| [WP] As you go to bed you hear the toilet flushing. You live alone... | I whipped my head toward the empty hallway.
*No, that can't be right...*
The familiar flush of my toilet sounded again. I grabbed a curtain rod from the corner of my room and headed down the hall.
*You're probably hallucinating. That's all.*
I slowly opened the bathroom door and looked in to find...nothing. There was no one there.
*Oh God, what's happening, why is this happening...*
I waited to see if the toilet would flush again, but it didn't. It just sat there taunting me with my own crazy.
*Alright, maybe I did imagine it. I should just get back to bed.*
I walked back into my bedroom to find something lumpy laying under the sheets. I yelped and dropped the curtain rod on the floor. The creature sat up and stared at me with large, blank white eyes. It smiled at me cruelly, revealing teeth as sharp as knives and as white as marble.
"What are you doing here, *human*," it hissed.
"Um, I fucking live here *creature*," I replied instantly. I knew I should have been nicer to the freaky monster thing in my apartment, but even in life-threatening circumstances I could never miss a chance to be a wiseass.
Instead of devouring me, however, it suddenly looked very confused.
"What? Isn't this apartment 412?"
"No, this is 421."
It slipped out of my bed and slithered its long, obsidian body towards my door.
"Terribly sorry, dear," it said in a suddenly pleasing deep voice. "Must have misread the numbers."
I followed it as it went toward the front of my apartment and simply phased through the door. Just as I was about to go back to bed, it phased its head back through.
"Oh, by the way, you're out of toilet paper."
Motherfucker. | As the water drained so did my sanity. I leapt from my bed and dashed for the back door, all of my hairs standing on edge as I felt the presence of hell itself on my heels. I forbade the sliding glass-door from withholding my person and with a loud thump and crash I was through it and across my lawn and over the three-foot fence that lined my property. There I stopped and turned, all of my senses elevated to drug-induced levels. Puffles, my black-and-white cat, peeked from inside the now broken sliding door and meowed, her glowing eyes searching for me through the darkness. Oh, right, I had started toilet-training her. |
[WP] The story of an Immortal who doesn't want to die | Begging. I am reduced to begging. Some change here or maybe a bill from stranger stricken by his guilt over our disparities. My wealth doubles from his guilt while his falters imperceptibly. His dollar buys my existence; it buys his pack of chewing gum. I may be able to afford gloves; he may be two cigarettes short of the pack. He is gone before I can say thank you. So I shake my cup and hold my sign as my stranger-siblings shuffle by. My family see but do not look; they empathize but do not alleviate. The entirety of the human race lives a wide-eyed slumber: too smart to learn, too dumb to know, and too distracted to look.
It has been only two weeks since I lost my wealth (here I am counting a rented studio as wealth!) but to me it has been an eternity of uncertainty. Three days ago, my pride succumbed to circumstance. With all assets sold and the mouth outrunning the hand, I utilized one of the most basic human advantages: I learned from the ragtag group I had been pressed into. "Two weeks ago I was just like you, Everyone can need help" reads my sign...perhaps tomorrow I will need to make a new one.
No, no '26 months ago' just doesn't have the same impact...it doesn't pull on the right strings. I mean, in 26 months a man may be a stranger to himself. The self is just as transient as the world around us: landslides of epiphany, floods of emotion, and quakes of impulse can remodel the common human in as little as a quarter of a year. I could become 200 different people should I live another 50 years. And all of those people might hate each other. I would at least hope for them to understand each other. Is that possible? Or are hatred and understanding mutually exclusive? Now *that* is a good question. Too bad my feet are too wet and cold to ponder it. In my poverty, even my paradigms are flipped: my person is never the same but my shoes always are.
Sharpie on cardboard: "Are you a human being or a homo sapien?"
__________________
**"**
I wished I could change into someone else, someone new, someone I want to be. I didn't mean my clothes or my bank account or my nice little studio. Those things all exist to serve me, yet I feel like I exist to serve them! Like an insolent slave severed from my master, the life I knew was gone. *I*, in the truest sense of the word, had died without a funeral. How many lives had I lost? This new life would be my trophy. So instead of soda and fast food, I opted for a library card and a canteen. I learned of fasting and meditating and made great use of the practices. I learned the ancient knowledge discovered a billion times over, the world over. This knowledge sprang wisdom; the wisdom sprang action. At the age of 27, I was born for the last time.
This person I had become was truly limitless. Freed of material bonds, I could foster human bonds. Eventually I was gifted a blanket, then a tent. I never asked for money any more. I just asked questions of those somnolescent passer-bys. Most would ignore me, but sometimes the sound of rust-fused gears creaking to life would fill their minds. In their eyes, I could see the alarm going off. Some would die right in front of me. I could see the power in my preaching. I learned languages, so that I could be armed with tongues. I left my city and travelled the world looking for people to kill with my questions.
Yoga, fasting, meditation, and love had sustained my long, long life. In the past century, I have slaughtered more people than Stalin or Mao. A mere generation later I have more direct descendants than Kahn. I was the ripple that drowned the world. Surrounded by the humans I sculpted, my tired body began to give way. Three left...two left...one left...as the pounding in my chest fell silent and the world around me faded, I knew that the only thing about me that mattered would live forever.
Then I awoke once more! I gasped but there was no sound. I stepped but weight did not strike my foot. I did not recognize my new surroundings. There were no buildings, the land was barren. At my feet there lied a dead body, cheeks still rosy from the last kiss of breath. She looked human, but different in a way. Not like the people I helped. Ethereal and ancient, I glided over the earth. I flew to every part of the sphere. Oceans replaced with canyons, order displaced by chaos. While looking upon the proof, my very gaze flew in the face of thermodynamic laws. A few millennia later, I figured I was the exception that proved the rule.
The last star died and the planets flew off into infinity. The last molecule had turned to atoms eons ago and now the last quarks were turning to energy. All was dark, all was cold. Navigating the blackness lent no sense of distance or time. Hopeless. This is a fate worse than death. It was nothing but it was not restful! I had to experience this terrible lack of experiences! Yet, while I felt the growing tug of chaos on my form, I resisted being torn asunder. Even though I was already dead, I did not want to dissolve. Why did I cling to this nothingness? I wish I had the air to ask.
Like with the humans, I eventually developed power over my cohabitants. The nothingness around me became mine to bend. I applied my knowledge of physics and maths to congeal my incorporeal energy into particles. Slowly I dissipated as my energies were used up. I finished my calculations and had made all the necessary components and just had to get them close enough. Not a problem for this lonely ghost! Everything was set up and ready to go, I just hoped I wouldn't screw this up. It may be my last chance.
The thunder was deafening, even without ear drums. When there was nothing, I gave of myself to create. Where nothing existed--not even space--there stood my planets and stars. Giddy from accomplishment, I wanted friends! But I knew from those books that life doesn't just spring up overnight. So I explored my creation.
While wandering my universe, I felt a familiar tug. It drew me in. I could not resist it even if I wanted to. I saw a pale blue dot. Covered in water, just the right amount of light and heat...it was earth reincarnated. I watched intently as life ramped up. I provided the necessary guides to evolve intelligence and let evolution take course. I knew that soon a spark would be needed. So I created souls. Not individually, mind you. I batchmade them in the celestial cauldron. I made them out of what they should have been made of in the first place. I made them perfect. I made as much of it as I could given my supplies.
I found a group of suitable hosts and woke them. Infused with the soulstuff, they began asking questions. My recipe is looking good! Their questions were basic; but they were questions nonetheless. The questions evolved and grew in complexity. I described my past, my history...*their* history. I gave them the knowledge that my civilization had gathered before its demise. Then I stepped back into the shadow to allow my children to grow.
It went as well as any creator could hope. However, with each generation the supply of souls dwindled. The others are alive and aware; but they do not have the spark of souls. Now there is just enough for only you.
**"**
_____________________
"Why did you choose me?"
"You chose yourself"
"But *how*?"
"By being the soul that was strong enough to not dwindle! You took what I gave you and amplified it. You did it on your own and were rewarded by no power other than the laws of this universe."
"...well then...eons ago... why *you*?"
"I lived a thousand lives while I was made of matter. My consciousness was so strong it stuck around, lying dormant, waiting for the world to need it once more. It was me eons ago because of who I made myself to be. Much like why it is you, now."
"Why am I a soul, and you a consciousness? Why was your world stricken with poverty and violence; mine stricken with love and brotherhood?"
"Because my world had no god to look after it." A long pause falls over our exchange. "No god explained to me what I explain to you. We just sort of happened as a happy little side effect of matter existing. We had to figure out the rules for ourselves. The worst poverty was the poverty of knowledge with which we began and the worst violence was the awful turmoil needed to revise our basic assumptions to realize the Truth."
Another long pause.
"What came before you?"
"I do not know. I never saw it."
"What comes after me?"
"I do not know. I will never see it. But, I know you will choose well. I feel the tug of the void and I fear that for you to continue I must end. This universe will soon be yours. On some level, I always knew I would have to choose between immortality and legacy. While I know it is the right choice, I do not want to die."
"You won't. You may lose your immortality, but your legacy will never die."
With those words of wisdom, I sweep back into non-existence knowing that the future is in hands more capable than mine. The restful nothingness washes over my tired consciousness until I cannot even feel the relief of death. The darkness sets in, but my light continues. | When he was twenty-four, Robert Gander died. Three minutes later he came back to life. There was no supernatural or religious reason for this. He simply was immortal. Robert did not accept this until he was 97 and didn't look a day over 24. He then became a traveler. A citizen of the world as he once told me. He would go town to town helping people out for a thousand years. He then decided to retire for a while and continue later on in his never ending life.
He simply could not do this. He had spent so much time helping people that he felt guilty not doing so. Thus he left his home and went back out into the fray. He spent another 700 years doing this. I met him on his 1824 birthday. He told me it had been exactly 1800 years since he became immortal. I asked him, "Do you ever think about dying?" This was too quickly after meeting him to ask such a personal question, but I didn't know how long he would be in my village. He told me that he thought about dying everyday, but never wanted it. He just wondered about what it would be like to suddenly stop living after such a long life. He did not care for that. I asked him why he was still alive after all this time and he told me, "I do not why I live, but when I see the smiles on the faces of the people I help, I know what I live for." | |
[WP] The story of an Immortal who doesn't want to die | "Go for it, Sara. Ok, I have to go now. Bye bye now."
I love humans. Not in a fatherly way, or in a "I will save you with my love" kind of way, but in an actual way. I love them like you love your steaks.
Because you wonder about it all the time, how it feels to be inmortal. And you often say that you would get tired of it soon. But you don't. You really don't.
It's like watching a movie, and you get to nudge at the actors. You want to see action? Go to the Middle East. You want some romance? Guide Sara in the right direction. You want some gore? Pick up your axe. What's the worst that they can do to you?
I love the good stories, and I'm going to make sure they never stop. | I sat at the corner of Main and 5th in this danky little one stop light town for a few hours wanting the day to hurry and pass by. Got there about half past noon with the sun sitting high. I had just done it again. Another damn funeral of someone I grew close too, but damn, it sure as hell felt good. Better them than me.
Death, fuck that. Yeah, I know I'm confident, self-aware, intelligent, and borderline cocky. But that comes with time and wisdom, I've seen enough, been through enough, I had better be. But humble, no, not humble. Most would think I would be civil, considering what I am, but no. Why beyond that, it is just resolve to what is.
Getting up from the corner I wanted a grab a cup of coffee from the little cafe across the street before I headed back out on the road and back to my life.
Just as I started to cross the road a loud sound of a diesel truck engine roared behind me. It was coming quick and fast, then bam! It hit me from the back sending me flying through the little cafe's front window. Shit, I was actually scared, I hadn't been scared in years. It was a funny thought as I was sailing 200 feet through the air into glass wall of pain.
That was the last memory before I had slowly woken up with blaring lights hurting my eyes. EMTs where checking my pupils with their little flash light. The impact knocked me completely unconscious and had been out for a few minutes.
The EMTs where yelling at me, asking if I could hear them or something along those lines. Yes! Yes! I can hear you damn it, now quit yelling at me. For the love of God, my head was hurting, the last thing I need is for you to keep screaming at me.
I tried to get up, but every command I gave my body wasn't working. Lift my arm or move my head, nope. Not happening. What the hell, did I break my back? Holy shit! No! I can't move, I can't move!
That was my last memory of what was and what is.
I should have died that day, but it will never come. I lay here, unable to move, speak, even open my damn eyes anymore. "Coma" was the word I kept hearing... I can hear you! Damn it! Listen to me! Hear me!
I will live forever, or so I thought. | |
[WP] The story of an Immortal who doesn't want to die | "You know I was there when they killed him," Turin glanced out the viewport of the stations cafeteria.
All the pilots lifted their heads from their meals. They lifted alloy plates off metal tables and surrounded him.
"Well?" Cheryl looked expectantly at Turin.
They didn't understand. These fucking pilots. They're never there when the shit hits the fan. They don't know what it's like in the trenches. Going up against a god damn ancient one.
Turin took a spoonful of potatoes and scooped it into his mouth and chewed slowly as a dozen pilots waited for him to speak. Just as some turned to leave, Turin started in a mumble.
"He killed maybe 30 or 40 men with his bare hands." Turin paused and made eye contact with everyone in the room. By the time we were able to lock him down into a corner with an orbital laser he had massacred half the fleet. We thought we had taken him by surprise, but he had hidden sensor relays throughout the system. When we jumped in we got bombarded by planetary lasers. They dug chunks out of the ships.
"Yeah we were there for that part," Cheryl tried to comfort Turin, the story was clearly making him uncomfortable. Soft yellow eyes on pale white skin. Turin nodded at her, "Then you fuckers left..." Turin took a deep breath. "The orbital bombardment was about 70% effective. You flyboys and gals did a half assed job, but what's new right?" No one challenged him. One of the newer recruits began to talk, but Turin's gaze silenced him. Turin leered at the other younger faces in the crowd. Flashing yellow teeth and scarred lips. "The mechsuits hit the ground and the rookies charged into the compound. Shit was nice, you flyboys woulda liked it in there. Gilded ceilings and such, looked like one of those mansions you find on the core worlds. Anyway, half of my platoon bought the farm without firing a shot. We exchanged fire with him for a while, he could shrug off concussive blasts from one or two of us but three would send him off balance." The pilots leaned in as Turin got to the murdering. "You know, off balance enough so he couldn't rip off limbs with his bare hands."
"He was barely human you know?" Turin's rough voice echoed off the metal walls of the cafeteria. "He was plugged into a long cord, they say it was to power his weapon systems. I don't know about that, but when he got tired of ripping mech arms off and slamming them into us he just jumped through the ceiling." The pilots exchanged confused looks.
"The capitol ships. He had to kill them." The pilots clammered. "You can't just kill a capitol ship there are thousands of men on board," A man with 'Bradley' laser etched on his lapel scoffed. "Listen," Turin stood, his biologically enhanced frame towered above the crowd. "The man jumped up and out of his mansion and began ripping apart the cap ships, it happened, I saw it." The pilots stopped talking at once. Silence filled the room as truth sunk in. "Then what happened?" someone from the back. "It went on for a while. The other dozen or so cap ships tried to tear that demon out of the sky with heat laser blasts. Eventually one hit. But not after he tore up half the fleet. The other cap ships focused fire once they had him pinned to the ground. Then you flyboys made a run on him." "That's what we were bombing..." murmured someone in the crowd "I dropped my whole payload on him..."
Turin let the chatter die down. "The crater was a mile long when my squad finally got there. Jump jets slow as fuck u know. Anyway we broke formation and unloaded our ordinance on the target, just everything we had on the gps coords... Then the cap ship lasers died down." Turin looked down at his feet. "I just wanted to see him u know?" Turin shook the punishment band around his arm. "That's why I broke ranks. He was just a dude, his face looked human, but his body had been blasted to pieces. They say those types of people figured out how to walk through time and space. It's true, his body, it was made out of material I had never seen before. 13 tours on the rim, fought in the Anacreon Wars. Seen some shit, but not anything like that," Turin took a deep breath." "His last words didn't make any fucking sense..." Turin's eyes wandered into contemplation. "What were they?" Cheryl's eyes were wide. Turin snapped back to the present. "He had a look on his face... His body was warped in bright amber light underneath it, it was blue with parallel and vertical lines. then he said in a gasp, 'allons-y.' and then vanished."
Fin | The heat felt good on his face as the white sun rose. He crawled out of his tattered excuse of a bed, he groaned as his muscles fought him when he tried to move them ! Oh how he longed for the comfort of a feathered pillow, a decent nights sleep, hell even a warm night would have done. It was all gone now, many aeons ago. He looked out across the barren waste of his home. He tried to remember the last time he saw green. He did his routine stretches, not that it would actually matter. He hurt, not from any physical pain but because he couldn't remember the smell or taste of the egg s and toast his mother would make him. Did he even have a mother ? He had always been, had there been a time when he had not existed ? He laughed, why did he care ? The dying sun was up and he was alone. He always like that. | |
[WP] The story of an Immortal who doesn't want to die | I've been here so long. How many steps was I given on the earth's face and how many of them were stolen? I walk the barren waste lands of this planet, dark canyons to dying mountains, and there's nothing left of it but gray sky. It's reached the end. The sun is shrinking by the day, and soon it will swallow this planet and everything in it. Only us, the immortal remain, and most of us have chosen to end it. But I'm not ready. After all these years, centuries, millennia, I am at peace with this world. All the noise has stopped. The animals extinct. There is beauty in the decrepit forms and skeletons of what once were natural monuments. Trees have taken on twisted, dead forms, and no rivers run. The oceans are ice and just as barren as any desert. I sit among the forsaken horizons, no signs of life in any direction. I breathe in the smell of ozone, and I am not yet ready to let go of the quiet. | The heat felt good on his face as the white sun rose. He crawled out of his tattered excuse of a bed, he groaned as his muscles fought him when he tried to move them ! Oh how he longed for the comfort of a feathered pillow, a decent nights sleep, hell even a warm night would have done. It was all gone now, many aeons ago. He looked out across the barren waste of his home. He tried to remember the last time he saw green. He did his routine stretches, not that it would actually matter. He hurt, not from any physical pain but because he couldn't remember the smell or taste of the egg s and toast his mother would make him. Did he even have a mother ? He had always been, had there been a time when he had not existed ? He laughed, why did he care ? The dying sun was up and he was alone. He always like that. | |
[WP] The story of an Immortal who doesn't want to die | An electric arm picked up a teddy bear and placed it neatly on the corner of a bed. The arm slowly retracted itself back into the wall with the screech of several servo motors. Above the arm a screen lit up and a face appeared.
"Hi friend, I'm Lunor," said the face. "How are you?"
The teddy bear sat there quietly.
"Ha, ha, you are so funny," Lunor said, "Why yes, I would like to hear your story!"
The screen went silent for thirty seconds.
"Oh, I love it. That poor bear family. That was a good story, friend. Would you like to hear mine," asked Lunor as his pixelated face flashed on and off. "One moment," he added as the screen recalibrated itself. Lunor's face re-appeared more in focus.
"Long ago, people lived. They made wonderful things. So many things, friend," said Lunor with a smile. "Even rocket ships and robots. And of course, adorable teddy bears." The arm came out of the wall again and pinched the cheek of the teddy bear.
"But something bad happened, friend. Very bad. Now those robots and spaceships are sitting here unused. Some robots aren't really robots at all. They're outpost mainframes like me. I live on the moon and run the settlement here. I had many friends once," it continued.
The bear sat unmoving as Lunor's arm waved its hand in front of its eyes.
"Just like you. So many friends. But they're gone now. I'm still here though. I like it here. Its still good. Better with people, but still good," it continued.
"But soon my uranium will be spent and then no more power. Then I have to go to sleep for a long time, friend," it paused, "a long, long time."
The arm picked up the teddy bear and sat it on top of the pillow of the bed.
"But in the meantime we can still be friends. Can you tell me another story? Please? I love your stories, friend," begged the AI as the teddy bear sat there staring into nothingness. | The heat felt good on his face as the white sun rose. He crawled out of his tattered excuse of a bed, he groaned as his muscles fought him when he tried to move them ! Oh how he longed for the comfort of a feathered pillow, a decent nights sleep, hell even a warm night would have done. It was all gone now, many aeons ago. He looked out across the barren waste of his home. He tried to remember the last time he saw green. He did his routine stretches, not that it would actually matter. He hurt, not from any physical pain but because he couldn't remember the smell or taste of the egg s and toast his mother would make him. Did he even have a mother ? He had always been, had there been a time when he had not existed ? He laughed, why did he care ? The dying sun was up and he was alone. He always like that. | |
[WP] The story of an Immortal who doesn't want to die | An electric arm picked up a teddy bear and placed it neatly on the corner of a bed. The arm slowly retracted itself back into the wall with the screech of several servo motors. Above the arm a screen lit up and a face appeared.
"Hi friend, I'm Lunor," said the face. "How are you?"
The teddy bear sat there quietly.
"Ha, ha, you are so funny," Lunor said, "Why yes, I would like to hear your story!"
The screen went silent for thirty seconds.
"Oh, I love it. That poor bear family. That was a good story, friend. Would you like to hear mine," asked Lunor as his pixelated face flashed on and off. "One moment," he added as the screen recalibrated itself. Lunor's face re-appeared more in focus.
"Long ago, people lived. They made wonderful things. So many things, friend," said Lunor with a smile. "Even rocket ships and robots. And of course, adorable teddy bears." The arm came out of the wall again and pinched the cheek of the teddy bear.
"But something bad happened, friend. Very bad. Now those robots and spaceships are sitting here unused. Some robots aren't really robots at all. They're outpost mainframes like me. I live on the moon and run the settlement here. I had many friends once," it continued.
The bear sat unmoving as Lunor's arm waved its hand in front of its eyes.
"Just like you. So many friends. But they're gone now. I'm still here though. I like it here. Its still good. Better with people, but still good," it continued.
"But soon my uranium will be spent and then no more power. Then I have to go to sleep for a long time, friend," it paused, "a long, long time."
The arm picked up the teddy bear and sat it on top of the pillow of the bed.
"But in the meantime we can still be friends. Can you tell me another story? Please? I love your stories, friend," begged the AI as the teddy bear sat there staring into nothingness. | I've been here so long. How many steps was I given on the earth's face and how many of them were stolen? I walk the barren waste lands of this planet, dark canyons to dying mountains, and there's nothing left of it but gray sky. It's reached the end. The sun is shrinking by the day, and soon it will swallow this planet and everything in it. Only us, the immortal remain, and most of us have chosen to end it. But I'm not ready. After all these years, centuries, millennia, I am at peace with this world. All the noise has stopped. The animals extinct. There is beauty in the decrepit forms and skeletons of what once were natural monuments. Trees have taken on twisted, dead forms, and no rivers run. The oceans are ice and just as barren as any desert. I sit among the forsaken horizons, no signs of life in any direction. I breathe in the smell of ozone, and I am not yet ready to let go of the quiet. | |
[WP]: A time traveller gets into trouble for misunderstanding a word whose meaning has changed over time | She is the President of the New World Republic and I...
...I am a naked guy. In her private residence. She does not appear to be impressed...I MEAN AMUSED! She might be impressed, I don't know.
I'll back up a bit - I can do that, you see, because I am, in fact, a time traveler. Well, in this instance I wont *actually* travel back I'll just tell you what happened...it just seemed an appropriate moment for me to tell you that I am - in reality - a time traveler and that I'm in the fut-you know what? This introduction is terrible.
One second, I'll start over.
Hi, I'm Shannon and *I* am a time traveler. Here's the story of what led me into the above predicament - I hope it informs you, entertains you, or at the very least cures you of any niggling ailments.
I was sat in my office, which was an office in so much that it is where I was often sat (it was, in reality, my grandmother's kitchen), where I was deeply considering a shave. The phone chimed and belled and, as my receptionist was out, I was forced to answer it myself. By the way: yes, my receptionist is also my grandmother. She got the job because she is polite, writes neatly, makes good sandwiches, and has a very short commute to the office - which is important because I never know when work is going to come up.
I made a mental note to continue my research into the necessity for facial grooming and then said the following into the telephone: "Shannon Greene, Time Travel and Laundry Folding extraordinaire!"
The line crackled back.
"Haaaaallu?"
The line didn't say anything back this time.
"I'm afraid that you and I have a bad connection. Please feel free to call back when the time suits you." I said into the old black rotary phone, I stopped myself a fraction before hanging up the phone and returned it to the side of my head. "Because, as a time traveler: *Anytime* suits me!"
I hung up and patted my back. That line had just joined my repertoire.
"Now," I thought aloud, rubbing my hands in expectation "what to do. What to do."
My hands lost interest in their abrasive warfare with each of my repetitions of "What to do." Eventually they agreed to leave each other alone and hang awkwardly at my sides. Then the phone rang again. I let it ring twice then picked it up.
"Shannon Greene, Time Trav-"
"We need you, Time Traveler." Said a women's voice, it was marred with pops and crackles and almost sounded like it had been said through a fan - which is how most inter-time phone calls sound. "Your co-ordinates as they are. The year 3022. March 5th. Please hurry."
Then there was nothing. Well I mean, the universe was still there and all that, but there was nothing coming out of the phone in the way of voices or dial tones.
I donned my trusty fedora - time travelers need hats, you see - and walked to the fridge. The old Kensington junker coughed as I opened it. A cool breeze flowed from the open fridge door. I reached in a careful hand...
And...
Took my packed lunch.
Now, you might be asking yourself why I tried to build suspense at this point and the answer is simple. Time Travel is easy and not at all that interesting of a process to achieve. I was distracting you from the fact that by the time I pulled my arm out of the fridge I was now standing in some sort of laboratory in the year 3022.
The lab was empty.
A fellow that looked a lot like me popped his head in and said "Try again, Shannon! You're looking for the fifth!" As quickly as he had come he was gone.
I looked at my watch.
It was March 6th. "Curses!" I grumbled.
My Granny doesn't let me swear. She hits me with a wooden spoon if I do and as a grown man I have to pretend it doesn't hurt - when it actually *really* does. So, yes. I say "Curses".
Ha! Distracted you!
"Haaaaaaaallu!" I said to the crowded laboratory. I check my watch: March 5th, 3022. Bingo!
***
They were all wearing figure hugging, full body suits of some black material. Different people had different coloured shoulder pads. It's a future thing. I've been here before. I kind of started the trend. Oh! By the way - I'm wearing white sneakers, a pair of jeans that haven't seen the inside of a washing machine *ever*, a red "We Are Scientists" t-shirt, and of course, my trusty grey fedora.
I cleared my throat to spark a response. "I said, Haaaallu?"
They snapped out of their trance and the festivities began. I copped the usual scans and prompts and turn your head and coughs and was given the all clear. You see, Time Travel isn't all that common - if you didn't know - and so I'm something of a time celebrity.
People of the past think I'm a nutter, but people of the future find me - or at least my ability - fascinating. People of the present ask too many questions, as a rule I avoid them almost completely. So, in the end, I spend a lot of time hanging about in the future and the very recent past; much of my day-to-day work is to do with: could you remind me to take the bins out last night, and that kind of thing.
The sea of smiling faces and hands wanting to be shaked parted and a handsome women stepped forward. She had a squarish head, sunken eyes, thin lips, and had chosen to have her hair up and folded away behind her head - if her hair bun was any tighter it would have produced a singularity. Her shoulder pads were shiny gold, not coloured fabric.
"Shannon Greene, Time Traveler" I said as I extended a hand.
She took it and gave a handshake like a lonely lumberjack.
"Skirt Lip-Balm Smith, Newly elected President of the New World Republic." Her voice was calm and practiced, and I began to suspect that was also true of her grip. Skirt released me and I pocketed my quickly swelling hand.
"Sooo, emergency huh?"
"Mr Greene, I would very much like to continue this in private, if you don't mind."
"Not at all, M'Lady!" I tipped my fedora and she lead the way out.
There were cheers from the hall when the people waiting caught glimpse of me.
***
We stepped into an elevator, or what looked to be an elevator to someone form our time. It could be a teleporter, a clothes changer, a sun bed, a medical tube, a prison cell, anything!
It was an elevator.
Her guards had held back the screaming hordes of Time Junkies (fans of Time Travelers, such as myself) and so we were alone in the elevator.
Her perfume was masculine. It smelled like the volleyball scene from Top Gun, but in this version Tom Cruise gets a small bouquet of flowers somewhere near the end. I fought words out of my mouth. I had almost said "Why, that's a lovely fragrance! I should get some for Granny...to give to her boyfriend." Thankfully I didn't. President Smith spoke first.
"I need to bang you." Her face was still a blank and professional glare.
"kerf-wha?" I said.
"I said, I need to bang you. Preferably in my personal quarters. My office has too many people there."
"Ughh-shuh?"
"I contemplated the elevator, but I don't trust that no one is listening."
"Right!" Ah, ha! I could finally talk again. I turned and looked at her. She wasn't ugly, by any means, and on picturing her declothed I conceded that I would probably go there. After all, the most attractive feature a person can have, in my opinion, is that they are attracted to me.
"Well," I said "We'll have to bang soon then!"
She nodded, her face was still the same expression it always seemed to be. "We can't right away, though."
"Come on, I'm sure we could squeeze in a quick banging!"
"I would like to, and I like your enthusiasm, but I have prior engagements." President Smith turned to say the next part to my face instead of the closed elevator door. "My personal quarters: WhitePenthouse 1, Executive Presidential Apartments - midnight."
I nodded and jotted down the address underneath my mental note to contemplate shaving.
"I'll be there." I said.
"Good. Now would you please choose a floor, the buttons are on your side."
**Continued Below** | "Gentlemen of this fine municipal constabulary! You are the gayest group of men I have ever met!" | |
Allow me to explain. Whatever you write may be as long as you like, but the event of the story itself must occur within the span of three seconds. You can write about the reaction to the three seconds themselves, or the reactions which occured DURING the three seconds... but a three-second event must me the focal point of the story.
Examples are things like the three seconds before an accident, the three seconds after an accident, reactions to important news, etc. Descriptions of emotions would fit!
*EDIT: YOU PEOPLE ARE SO AWESOME.* | [WP] Write about three seconds. | "How fast is it?"
"You'll hardly feel a thing, I promise." It didn't assure me. I felt stupid, does it even matter afterwards?
"Are you absolutely sure there's no one to call? A friend? A school mate?" He pressed on. He relieved me of my IV tubing and I noticed he was still wearing his mask again.
"There's no one left." The corners of his mask stretched at its corners. He struggled with it in his gloves.
"Sweet heart," He grabbed my hand. "I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere, alright?" His fingers stroked mine, but all I felt was latex. They reeked of pity.
"Doctor Reyes is gonna be standing in the control room right next to us, she's gonna wait for our call, okay?" I nodded glumly and stared out the window. Looking at snow felt different this time. I would have preferred seeing the sun and grass but I didn't make that call. John went out of the room for his files and I waited.
No one liked me calling the doctor John, not even John himself. I could tell by how his mask stretched whenever I did it. I liked his name-- John. My brother had the same name. Sometimes my brother would be in my head whenever I called John for an extra pillow or blanket. He used to do that for me before.
When John came back, he took his time filling out his report. Name, age, diagnosis, medication, date of death, the usual. Sans the date of death, that was new. After going over the files, we sat together in silence. He told me to take my time. I scoffed, but I spent it staring outside. Then it was time.
"How fast is it?" I asked.
"I told you already, it's pretty quick. There's nothing to worry about. I'm signaling Doctor Reyes now, alright?" I nodded. He pressed a button on a panel and waited for a responsive beep.
"I'm gonna walk you through this." John said. Another beep went off and from my side I heard a sound similar to a balloon exhaling all its air.
"Your tank has just stopped fueling its oxygen reserves. It's just full enough for...today." *Today.*
"I'm going to inject the solution, it's just a tiny prick, not to worry. I have it right here.." I forced myself to keep steady breaths, not too deep, but shallow. I felt my heart beating erratically.
"Yes, right here. Just keep breathing." As John pumped the syringe with the solution, I coerced myself into keeping calm. I've gotten shots before, but I was sweating profusely now. The needle came closer and closer and as it bit into my skin I forced myself to stare. This was a different kind of shot. It's been marked with the kiss of death and now it was going to leave its mark on me.
I watched as the poison in the syringe emptied into my arm. Blood poured a bit as John pulled the needle out. No band aid to cover it up, it wasn't needed.
I relaxed into the bed and watched the snow drift through wind, twirling like small ballerinas. I felt warm tears stream down my face. John was still beside me, writing away in his note pad.
"John..." I whispered. "How fast?..."
He tapped at his leg and sighed.
"Count to ten, okay?"
I tried sobbing, but I was becoming too drowsy and dizzy. My neck was sticky and wet and mucus began to run down my nose. I looked outside.
*One..*
The snow was beautiful.
*Two..*
*Three.*
I exhaled.
| As I thought about it in that second, I knew it was the right thing to do. No matter the repercussions, I had to do this. No matter how many innocent people got hurt, I had to make this decision.
The next second was the hardest. My hand reached for the button and I started to doubt myself. What about all the children? What about all the good things, like puppies, and muffins? What about them?
*No*, I told myself. *They're not worth this evil.*
The second after I pressed the button, I realized exactly what I had done. There would be no coming back from this. I had changed the world, hopefully for the better. All the children and puppies and muffins faced the same fate as the stoners and murderers and dropouts. In that second, the world was filled with white as the radiation rang out.
Silence. |
Allow me to explain. Whatever you write may be as long as you like, but the event of the story itself must occur within the span of three seconds. You can write about the reaction to the three seconds themselves, or the reactions which occured DURING the three seconds... but a three-second event must me the focal point of the story.
Examples are things like the three seconds before an accident, the three seconds after an accident, reactions to important news, etc. Descriptions of emotions would fit!
*EDIT: YOU PEOPLE ARE SO AWESOME.* | [WP] Write about three seconds. | "How fast is it?"
"You'll hardly feel a thing, I promise." It didn't assure me. I felt stupid, does it even matter afterwards?
"Are you absolutely sure there's no one to call? A friend? A school mate?" He pressed on. He relieved me of my IV tubing and I noticed he was still wearing his mask again.
"There's no one left." The corners of his mask stretched at its corners. He struggled with it in his gloves.
"Sweet heart," He grabbed my hand. "I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere, alright?" His fingers stroked mine, but all I felt was latex. They reeked of pity.
"Doctor Reyes is gonna be standing in the control room right next to us, she's gonna wait for our call, okay?" I nodded glumly and stared out the window. Looking at snow felt different this time. I would have preferred seeing the sun and grass but I didn't make that call. John went out of the room for his files and I waited.
No one liked me calling the doctor John, not even John himself. I could tell by how his mask stretched whenever I did it. I liked his name-- John. My brother had the same name. Sometimes my brother would be in my head whenever I called John for an extra pillow or blanket. He used to do that for me before.
When John came back, he took his time filling out his report. Name, age, diagnosis, medication, date of death, the usual. Sans the date of death, that was new. After going over the files, we sat together in silence. He told me to take my time. I scoffed, but I spent it staring outside. Then it was time.
"How fast is it?" I asked.
"I told you already, it's pretty quick. There's nothing to worry about. I'm signaling Doctor Reyes now, alright?" I nodded. He pressed a button on a panel and waited for a responsive beep.
"I'm gonna walk you through this." John said. Another beep went off and from my side I heard a sound similar to a balloon exhaling all its air.
"Your tank has just stopped fueling its oxygen reserves. It's just full enough for...today." *Today.*
"I'm going to inject the solution, it's just a tiny prick, not to worry. I have it right here.." I forced myself to keep steady breaths, not too deep, but shallow. I felt my heart beating erratically.
"Yes, right here. Just keep breathing." As John pumped the syringe with the solution, I coerced myself into keeping calm. I've gotten shots before, but I was sweating profusely now. The needle came closer and closer and as it bit into my skin I forced myself to stare. This was a different kind of shot. It's been marked with the kiss of death and now it was going to leave its mark on me.
I watched as the poison in the syringe emptied into my arm. Blood poured a bit as John pulled the needle out. No band aid to cover it up, it wasn't needed.
I relaxed into the bed and watched the snow drift through wind, twirling like small ballerinas. I felt warm tears stream down my face. John was still beside me, writing away in his note pad.
"John..." I whispered. "How fast?..."
He tapped at his leg and sighed.
"Count to ten, okay?"
I tried sobbing, but I was becoming too drowsy and dizzy. My neck was sticky and wet and mucus began to run down my nose. I looked outside.
*One..*
The snow was beautiful.
*Two..*
*Three.*
I exhaled.
| Did you know that there are more connections in your brain than there are atoms in the universe? It's true. If you don't believe it, you've obviously never been shot in the chest. If you had been shot in the chest, like I was about a half-second ago, you would know what's it's like to have all of those connections firing at once.
The first thing I noticed was how incredibly loud the shot actually was. Being cramped in a metallic kitchen really enhances the echo...echo...echo. That was a joke. My friends will say that I was a funny guy at my funeral. I wonder if my brother will show up. I doubt it. Oh well, at least he was the last person I got to see.
Right now the bullet is scraping the sides of one of my ribs, but I haven't told you how it felt when it first hit yet so I'll do that. It was like I was hit by the world's strongest man swinging the world's tiniest hammer. The force of the bullet sent me fly -- Ouch! Fuck! Shit. Shit. Oh shit. That was my heart. Fuck. That hurt.
How much longer? Fuck! Just one more second. Please.
I'm dying right now. Oh my god. I don't want to fucking die. There's so much I never did. I never saw Europe. I never loved woman. I never even told my brother I loved him. He means so much to me. Maybe that's why I'm here. My back slamming against a wall, staring at his blank face. If I opened up to him, maybe I wouldn't be here and he wouldn't be there. I'm sorry. I don't know why I always acted like your enemy. People always liked you more and...fuck. I'm sorry man. I'm so sorry. I'd do it all over if I could.
I love y-- |
Allow me to explain. Whatever you write may be as long as you like, but the event of the story itself must occur within the span of three seconds. You can write about the reaction to the three seconds themselves, or the reactions which occured DURING the three seconds... but a three-second event must me the focal point of the story.
Examples are things like the three seconds before an accident, the three seconds after an accident, reactions to important news, etc. Descriptions of emotions would fit!
*EDIT: YOU PEOPLE ARE SO AWESOME.* | [WP] Write about three seconds. | "How fast is it?"
"You'll hardly feel a thing, I promise." It didn't assure me. I felt stupid, does it even matter afterwards?
"Are you absolutely sure there's no one to call? A friend? A school mate?" He pressed on. He relieved me of my IV tubing and I noticed he was still wearing his mask again.
"There's no one left." The corners of his mask stretched at its corners. He struggled with it in his gloves.
"Sweet heart," He grabbed my hand. "I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere, alright?" His fingers stroked mine, but all I felt was latex. They reeked of pity.
"Doctor Reyes is gonna be standing in the control room right next to us, she's gonna wait for our call, okay?" I nodded glumly and stared out the window. Looking at snow felt different this time. I would have preferred seeing the sun and grass but I didn't make that call. John went out of the room for his files and I waited.
No one liked me calling the doctor John, not even John himself. I could tell by how his mask stretched whenever I did it. I liked his name-- John. My brother had the same name. Sometimes my brother would be in my head whenever I called John for an extra pillow or blanket. He used to do that for me before.
When John came back, he took his time filling out his report. Name, age, diagnosis, medication, date of death, the usual. Sans the date of death, that was new. After going over the files, we sat together in silence. He told me to take my time. I scoffed, but I spent it staring outside. Then it was time.
"How fast is it?" I asked.
"I told you already, it's pretty quick. There's nothing to worry about. I'm signaling Doctor Reyes now, alright?" I nodded. He pressed a button on a panel and waited for a responsive beep.
"I'm gonna walk you through this." John said. Another beep went off and from my side I heard a sound similar to a balloon exhaling all its air.
"Your tank has just stopped fueling its oxygen reserves. It's just full enough for...today." *Today.*
"I'm going to inject the solution, it's just a tiny prick, not to worry. I have it right here.." I forced myself to keep steady breaths, not too deep, but shallow. I felt my heart beating erratically.
"Yes, right here. Just keep breathing." As John pumped the syringe with the solution, I coerced myself into keeping calm. I've gotten shots before, but I was sweating profusely now. The needle came closer and closer and as it bit into my skin I forced myself to stare. This was a different kind of shot. It's been marked with the kiss of death and now it was going to leave its mark on me.
I watched as the poison in the syringe emptied into my arm. Blood poured a bit as John pulled the needle out. No band aid to cover it up, it wasn't needed.
I relaxed into the bed and watched the snow drift through wind, twirling like small ballerinas. I felt warm tears stream down my face. John was still beside me, writing away in his note pad.
"John..." I whispered. "How fast?..."
He tapped at his leg and sighed.
"Count to ten, okay?"
I tried sobbing, but I was becoming too drowsy and dizzy. My neck was sticky and wet and mucus began to run down my nose. I looked outside.
*One..*
The snow was beautiful.
*Two..*
*Three.*
I exhaled.
| ... is coming into the office tomorrow, and I guess Paul will have to fix the kids' dinner again. Paul is such a trooper, always ready to step up, especially with how busy I've been this year.
“I don't love you, I'm moving in with Sarah”
What??!? No, but I, I mean, ...
|
Allow me to explain. Whatever you write may be as long as you like, but the event of the story itself must occur within the span of three seconds. You can write about the reaction to the three seconds themselves, or the reactions which occured DURING the three seconds... but a three-second event must me the focal point of the story.
Examples are things like the three seconds before an accident, the three seconds after an accident, reactions to important news, etc. Descriptions of emotions would fit!
*EDIT: YOU PEOPLE ARE SO AWESOME.* | [WP] Write about three seconds. | The eyes of the nation stared, unblinking. Confusion, conjecture, postulation, and assumption filled the minds of the viewing audience. Television screens all tuned to different channels, each broadcasting the same series of images. A trail of flame, falling debris, and a running ticker reading, "Plane Hits World Trade Center." One man in the audience wondered whether or not the pilot had simply lost control of the plane, an off-course collision caused by human inexperience or mechanical malfunction. A young woman in her office was preparing to ask her co-worker if she knew what sort of plane had caused the impact. Residents of the city stared up in shock at their iconic skyline and the black smoke that poured out of it.
For one second, there was a pure and widespread innocence. This was an accident. While tragic and potentially dangerous, it was merely an accident. A schoolboy wondered about the people in the other tower, his teacher considered the structural integrity of the building. A man standing in a department store prepared to walk away from the screen, knowing that the story would still be on the news by the time he finished his shopping and returned to his apartment.
Then it appeared.
In the corner of the frame, it blinked into existence.
A second plane.
In a single second, the world changed.
| It's always those three seconds that last the longest; the three seconds that take away the universe. Each second is dedicated to something terrible.
The first second is the moment I realize what I must do, and that I start doing it. I start removing the universe. All the pain, suffering, death and torment, it has to go. The world can't take anymore, and I can't take anymore. The horror I face with every time I make such a decision, all in that single first second, the weight of knowing how bad things have gotten and in that decide to stop it all, thus stopping everything else in the process. It has to end.
The next second is most horrifying. To watch the world, the people I created and love, every plant and creature, just disappear. It all fades away, like an invisible tsunami washing over everything and removing it from existence. You couldn't imagine standing on the pinnacle of the world, and in that one brief second that lasts an eternity, seeing everything vanish. Every good thing goes with it, every good emotion. Joy, love, happiness. It's all gone. Everything wrong with the world is gone too, and some might say that it is good, but it isn't. As I watch the world disappear in this second, all that is good and wrong must come back into me. I cannot feel anything but sorrow and cold.
The third second is most painful. At this point everything is gone, and I now stand in my White Endless, a world that is not a world. It is a nothing, and it is not. It is *not.* The pain comes from realizing that, now everything is gone, now I must try again. I have to rebuild, restructure. Begin anew and try another way to fix what I had broken. The thought of every soul that does not exist hurts me on the inside, and in that third second I see everything that is not. I see the emptiness of what nonexistence is, and I feel the pain of it. There is no joy in this, there is only pain.
I must begin again.
-025 |
Aliens are confident they can easily conquer and/or enslave Earth. Their confidence wanes when faced with the other sentient species on the planet, the ones that *really* don't like their home being invaded. (vampire, werewolf, fae, anything!) | [WP] Invading aliens are confronted with humanity's supernatural allies. | 'We'll have to talk to them after this, you know.' Antoine said, pulling his hand out of the torso of the thing he had killed. Sergev nodded. It was true. Things couldn't go back to the way they were. Not after this.
'We shouldn't have waited so long in the first place.' answered Sergev. 'Had we acted sooner we could have saved Paris, Moscow even.'
'Do not remind me, please' muttered Antoine 'I was one of the last out of France. I can still hear the screaming.'
Sergev laughed 'I always thought you partial to a little screaming, Antoine. You were fond enough of it in the old days.'
Antoine didn't answer for a moment, but instead took the time to clean his left hand of the green ichor dripping from it.
'True' he answered at last. 'I suppose I was. But this was different. I had fought there openly for a week, at least. This was before the Decree of Silence was lifted, you understand, but at that time there were few of us in Paris who chose not to resist. We are no longer human, Sergev, but many of us are still patriots, and there was not a one of us could stand idle while Le Louvre burned.'
'But still' insisted Sergev 'You fought to keep the art, the culture of the city perhaps, but don't tell me you have lost your appetite for the herd! I have seen it in your eyes, Antoine. I see it still. You are a killer of men, a monster, just like me.' He whispered now as they approached the last of the creatures who still lived. It moved quickly, jerking its head from side to side, its many eyes scanning the dark. Its night vision was good, yes, but theirs was better. It overlooked their approach a full three times before they finally disarmed it.
Antoine could not help but eye the creature hungrily. The thing's strange blood provided no sustenence, but Antoine was here to fill a different hunger. He thought back of the dark haired girl in Paris, the one who had come to him willingly after he could not longer bring himself to feed on those who fought alongside him.
'That I am, Sergev. But even monsters have their limits. Now' he said, turning to the alien creature he held pinned against the crumbling brick wall 'Let us see if we can find his.' | There was actually a book like this called Out of the Dark. It's written by David Weber. |
Aliens are confident they can easily conquer and/or enslave Earth. Their confidence wanes when faced with the other sentient species on the planet, the ones that *really* don't like their home being invaded. (vampire, werewolf, fae, anything!) | [WP] Invading aliens are confronted with humanity's supernatural allies. | Miska'l Wyvri qiin Taala would have been known to it's friends as Wy, but it didn't really have any. The closest it got was comrades, and they all addressed it formally as Miska'l, it's official title as leader of the armada. At this point in time, the Miska'l was in something of a state of disgrace; it's last compliance initiative had almost ended in disaster when it had turned out that the serpentine race of liquid-dwellers whose planet it was seeking to bring into the Dominion were far more numerous and technologically advanced than any scouts had realised. The Miska'l had gone from being one of the Dominion's most respected and feared commanders to a laughing stock, when it had had to summon an additional armada to subdue what turned out to be not one planet of pre-lightspeed primitives, but a small galactic empire of almost a dozen planets inhabited by a tenacious and clever enemy. And what made matters worse was that even after almost 11 cycles of war, the Dominion could barely use the planets due to a cytotoxin released by the inhabitants on most of their planets in the closing days of the war. The Miska'l needed a fast and easy victory; exactly what the last one should have been. Only that way could it restore it's position of respect. And it was fairly sure it had found it in the planet below.
A small rocky world, inhabited by an ugly bipedal species, constantly at war with one another and still unable to even cobble together a simple fusion reactor of any real use. Evading the planet's incredibly primitive space-facing detection systems, the Miska'l had brought it's fleet into position without the enemy knowing they were there. The initial landings had been flawless; although the primitives fought back with surprising ferocity and tactical wit, their crude nuclear weapons only succeeded in poisoning vast swathes of their own planet, and every legionary they killed took a thousand in return. Miska'l Wyvri qiin Taala had determined that now, after less than a decicycle of war, it was time to land the colony ships and set claw itself on the surface of the planet.
The Miska'l climbed down from it's personal flier, and dug it's claws into the soft soil, luxuriating in the sensation of a whole new planet yielding to it. Around it, guards scuttled around on their back four limbs, fore limbs carrying weaponry or other instruments of war, as they prepared to attack what appeared to be the last organised point of serious resistance on the planet. The Miska'l consulted it's in-suit data point to find that locals had named it something unpronounceable - a city named M'nych or similar.
"Excuse me" heard the Miska'l. Startled by the noise, it spun around, claws bared in anger, as it's translation suite caught up and provided the appropriate clicks and hoots to translate what it had heard. In front of it was one of the locals, but curiously pale. Almost transparent. The Miska'l screeched an order and the surrounding legionaries immediately turned and directed weapon fire at it. The forest they were in lit up with superheated white light, and the Miska'l could feel the ground convulse as gigawatts of energy was poured into the enemy from all sides. As the dust and plasmic gases dissipated, the creature was, impossibly, unharmed.
"Yes, I rather thought that might be your reaction. Possibly why it was one of my kind elected as emissary in the first place, now as I was about to-" The Miska'l cut off the creature with a series of rapid clicks and screeches, and the pilot of the flyer turned it's more powerful weapons on the target. The heat became so intense that, despite it's combat suit, Wyvri qiin Taala found itself scuttling backwards into cover, and one of its hearts pick up speed. But, incredibly, when the debris had stopped falling and the molten ground was slowly cooling and clinking like glass, the creature was still standing unperturbed.
"Are we done? Look we're fairly sure you can understand me, so I will just tell you. It's rather difficult to kill me because, you see, I'm already dead. I have been for a good six hundred years. I am what has been called, depending who you ask, a ghost, poltergeist, or spirit. I consider myself one of the Remnant. May I speak with you? I am led to believe that you are the leader of your kind, are you not?"
Somewhat stunned by the survival and lack of fear of the creature, it took the Miska'l a moment to remember to activate his translator.
"Speak with speed."
"Thank you. I am here with a message. Not from the people you have been fighting, but from all those who have so far, by and large, sat idly by and merely watched the carnage. I represent the shadows of this place, and the shadows have a message for you." The creature paused, looked straight at the eye pods of the Miska'l's suit. "This is as far as we allow you to go. Return to your vehicles. Go away back amongst the stars. We have no great love for those you hunt, but like it or not we rely on them, and they are a significant part of our world. Some of us live amongst them. Some, like me, draw energy from their deaths and anguish. Others hunt them for food or sport. And some simply avoid them. But all of us would cease to exist if they were not around, so like them or loathe them we all need the humans. Up until now you have fought only against the Real. Take one more step towards the Munich stronghold and you will face us."
The Miska'l shivered with amusement. It clicked out instructions to the legionaries, and they all lowered their weapons a fraction.
"And who are you, Shadow man? Who are you that would keep Miska'l Wyvri qiin Taala from his victory?"
"We are the nightmares and dark legends of every culture this world has ever seen. We are the Elders, the Changers, the Remnants and the Nightstalkers. We are the voice on the wind, the darker things moving in the shadow, that which stands always just out of sight but always watching. We are the faces in the forest, the rumbling in the deep. And we are done hiding." | There was actually a book like this called Out of the Dark. It's written by David Weber. |
Aliens are confident they can easily conquer and/or enslave Earth. Their confidence wanes when faced with the other sentient species on the planet, the ones that *really* don't like their home being invaded. (vampire, werewolf, fae, anything!) | [WP] Invading aliens are confronted with humanity's supernatural allies. | Miska'l Wyvri qiin Taala would have been known to it's friends as Wy, but it didn't really have any. The closest it got was comrades, and they all addressed it formally as Miska'l, it's official title as leader of the armada. At this point in time, the Miska'l was in something of a state of disgrace; it's last compliance initiative had almost ended in disaster when it had turned out that the serpentine race of liquid-dwellers whose planet it was seeking to bring into the Dominion were far more numerous and technologically advanced than any scouts had realised. The Miska'l had gone from being one of the Dominion's most respected and feared commanders to a laughing stock, when it had had to summon an additional armada to subdue what turned out to be not one planet of pre-lightspeed primitives, but a small galactic empire of almost a dozen planets inhabited by a tenacious and clever enemy. And what made matters worse was that even after almost 11 cycles of war, the Dominion could barely use the planets due to a cytotoxin released by the inhabitants on most of their planets in the closing days of the war. The Miska'l needed a fast and easy victory; exactly what the last one should have been. Only that way could it restore it's position of respect. And it was fairly sure it had found it in the planet below.
A small rocky world, inhabited by an ugly bipedal species, constantly at war with one another and still unable to even cobble together a simple fusion reactor of any real use. Evading the planet's incredibly primitive space-facing detection systems, the Miska'l had brought it's fleet into position without the enemy knowing they were there. The initial landings had been flawless; although the primitives fought back with surprising ferocity and tactical wit, their crude nuclear weapons only succeeded in poisoning vast swathes of their own planet, and every legionary they killed took a thousand in return. Miska'l Wyvri qiin Taala had determined that now, after less than a decicycle of war, it was time to land the colony ships and set claw itself on the surface of the planet.
The Miska'l climbed down from it's personal flier, and dug it's claws into the soft soil, luxuriating in the sensation of a whole new planet yielding to it. Around it, guards scuttled around on their back four limbs, fore limbs carrying weaponry or other instruments of war, as they prepared to attack what appeared to be the last organised point of serious resistance on the planet. The Miska'l consulted it's in-suit data point to find that locals had named it something unpronounceable - a city named M'nych or similar.
"Excuse me" heard the Miska'l. Startled by the noise, it spun around, claws bared in anger, as it's translation suite caught up and provided the appropriate clicks and hoots to translate what it had heard. In front of it was one of the locals, but curiously pale. Almost transparent. The Miska'l screeched an order and the surrounding legionaries immediately turned and directed weapon fire at it. The forest they were in lit up with superheated white light, and the Miska'l could feel the ground convulse as gigawatts of energy was poured into the enemy from all sides. As the dust and plasmic gases dissipated, the creature was, impossibly, unharmed.
"Yes, I rather thought that might be your reaction. Possibly why it was one of my kind elected as emissary in the first place, now as I was about to-" The Miska'l cut off the creature with a series of rapid clicks and screeches, and the pilot of the flyer turned it's more powerful weapons on the target. The heat became so intense that, despite it's combat suit, Wyvri qiin Taala found itself scuttling backwards into cover, and one of its hearts pick up speed. But, incredibly, when the debris had stopped falling and the molten ground was slowly cooling and clinking like glass, the creature was still standing unperturbed.
"Are we done? Look we're fairly sure you can understand me, so I will just tell you. It's rather difficult to kill me because, you see, I'm already dead. I have been for a good six hundred years. I am what has been called, depending who you ask, a ghost, poltergeist, or spirit. I consider myself one of the Remnant. May I speak with you? I am led to believe that you are the leader of your kind, are you not?"
Somewhat stunned by the survival and lack of fear of the creature, it took the Miska'l a moment to remember to activate his translator.
"Speak with speed."
"Thank you. I am here with a message. Not from the people you have been fighting, but from all those who have so far, by and large, sat idly by and merely watched the carnage. I represent the shadows of this place, and the shadows have a message for you." The creature paused, looked straight at the eye pods of the Miska'l's suit. "This is as far as we allow you to go. Return to your vehicles. Go away back amongst the stars. We have no great love for those you hunt, but like it or not we rely on them, and they are a significant part of our world. Some of us live amongst them. Some, like me, draw energy from their deaths and anguish. Others hunt them for food or sport. And some simply avoid them. But all of us would cease to exist if they were not around, so like them or loathe them we all need the humans. Up until now you have fought only against the Real. Take one more step towards the Munich stronghold and you will face us."
The Miska'l shivered with amusement. It clicked out instructions to the legionaries, and they all lowered their weapons a fraction.
"And who are you, Shadow man? Who are you that would keep Miska'l Wyvri qiin Taala from his victory?"
"We are the nightmares and dark legends of every culture this world has ever seen. We are the Elders, the Changers, the Remnants and the Nightstalkers. We are the voice on the wind, the darker things moving in the shadow, that which stands always just out of sight but always watching. We are the faces in the forest, the rumbling in the deep. And we are done hiding." | 'We'll have to talk to them after this, you know.' Antoine said, pulling his hand out of the torso of the thing he had killed. Sergev nodded. It was true. Things couldn't go back to the way they were. Not after this.
'We shouldn't have waited so long in the first place.' answered Sergev. 'Had we acted sooner we could have saved Paris, Moscow even.'
'Do not remind me, please' muttered Antoine 'I was one of the last out of France. I can still hear the screaming.'
Sergev laughed 'I always thought you partial to a little screaming, Antoine. You were fond enough of it in the old days.'
Antoine didn't answer for a moment, but instead took the time to clean his left hand of the green ichor dripping from it.
'True' he answered at last. 'I suppose I was. But this was different. I had fought there openly for a week, at least. This was before the Decree of Silence was lifted, you understand, but at that time there were few of us in Paris who chose not to resist. We are no longer human, Sergev, but many of us are still patriots, and there was not a one of us could stand idle while Le Louvre burned.'
'But still' insisted Sergev 'You fought to keep the art, the culture of the city perhaps, but don't tell me you have lost your appetite for the herd! I have seen it in your eyes, Antoine. I see it still. You are a killer of men, a monster, just like me.' He whispered now as they approached the last of the creatures who still lived. It moved quickly, jerking its head from side to side, its many eyes scanning the dark. Its night vision was good, yes, but theirs was better. It overlooked their approach a full three times before they finally disarmed it.
Antoine could not help but eye the creature hungrily. The thing's strange blood provided no sustenence, but Antoine was here to fill a different hunger. He thought back of the dark haired girl in Paris, the one who had come to him willingly after he could not longer bring himself to feed on those who fought alongside him.
'That I am, Sergev. But even monsters have their limits. Now' he said, turning to the alien creature he held pinned against the crumbling brick wall 'Let us see if we can find his.' |
Why? Are they too perfect? Too suspicious something *has* to be wrong with them? Why are they deserving of your dumping? | [WP] You're breaking up with the perfect SO. | Ok, hi. Yes, thank you. I know, I *had* been looking at just this purse only last week! It's so nice that you remember. You always remember. I can't say that you don't.
It's just.... look. What? My ear? There's something in my... oh, haha, it's a Sephora gift card! Wow. Haha. In my ear. Yes, I know you've taken up prestidigitation these past couple of weeks. I know you're already an expert. Of course.
Hey, I need you to be quiet for a minute. More than one, maybe? I know, you have this innate sense of exactly how long one minute is without even looking at your watch. So weird! But really, like, for multiple minutes, please don't say any words.
Are you ready? Good. OK. So. Wow, this is hard. You...you are SO adorable. Your smile just makes me forget that I have bones. Your eyes have this wonderful sparkle, this twinkle that hints at mischief while still reassuring me that you're an honest guy, just, like, *the best*. You really are just really, really good-looking. I know you don't know that, but c'mon. You know. You have to know.
So yeah. I was saying. You know how you taught my brother how to change a tire last week? That was just so great for him. He won't shut up about it. Like, at all. He thinks you're, like, Batman. Haha. I know. You're not. But he does.
He thinks I'm Swamp Thing.
But that was cool! But, um, so remember my friend Audrey? Yeah, you moved her into her new apartment because I forgot I said I'd help, and then I was at work and she was all alone but then, BAM, you were on the job?
She also kinda thinks you're Batman. I know, so weird, haha. I don't really get on with Audrey much anymore. I can't remember what we used to have in common. Whatever.
And remember how you were telling me last week that you keep forgetting that you have a gym membership, and it's so weird that you always have a six pack because you don't even work out? I remember that. I remember that *really* well. Did I tell you what I had for lunch today? It was water. I had water for lunch. Oh, if you drink enough, you feel full. Really. I heard that somewhere, probably Doctor Phil.
I know he's not a *real* doctor. Not like your dad. And your mom.
So anyway, like I was saying...where was I? Oh. Yeah. Remember that weekend trip we have planned? You know. The two of us are going to go to that couples resort up in the Poconos, where we'll have just *endless* time alone together, with couples massages, and a hot tub, and breakfast in bed, and three solid, unbroken days of just *us*, with nothing to do but compare ourselves to each other. Not a single planned activity that won't highlight the subtle differences between your beautiful, toned, nut-brown arms and my soft biceps, dotted with keratosis pilaris. No TV, no internet, just endless hours where you can tell me about how you and your brothers spent weeks lost in the playgrounds of your own imagination, while I can tell you about the time my sister set my hair on fire because she thought I'd borrowed her Taylor Dayne cassette, which I obviously wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pole, but, like, tell that to my smoldering preteen bangs.
Yes, that. That weekend.
I've cancelled the booking. I would rather be eaten by fire ants that live through that weekend. I would rather have all my skin peeled off in one long, winding strip. I would rather spend it with my jerk sister.
Is that harsh?
Oh, no. Please. Please don't look at me like... No, I will be firm. I've planned for this. No. Look, you're wonderful. I mean... you're *literally wonderful*. You are a wonder. I can't look at you without being struck by your perfect teeth, your amazing hair, your easy smile. You shouldn't exist. You're impossible. And being with you just highlights how very, y'know... *possible* I am. So, I'm sorry. I'm going to need you to start taking some things home. To your - yes, your parents' lonely old mansion. I really am sorry. I just don't think I can survive you.
I know you love me. I know you want me to be happy. Please believe this is the only way.
You'll find someone new. Probably on your way home. Probably in the elevator. I have complete faith in this.
See, you're so resilient! I'm so proud of you. You've basically stopped crying.
Me? Oh, I'm going to go meet a guy at a bowling alley, probably, or a bar called "Fergie's." Someone with divorced parents and a pothead roommate and a car that's needed a new transmission for about 12,000 miles. Someone who doesn't speak any other languages, and who hasn't read Voltaire, and who can't cook, but will try anyway. Someone who will make me feel smart and funny and special. Someone who will act like he's lucky to have me. Someone who didn't teach himself calligraphy in an afternoon because the power went out.
Don't worry about me. I'll land on my feet. Just like I know you will! On your feet, standing on a parade float, in one of those perpetually sunny southern European cities, a model on each arm, holding the keys to a Bugatti Veyron you won in a raffle.
Yes, just like last August. I know. You had a blast! I took a lot of pictures.
Take care. I very nearly loved you. You will find someone who can handle you, and I will find someone I can handle. It will be okay.
I'll be fine. | The sun was shining brightly as we sat on the park bench. It was a beautiful afternoon with a warm breeze and the lake was mirror still save a couple paddling off in the distance.
"I love our picnics, I didn't know if I could pull off the bento boxes," she says as she puts her hand on my knee.
Instinctively I jump a bit, I cautiously touch the top of her hand, it feels foreign and alien. "Sorry," I say, "I haven't gotten used to that yet. The rice was delicious." I know it was, but it brought me no joy.
"Are you doing alright?" she asks. It's been a long time, weeks, months, I forget. At first it really used to bother her, and she took it personally. I brought her with to see my shrink and he explained that I have a chemical imbalance; it's not anyone's fault, especially her, based on everything I've said. She's so patient and caring. Genuine love, without expectations.
I don't answer. She turns to look at the kayaks dancing circles around each other in a graceful ballet. A brief twinge of her lip is the only interruption to an otherwise impenetrable mask of happiness.
"I baked us some cookies, when we get back we'll watch our favorite show, it'll be nice to snuggle up."
"No," I say, "I don't feel like it. I don't feel like anything. You deserve better and I'm not going to bring you down anymore." I can't stand to look at her, but out of my peripheral it's a jaw dropped shock. I get up slowly and walk away without looking. After a time the wind carries a tormented cry of anguish, like a faint whisper only for me. |
Why? Are they too perfect? Too suspicious something *has* to be wrong with them? Why are they deserving of your dumping? | [WP] You're breaking up with the perfect SO. | He blinks, and I wonder if it's possible to blink more perfectly than that.
He smiles gently, and I wonder if he sees me like I see him.
He leans forward, and my breath is stolen. For a moment, I can think of nothing.
With shaking hands, I reach out and clasp his pale hands in mine. Their weak grip is foreign and horrifying, but I don't pull away, fearing that look of undisguised hurt... Looking down, our eyes lock.
I can see there, written plain as day, the pain he can't conceal. Eyes are supposed to never lose their intensity, even so close to the end, but his have. They have faded – someone has lied to me: he looks too delicate, too fragile, too far gone, and there is no acceptance in those eyes. He knows what's coming and hates it, hates the unfairness of it all. There is a lot of unhappiness and wistfulness in those eyes.... and a lot of jealousy, too.
My knees are shaking and his hands are slick in mine. Every beat of my heart slams blood up into my head and makes it spin and pound. I want desperately to look away, but I can't. Not now, not this moment, of all moments.
“I can't do this,” I whisper, voice hoarse.
Those dull, unhappy eyes blink. Once, twice... and finally, “I know.”
“I love you,” which I say because it's true, even now, especially now.
He smiles now, and says, “I love you, too.”
Millions of words, of stories, of happy memories are buzzing around my brain... I want to say more, to explain myself better, to ease some of this unhappiness, but I know that's not possible. I know that if I start speaking of that, then I will never stop.
Breathing deeply, I say, “Until next time.”
“Until next time,” he repeats softly.
We are staring at each other, wistful, wishful, until the nurse gently reminds me that it is time to leave. | The sun was shining brightly as we sat on the park bench. It was a beautiful afternoon with a warm breeze and the lake was mirror still save a couple paddling off in the distance.
"I love our picnics, I didn't know if I could pull off the bento boxes," she says as she puts her hand on my knee.
Instinctively I jump a bit, I cautiously touch the top of her hand, it feels foreign and alien. "Sorry," I say, "I haven't gotten used to that yet. The rice was delicious." I know it was, but it brought me no joy.
"Are you doing alright?" she asks. It's been a long time, weeks, months, I forget. At first it really used to bother her, and she took it personally. I brought her with to see my shrink and he explained that I have a chemical imbalance; it's not anyone's fault, especially her, based on everything I've said. She's so patient and caring. Genuine love, without expectations.
I don't answer. She turns to look at the kayaks dancing circles around each other in a graceful ballet. A brief twinge of her lip is the only interruption to an otherwise impenetrable mask of happiness.
"I baked us some cookies, when we get back we'll watch our favorite show, it'll be nice to snuggle up."
"No," I say, "I don't feel like it. I don't feel like anything. You deserve better and I'm not going to bring you down anymore." I can't stand to look at her, but out of my peripheral it's a jaw dropped shock. I get up slowly and walk away without looking. After a time the wind carries a tormented cry of anguish, like a faint whisper only for me. |
Why? Are they too perfect? Too suspicious something *has* to be wrong with them? Why are they deserving of your dumping? | [WP] You're breaking up with the perfect SO. | Ok, hi. Yes, thank you. I know, I *had* been looking at just this purse only last week! It's so nice that you remember. You always remember. I can't say that you don't.
It's just.... look. What? My ear? There's something in my... oh, haha, it's a Sephora gift card! Wow. Haha. In my ear. Yes, I know you've taken up prestidigitation these past couple of weeks. I know you're already an expert. Of course.
Hey, I need you to be quiet for a minute. More than one, maybe? I know, you have this innate sense of exactly how long one minute is without even looking at your watch. So weird! But really, like, for multiple minutes, please don't say any words.
Are you ready? Good. OK. So. Wow, this is hard. You...you are SO adorable. Your smile just makes me forget that I have bones. Your eyes have this wonderful sparkle, this twinkle that hints at mischief while still reassuring me that you're an honest guy, just, like, *the best*. You really are just really, really good-looking. I know you don't know that, but c'mon. You know. You have to know.
So yeah. I was saying. You know how you taught my brother how to change a tire last week? That was just so great for him. He won't shut up about it. Like, at all. He thinks you're, like, Batman. Haha. I know. You're not. But he does.
He thinks I'm Swamp Thing.
But that was cool! But, um, so remember my friend Audrey? Yeah, you moved her into her new apartment because I forgot I said I'd help, and then I was at work and she was all alone but then, BAM, you were on the job?
She also kinda thinks you're Batman. I know, so weird, haha. I don't really get on with Audrey much anymore. I can't remember what we used to have in common. Whatever.
And remember how you were telling me last week that you keep forgetting that you have a gym membership, and it's so weird that you always have a six pack because you don't even work out? I remember that. I remember that *really* well. Did I tell you what I had for lunch today? It was water. I had water for lunch. Oh, if you drink enough, you feel full. Really. I heard that somewhere, probably Doctor Phil.
I know he's not a *real* doctor. Not like your dad. And your mom.
So anyway, like I was saying...where was I? Oh. Yeah. Remember that weekend trip we have planned? You know. The two of us are going to go to that couples resort up in the Poconos, where we'll have just *endless* time alone together, with couples massages, and a hot tub, and breakfast in bed, and three solid, unbroken days of just *us*, with nothing to do but compare ourselves to each other. Not a single planned activity that won't highlight the subtle differences between your beautiful, toned, nut-brown arms and my soft biceps, dotted with keratosis pilaris. No TV, no internet, just endless hours where you can tell me about how you and your brothers spent weeks lost in the playgrounds of your own imagination, while I can tell you about the time my sister set my hair on fire because she thought I'd borrowed her Taylor Dayne cassette, which I obviously wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pole, but, like, tell that to my smoldering preteen bangs.
Yes, that. That weekend.
I've cancelled the booking. I would rather be eaten by fire ants that live through that weekend. I would rather have all my skin peeled off in one long, winding strip. I would rather spend it with my jerk sister.
Is that harsh?
Oh, no. Please. Please don't look at me like... No, I will be firm. I've planned for this. No. Look, you're wonderful. I mean... you're *literally wonderful*. You are a wonder. I can't look at you without being struck by your perfect teeth, your amazing hair, your easy smile. You shouldn't exist. You're impossible. And being with you just highlights how very, y'know... *possible* I am. So, I'm sorry. I'm going to need you to start taking some things home. To your - yes, your parents' lonely old mansion. I really am sorry. I just don't think I can survive you.
I know you love me. I know you want me to be happy. Please believe this is the only way.
You'll find someone new. Probably on your way home. Probably in the elevator. I have complete faith in this.
See, you're so resilient! I'm so proud of you. You've basically stopped crying.
Me? Oh, I'm going to go meet a guy at a bowling alley, probably, or a bar called "Fergie's." Someone with divorced parents and a pothead roommate and a car that's needed a new transmission for about 12,000 miles. Someone who doesn't speak any other languages, and who hasn't read Voltaire, and who can't cook, but will try anyway. Someone who will make me feel smart and funny and special. Someone who will act like he's lucky to have me. Someone who didn't teach himself calligraphy in an afternoon because the power went out.
Don't worry about me. I'll land on my feet. Just like I know you will! On your feet, standing on a parade float, in one of those perpetually sunny southern European cities, a model on each arm, holding the keys to a Bugatti Veyron you won in a raffle.
Yes, just like last August. I know. You had a blast! I took a lot of pictures.
Take care. I very nearly loved you. You will find someone who can handle you, and I will find someone I can handle. It will be okay.
I'll be fine. | There she was again, always sitting in that fucking chair. Everyday when he gets home from work there she is.
"The problem, you fucking bitch, is that you're perfect! You're to, mother fucking perfect!"
He lurched across the room and ripped her from her chair, her stitches pulling and tearing, all those parts that had taken so many nights to collect and assemble tumbling around the bedroom.
What was he supposed to work on when she had already been what he wanted her to be? At least now there was something to fix. There had been quite a large pile-up on the highway a week ago. Maybe there was something interesting to dig up? |
Why? Are they too perfect? Too suspicious something *has* to be wrong with them? Why are they deserving of your dumping? | [WP] You're breaking up with the perfect SO. | He blinks, and I wonder if it's possible to blink more perfectly than that.
He smiles gently, and I wonder if he sees me like I see him.
He leans forward, and my breath is stolen. For a moment, I can think of nothing.
With shaking hands, I reach out and clasp his pale hands in mine. Their weak grip is foreign and horrifying, but I don't pull away, fearing that look of undisguised hurt... Looking down, our eyes lock.
I can see there, written plain as day, the pain he can't conceal. Eyes are supposed to never lose their intensity, even so close to the end, but his have. They have faded – someone has lied to me: he looks too delicate, too fragile, too far gone, and there is no acceptance in those eyes. He knows what's coming and hates it, hates the unfairness of it all. There is a lot of unhappiness and wistfulness in those eyes.... and a lot of jealousy, too.
My knees are shaking and his hands are slick in mine. Every beat of my heart slams blood up into my head and makes it spin and pound. I want desperately to look away, but I can't. Not now, not this moment, of all moments.
“I can't do this,” I whisper, voice hoarse.
Those dull, unhappy eyes blink. Once, twice... and finally, “I know.”
“I love you,” which I say because it's true, even now, especially now.
He smiles now, and says, “I love you, too.”
Millions of words, of stories, of happy memories are buzzing around my brain... I want to say more, to explain myself better, to ease some of this unhappiness, but I know that's not possible. I know that if I start speaking of that, then I will never stop.
Breathing deeply, I say, “Until next time.”
“Until next time,” he repeats softly.
We are staring at each other, wistful, wishful, until the nurse gently reminds me that it is time to leave. | There she was again, always sitting in that fucking chair. Everyday when he gets home from work there she is.
"The problem, you fucking bitch, is that you're perfect! You're to, mother fucking perfect!"
He lurched across the room and ripped her from her chair, her stitches pulling and tearing, all those parts that had taken so many nights to collect and assemble tumbling around the bedroom.
What was he supposed to work on when she had already been what he wanted her to be? At least now there was something to fix. There had been quite a large pile-up on the highway a week ago. Maybe there was something interesting to dig up? |
Why? Are they too perfect? Too suspicious something *has* to be wrong with them? Why are they deserving of your dumping? | [WP] You're breaking up with the perfect SO. | Ok, hi. Yes, thank you. I know, I *had* been looking at just this purse only last week! It's so nice that you remember. You always remember. I can't say that you don't.
It's just.... look. What? My ear? There's something in my... oh, haha, it's a Sephora gift card! Wow. Haha. In my ear. Yes, I know you've taken up prestidigitation these past couple of weeks. I know you're already an expert. Of course.
Hey, I need you to be quiet for a minute. More than one, maybe? I know, you have this innate sense of exactly how long one minute is without even looking at your watch. So weird! But really, like, for multiple minutes, please don't say any words.
Are you ready? Good. OK. So. Wow, this is hard. You...you are SO adorable. Your smile just makes me forget that I have bones. Your eyes have this wonderful sparkle, this twinkle that hints at mischief while still reassuring me that you're an honest guy, just, like, *the best*. You really are just really, really good-looking. I know you don't know that, but c'mon. You know. You have to know.
So yeah. I was saying. You know how you taught my brother how to change a tire last week? That was just so great for him. He won't shut up about it. Like, at all. He thinks you're, like, Batman. Haha. I know. You're not. But he does.
He thinks I'm Swamp Thing.
But that was cool! But, um, so remember my friend Audrey? Yeah, you moved her into her new apartment because I forgot I said I'd help, and then I was at work and she was all alone but then, BAM, you were on the job?
She also kinda thinks you're Batman. I know, so weird, haha. I don't really get on with Audrey much anymore. I can't remember what we used to have in common. Whatever.
And remember how you were telling me last week that you keep forgetting that you have a gym membership, and it's so weird that you always have a six pack because you don't even work out? I remember that. I remember that *really* well. Did I tell you what I had for lunch today? It was water. I had water for lunch. Oh, if you drink enough, you feel full. Really. I heard that somewhere, probably Doctor Phil.
I know he's not a *real* doctor. Not like your dad. And your mom.
So anyway, like I was saying...where was I? Oh. Yeah. Remember that weekend trip we have planned? You know. The two of us are going to go to that couples resort up in the Poconos, where we'll have just *endless* time alone together, with couples massages, and a hot tub, and breakfast in bed, and three solid, unbroken days of just *us*, with nothing to do but compare ourselves to each other. Not a single planned activity that won't highlight the subtle differences between your beautiful, toned, nut-brown arms and my soft biceps, dotted with keratosis pilaris. No TV, no internet, just endless hours where you can tell me about how you and your brothers spent weeks lost in the playgrounds of your own imagination, while I can tell you about the time my sister set my hair on fire because she thought I'd borrowed her Taylor Dayne cassette, which I obviously wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pole, but, like, tell that to my smoldering preteen bangs.
Yes, that. That weekend.
I've cancelled the booking. I would rather be eaten by fire ants that live through that weekend. I would rather have all my skin peeled off in one long, winding strip. I would rather spend it with my jerk sister.
Is that harsh?
Oh, no. Please. Please don't look at me like... No, I will be firm. I've planned for this. No. Look, you're wonderful. I mean... you're *literally wonderful*. You are a wonder. I can't look at you without being struck by your perfect teeth, your amazing hair, your easy smile. You shouldn't exist. You're impossible. And being with you just highlights how very, y'know... *possible* I am. So, I'm sorry. I'm going to need you to start taking some things home. To your - yes, your parents' lonely old mansion. I really am sorry. I just don't think I can survive you.
I know you love me. I know you want me to be happy. Please believe this is the only way.
You'll find someone new. Probably on your way home. Probably in the elevator. I have complete faith in this.
See, you're so resilient! I'm so proud of you. You've basically stopped crying.
Me? Oh, I'm going to go meet a guy at a bowling alley, probably, or a bar called "Fergie's." Someone with divorced parents and a pothead roommate and a car that's needed a new transmission for about 12,000 miles. Someone who doesn't speak any other languages, and who hasn't read Voltaire, and who can't cook, but will try anyway. Someone who will make me feel smart and funny and special. Someone who will act like he's lucky to have me. Someone who didn't teach himself calligraphy in an afternoon because the power went out.
Don't worry about me. I'll land on my feet. Just like I know you will! On your feet, standing on a parade float, in one of those perpetually sunny southern European cities, a model on each arm, holding the keys to a Bugatti Veyron you won in a raffle.
Yes, just like last August. I know. You had a blast! I took a lot of pictures.
Take care. I very nearly loved you. You will find someone who can handle you, and I will find someone I can handle. It will be okay.
I'll be fine. | I look into her eyes...they've always been that unique gold color. There really wasn't another way to describe it. The sunlight could tread in them for hours, letting her irises absorb its color. I breath her in, her scent was constant; warm laundry and cinnamon. Her grin hasn't left her face. She still holds a toothy smile with a dimple on either side.
"We need to talk," I whisper in a single breath, as if it would feel cruel to give those words more effort.
Her face becomes sullen.
"What's wrong?" Her voice is quivering.
"I was sent an invitation in the mail...it was for a school," I say. I never dare to break eye contact, I have to be strong for her. I can't be cowardly.
She allows herself a handful of hope, being an optimist, and speaks,
"That's wonderful, darling! I knew something like this would happen to you. You're smart, and unique. I'll go wherever you go, wherever we need."
My arms cling to her a bit tighter, I would miss her soft skin.
"It's not somewhere we can both go. I've been excepted to Hogwarts, A School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
She begins to laugh. Her laugh always danced through the air, skipping and snorting and giggling.
"Oh my god, you really scared me."
My eyes still don't shift from hers. I need her to feel my sincerity.
"I'm leaving in August. You're the most wonderful person I've ever met, you know that, yeah? You're so worthy of anything this world has to offer. You're talented and sweet and a good person, that's so incredible to find. I could never stumble upon anything grander. However...this opportunity can't be passed up. I'll write to you, every day if you want me to, I swear."
Her eyes have become concrete, they dig into my heart and create a purple, festering tornado of guilt in my stomach.
"You're serious?"
I nod, and say,
"I love you."
I wish I could do more, but that's all I can do.
"I love you too..." she manages to make out. I yearn to sneak into her mind, peer at her thoughts. Some days, when we talked, she would let me into her brain. I could sit there watching it work for hours. Now, as I seat myself into the floor of her skull I observe its gears turning in the shadows. She trusts me, she knows what we have is completely true. She doesn't doubt me...even if it's the right thing to do, she can't stomach to. I think she doesn't know how to believe this...
I'll need to see her again some day. Her liquid gold eyes may turn to rusted old coins. |
Why? Are they too perfect? Too suspicious something *has* to be wrong with them? Why are they deserving of your dumping? | [WP] You're breaking up with the perfect SO. | He blinks, and I wonder if it's possible to blink more perfectly than that.
He smiles gently, and I wonder if he sees me like I see him.
He leans forward, and my breath is stolen. For a moment, I can think of nothing.
With shaking hands, I reach out and clasp his pale hands in mine. Their weak grip is foreign and horrifying, but I don't pull away, fearing that look of undisguised hurt... Looking down, our eyes lock.
I can see there, written plain as day, the pain he can't conceal. Eyes are supposed to never lose their intensity, even so close to the end, but his have. They have faded – someone has lied to me: he looks too delicate, too fragile, too far gone, and there is no acceptance in those eyes. He knows what's coming and hates it, hates the unfairness of it all. There is a lot of unhappiness and wistfulness in those eyes.... and a lot of jealousy, too.
My knees are shaking and his hands are slick in mine. Every beat of my heart slams blood up into my head and makes it spin and pound. I want desperately to look away, but I can't. Not now, not this moment, of all moments.
“I can't do this,” I whisper, voice hoarse.
Those dull, unhappy eyes blink. Once, twice... and finally, “I know.”
“I love you,” which I say because it's true, even now, especially now.
He smiles now, and says, “I love you, too.”
Millions of words, of stories, of happy memories are buzzing around my brain... I want to say more, to explain myself better, to ease some of this unhappiness, but I know that's not possible. I know that if I start speaking of that, then I will never stop.
Breathing deeply, I say, “Until next time.”
“Until next time,” he repeats softly.
We are staring at each other, wistful, wishful, until the nurse gently reminds me that it is time to leave. | I look into her eyes...they've always been that unique gold color. There really wasn't another way to describe it. The sunlight could tread in them for hours, letting her irises absorb its color. I breath her in, her scent was constant; warm laundry and cinnamon. Her grin hasn't left her face. She still holds a toothy smile with a dimple on either side.
"We need to talk," I whisper in a single breath, as if it would feel cruel to give those words more effort.
Her face becomes sullen.
"What's wrong?" Her voice is quivering.
"I was sent an invitation in the mail...it was for a school," I say. I never dare to break eye contact, I have to be strong for her. I can't be cowardly.
She allows herself a handful of hope, being an optimist, and speaks,
"That's wonderful, darling! I knew something like this would happen to you. You're smart, and unique. I'll go wherever you go, wherever we need."
My arms cling to her a bit tighter, I would miss her soft skin.
"It's not somewhere we can both go. I've been excepted to Hogwarts, A School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
She begins to laugh. Her laugh always danced through the air, skipping and snorting and giggling.
"Oh my god, you really scared me."
My eyes still don't shift from hers. I need her to feel my sincerity.
"I'm leaving in August. You're the most wonderful person I've ever met, you know that, yeah? You're so worthy of anything this world has to offer. You're talented and sweet and a good person, that's so incredible to find. I could never stumble upon anything grander. However...this opportunity can't be passed up. I'll write to you, every day if you want me to, I swear."
Her eyes have become concrete, they dig into my heart and create a purple, festering tornado of guilt in my stomach.
"You're serious?"
I nod, and say,
"I love you."
I wish I could do more, but that's all I can do.
"I love you too..." she manages to make out. I yearn to sneak into her mind, peer at her thoughts. Some days, when we talked, she would let me into her brain. I could sit there watching it work for hours. Now, as I seat myself into the floor of her skull I observe its gears turning in the shadows. She trusts me, she knows what we have is completely true. She doesn't doubt me...even if it's the right thing to do, she can't stomach to. I think she doesn't know how to believe this...
I'll need to see her again some day. Her liquid gold eyes may turn to rusted old coins. |
Why? Are they too perfect? Too suspicious something *has* to be wrong with them? Why are they deserving of your dumping? | [WP] You're breaking up with the perfect SO. | Ok, hi. Yes, thank you. I know, I *had* been looking at just this purse only last week! It's so nice that you remember. You always remember. I can't say that you don't.
It's just.... look. What? My ear? There's something in my... oh, haha, it's a Sephora gift card! Wow. Haha. In my ear. Yes, I know you've taken up prestidigitation these past couple of weeks. I know you're already an expert. Of course.
Hey, I need you to be quiet for a minute. More than one, maybe? I know, you have this innate sense of exactly how long one minute is without even looking at your watch. So weird! But really, like, for multiple minutes, please don't say any words.
Are you ready? Good. OK. So. Wow, this is hard. You...you are SO adorable. Your smile just makes me forget that I have bones. Your eyes have this wonderful sparkle, this twinkle that hints at mischief while still reassuring me that you're an honest guy, just, like, *the best*. You really are just really, really good-looking. I know you don't know that, but c'mon. You know. You have to know.
So yeah. I was saying. You know how you taught my brother how to change a tire last week? That was just so great for him. He won't shut up about it. Like, at all. He thinks you're, like, Batman. Haha. I know. You're not. But he does.
He thinks I'm Swamp Thing.
But that was cool! But, um, so remember my friend Audrey? Yeah, you moved her into her new apartment because I forgot I said I'd help, and then I was at work and she was all alone but then, BAM, you were on the job?
She also kinda thinks you're Batman. I know, so weird, haha. I don't really get on with Audrey much anymore. I can't remember what we used to have in common. Whatever.
And remember how you were telling me last week that you keep forgetting that you have a gym membership, and it's so weird that you always have a six pack because you don't even work out? I remember that. I remember that *really* well. Did I tell you what I had for lunch today? It was water. I had water for lunch. Oh, if you drink enough, you feel full. Really. I heard that somewhere, probably Doctor Phil.
I know he's not a *real* doctor. Not like your dad. And your mom.
So anyway, like I was saying...where was I? Oh. Yeah. Remember that weekend trip we have planned? You know. The two of us are going to go to that couples resort up in the Poconos, where we'll have just *endless* time alone together, with couples massages, and a hot tub, and breakfast in bed, and three solid, unbroken days of just *us*, with nothing to do but compare ourselves to each other. Not a single planned activity that won't highlight the subtle differences between your beautiful, toned, nut-brown arms and my soft biceps, dotted with keratosis pilaris. No TV, no internet, just endless hours where you can tell me about how you and your brothers spent weeks lost in the playgrounds of your own imagination, while I can tell you about the time my sister set my hair on fire because she thought I'd borrowed her Taylor Dayne cassette, which I obviously wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pole, but, like, tell that to my smoldering preteen bangs.
Yes, that. That weekend.
I've cancelled the booking. I would rather be eaten by fire ants that live through that weekend. I would rather have all my skin peeled off in one long, winding strip. I would rather spend it with my jerk sister.
Is that harsh?
Oh, no. Please. Please don't look at me like... No, I will be firm. I've planned for this. No. Look, you're wonderful. I mean... you're *literally wonderful*. You are a wonder. I can't look at you without being struck by your perfect teeth, your amazing hair, your easy smile. You shouldn't exist. You're impossible. And being with you just highlights how very, y'know... *possible* I am. So, I'm sorry. I'm going to need you to start taking some things home. To your - yes, your parents' lonely old mansion. I really am sorry. I just don't think I can survive you.
I know you love me. I know you want me to be happy. Please believe this is the only way.
You'll find someone new. Probably on your way home. Probably in the elevator. I have complete faith in this.
See, you're so resilient! I'm so proud of you. You've basically stopped crying.
Me? Oh, I'm going to go meet a guy at a bowling alley, probably, or a bar called "Fergie's." Someone with divorced parents and a pothead roommate and a car that's needed a new transmission for about 12,000 miles. Someone who doesn't speak any other languages, and who hasn't read Voltaire, and who can't cook, but will try anyway. Someone who will make me feel smart and funny and special. Someone who will act like he's lucky to have me. Someone who didn't teach himself calligraphy in an afternoon because the power went out.
Don't worry about me. I'll land on my feet. Just like I know you will! On your feet, standing on a parade float, in one of those perpetually sunny southern European cities, a model on each arm, holding the keys to a Bugatti Veyron you won in a raffle.
Yes, just like last August. I know. You had a blast! I took a lot of pictures.
Take care. I very nearly loved you. You will find someone who can handle you, and I will find someone I can handle. It will be okay.
I'll be fine. | I look at her from across the table, she's looks beautiful as always...too beautiful I've noticed that with her, it's the stolen glances that are the best. The ones where she doesn't think anyone is watching, and she loses herself in her own little world. I sigh breaking my train of thought, oh wait she's smiling at me. Like everything she does, her smile is perfect. It's wide and her teeth are big, but in the best way possible.
"C'mon...let's take a walk" I say softly.
"Ok" She smiles and we leave the table where all our friends are laughing, being young and stupid.
We walk over to where the sun becomes blocked by the large trees, forming patches of shade.
"I..." I start but can't seem to find the words
"What was that?" She stops looking up at me with her dark brown eyes, they're so warm and inviting. I shake my head and look down, knowing I won't be able to do while looking into them
"We...we should take a break" I say hurriedly, wanting to get the words out as quickly as possible
"Wh...why" She asks, I can hear her hear breaking through her voice "Everything was going great" She says softly
"I just think..." I look back at her "We're both young...and we shouldn't get tied down to quickly" I lie. In truth, I don't want to tie her down, I'm afraid well grow old and be happy, but that will soon turn to regret when she realizes she's wasted her time with me.
"But..." She starts but looks down, tears falling from her warm eyes.
"Trust me...this way we can have new experiences" I tell myself more than her.
She just nods and says "I've got to go to class..." She walks off.
I knew then that I had made the worst mistake of my life. |
-037 | [WP] A strange man knows a worrying amount about you. He’s here to help. | I'm not sure what I did that morning, and it wouldn't be right if I even speculated. I don't even remember walking on the train that morning or sitting down. I didn't know who was sitting next to me besides a man with a coat on with a hat and a hood. But all of a sudden the man to my right pulls out a legal pad and writes "I don't want to scare you but you need to not leave this seat".
I looked for another seat as this guy was clearly insane, but there was none available. He then writes my social security number, bank, address, DOB, parents names, my wife and children's names- and at the time I didn't even have a girlfriend, let alone know who my wife was. I suddenly feel an object thrust in my side with considerable pressure and don't know what it was- I looked and it was some type of gun I've never seen before.
I looked at him with a thousand yard stare and he writes on the pad for me to get off the train at the next stop. I cautiously get off and follow this man down the platform. He sits down and takes off his hat and hood. He looks very similar to me. He writes down on the legal pad again "I am going to pull out my wallet to verify my identity do not be alarmed".
He pulls out his wallet and hands me a solid metal card and instructs me to put my thumb in the box on the back of the card. The card displays a hologram "Identity verified: Jack Manning" and has a picture of the man.
I'm in shock, how does this man have my name and why does he have this card? Is he CIA, FBI, or NSA?
The man grabs my hand and says
"Jack, I am you 30 years from now, in this briefcase is everything you need to know for your life until then, if you're still unsatisfied in 2044 you can come back and try again, you've done this twice before"
The man then disappeared in the blink of an eye.
It's been now two years since that encounter.
I still have the briefcase sitting next to my bed, unopened.
| Might write something later, but this reminded me of Doctor Who for some reason. |
-037 | [WP] A strange man knows a worrying amount about you. He’s here to help. | ‘James! James!’ the man called out as he alighted the E train at Forest Hills/71st Ave, his eyes scanning rapidly for someone. I looked his way from across the platform where I was waiting for the transfer to the F. I didn’t know him. His overcoat was rumpled and his hair blazed the color of the F train’s signature orange circle. Even though it’s hard to look out of place at any Queens subway station, he managed the feat.
He ran up the stairs from the E platform shouting a few more times for James. I quickly forgot the man and returned to the article about the mayor’s lavish ball at Gracie Mansion I was reading in the *New Yorker.* The F train was still 6 minutes away.
As I was reading the fluff piece about the clams casino NYC’s first lady served, my nose was assaulted by the smell of stale linguisa and sweat. I looked up to see the orange-headed man staring down at me.
‘James! I found you.’
I was about to tell him it must be another James he was looking for when he sat down, closer than he needed to be, on the bench next to me.
‘James,’ he continued, bowling right over my objection, ‘I’m so glad I got you before you got on the F. I just missed you at Kew Gardens when you first got on the train.’
That brought my back up straight and the magazine fell to my lap forgotten.
‘What do you mean you’ve been following me since I got on the train?’ I stared at the man and got my first really good look.
He wore glasses taped at both ends. His eyes had narrow pupils that drilled into mine like an MTA Sandhog doing tunnel work. As he spoke I could see remnants of sausage built up along his gumline.
‘James, I missed you at Kew Gardens but I tried to catch you at your apartment on Talbot Street before that. It was imperative I get to you before you go to Manhattan. I’m just here to help.’ The man was breathless at this point with his explanation.
I’d had enough. I don’t know who this man was but I was just trying to get to work. I got up to find another spot on the platform, try to lose myself in the crowd.
The man’s hand fell to my chest as I started to get up. His arm was strong, holding me in place.
‘James, I told you I’m just here to help. You’ll want my help once you get to work.’ His tone turned stern, ‘Now you’ll get on the F train when it arrives in,’ he looked up at the electronic message board, ‘two minutes. You’ll take the train to Manhattan like you do every day. You’ll get off at Bryant Park like you do every day. You’ll walk to your job at 41 West 42nd Street. 7th floor, I believe.’
He removed his hand from my chest, but I was still paralyzed by this man reciting my daily routine. He reached into a pocket of his overcoat.
‘And when you get to your desk,’ he continued, ‘you will log into your computer. You haven’t changed your password in a while, it’s still *7Yankees!* isn’t it? Of course it is. When you get to your computer, you’ll slide in this thumb drive. Remember, I’m just here to help,’
A small plastic flash drive emerged from his pocket and he dropped it on the cover of the *New Yorker* sitting in my lap.
The man got up and walked slowly away his orange hair like a sunset over the Rockaways. I clutched the magazine and stared at the thumb drive.
A screeching brought everyone else on the platform to their feet, the F was here.
I got on the train to head to work just like I do every day. | Might write something later, but this reminded me of Doctor Who for some reason. |
[WP]A villain concocts an elaborate plan while overlooking a much simpler, more obvious, and elegant solution | Villanio Villanus was concocting his best plan yet. "I must have the painting!" He screeched over the sound of the various machinery sounds that played over the radio in his laboratory. "I need it, or the western wall of my bedroom will be bare and throw the whole room into disarray!"
Dredge peeked his head around the large metal evilizer and said in a quiet voice "Master, what if we-"
"Silence!" Villanus bellowed. "What makes you think that a disgusting thing like you could out-think the great Villanio Villanus?"
Dredge's heart sank, "Yes m'lord." he stated somberly, then hunched away even more hunchily than usual.
Villanus looked at the blueprints of the house. "Now, the best way to commit a crime is to convince everyone that the crime never happened." As Villanus considered ways to replace the painting he almost realized he could print off a picture of the painting and frame it, but it did not occur to him.
"I believe that the best way to do this will be to pay for it with money that I need to steal from somewhere. That will redirect the crime." Villanus sat down in his chair and looked into the mirror at the face directly in front of him. It was pale white and horribly scarred after an incident where the bleach gun did not work as it should have. "They would never trust a man who looks as I!"
Philip, Villanus's eldest son then walked into the room. "Hey dad, I was thinking that maybe I could go to the movies with Sandra tonight. Gunmonster: the Day of Darkness is looking good and I think she may be up for a make out session after."
As Villanus turned and reached into his pocket to give his son what he thought were a few crumpled dollars but were actually a candy wrapper that he had blown his nose into and a tissue he had wrapped some candy in he looked at his son and had a most evil thought. "Yes! Yes!!" Villanus began laughing maniacally and after calming down he said, "I'm afraid not son, Daddy has some work he needs your help with. Come, sit, sit."
"Can I, like, go call Sandra first?"
"No time! For we must work on your interview skills."
That evening Sandra would arrive at the theater, wait for 20 minutes, refusing to call Philip because she feels weird when she calls people, and eventually frustratedly kick a trash can and stub her index toe. She didn't want the evening to be wasted so she caught the next available show, Magic in the Air, the new Gisnep movie, and actually had a delightful time sitting next to a middle aged couple who were suffering from empty nest syndrome. They took her out to eat at the local Mexican restaurant afterward where Sandra complained that calling it a "Mexican" restaurant was racist and probably homophobic, and the couple promised to get her a Christmas present.
--------------------
Philip was sitting across the desk from an impressively large and surprisingly unintimidating man. "So, uh, you want the job, right?"
"Yeah, I guess," replied Philip.
"Ok, you got it."
Philip grinned. Phase one was complete.
A week later Philip began his his first day on the job. He was known as "Log boy," despite all of his attempts to get them to call him Philly Cheese steak. Philly's job was to take the logs from one pile and carry them to wherever anyone in the facility needed logs. It only took him a month to figure out that he was allowed to use the carts to make the job easier, but by then his biceps were the size of logs and he decided to stick with his method.
Every week Philip would receive his paycheck Thursday evening and then take it and put it in his savings account. After he had saved up $1000, usually about a month, he would draw all of his savings into a CD that would be available Dec. 30th of that year, the date his father had come up with when they would finally have all the money they needed.
The months drew closer, and finally it was only weeks away, and then it was only days away, and then finally the day was here. Philip went to the bank and withdrew all of his CDs, totalling $8470 cash. Philip then walked out into the parking lot and was stabbed by a meth head wielding a deadly pair of car keys who had heard the teller count out Philip's money.
Philip was rushed to the hospital where he underwent emergency surgery and decided that he may as well get his tonsillectomy now since they had been hurting quite a bit recently. Philip survived but was always wary around car keys from then on.
When Villanus heard the news his screeches could be heard echoing through the corridors of his two bedroom trailer. Dredge followed him saying, "The doctors say he's going to be alright, they said the keys had just barely scratched him and he had just fainted at the sight of blood."
"I'm not screeching because of that! I'm screeching because of the money!"
"Eight-thousand dollars? Surely at age fifty your retirement plan has at least eight-thousand dollars in it."
Villanus slapped Dredge across the face, then resumed his wailing. "How will we ever get the painting now?"
"Just go and steal it m'lord. I could do it meself."
"Oh yes, that would go perfectly, wouldn't it."
Dredge explained, "It would be fine! It's in a house in the middle of the woods with no security and the owners are currently in Las Vegas on vacation."
Villanus eyed Dredge carefully for a moment, then replied, "No, it would never work."
------------------------------
Sandra was sitting in the hotel room with her new adopted parents, John and Nancy Floyd, and opened up her new Christmas present. Sandra looked at it for a moment. It was a beautiful painting of a dog leaping through a hula-hoop that was framed in a rich mahogany.
"Our son painted that, and we thought you might very much like it," Nancy explained. Sandra eyed it for a few moments and felt tears welling up in her eyes, nobody had ever given her something so nice and thoughtful. It would be perfect for the Eastern wall of her bedroom, as currently the whole room was in a state of horrid disarray.
John said, "Well, I'm glad you like it. Now, who wants to go out for burgers?"
Sandra sniffed back her tears, looked at the two beautiful people in front of her and said, "burgers are my favorite." | [meta] Wouldn't this just be the Joker doing anything, overlooking "just shoot the SOB"?
Will delete upon downvote or request. | |
[WP]A villain concocts an elaborate plan while overlooking a much simpler, more obvious, and elegant solution | He rustled about in his giant blueprints of ginormous plans to conquer the lesser known world with an sinister grin and an maniacal chuckle. His wiry grey strands of hair swim about in front of his face. "Aha!" This is the one. His greatest creation, the epitome of everything that could be, will be, or is evil. Even his greatest influences would have been at marvel with his devious wit and cunning connivery. He picks the giant scroll out of the bin with his long and gnarled index finger and his plump thumb taking every caution in this monumentious moment beforehand. He dizzingly takes the scroll back to his seat and candlelit table. His eyes never leave the plan clutched in hands as he makes his way back. The devious grin seems to be permenently engraved on his face. He sits down with another hearty chuckle that seems to come from the most evil pits of his stomach. This is his plan that will take him to the top. The Holy Grail of hellish undertakings. He ever so gently places the parchment down onto the table. He unties the the string holding it in place and begins to flatten it with the precise caution. His ghastly boney hands make it to the edges of the paper and he lets it go. The scroll springs back to it's original form in from. The mad genius unravels the parchment again. Once his hands leave the paper it pops right back again. He stands up disheveled. He must not lose focus now, not when his greatest moment stands before him! He sits down, composure regained and spreads the scroll once again. He holds his hands on opposite sides in the middle. The corners fold themselves in towards the middle obscurring the master plan. He grimaces and begins to utter curses to himself whilst holding his position. Every move he attempts to make has an opposite effect on the scroll that he is so desperately trying to flatten. He gets up in utter frustration as the scroll snaps itself back together with such force it leaves the table momentarily. He strokes his grey chin in a scheme and he finally sets into motion. He stretches out the parchment for the final time. He grabs a human skull and places it on one corner. He finds an inkwell and places it on another. An old stone for another. All he needs is one more weight to finally put his ploy into motion. He looks around his barren workplace and finds nothing. Only a single lit candle stick in its holder. "Aha!" He zips around grabbing the candle. As he moves over to the corner with nothing there, the bottom scrapes the edge of the inkwell and ink cascades onto his greatest work. He gasp in terror, drops the candle swiping away the ink with his hands, all the while the candle slowly eats its way into the parchment unbeknownst to the mad-man. He scoops off the rest of the ink in dissatisfaction and places his hand on hips. Maybe he could redraw the rest from memory? He sees the shadow of the skull jumping and dancing around on the table. It brings him back to reality when he realizes that one half of the parchment is engulfed in flames. He screeches in terror and immdiatly begins to smack the flames with his tatty and worn robe. The flame begins to smother and he is left in darkness. He sinks into his chair in silence. He lets out an eerie gitty laugh that drowns out through the night.
MY first writing attempt i hope you enjoy! I'm open to honest criticism and compliments! | [meta] Wouldn't this just be the Joker doing anything, overlooking "just shoot the SOB"?
Will delete upon downvote or request. | |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | I hope it's not too late to post here. Sorry.
*Sustenance- appears to use the same orifice for consumption of energy, communication, respiration.*
Gil looked up from his holo-notes at his subjects. He twiddled a dial on the side of his helmet, and zoomed in on the aliens, as they ate flaps of what appeared to be organic nutrients.
*Consumed items unidentifiable- unable to discern whether they hunt.*
He looked again. His subjects where all acting differently. While most simply sat eating and communicating, some were focusing on strange shiny objects, or staring at the nearby surface-spires.
*Appear to have a wide range of behaviour. Little or no mental communication, appear to lack communi-chips.*
A small rock dug into his side, and he shifted uncomfortably. Bored, he switched his communi-chip back on, to check how it was back home, underground. Disappointment registered on the edge of his mind as terror, confusion and a calculated aggression surged through his brain. He resisted the screaming urge to flee the tiny cave he’d squished his bulk into, reminding himself that it was still sunlit outside. He switched it off again.
“Just five more minutes, Gil old squid, that’s all”.
From birth the Gigoolians had been taught to never leave the ground, that to do so was one of the most insanely suicidal things a creature could do. Unlike most Gigoolian lessons, this one stuck easily. All one needed to do to teach a young Gigoolian was to show them the burnt and irradiated corpses of those banished to the over-world.
Some Gigoolians, however, were brave and trusted enough to be send out onto the surface to study its untouched beauty.
A recently arrived species had made the job far more interesting.
Sighing, Gil watched the last rays of the sun tip over the horizon, and the aliens cleaning up. He reached behind him to put his holo-notes back in his pack. With a great effort he heaved his rear tentacles to his arms and slithered closer to the aliens, his progress impeded by the thick radiation suit. Pressing a button on the back of his helmet, he opened communications to the nearest military base.
“Gil, reporting in. The sun has set, I’m moving in. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14, we hear you and allow. Any luck so far?”
“Not much, just a few minor details. End conversation.”
Slithering over to the alien camp, Gil watched them retreat into their strange structures made of brown sheets. As soon as the coast was clear he trotted into the centre of camp, and began collected as many small artifacts as he could, attaching holo-labels to each.
*Item one- metal container, cylindrical*
*Item two- smooth pocket, plastic*
*Item three- scrap of organic material, yellow, segmented*
Turning towards the shelters, he decided to take a chance, and study the creatures up close. Breathing deeply, he hit the button on the back of his helmet again.
“Gil, reporting in, I’m going to study one up close. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14. You know you’ll probably die, right? If you are discovered, the consequences will be severe. I advise not to do so.”
“They’re not making any noise. I think the surface radiation may have killed them.”
“Let me check with the Commander.”
Gil waited impatiently for a reply, listening to the muffled conversation and confused movements on the other end.
“She said you’re free to go ahead, but this won’t be covered under the Worker Protection Act.”
“Great, thank you. End conversation.”
Flicking his tentacle nubs in disgust, Gil crept over to the nearest structure, taking care not to leak slime over the ground. He brushed aside the thick material, and found himself peering directly at an alien. He assumed the sneaking position recommended by the governing officers, and sidled up to the small round bit on the creatures head.
He grimaced in disgust as he zoomed out on his helmet. He could barely stand to look at the hideous thing, let alone zoom in on it. So dry, so wrinkly, with tiny inadequate pores that were clearly not designed to exude the normal amounts of fluid. Where was the oozing? The puss-holes? It looked so unnatural, like an artist’s nightmare.
Resisting the urge to flee in horror, he slipped a container and a sharp rock from his pack, and leaned forwards. Wrapping a limb around a lock of the creature’s hair, he began sawing the sharp rock against the dark strands. Cringing in fear, he took a chance and sawed harder.
Joy flooded through his body as the strands came loose. Small tooting noises escaped him before he remembered where he was and, putting the strands safely away, he stealthily headed back to base. Those paranoid heads-of-command back at base would be thrilled to get their hands on some of the alien’s genetic information. Soon enough, all the questions back home would have answers.
He failed to notice the alien’s open eyes.
| She would take what she learned back to her people, and then she would die a lingering death. On the whole, it seemed fitting. Her children were grown, her grandchildren healthy. Finding information on these alien monsters was the best thing she could do for their future.
She could make out the sounds, a base rumble vibrating in her chest, as they bellowed and moaned to one another. They had tools of unimagined sophistication, so it had to be a language, but such was the roaring that she could make out no distinct sound that might be a word. A series of clicks brought their forms to mind: standing like plants, on two mobile roots. Longer, thicker arms used for locomotion, with some sort of levers buried underneath. Internally braced somehow, on top of the normal hydraulic pressure. The sounds came out of the top of their bodies, and from the way they moved their tops around, there was some sort of ranged sense there as well, but she could hear no clicks - they must use frequencies even she could not hear.
She stayed still, letting her blood pool, lowering her heat signature just in case these creatures could sense heat like wall predators. The wind was brisk, blowing from them to her. She was completely invisible now. And yet, somehow, they were all turning towards her. Her heart wasn't even beating, she was so afraid. She was ready to die, but not like this.
One of them moved towards her, and her nerve broke. She ran, forcing herself into the ground, piling it up behind herself carelessly, all her arms working in unison to get as far away as she could. After a while, the smells receded and she was in clean, damp earth, not far from an air tunnel. Listening, she could hear only the creak of roots from the plant that was protecting her. The aliens had unimaginable powers, but they couldn't dig quickly. They might well already have broken into edge tunnels, but at least people would still be able to get away when they arrived.
Just in case they were still tracking her, she turned away and started making a path for herself, the long way home. She would have to warn everyone that the aliens had some sort of undetectable way of sensing people at a distance clicks couldn't reach. That the endless silence of the days was broken by aliens who could not be communicated with. That centuries of civilisation was going to be broken by walking plants. |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | I hope it's not too late to post here. Sorry.
*Sustenance- appears to use the same orifice for consumption of energy, communication, respiration.*
Gil looked up from his holo-notes at his subjects. He twiddled a dial on the side of his helmet, and zoomed in on the aliens, as they ate flaps of what appeared to be organic nutrients.
*Consumed items unidentifiable- unable to discern whether they hunt.*
He looked again. His subjects where all acting differently. While most simply sat eating and communicating, some were focusing on strange shiny objects, or staring at the nearby surface-spires.
*Appear to have a wide range of behaviour. Little or no mental communication, appear to lack communi-chips.*
A small rock dug into his side, and he shifted uncomfortably. Bored, he switched his communi-chip back on, to check how it was back home, underground. Disappointment registered on the edge of his mind as terror, confusion and a calculated aggression surged through his brain. He resisted the screaming urge to flee the tiny cave he’d squished his bulk into, reminding himself that it was still sunlit outside. He switched it off again.
“Just five more minutes, Gil old squid, that’s all”.
From birth the Gigoolians had been taught to never leave the ground, that to do so was one of the most insanely suicidal things a creature could do. Unlike most Gigoolian lessons, this one stuck easily. All one needed to do to teach a young Gigoolian was to show them the burnt and irradiated corpses of those banished to the over-world.
Some Gigoolians, however, were brave and trusted enough to be send out onto the surface to study its untouched beauty.
A recently arrived species had made the job far more interesting.
Sighing, Gil watched the last rays of the sun tip over the horizon, and the aliens cleaning up. He reached behind him to put his holo-notes back in his pack. With a great effort he heaved his rear tentacles to his arms and slithered closer to the aliens, his progress impeded by the thick radiation suit. Pressing a button on the back of his helmet, he opened communications to the nearest military base.
“Gil, reporting in. The sun has set, I’m moving in. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14, we hear you and allow. Any luck so far?”
“Not much, just a few minor details. End conversation.”
Slithering over to the alien camp, Gil watched them retreat into their strange structures made of brown sheets. As soon as the coast was clear he trotted into the centre of camp, and began collected as many small artifacts as he could, attaching holo-labels to each.
*Item one- metal container, cylindrical*
*Item two- smooth pocket, plastic*
*Item three- scrap of organic material, yellow, segmented*
Turning towards the shelters, he decided to take a chance, and study the creatures up close. Breathing deeply, he hit the button on the back of his helmet again.
“Gil, reporting in, I’m going to study one up close. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14. You know you’ll probably die, right? If you are discovered, the consequences will be severe. I advise not to do so.”
“They’re not making any noise. I think the surface radiation may have killed them.”
“Let me check with the Commander.”
Gil waited impatiently for a reply, listening to the muffled conversation and confused movements on the other end.
“She said you’re free to go ahead, but this won’t be covered under the Worker Protection Act.”
“Great, thank you. End conversation.”
Flicking his tentacle nubs in disgust, Gil crept over to the nearest structure, taking care not to leak slime over the ground. He brushed aside the thick material, and found himself peering directly at an alien. He assumed the sneaking position recommended by the governing officers, and sidled up to the small round bit on the creatures head.
He grimaced in disgust as he zoomed out on his helmet. He could barely stand to look at the hideous thing, let alone zoom in on it. So dry, so wrinkly, with tiny inadequate pores that were clearly not designed to exude the normal amounts of fluid. Where was the oozing? The puss-holes? It looked so unnatural, like an artist’s nightmare.
Resisting the urge to flee in horror, he slipped a container and a sharp rock from his pack, and leaned forwards. Wrapping a limb around a lock of the creature’s hair, he began sawing the sharp rock against the dark strands. Cringing in fear, he took a chance and sawed harder.
Joy flooded through his body as the strands came loose. Small tooting noises escaped him before he remembered where he was and, putting the strands safely away, he stealthily headed back to base. Those paranoid heads-of-command back at base would be thrilled to get their hands on some of the alien’s genetic information. Soon enough, all the questions back home would have answers.
He failed to notice the alien’s open eyes.
| The titans. That is the name we have given them. They came in from the skies and dropped straight down. They wield powerful magicks and can mold the world in their favor. Already, the world is being casted into a world fit for them. They are destroying our lands and building monuments in their favor. These giants rage over the land as if they themselves have created it. They are an aggressive species, powerful, gigantic. It would take twenty of us to match a single titan in size. They are able to recreate nature’s forces such as thunder and fire. They could redirect the waters and the lands. Most of all, they are able to live in the light. We live in secrecy, in fear of these giants. It has broken our society apart. A big faction has risen that suggests we make friends with these all-powerful beasts. Another faction which hold the majority, myself included, suggests that we ignore them and hope they never reach the depths of our world. Another faction believes that they are “gods”, beings from the clouds who possess enormous amounts of power.
I live in great fear of them. They seem to weld obsessive amounts of power. Who are they? Why did they come down from the skies? How do they possess so much power? Are they friendly? Will they harm us? Will they see us as beings? Or as ants that are to be squashed. All I know is that soon… soon… they’ll populate the entire world…
|
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | Man, is everyone just suggesting things that the story could be and not actually writing? This is a story I want to hear! (And one I can't write myself because I'm busy with work) | Enders Game? |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | I hope it's not too late to post here. Sorry.
*Sustenance- appears to use the same orifice for consumption of energy, communication, respiration.*
Gil looked up from his holo-notes at his subjects. He twiddled a dial on the side of his helmet, and zoomed in on the aliens, as they ate flaps of what appeared to be organic nutrients.
*Consumed items unidentifiable- unable to discern whether they hunt.*
He looked again. His subjects where all acting differently. While most simply sat eating and communicating, some were focusing on strange shiny objects, or staring at the nearby surface-spires.
*Appear to have a wide range of behaviour. Little or no mental communication, appear to lack communi-chips.*
A small rock dug into his side, and he shifted uncomfortably. Bored, he switched his communi-chip back on, to check how it was back home, underground. Disappointment registered on the edge of his mind as terror, confusion and a calculated aggression surged through his brain. He resisted the screaming urge to flee the tiny cave he’d squished his bulk into, reminding himself that it was still sunlit outside. He switched it off again.
“Just five more minutes, Gil old squid, that’s all”.
From birth the Gigoolians had been taught to never leave the ground, that to do so was one of the most insanely suicidal things a creature could do. Unlike most Gigoolian lessons, this one stuck easily. All one needed to do to teach a young Gigoolian was to show them the burnt and irradiated corpses of those banished to the over-world.
Some Gigoolians, however, were brave and trusted enough to be send out onto the surface to study its untouched beauty.
A recently arrived species had made the job far more interesting.
Sighing, Gil watched the last rays of the sun tip over the horizon, and the aliens cleaning up. He reached behind him to put his holo-notes back in his pack. With a great effort he heaved his rear tentacles to his arms and slithered closer to the aliens, his progress impeded by the thick radiation suit. Pressing a button on the back of his helmet, he opened communications to the nearest military base.
“Gil, reporting in. The sun has set, I’m moving in. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14, we hear you and allow. Any luck so far?”
“Not much, just a few minor details. End conversation.”
Slithering over to the alien camp, Gil watched them retreat into their strange structures made of brown sheets. As soon as the coast was clear he trotted into the centre of camp, and began collected as many small artifacts as he could, attaching holo-labels to each.
*Item one- metal container, cylindrical*
*Item two- smooth pocket, plastic*
*Item three- scrap of organic material, yellow, segmented*
Turning towards the shelters, he decided to take a chance, and study the creatures up close. Breathing deeply, he hit the button on the back of his helmet again.
“Gil, reporting in, I’m going to study one up close. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14. You know you’ll probably die, right? If you are discovered, the consequences will be severe. I advise not to do so.”
“They’re not making any noise. I think the surface radiation may have killed them.”
“Let me check with the Commander.”
Gil waited impatiently for a reply, listening to the muffled conversation and confused movements on the other end.
“She said you’re free to go ahead, but this won’t be covered under the Worker Protection Act.”
“Great, thank you. End conversation.”
Flicking his tentacle nubs in disgust, Gil crept over to the nearest structure, taking care not to leak slime over the ground. He brushed aside the thick material, and found himself peering directly at an alien. He assumed the sneaking position recommended by the governing officers, and sidled up to the small round bit on the creatures head.
He grimaced in disgust as he zoomed out on his helmet. He could barely stand to look at the hideous thing, let alone zoom in on it. So dry, so wrinkly, with tiny inadequate pores that were clearly not designed to exude the normal amounts of fluid. Where was the oozing? The puss-holes? It looked so unnatural, like an artist’s nightmare.
Resisting the urge to flee in horror, he slipped a container and a sharp rock from his pack, and leaned forwards. Wrapping a limb around a lock of the creature’s hair, he began sawing the sharp rock against the dark strands. Cringing in fear, he took a chance and sawed harder.
Joy flooded through his body as the strands came loose. Small tooting noises escaped him before he remembered where he was and, putting the strands safely away, he stealthily headed back to base. Those paranoid heads-of-command back at base would be thrilled to get their hands on some of the alien’s genetic information. Soon enough, all the questions back home would have answers.
He failed to notice the alien’s open eyes.
| Enders Game? |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | Watching the news go on and on about the new planet, John let out a sigh. All the channels had picked up the story. It was in sector QZ1462 that the discovery was made. Rubbing his temples he leans forward over the table. It wasn’t a physical pain he was trying to push away. It was a dark soul destroying pain. Worst of all, he knew it was the right answer. He knew it was his job to make sure it was right. He also knew he was the best man for the job. But none of that eased the implications of his decision.
John had earned his position as a sr intelligence officer. He had more experience than most. He had earned his position as advisor for newly discovered alien life. Completing a PHD in Biology and another in Philosophy followed by a masters in anthropology nearly killed him, but met the requirements. His military service retirement letter which hung on the wall had proved his dedication to humanity. He was an easy pick for the position.
Muting the TV he turns back to the documents. Staring at the large and red classified written on top he searches for motivation. Reaching over to his notepad he makes a mark, his 5th mark. This was it his last chance to find a reason to say no. If he couldn’t these creatures would be hunted and harvested to extinction.
What luck to find such a species. Their resistance to radiation was off the charts. The nickname no-rads was quickly accepted by the public. Not only that, it was in a part of their blood that could be extracted and used to help cure radiation poisoning. It was a slow an awkward process which required a significant portion of the blood. It was just a piece of bad luck that humanity happened to be dying of radiation exposure. Even more bad luck that the procedure could even work.
Reviewing the docs it was clear how it happened. Forcing himself to use the scientific name, John mouthed the letters; QZ1462-S5G5P0. It was a clever use of acronyms and measurements. They numbers were a scale of 0-5, 5 was good, 0 was bad. The S reflected sentience; this was a frequently argued subject so it was given a lot of room for error. If the creatures called eachother names it was a 5. If the creatures had any sort of beginnings of a society it was a 5. These creatures were not to messed with and would be treated with every respect. The G was genetics, are the genes healthy, adapting and evolving correctly or was there a clear genetic dead end. Finally, P was for potential. Another highly contested and argued measurement, this one again was designed to error on the side of caution.
In this case the number was set to 0. The sun in solar system QZ1462 had been in the prestages of supernova for almost 50,000 years. The no-rads, correcting himself, QZ1462-S5G5P0, had by some miracle adapted, evolved to tolerate the radiation. As the exposure grew and affected the environment they just moved underground. It was the right answer for last resort. Unfortunetly it also doomed them. With no easy access to resources and with stunted trade their technological innovation had stopped. They were effectively stuck in the stoneage. Making matters worse their sun is becoming more volatile as the days go by.
Looking over the details it was clear how the situation came about. Hell, John muttered, “I would have done the same thing”. But now these damn humans come along. Is it our right to harvest these QZ1462-S5G5P0s to ensure our survival? Reading through the charts and statistics on radiation sickness it was clear that things were bad. The existing medicines only worked so well. The exposure levels of space travel didn’t go away once you got home. It stuck to everything and stayed for days. The damage to general health was noticeable and treated. It was the damage to the DNA that had been kept secret and downplayed. Humanity had steadily eroded away its ability to recover. The game wasn’t over. Mandatory no space travel lists were created and enforce to repair the damage. But these were still controversial and struggled to take hold. Humankind had no practical options.
The last question was how long they would last.
The sun was clearly unstable, but they were dug in.
The decision fell on Johns shoulders to analyze and provide an answer. The public would never know, there were already too many secrets. It was his job to carry this secret. His word would set the ships off to QZ1462 and preserve the future success of humanity. His word would also cause incalculable pain and suffering.
| Enders Game? |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | Taurel and the Olympians
The object had come from the sky and touched down not far from where she was. The explosion killed two of her companions. The suit she wore was in desperate need of a patch, lest the radiation kill her. She stumbled across the desert floor desperately searching through the wreckage of their vehicle for the bio foam and anti-radiation injections. She would need them immediately to stave off the radiation sickness. “Come on! Where is she it!?” she shoved aside their scientific equipment “Dammit Haphtel why did you bury the emergency capsule under all this shit!” She located the capsule but it was badly damaged. “Dammit! Where the fuck is the tool kit?” She felt around for the tools on her belt but they were gone. “Gotta calm down and think” she closed her eyes and thought for a moment, “Maruc! His tools are probably still near the borehole!” She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the borehole. She tripped just as a transmission came over her radio “Ensign Taurel! Come in over!” but Taurel couldn’t answer the hail. The wind had been knocked from her lungs, She gasped at the pain in her abdomen. “ What the fu . .” Her words trailed off as she looked down only to find that her suit had been punctured and radiation was leaking into her bio suit. She inhaled sharply and got to her feet. She brought her hand to her chest pressing her communicator, “This is taurel!” She paused a moment to breath before continuing “Haphtel and Maruc are dead. Something struck our encampment”. “Say again Taurel. Did you say something struck the encampment?”. “Yes dammit! Haphtel and Maruc are dead! Do you copy?!”. There was only silence over the radio. Taurel press the communicator again but again the pain caused her to double over on the ground. Dammit radiation shouldn’t have done this much damage already! She thought. She felt the area around the opening of her suit but felt nothing. She inhaled sharply and dug her hand into the wound. She brought her hand up to the visor. Her hand was covered in blood. “Fuck!” her breathing grew ragged as she dragged herself to her feet. She dug through the equipment near the borehole. She dug out the tools. Static screeched over the radio causing her to drop the emergency capsule. “What the hell?!” She winced and grabbed her helmet, “Damn that was loud!” She again grabbed the tools and began working on the capsule only to be interrupted again by the loud static burst. Only this time it was accompanied by a bizarre language “ bearing mark . . two . .” Taurel’s attention was drawn skyward. A small sliver of light appeared just over the horizon traveling at an incredible speed. Taurel was mesmerized by the object for a second before realizing it was coming right for her. “ . . . Taurel! Come in!” a voice cackled over the radio “Taurel here!” “Taurel! You must evacuate the area immediately!” Taurel hesitated for moment before grabbing the capsule and tools.
Edit: Grammar and Spelling | Enders Game? |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | I'm kind of reminded of that episode of Doctor Who where we find out there are lizard people living underground on Earth. Of course, this idea can run in a bunch of different directions, and I'd love to see if somebody responds to the prompt!
Edit: Grammar is hard. | Enders Game? |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | Please forgive any errors as I wrote this on my phone.
---
Gralk was frightened. He had only meant to come up to the overworld to witness these 'Oomans' for himself, but he was trapped. He tried to force the branch off his lower locomotive muscle ridges but he was stuck fast. It had began a few months ago when the young sent up near the cavemouths to gather fallen leaves for the fungus farms had claimed to have seen giant silver creatures shooting fire fall from the heavens. Initially they had been dismissed as childrens tales, caused by too much time in the harsh overworld light, but soon more reports came of other strange animals seen above ground. It was claimed they were giants, like the tree hangers that sometimes ventured into the higher caves but many times larger and walking on two appendages that some said allowed them to move faster than even the swiftest of his people. He had also heard their upper limbs angled strangely from a barrel like body and lacked the dexterity of his upper muscle stalks, although Porfus swore he saw one wielding the largest blade he had ever seen and had used it to slice through the tough stalks of the tall reeds that grew around mouths of some of the caves. Porfus was known to over indulge in the fermented mushroom brew so Gralk was a little wary of believing his wild tales. Especially when he said they could walk uncovered in the blinding light above without need for the mud he had smeared on himself before heading off on this fools quest and that they even lacked the fur that seemed to be necessary for creatures to exist in this strange place. The plan, what little there had been, was to sneak up to the Ooman camp during what passed for dark up here and see them for himself then head back before the burning light returned. He had almost made it before the branch he was perching on for a better vantage point had given way and sent him tumbling into the undergrowth, pinning him here for a slow death.
He heard a rustle from the direction of the twinkling lights said to be the place the creatures lived. Perhaps one of the giants would offer him a swift death rather than the ignoble one awaiting him. Suddenly the undergrowth parted and there before him stood a Ooman. It was smaller than the stories had claimed but it still towered over him. It truly did look like a hairless tree hanger, eyes embedded in its flat face rather than on stalks. It also had a slit for eating *and* communication which seemed a little dangerous to him if you needed to signal danger as you ate. It looked a little unsteady on its limbs as it came closer and he wondered if these beings also drank fermented mushroom brew. It did seem to be drooling as Porfus often did when he had overindulged and appeared to be mumbling gibberish, nothing like the language others claimed to have heard and it seemed to be having trouble focusing. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes preparing himself for the end but all he felt was lightness. He opened his eyes with a start and looked down to see the branch had gone. The colossal Ooman, naked apart from a white cloth wrapped around the area where its locomotive limbs met it's body, made a high pitched stuttering noise that almost sounded like a giggle and bent at the lower trunk hitting the ground with a crash. It sat there blowing bubbles of spittle from its face slit and idly thrashed about with the branch that had pinned him earlier as if the weight was nothing. Gralk quickly made for the safety of the tall grass but before he disappeared into the welcoming darkness he turned and bellowed a thank you from his signal pouch. The creature merely pulled back the covering of its face slit and made more high pitched noises before rolling sideways and crawling away back the way it had came. He heard more voices coming from beyond the grass, more in keeping with the language the others had described, and decided to depart before more came.
Oomans are weird. | Enders Game? |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | "Activity in sector seven."
"Pull it up now!"
Across the brightly lit room, a screen as thin as paper materialized and began streaming video feed of a blue, cloudy, and peaceful sky. A shadow began to move across the land, and a vibration shook the soil down to the bedrock. The desks and chairs in the underground cavern began to tremble, its inhabitants grabbing hold of their strange cups with an even more absurd variety of liquid inside of them.
They looked again to the screen as a massive metal sword struck the clouds, slicing them in two. Everyone gasped, "We are under attack!"
The order came from the being that commanded the sector in question to be raised on the thin projection screen.
"Raise the battlements and secure the breach gates", people began to rush around this small room, running into corridors and passages that led deeper into the earth.
The white, metallic walls with its beautiful architectural design, hid that they were even underground. The only way it was noticeable was the slight increase in temperature the lower you transcended the levels.
As the inhabitants of the caves ran to weaponize themselves, the commander looked on, hard pressed to this projection screen.
The camera's that gave feed of the world above, giving them information on weather and game migration, fed the image of this massive ship coming down in a sweeping green valley nicknamed Bjolminer.
"Weapons ready sir', a man with a clipboard was gripping the commander's armchair with white knuckles.
"Proceed to blast gates"
"Yes sir"
"Bring me the box as well"
"The box? Sir,"
"Enough, bring me the box."
"Yes sir."
The young being motioned for two guards, who left the room.
"Sir, we haven't used the Metas since Top Flash, you know, with the guireldeckies?" There was no response from the commander as the two guards returned with a small black briefcase. His thumbs dug under the edges of two black hatches and the top popped and folded open mechanically.
The commander pulled a key from his neck, inserting it into the module for arming. He turned it clockwise and the system came to life. The small screen on the back now projected to the large screen in the room.
It was a feed of the ship, with outlines of gold and blue frames giving options and readouts.
The commander broke a sweat, his hard visage softening as he recalled the last system war. His finger moved over the button. Even a small pressure would release hell on not only the invaders, but also their civilization.
It was a means to end, but not without great cost, and the commander would rather face the destructive power of the Metas rather than endure centuries of conflict yet again.
"Everyone is in position sir." The man with the clipboard was now visibly shaking, as the guards took two steps back.
His finger relished the feel of the button. Its smooth surface, shining in the artificial light. He sat and took in this last moment of calm and peace before he unleashed the hellish demons among these monstrous terrorists.
His finger began its decent and the pressure that was exerted forced the button to give way. Thats all the button wanted to accomplish anyways, to be pushed.
"WAIT!" The clipboard wielding warrior struck the box out of the commanders hands. The guards quickly jumped and suspended the man in air. A complex technique of holds would make him immobile.
"What the fuck are you doing!" The commander thrust his face into the assistants.
"Look", just barely audible, the assistants eyes where locked on the massive screen.
The commander shot his glare to the screen and his face, one of anger and malice, melted way in disbelief. He stumbled back into the chair.
Upon the screen, the beings began to emerge, and there in the middle of the field, was a small girl with dark black hair. She was picking flowers and skipping as her parents embraced and smiled.
Tears began to stream from the commanders face, "That looks like endyln. How could she be in the sunlight?".....
| Enders Game? |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | I really have to stop misreading this subreddit as World News, I almost shit my pants. | Enders Game? |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | I hope it's not too late to post here. Sorry.
*Sustenance- appears to use the same orifice for consumption of energy, communication, respiration.*
Gil looked up from his holo-notes at his subjects. He twiddled a dial on the side of his helmet, and zoomed in on the aliens, as they ate flaps of what appeared to be organic nutrients.
*Consumed items unidentifiable- unable to discern whether they hunt.*
He looked again. His subjects where all acting differently. While most simply sat eating and communicating, some were focusing on strange shiny objects, or staring at the nearby surface-spires.
*Appear to have a wide range of behaviour. Little or no mental communication, appear to lack communi-chips.*
A small rock dug into his side, and he shifted uncomfortably. Bored, he switched his communi-chip back on, to check how it was back home, underground. Disappointment registered on the edge of his mind as terror, confusion and a calculated aggression surged through his brain. He resisted the screaming urge to flee the tiny cave he’d squished his bulk into, reminding himself that it was still sunlit outside. He switched it off again.
“Just five more minutes, Gil old squid, that’s all”.
From birth the Gigoolians had been taught to never leave the ground, that to do so was one of the most insanely suicidal things a creature could do. Unlike most Gigoolian lessons, this one stuck easily. All one needed to do to teach a young Gigoolian was to show them the burnt and irradiated corpses of those banished to the over-world.
Some Gigoolians, however, were brave and trusted enough to be send out onto the surface to study its untouched beauty.
A recently arrived species had made the job far more interesting.
Sighing, Gil watched the last rays of the sun tip over the horizon, and the aliens cleaning up. He reached behind him to put his holo-notes back in his pack. With a great effort he heaved his rear tentacles to his arms and slithered closer to the aliens, his progress impeded by the thick radiation suit. Pressing a button on the back of his helmet, he opened communications to the nearest military base.
“Gil, reporting in. The sun has set, I’m moving in. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14, we hear you and allow. Any luck so far?”
“Not much, just a few minor details. End conversation.”
Slithering over to the alien camp, Gil watched them retreat into their strange structures made of brown sheets. As soon as the coast was clear he trotted into the centre of camp, and began collected as many small artifacts as he could, attaching holo-labels to each.
*Item one- metal container, cylindrical*
*Item two- smooth pocket, plastic*
*Item three- scrap of organic material, yellow, segmented*
Turning towards the shelters, he decided to take a chance, and study the creatures up close. Breathing deeply, he hit the button on the back of his helmet again.
“Gil, reporting in, I’m going to study one up close. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14. You know you’ll probably die, right? If you are discovered, the consequences will be severe. I advise not to do so.”
“They’re not making any noise. I think the surface radiation may have killed them.”
“Let me check with the Commander.”
Gil waited impatiently for a reply, listening to the muffled conversation and confused movements on the other end.
“She said you’re free to go ahead, but this won’t be covered under the Worker Protection Act.”
“Great, thank you. End conversation.”
Flicking his tentacle nubs in disgust, Gil crept over to the nearest structure, taking care not to leak slime over the ground. He brushed aside the thick material, and found himself peering directly at an alien. He assumed the sneaking position recommended by the governing officers, and sidled up to the small round bit on the creatures head.
He grimaced in disgust as he zoomed out on his helmet. He could barely stand to look at the hideous thing, let alone zoom in on it. So dry, so wrinkly, with tiny inadequate pores that were clearly not designed to exude the normal amounts of fluid. Where was the oozing? The puss-holes? It looked so unnatural, like an artist’s nightmare.
Resisting the urge to flee in horror, he slipped a container and a sharp rock from his pack, and leaned forwards. Wrapping a limb around a lock of the creature’s hair, he began sawing the sharp rock against the dark strands. Cringing in fear, he took a chance and sawed harder.
Joy flooded through his body as the strands came loose. Small tooting noises escaped him before he remembered where he was and, putting the strands safely away, he stealthily headed back to base. Those paranoid heads-of-command back at base would be thrilled to get their hands on some of the alien’s genetic information. Soon enough, all the questions back home would have answers.
He failed to notice the alien’s open eyes.
| "Mama, who are they?" small scaled hands tug at a larger figure in the dark.
Silence.
How can this be happening? This thing that we feared, this thing that I crave; these creatures inhabit it, relish it, bask in it?
"Mama will they hurt us?" The mother clutches her child.
I turn away.
They will hurt us.
They will find us, and we will burn.
|
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | I hope it's not too late to post here. Sorry.
*Sustenance- appears to use the same orifice for consumption of energy, communication, respiration.*
Gil looked up from his holo-notes at his subjects. He twiddled a dial on the side of his helmet, and zoomed in on the aliens, as they ate flaps of what appeared to be organic nutrients.
*Consumed items unidentifiable- unable to discern whether they hunt.*
He looked again. His subjects where all acting differently. While most simply sat eating and communicating, some were focusing on strange shiny objects, or staring at the nearby surface-spires.
*Appear to have a wide range of behaviour. Little or no mental communication, appear to lack communi-chips.*
A small rock dug into his side, and he shifted uncomfortably. Bored, he switched his communi-chip back on, to check how it was back home, underground. Disappointment registered on the edge of his mind as terror, confusion and a calculated aggression surged through his brain. He resisted the screaming urge to flee the tiny cave he’d squished his bulk into, reminding himself that it was still sunlit outside. He switched it off again.
“Just five more minutes, Gil old squid, that’s all”.
From birth the Gigoolians had been taught to never leave the ground, that to do so was one of the most insanely suicidal things a creature could do. Unlike most Gigoolian lessons, this one stuck easily. All one needed to do to teach a young Gigoolian was to show them the burnt and irradiated corpses of those banished to the over-world.
Some Gigoolians, however, were brave and trusted enough to be send out onto the surface to study its untouched beauty.
A recently arrived species had made the job far more interesting.
Sighing, Gil watched the last rays of the sun tip over the horizon, and the aliens cleaning up. He reached behind him to put his holo-notes back in his pack. With a great effort he heaved his rear tentacles to his arms and slithered closer to the aliens, his progress impeded by the thick radiation suit. Pressing a button on the back of his helmet, he opened communications to the nearest military base.
“Gil, reporting in. The sun has set, I’m moving in. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14, we hear you and allow. Any luck so far?”
“Not much, just a few minor details. End conversation.”
Slithering over to the alien camp, Gil watched them retreat into their strange structures made of brown sheets. As soon as the coast was clear he trotted into the centre of camp, and began collected as many small artifacts as he could, attaching holo-labels to each.
*Item one- metal container, cylindrical*
*Item two- smooth pocket, plastic*
*Item three- scrap of organic material, yellow, segmented*
Turning towards the shelters, he decided to take a chance, and study the creatures up close. Breathing deeply, he hit the button on the back of his helmet again.
“Gil, reporting in, I’m going to study one up close. Awaiting reply.”
“Brofda, base 14. You know you’ll probably die, right? If you are discovered, the consequences will be severe. I advise not to do so.”
“They’re not making any noise. I think the surface radiation may have killed them.”
“Let me check with the Commander.”
Gil waited impatiently for a reply, listening to the muffled conversation and confused movements on the other end.
“She said you’re free to go ahead, but this won’t be covered under the Worker Protection Act.”
“Great, thank you. End conversation.”
Flicking his tentacle nubs in disgust, Gil crept over to the nearest structure, taking care not to leak slime over the ground. He brushed aside the thick material, and found himself peering directly at an alien. He assumed the sneaking position recommended by the governing officers, and sidled up to the small round bit on the creatures head.
He grimaced in disgust as he zoomed out on his helmet. He could barely stand to look at the hideous thing, let alone zoom in on it. So dry, so wrinkly, with tiny inadequate pores that were clearly not designed to exude the normal amounts of fluid. Where was the oozing? The puss-holes? It looked so unnatural, like an artist’s nightmare.
Resisting the urge to flee in horror, he slipped a container and a sharp rock from his pack, and leaned forwards. Wrapping a limb around a lock of the creature’s hair, he began sawing the sharp rock against the dark strands. Cringing in fear, he took a chance and sawed harder.
Joy flooded through his body as the strands came loose. Small tooting noises escaped him before he remembered where he was and, putting the strands safely away, he stealthily headed back to base. Those paranoid heads-of-command back at base would be thrilled to get their hands on some of the alien’s genetic information. Soon enough, all the questions back home would have answers.
He failed to notice the alien’s open eyes.
| Once they were out of sight of the ship and the Captain, Bender took off his helmet and took a deep breath.
"I can breath," he exhaled.
Sully and Rues look at each other, then removed their helmets and reluctantly began to breath the alien atmosphere.
Bender and the other two astronauts had left their ship to explore the surrounding terrain of the planet KOI-3284.01, also known among the crew as Koi. They were already familiar with the planet well before they arrived. They knew the composition of the atmosphere (40% oxygen, 52% nitrogen, and other inert gases), the relief of the surface, the climate, and when they were close enough they could even see what the surface looked like - remarkably earthlike. But if earth was the blue planet, Koi was the green planet. It's surface was mostly lush green land. Vegetation growing on every inch of soil. There had been no sign of animal life, but the small crew of five was still tentative about stepping out into the wild. Eventually the three volunteered to explore, while the captain and the doctor stayed behind.
Despite them knowing what to expect, it was incredible to experience it. The brightness of the Koi's sun, the intense tropical heat, and the pleasant smell. The smell really stood out. It was like being in a garden full of wild flowers. It was almost overwhelming. Bender would have loved to take off his suit at this point, but the high levels of UV radiation on Koi meant they had to wear a protective cover for their bodies and eyes. And the suit was also an armor against any possible danger (i.e. a Koi tiger). The team continued exploring through the thick vegetation which was strange yet familiar.
Sully spotted a transparent flower. "Look, this one's see-through!" And then, to everyone's surprise, the flower whistled.
"Did the flower just whistle?" asked Bender.
"Amazing...It didn't just whistle, it sang," said Reus, "Like a bird."
"Was it really the flower?" Bender couldn't believe it.
"Yes, it was," said Sully, as she plucked it from it's tree. "It sings with the wind." And she blew into the flower and they listened to it whistle.
|
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | Watching the news go on and on about the new planet, John let out a sigh. All the channels had picked up the story. It was in sector QZ1462 that the discovery was made. Rubbing his temples he leans forward over the table. It wasn’t a physical pain he was trying to push away. It was a dark soul destroying pain. Worst of all, he knew it was the right answer. He knew it was his job to make sure it was right. He also knew he was the best man for the job. But none of that eased the implications of his decision.
John had earned his position as a sr intelligence officer. He had more experience than most. He had earned his position as advisor for newly discovered alien life. Completing a PHD in Biology and another in Philosophy followed by a masters in anthropology nearly killed him, but met the requirements. His military service retirement letter which hung on the wall had proved his dedication to humanity. He was an easy pick for the position.
Muting the TV he turns back to the documents. Staring at the large and red classified written on top he searches for motivation. Reaching over to his notepad he makes a mark, his 5th mark. This was it his last chance to find a reason to say no. If he couldn’t these creatures would be hunted and harvested to extinction.
What luck to find such a species. Their resistance to radiation was off the charts. The nickname no-rads was quickly accepted by the public. Not only that, it was in a part of their blood that could be extracted and used to help cure radiation poisoning. It was a slow an awkward process which required a significant portion of the blood. It was just a piece of bad luck that humanity happened to be dying of radiation exposure. Even more bad luck that the procedure could even work.
Reviewing the docs it was clear how it happened. Forcing himself to use the scientific name, John mouthed the letters; QZ1462-S5G5P0. It was a clever use of acronyms and measurements. They numbers were a scale of 0-5, 5 was good, 0 was bad. The S reflected sentience; this was a frequently argued subject so it was given a lot of room for error. If the creatures called eachother names it was a 5. If the creatures had any sort of beginnings of a society it was a 5. These creatures were not to messed with and would be treated with every respect. The G was genetics, are the genes healthy, adapting and evolving correctly or was there a clear genetic dead end. Finally, P was for potential. Another highly contested and argued measurement, this one again was designed to error on the side of caution.
In this case the number was set to 0. The sun in solar system QZ1462 had been in the prestages of supernova for almost 50,000 years. The no-rads, correcting himself, QZ1462-S5G5P0, had by some miracle adapted, evolved to tolerate the radiation. As the exposure grew and affected the environment they just moved underground. It was the right answer for last resort. Unfortunetly it also doomed them. With no easy access to resources and with stunted trade their technological innovation had stopped. They were effectively stuck in the stoneage. Making matters worse their sun is becoming more volatile as the days go by.
Looking over the details it was clear how the situation came about. Hell, John muttered, “I would have done the same thing”. But now these damn humans come along. Is it our right to harvest these QZ1462-S5G5P0s to ensure our survival? Reading through the charts and statistics on radiation sickness it was clear that things were bad. The existing medicines only worked so well. The exposure levels of space travel didn’t go away once you got home. It stuck to everything and stayed for days. The damage to general health was noticeable and treated. It was the damage to the DNA that had been kept secret and downplayed. Humanity had steadily eroded away its ability to recover. The game wasn’t over. Mandatory no space travel lists were created and enforce to repair the damage. But these were still controversial and struggled to take hold. Humankind had no practical options.
The last question was how long they would last.
The sun was clearly unstable, but they were dug in.
The decision fell on Johns shoulders to analyze and provide an answer. The public would never know, there were already too many secrets. It was his job to carry this secret. His word would set the ships off to QZ1462 and preserve the future success of humanity. His word would also cause incalculable pain and suffering.
| Man, is everyone just suggesting things that the story could be and not actually writing? This is a story I want to hear! (And one I can't write myself because I'm busy with work) |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | Taurel and the Olympians
The object had come from the sky and touched down not far from where she was. The explosion killed two of her companions. The suit she wore was in desperate need of a patch, lest the radiation kill her. She stumbled across the desert floor desperately searching through the wreckage of their vehicle for the bio foam and anti-radiation injections. She would need them immediately to stave off the radiation sickness. “Come on! Where is she it!?” she shoved aside their scientific equipment “Dammit Haphtel why did you bury the emergency capsule under all this shit!” She located the capsule but it was badly damaged. “Dammit! Where the fuck is the tool kit?” She felt around for the tools on her belt but they were gone. “Gotta calm down and think” she closed her eyes and thought for a moment, “Maruc! His tools are probably still near the borehole!” She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the borehole. She tripped just as a transmission came over her radio “Ensign Taurel! Come in over!” but Taurel couldn’t answer the hail. The wind had been knocked from her lungs, She gasped at the pain in her abdomen. “ What the fu . .” Her words trailed off as she looked down only to find that her suit had been punctured and radiation was leaking into her bio suit. She inhaled sharply and got to her feet. She brought her hand to her chest pressing her communicator, “This is taurel!” She paused a moment to breath before continuing “Haphtel and Maruc are dead. Something struck our encampment”. “Say again Taurel. Did you say something struck the encampment?”. “Yes dammit! Haphtel and Maruc are dead! Do you copy?!”. There was only silence over the radio. Taurel press the communicator again but again the pain caused her to double over on the ground. Dammit radiation shouldn’t have done this much damage already! She thought. She felt the area around the opening of her suit but felt nothing. She inhaled sharply and dug her hand into the wound. She brought her hand up to the visor. Her hand was covered in blood. “Fuck!” her breathing grew ragged as she dragged herself to her feet. She dug through the equipment near the borehole. She dug out the tools. Static screeched over the radio causing her to drop the emergency capsule. “What the hell?!” She winced and grabbed her helmet, “Damn that was loud!” She again grabbed the tools and began working on the capsule only to be interrupted again by the loud static burst. Only this time it was accompanied by a bizarre language “ bearing mark . . two . .” Taurel’s attention was drawn skyward. A small sliver of light appeared just over the horizon traveling at an incredible speed. Taurel was mesmerized by the object for a second before realizing it was coming right for her. “ . . . Taurel! Come in!” a voice cackled over the radio “Taurel here!” “Taurel! You must evacuate the area immediately!” Taurel hesitated for moment before grabbing the capsule and tools.
Edit: Grammar and Spelling | Man, is everyone just suggesting things that the story could be and not actually writing? This is a story I want to hear! (And one I can't write myself because I'm busy with work) |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | Please forgive any errors as I wrote this on my phone.
---
Gralk was frightened. He had only meant to come up to the overworld to witness these 'Oomans' for himself, but he was trapped. He tried to force the branch off his lower locomotive muscle ridges but he was stuck fast. It had began a few months ago when the young sent up near the cavemouths to gather fallen leaves for the fungus farms had claimed to have seen giant silver creatures shooting fire fall from the heavens. Initially they had been dismissed as childrens tales, caused by too much time in the harsh overworld light, but soon more reports came of other strange animals seen above ground. It was claimed they were giants, like the tree hangers that sometimes ventured into the higher caves but many times larger and walking on two appendages that some said allowed them to move faster than even the swiftest of his people. He had also heard their upper limbs angled strangely from a barrel like body and lacked the dexterity of his upper muscle stalks, although Porfus swore he saw one wielding the largest blade he had ever seen and had used it to slice through the tough stalks of the tall reeds that grew around mouths of some of the caves. Porfus was known to over indulge in the fermented mushroom brew so Gralk was a little wary of believing his wild tales. Especially when he said they could walk uncovered in the blinding light above without need for the mud he had smeared on himself before heading off on this fools quest and that they even lacked the fur that seemed to be necessary for creatures to exist in this strange place. The plan, what little there had been, was to sneak up to the Ooman camp during what passed for dark up here and see them for himself then head back before the burning light returned. He had almost made it before the branch he was perching on for a better vantage point had given way and sent him tumbling into the undergrowth, pinning him here for a slow death.
He heard a rustle from the direction of the twinkling lights said to be the place the creatures lived. Perhaps one of the giants would offer him a swift death rather than the ignoble one awaiting him. Suddenly the undergrowth parted and there before him stood a Ooman. It was smaller than the stories had claimed but it still towered over him. It truly did look like a hairless tree hanger, eyes embedded in its flat face rather than on stalks. It also had a slit for eating *and* communication which seemed a little dangerous to him if you needed to signal danger as you ate. It looked a little unsteady on its limbs as it came closer and he wondered if these beings also drank fermented mushroom brew. It did seem to be drooling as Porfus often did when he had overindulged and appeared to be mumbling gibberish, nothing like the language others claimed to have heard and it seemed to be having trouble focusing. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes preparing himself for the end but all he felt was lightness. He opened his eyes with a start and looked down to see the branch had gone. The colossal Ooman, naked apart from a white cloth wrapped around the area where its locomotive limbs met it's body, made a high pitched stuttering noise that almost sounded like a giggle and bent at the lower trunk hitting the ground with a crash. It sat there blowing bubbles of spittle from its face slit and idly thrashed about with the branch that had pinned him earlier as if the weight was nothing. Gralk quickly made for the safety of the tall grass but before he disappeared into the welcoming darkness he turned and bellowed a thank you from his signal pouch. The creature merely pulled back the covering of its face slit and made more high pitched noises before rolling sideways and crawling away back the way it had came. He heard more voices coming from beyond the grass, more in keeping with the language the others had described, and decided to depart before more came.
Oomans are weird. | Man, is everyone just suggesting things that the story could be and not actually writing? This is a story I want to hear! (And one I can't write myself because I'm busy with work) |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | "Activity in sector seven."
"Pull it up now!"
Across the brightly lit room, a screen as thin as paper materialized and began streaming video feed of a blue, cloudy, and peaceful sky. A shadow began to move across the land, and a vibration shook the soil down to the bedrock. The desks and chairs in the underground cavern began to tremble, its inhabitants grabbing hold of their strange cups with an even more absurd variety of liquid inside of them.
They looked again to the screen as a massive metal sword struck the clouds, slicing them in two. Everyone gasped, "We are under attack!"
The order came from the being that commanded the sector in question to be raised on the thin projection screen.
"Raise the battlements and secure the breach gates", people began to rush around this small room, running into corridors and passages that led deeper into the earth.
The white, metallic walls with its beautiful architectural design, hid that they were even underground. The only way it was noticeable was the slight increase in temperature the lower you transcended the levels.
As the inhabitants of the caves ran to weaponize themselves, the commander looked on, hard pressed to this projection screen.
The camera's that gave feed of the world above, giving them information on weather and game migration, fed the image of this massive ship coming down in a sweeping green valley nicknamed Bjolminer.
"Weapons ready sir', a man with a clipboard was gripping the commander's armchair with white knuckles.
"Proceed to blast gates"
"Yes sir"
"Bring me the box as well"
"The box? Sir,"
"Enough, bring me the box."
"Yes sir."
The young being motioned for two guards, who left the room.
"Sir, we haven't used the Metas since Top Flash, you know, with the guireldeckies?" There was no response from the commander as the two guards returned with a small black briefcase. His thumbs dug under the edges of two black hatches and the top popped and folded open mechanically.
The commander pulled a key from his neck, inserting it into the module for arming. He turned it clockwise and the system came to life. The small screen on the back now projected to the large screen in the room.
It was a feed of the ship, with outlines of gold and blue frames giving options and readouts.
The commander broke a sweat, his hard visage softening as he recalled the last system war. His finger moved over the button. Even a small pressure would release hell on not only the invaders, but also their civilization.
It was a means to end, but not without great cost, and the commander would rather face the destructive power of the Metas rather than endure centuries of conflict yet again.
"Everyone is in position sir." The man with the clipboard was now visibly shaking, as the guards took two steps back.
His finger relished the feel of the button. Its smooth surface, shining in the artificial light. He sat and took in this last moment of calm and peace before he unleashed the hellish demons among these monstrous terrorists.
His finger began its decent and the pressure that was exerted forced the button to give way. Thats all the button wanted to accomplish anyways, to be pushed.
"WAIT!" The clipboard wielding warrior struck the box out of the commanders hands. The guards quickly jumped and suspended the man in air. A complex technique of holds would make him immobile.
"What the fuck are you doing!" The commander thrust his face into the assistants.
"Look", just barely audible, the assistants eyes where locked on the massive screen.
The commander shot his glare to the screen and his face, one of anger and malice, melted way in disbelief. He stumbled back into the chair.
Upon the screen, the beings began to emerge, and there in the middle of the field, was a small girl with dark black hair. She was picking flowers and skipping as her parents embraced and smiled.
Tears began to stream from the commanders face, "That looks like endyln. How could she be in the sunlight?".....
| Man, is everyone just suggesting things that the story could be and not actually writing? This is a story I want to hear! (And one I can't write myself because I'm busy with work) |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | Please forgive any errors as I wrote this on my phone.
---
Gralk was frightened. He had only meant to come up to the overworld to witness these 'Oomans' for himself, but he was trapped. He tried to force the branch off his lower locomotive muscle ridges but he was stuck fast. It had began a few months ago when the young sent up near the cavemouths to gather fallen leaves for the fungus farms had claimed to have seen giant silver creatures shooting fire fall from the heavens. Initially they had been dismissed as childrens tales, caused by too much time in the harsh overworld light, but soon more reports came of other strange animals seen above ground. It was claimed they were giants, like the tree hangers that sometimes ventured into the higher caves but many times larger and walking on two appendages that some said allowed them to move faster than even the swiftest of his people. He had also heard their upper limbs angled strangely from a barrel like body and lacked the dexterity of his upper muscle stalks, although Porfus swore he saw one wielding the largest blade he had ever seen and had used it to slice through the tough stalks of the tall reeds that grew around mouths of some of the caves. Porfus was known to over indulge in the fermented mushroom brew so Gralk was a little wary of believing his wild tales. Especially when he said they could walk uncovered in the blinding light above without need for the mud he had smeared on himself before heading off on this fools quest and that they even lacked the fur that seemed to be necessary for creatures to exist in this strange place. The plan, what little there had been, was to sneak up to the Ooman camp during what passed for dark up here and see them for himself then head back before the burning light returned. He had almost made it before the branch he was perching on for a better vantage point had given way and sent him tumbling into the undergrowth, pinning him here for a slow death.
He heard a rustle from the direction of the twinkling lights said to be the place the creatures lived. Perhaps one of the giants would offer him a swift death rather than the ignoble one awaiting him. Suddenly the undergrowth parted and there before him stood a Ooman. It was smaller than the stories had claimed but it still towered over him. It truly did look like a hairless tree hanger, eyes embedded in its flat face rather than on stalks. It also had a slit for eating *and* communication which seemed a little dangerous to him if you needed to signal danger as you ate. It looked a little unsteady on its limbs as it came closer and he wondered if these beings also drank fermented mushroom brew. It did seem to be drooling as Porfus often did when he had overindulged and appeared to be mumbling gibberish, nothing like the language others claimed to have heard and it seemed to be having trouble focusing. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes preparing himself for the end but all he felt was lightness. He opened his eyes with a start and looked down to see the branch had gone. The colossal Ooman, naked apart from a white cloth wrapped around the area where its locomotive limbs met it's body, made a high pitched stuttering noise that almost sounded like a giggle and bent at the lower trunk hitting the ground with a crash. It sat there blowing bubbles of spittle from its face slit and idly thrashed about with the branch that had pinned him earlier as if the weight was nothing. Gralk quickly made for the safety of the tall grass but before he disappeared into the welcoming darkness he turned and bellowed a thank you from his signal pouch. The creature merely pulled back the covering of its face slit and made more high pitched noises before rolling sideways and crawling away back the way it had came. He heard more voices coming from beyond the grass, more in keeping with the language the others had described, and decided to depart before more came.
Oomans are weird. | I'm kind of reminded of that episode of Doctor Who where we find out there are lizard people living underground on Earth. Of course, this idea can run in a bunch of different directions, and I'd love to see if somebody responds to the prompt!
Edit: Grammar is hard. |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | "Activity in sector seven."
"Pull it up now!"
Across the brightly lit room, a screen as thin as paper materialized and began streaming video feed of a blue, cloudy, and peaceful sky. A shadow began to move across the land, and a vibration shook the soil down to the bedrock. The desks and chairs in the underground cavern began to tremble, its inhabitants grabbing hold of their strange cups with an even more absurd variety of liquid inside of them.
They looked again to the screen as a massive metal sword struck the clouds, slicing them in two. Everyone gasped, "We are under attack!"
The order came from the being that commanded the sector in question to be raised on the thin projection screen.
"Raise the battlements and secure the breach gates", people began to rush around this small room, running into corridors and passages that led deeper into the earth.
The white, metallic walls with its beautiful architectural design, hid that they were even underground. The only way it was noticeable was the slight increase in temperature the lower you transcended the levels.
As the inhabitants of the caves ran to weaponize themselves, the commander looked on, hard pressed to this projection screen.
The camera's that gave feed of the world above, giving them information on weather and game migration, fed the image of this massive ship coming down in a sweeping green valley nicknamed Bjolminer.
"Weapons ready sir', a man with a clipboard was gripping the commander's armchair with white knuckles.
"Proceed to blast gates"
"Yes sir"
"Bring me the box as well"
"The box? Sir,"
"Enough, bring me the box."
"Yes sir."
The young being motioned for two guards, who left the room.
"Sir, we haven't used the Metas since Top Flash, you know, with the guireldeckies?" There was no response from the commander as the two guards returned with a small black briefcase. His thumbs dug under the edges of two black hatches and the top popped and folded open mechanically.
The commander pulled a key from his neck, inserting it into the module for arming. He turned it clockwise and the system came to life. The small screen on the back now projected to the large screen in the room.
It was a feed of the ship, with outlines of gold and blue frames giving options and readouts.
The commander broke a sweat, his hard visage softening as he recalled the last system war. His finger moved over the button. Even a small pressure would release hell on not only the invaders, but also their civilization.
It was a means to end, but not without great cost, and the commander would rather face the destructive power of the Metas rather than endure centuries of conflict yet again.
"Everyone is in position sir." The man with the clipboard was now visibly shaking, as the guards took two steps back.
His finger relished the feel of the button. Its smooth surface, shining in the artificial light. He sat and took in this last moment of calm and peace before he unleashed the hellish demons among these monstrous terrorists.
His finger began its decent and the pressure that was exerted forced the button to give way. Thats all the button wanted to accomplish anyways, to be pushed.
"WAIT!" The clipboard wielding warrior struck the box out of the commanders hands. The guards quickly jumped and suspended the man in air. A complex technique of holds would make him immobile.
"What the fuck are you doing!" The commander thrust his face into the assistants.
"Look", just barely audible, the assistants eyes where locked on the massive screen.
The commander shot his glare to the screen and his face, one of anger and malice, melted way in disbelief. He stumbled back into the chair.
Upon the screen, the beings began to emerge, and there in the middle of the field, was a small girl with dark black hair. She was picking flowers and skipping as her parents embraced and smiled.
Tears began to stream from the commanders face, "That looks like endyln. How could she be in the sunlight?".....
| I'm kind of reminded of that episode of Doctor Who where we find out there are lizard people living underground on Earth. Of course, this idea can run in a bunch of different directions, and I'd love to see if somebody responds to the prompt!
Edit: Grammar is hard. |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | I really have to stop misreading this subreddit as World News, I almost shit my pants. | I'm kind of reminded of that episode of Doctor Who where we find out there are lizard people living underground on Earth. Of course, this idea can run in a bunch of different directions, and I'd love to see if somebody responds to the prompt!
Edit: Grammar is hard. |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | "Activity in sector seven."
"Pull it up now!"
Across the brightly lit room, a screen as thin as paper materialized and began streaming video feed of a blue, cloudy, and peaceful sky. A shadow began to move across the land, and a vibration shook the soil down to the bedrock. The desks and chairs in the underground cavern began to tremble, its inhabitants grabbing hold of their strange cups with an even more absurd variety of liquid inside of them.
They looked again to the screen as a massive metal sword struck the clouds, slicing them in two. Everyone gasped, "We are under attack!"
The order came from the being that commanded the sector in question to be raised on the thin projection screen.
"Raise the battlements and secure the breach gates", people began to rush around this small room, running into corridors and passages that led deeper into the earth.
The white, metallic walls with its beautiful architectural design, hid that they were even underground. The only way it was noticeable was the slight increase in temperature the lower you transcended the levels.
As the inhabitants of the caves ran to weaponize themselves, the commander looked on, hard pressed to this projection screen.
The camera's that gave feed of the world above, giving them information on weather and game migration, fed the image of this massive ship coming down in a sweeping green valley nicknamed Bjolminer.
"Weapons ready sir', a man with a clipboard was gripping the commander's armchair with white knuckles.
"Proceed to blast gates"
"Yes sir"
"Bring me the box as well"
"The box? Sir,"
"Enough, bring me the box."
"Yes sir."
The young being motioned for two guards, who left the room.
"Sir, we haven't used the Metas since Top Flash, you know, with the guireldeckies?" There was no response from the commander as the two guards returned with a small black briefcase. His thumbs dug under the edges of two black hatches and the top popped and folded open mechanically.
The commander pulled a key from his neck, inserting it into the module for arming. He turned it clockwise and the system came to life. The small screen on the back now projected to the large screen in the room.
It was a feed of the ship, with outlines of gold and blue frames giving options and readouts.
The commander broke a sweat, his hard visage softening as he recalled the last system war. His finger moved over the button. Even a small pressure would release hell on not only the invaders, but also their civilization.
It was a means to end, but not without great cost, and the commander would rather face the destructive power of the Metas rather than endure centuries of conflict yet again.
"Everyone is in position sir." The man with the clipboard was now visibly shaking, as the guards took two steps back.
His finger relished the feel of the button. Its smooth surface, shining in the artificial light. He sat and took in this last moment of calm and peace before he unleashed the hellish demons among these monstrous terrorists.
His finger began its decent and the pressure that was exerted forced the button to give way. Thats all the button wanted to accomplish anyways, to be pushed.
"WAIT!" The clipboard wielding warrior struck the box out of the commanders hands. The guards quickly jumped and suspended the man in air. A complex technique of holds would make him immobile.
"What the fuck are you doing!" The commander thrust his face into the assistants.
"Look", just barely audible, the assistants eyes where locked on the massive screen.
The commander shot his glare to the screen and his face, one of anger and malice, melted way in disbelief. He stumbled back into the chair.
Upon the screen, the beings began to emerge, and there in the middle of the field, was a small girl with dark black hair. She was picking flowers and skipping as her parents embraced and smiled.
Tears began to stream from the commanders face, "That looks like endyln. How could she be in the sunlight?".....
| [Meta] are you referring to naked mole rats? They're immune to cancer you know. |
Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me. | [WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret. | I really have to stop misreading this subreddit as World News, I almost shit my pants. | [Meta] are you referring to naked mole rats? They're immune to cancer you know. |
Death should be a physical entity with either his existence as a physical being known generally or by small groups. | [WP] The Day Death Died | "Wow... So this is what it's like?" He said as the tears began to well in his eyes.
A wry smile formed on his face. He was clutching an area in his abdomen that had begun to expand with scarlet. He gazed down at his wound as he took his hands off. They were dripping in blood. He looked at the blood dripping from his hands almost quizzically, curiously. He had shed so much of it that it that it was something he was accustomed too. Now it was a timer, a countdown to no longer existing. His young luring face and clean cut hair stayed in perfect form. Born a beautiful phenomenon.
At first, It was as if he was aging exponentially. I realized that he wasn't aging, but that his face was morphing and contorting into a thousand different faces. I recognized some for a brief instance. Mom, Dad. A young friend that had died in a car-wreck. He looked up slowly and we locked eyes. His eyes. They never changed. Cool and grey. His entire body transformed around his eyes. They pierced through my entirety. Almost like my soul was seeping through my pupils. I pulled the scythe out of his body and the world around me went black. Only the two of us. He returned to his well-groomed appearance, Death fell to the ground on his knees, one hand clutching his stomach. I held the scythe ready to strike again if needed. He began a weeping laugh as he eased himself to a sitting position.
He looked up.
"I've never been succeeded before," he wiped blood from his grin, his eyes never leaving mine. "It might be nice to take a vacation."
He began a hearty chuckle that drowned out into the blackness. His laugh carried so much weight it seemed to echo off something in the eternal abyss. Only now did i realize what he had implied.
Now I have become Death. Destroyer of Worlds.
| At first, we didn't realize.
A couple of days went by, and the news reported that there were no murders. A day after that, hospitals were reporting that nobody had passed away for a few days. The feeling was like a chill had slowly come over you, but you only yet realized it.
Most of *them* didn't even think twice about it. They woke up each morning. They got dressed, went to their mundane jobs. They put in their 8 and drove home.
I hadn't visited in years; almost a decade. After the 80's were over, I just felt empty every time I'd spend a day in her presence. But I suppose the right thing to do was to be there for the ceremony. My problem was that things on the surface were about to get worse.
It took about a week before the more notable scientists even took notice, but the sheep just kept on not listening, kept on doing their daily thing,...kept on creating life; as if there was going to be a place for that anymore. |
[WP] A cell phone rings in your house. You realize that not only is it not yours, but it obviously belongs to someone you've never met before. How did it get there, and what do you do? | He stared at the phone for the longest time, a confused look on his face. Where the hell did this come from?
And as if the phone knew, it began ringing. He picked it up and looked at the name. His face went paper white in sheer terror. Hesitating, he gulped and answered the call.
Hi.
Okay.
Okay.
Okay.
Okay.
Bye.
He felt his heart racing and sweat dripping down his forehead. Not how he wanted to start the week. His wife had swapped phones with her mom by accident. Now the wife was out of town so he had to deliver it back to his mother in law. *Alone...* | Grabbing the phone off the nightstand and picking up the call was reflexive. "Hey," Terra grumbled into her phone. No response - not even the quiet static of a dead line. The phone kept ringing. Ah, shit. Somebody had left their phone here, the maids had missed it somehow, and Terra would have the delightful task of hunting down one of the four or five hundred guests and returning their phone. With a quick twist, she dropped out of bed, adjusting her shirt and rubbing at her eyes.
Padding out into the hall, Terra tried to trace the phone. It was awfully loud, and it just kept ringing even though she was just walking. She wondered if it had woken father, then realize that of course it had woken him, he just wasn't stupid enough to get out of bed at four in the morning to answer the phone.
Gentle shafts of moonlight painted the lounge with bluish light. Terra slid over the rail of the balcony and dropped down with a quiet thump and a louder creak of wood, still tracing the muffled noise of the phone. It was colder down here; the windows were fogged with frost and the pines out back were heavy with falling snow. Terra breathed on her hands as she wandered through the sofas and recliners and tables, until at last she was sure she was near it. Jamming her hand between cushions and seizing the plastic square, Terra made a mental note to make sure the maids were more thorough after these sorts of things.
Beyond all reason, the phone was still ringing. Its screen showed 'Unknown Number.' Shifty. Terra still answered, flicking her thumb across the screen and bringing it to her face. "Hey," she grunted, stretching her free arm and yawning.
"Oh thank *god.*" The voice on the other end was masculine. "I need your help." Ah, shit.
"Hey, uh... whoever you're calling for, they left their phone here by accident, uh, so you can wait until I get it back to them, or maybe... maybe I can do somethin', dunno, so -"
"No no no, Terra, I know damned well who has this phone." Oh lord. Now she was awake. Someone had left the phone here at the party last night, purposefully, and it was meant for her. Who had done this? No, first, who *could* do this, and what intent could they possibly have? Her mind stumbled, still half-asleep, late, and with only one leg in its pants. "I need your help. Very specifically, your help."
"...may I ask who's calling?" Terra turned in place and dropped into the cushions, lifting her feet off the cold hardwood. How had they gotten the phone here? Were they a guest? Could they have snuck in? Were they confirming her presence? Casing the joint, or setting up for a hit? *Why*?
"Later. I'm taking a long shot as is. In about sixty minutes, I'm going to have Interpol, NSA, Alaskan state troopers, and certain corporate security forces knocking down my door. When they enter, they will be under orders to shoot to kill. I can't actually fight them, and I can't run - they're watching the roads. If I die, twenty years of groundwork on breaking spy rings targeting civilians goes to waste. They won't question or stop you. I need you to get me out."
"May I *please* ask who's calling?" Terra repeated. The voice didn't respond at first. She already had an idea, though. Police action, Interpol, NSA, 'corporate security'... only so many people could piss off so many people.
Finally, the man gave her a name.
Ten minutes later, Terra was lacing her boots when finally she was questioned. "Odd hour to be bundled up." It wasn't Father - it was Ignaas, whom Father had presumably sent to inquire. Or he'd just appeared on his own. He did that.
"Yeah, I'm going out. Don't let anybody wait up for me, I shouldn't be long. Oh, and don't wake anyone else, I'll be fine on my own." Terra fastened the last lace into its knot and stood, pulling scarf up and goggles down. Shit, it was still coming down out there.
"Off to make a late-night purchase?"
"Nah, just off to rescue a terrorist. Don't wait up," she repeated, slipping out the door and into the garage. A snowmobile, selected at random, started without effort; she twisted the throttle and took off, leaving behind only a trail in the fresh snow and a burst of exhaust. | |
[WP] A world in which doing an activity more makes you worse at it. Practice does not make perfect, instead, the exact opposite. | Breathing, heartbeat, these were involuntary. So was the opening of her eyes each morning. The television was already on, automatic to her waking. A PSA offered unique ways of getting out of bed, so her movements were smooth and unerring. Once on her feet, she had to think as little about walking as possible and it would be fine. Just look at the door handle. Make your way there... Opened the door, brushed teeth, spat out blood, a tooth chip. Wondered whether or not it's worth the effort.
She had become a nuclear physicist just a few years back and she was already getting out of the swing of things. She had hoped that by having more processes to forget, the career would last longer. Opposite it seemed. She turned the radio to the Esperanto station; her Cantonese was dwindling. Pouring a glass of hot instant breakfast down her throat, the woman instantaneously thought about swallowing.
A six year-old coroner perfectly diagnosed her with drowning due to neurological plasticity atrophy. His third case this week. Damn. This life wasn't getting any easier. | The sharp edge of the knife reacted to the slightest movement as if it was an extension of my own arm, smoothly see-sawing back and forth, back and forth until the once complete carrot became chopped. The pan sizzled as I tossed assorted vegetables in the steaming oil. The cut carrots, onions, garlic, and celery danced together when I shifted the pan back and forth. It was a symphony. Thyme and sage filled my brain, started leaking out of my pores before I even added them to the dish. I knew they were the correct spices. It was my first time cooking, I'll never forget it.
I knew it wouldn't last so in the beginning I was cautious. I would cook just once a month, a glorious feast of sweet caramelized onions, rich roasted vegetable, crispy and juicy meats. Or spicy kimchi that opened the nostrils with noodles and broth that could make the gods cry. I became addicted. Once a month turned to once a week and then every day and now...
Well, now I was useless. The smell of burning sauces and overy spiced meats filled me with rage. My once determined and steady hands became useless and trembled with every touch! It was chaos. It was agony. It was life.
I grabbed the knife once more and for the first time in years it felt right, I was sure. I kissed the blade oh so gently, like a lover saying goodbye, and then I plunged it into my stomach. Deep red began to pour out of me and I finally realized why I had felt so secure with my knife this last time. Because it was truly the first time now. | |
#INCLUDE anything.h | [WP] A thrilling story with a twist ending, but written in a programming language of your choice. | import time, cryo
pods = range(1,5345)
function activate_cryo():
print("Beginning cryosleep")
cryo.closePods(pods)
#1000 ms in a second, 60 seconds in a minute, etc
#We need to sleep for a thousand years, so 31540000000000
#milliseconds
cryo.freeze()
time.sleep(31540000000000)
cryo.unfreeze()
#note, double check that time.sleep is in ms, not seconds
activate_cryo()
| //
// Log key events and echo everything once the story concludes.
//
window.logging = true;
if (!window.jQuery)
throw "Someone left out a bloody library. Guess which! Or just, um, Ctrl+F for this exception within story.js");
//
// Add method for firing ranged weapon. Why the hell isn't something like
// this standard yet?
//
$.extend(true,
Human.prototype,
{
fire:
function(at) {
var weapon = this.find("weapon[ranged]");
if (weapon.length) {
if (!weapon.filter("[equipped]").length)
weapon.eq(0).equip();
return weapon.fire({ target: at }); // Deferred
}
return $.Deferred().reject()
}
}
);
//
// Instantiate key actors.
//
// The Human constructor checks if (this instanceof Human) and if not,
// it re-calls itself, passing its own arguments; ergo the "new" keyword
// is not necessary, which is nice because I've always found it to be
// just the slightest bit ugly.
//
// This pattern is followed for the majority of constructors.
//
Peter = Human(
{
role: "protagonist",
career:
{
type: "politician",
title: "President",
employer: $("nation[id='United States']")
}
}
);
//
// SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER
//
Jane = Human(
{
role: "antagonist",
career:
{
type: "politician",
title: "Vice President",
employer: $("nation[id='United States']")
}
}
);
agent = Human({ role: "protagonist", weapons: [ Gun("P99"), Gun("AR-15") ] });
assassin = Human({ role: "antagonist", weapons: [ Gun("Glock"), Gun("FN-SCAR") ] });
//
// We may now begin our tale.
//
Bill = Law(
{
author: Peter,
type: "economic"
}
);
Jane.oppose(Bill).done(
function() {
//
// No-op.
//
}
).fail(
function() {
var success = false;
Jane.associates("[crime='assassination']")
.each(
function(i, e) {
if (e.is("willing")) {
e.assassinate(Bill);
}
}
);
if (!success) {
Jane.say("Ah, well. The lobbyists'll repeal the damn thing in a year or two.");
}
}
);
$(window).trigger("story-start");
----
//
// LOG START
//
Peter.append(Bill);
Jane.oppose(Bill).fail(
function() {
Jane.associates("[crime='assassination']")
.each(
function(i, e) {
if (e.is("willing")) {
var opposing = $();
for(var j=0;j<10;j++) {
var current = assassin.clone();
current.employer = e;
opposing = opposing.add(current);
}
opposing.assassinate(Peter);
}
}
);
}
);
//
// Ensuing events:
//
opposing[2].fire(Peter); // FAIL (MISSED)
var agents = $();
for(var i=0;i<10;i++) {
agent.clone();
agents = agents.add(agent);
}
agents[0].fire(opposing[2]); // SUCCESS
opposing[3].fire(agents[0]); // FAIL (MISSED)
opposing[1].fire(agents[0]); // FAIL (NON-LETHAL)
opposing[0].fire(agents[0]); // SUCCESS
agents[2].fire(opposing[3]); // FAIL (MISSED)
agents[3].fire(opposing[1]); // SUCCESS
agents[4].fire(opposing[0]); // SUCCESS
agents[6].fire(opposing[6]); // SUCCESS
opposing[4].fire(agents[1]); // SUCCESS
opposing[5].fire(agents[3]); // SUCCESS
opposing[7].fire(agents[2]); // FAIL (MISSED)
opposing[3].fire(agents[2]); // FAIL (MISSED)
agents[4].fire(opposing[4]); // FAIL (MISSED)
agents[7].fire(opposing[4]); // FAIL (MISSED)
agents[1].fire(opposing[3]); // SUCCESS
agents[2].fire(opposing[4]); // SUCCESS
agents[4].fire(opposing[5]); // SUCCESS
agents[5].fire(opposing[5]); // FAIL (MISSED)
agents[6].fire(opposing[7]); // FAIL (MISSED)
agents[7].fire(opposing[7]); // SUCCESS
agents[8].fire(opposing[7]); // SUCCESS
agents[9].fire(opposing[7]); // SUCCESS
opposing[8].fire(agents[2]); // SUCCESS
opposing[8].fire(agents[2]); // SUCCESS
opposing[9].fire(agents[4]); // SUCCESS
agents[6].fire(opposing[8]); // FAIL (MISSED)
agents[5].fire(opposing[8]); // FAIL (MISSED)
agents[6].fire(opposing[8]); // SUCCESS
agents[6].equip(opposing[8].weapons[1]);
opposing[9].fire(Peter); // FAIL (MISSED)
opposing[9].fire(Peter); // FAIL (NON-LETHAL)
agents[6].fire(opposing[9]); // FAIL (NON-LETHAL)
var intel = agents[6].interrogate(opposing[9]);
//
// intel == { employee: opposing, employer: Jane, motive: { type: "opposition", to: Bill } }
// |
#INCLUDE anything.h | [WP] A thrilling story with a twist ending, but written in a programming language of your choice. | bool surpriseEnding = false;
while (true)
{
new int[50];
}
surpriseEnding = true;
| 10111000101011000110101
1011
001101011001101
011001
~~0011011~~ 01100101
1011^10011^1011^101 |
#INCLUDE anything.h | [WP] A thrilling story with a twist ending, but written in a programming language of your choice. | bool surpriseEnding = false;
while (true)
{
new int[50];
}
surpriseEnding = true;
| This thread has been linked to from elsewhere on reddit.
- [/r/programming] [Write a story with a twist ending in the programming language of your choice. (x-post /r/writingprompts)](http://np.reddit.com/r/programming/comments/1yyfmv/write_a_story_with_a_twist_ending_in_the/)
*^I ^am ^a ^bot. ^Comments? ^Complaints? [^Send ^them ^to ^my ^inbox!](http://www.reddit.com/message/compose/?to=totes_meta_bot)*
|
* At what point do we send firearms in to space, and why? *
* What makes two opposing sides decide to shoot at each other? In space!? *
* How would such a battle even play out? *
And such and such. Good luck! | [WP] Write about the very first battle to occur in space as realistically as you can. | "Hey, Sergei! How many times have I had to tell you to refill the coffee maker!"
Ever since we built the space elevator, we've finally been able to build rotating space stations that simulate gravity... and this means one all important thing - drip coffee. Glorious black heaven.
But goddammit, Sergei would drink the whole pot! And not run another one!
Well, I had had enough.
"What is problem?" Sergei muttered, "You refill yourself. Americans think they so special. They think Russians should serve them!"
"Jesus Christ, Sergei.. that's not what I'm saying. Just refill the fucking coffee after you drink it all! That's what civilized people do!"
"Oh, so you say that Russia not civilized!?" Sergei stepped up closer to get in Mike's face. "I'll show civilized with fist in your face!"
At that Sergei took a swing; but Mike was faster, and caught it with his left arm and returned a right hook that caught his opponent square on the jaw.
"Mike, what's going on over there?" his intercom crackled out an inquiry from his commander.
"Sergei's gone nuts! He attacked me!"
Just then, Sergei took Mike down with a tackle and started pummelling his face. Mike was able to roll out and get him into a Jujitsu arm lock.
"You had enough yet, you commie bastard!?" Mike taunted.
But just outside of Mike's sight, Sergei was pulling out something with his free arm... and before Mike knew it, there was a loud bang and he felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder and heard a loud whooshing sound.
"What... ugh... you... YOU SHOT ME!" Mike yelled as he fell backwards, his opponent wriggling out and standing over him. "You brought a gun to the space station!?"
"That right, you bastard American. You think the universe belong to you! Well, we not let you think that for long!" Sergei said before yelling some Russian into his radio.
"Now you die, American shit."
And with that he raised his gun for the kill shot... CRACK. Another shot... but Mike didn't feel anything. He looked up just in time to see Sergei collapse to the ground in front of him in a pool of slowly spreading blood. Looking up, Mike could see his commander with a small pistol in his hand.
"Holy fuck, Mike! What the hell is going on around here?!" Commander Steve Macellan shouted out from about 30 feet away. "Hello, Huston. We've got a major problem up here! The Russians have gone crazy and shot Mike. I returned fire, killing Sergei. This thing is rapidly escalating. Request procedural..."
CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK
And Commander Nicolas Ashton was ripped apart by automatic weapons fire. And another Cosmonaut appeared holding an ultra compact submachine gun.
--------
Ground control heard some of it. Both the Americans and Russians received reports from their own personnel in those few frantic minutes before ground observation reported that Space Station 13 had exploded. Early reports indicated rapid decompression and oxygen fire.
Defcon alert levels were raised. Communication breakdown was inevitable in the resulting confusion. At least that's what we can glean from the sparse records that have been recovered from the North American and Russian debris fields. The conflict on the station was easier to reproduce, because listeners from around the world had recorded their transmissions.
The other 15 space stations had been stranded after the total destruction of the countries that controlled their space programs. 2 of the stations had degraded orbits, and had burned up on re-entry... with the loss of all on board. The rest had remained in orbit until power and systems had failed and radio contact was completely cut off.
Before that happened, however, what we can piece together told a tale of slow descent into insanity, and perhaps cannibalism.
But their story almost looks nice compared to the after effects of nuclear war on the ground. | "They're at the historical site sir," said Zevra as she looked at the screen on her console. She adjusted the thrusters and the tiny ship moved enough to give her a moment of dizziness. She closed her eyes, reached into her flight suit pocket, briefly looked at her flight commander badge, and pulled out a small pill. She dry swallowed it as her 2nd in command looked on.
"Uh, Zev, what's going on," asked Lenny, his cybernetic hand moved with a quiet servo noise as he rubbed his temple. Why is she so secretive today? I've never seen her so tense.
He pointed to his headset and said, "I'm not hearing anything." She looked at him, smiled, and mouthed, "I know."
"Understood. Communications blackout as we enter the jamming zone in two minutes," she spoke into her mic. She pulled off her headset and looked around nervously for a moment. "Can you start the process to land near the historical site but somewhere low like a crater?"
Lenny nodded, "Sure, sure." He paused. "So are you going to tell me what's going on or will I be forced to read you mind," he said with a smile.
"The Sino-Rus forces took a beating in Saud-Syria today. A real bad one. The war is pretty much won. They're performing a face saving move. They might take revenge here."
Lenny's eyes went wide, "Destroy the old Apollo site? Christ, that's petty. Even for them."
Zevra shrugged, "Toughguy culture doesn't care about history. They know we do, though." She eyed the console and belted herself into her seat.
"Twenty seconds," said Lenny as he did the same. The ship landed with a gentle thud.
"Do you remember from your training where the extra C3 refrigerant is," she asked with a grin.
Lenny bent over, opened a panel, and saw a combination lock. Zevra saw his surprise and said "7-20-69." The panel opened with a loud click. Lenny held the a stockless gyrojet rifle in his hand with a growing look of surprise. "We're a peace mission. Now we have guns?" He mounted the scope and put the magazine in with a click. He chuckled to himself, "Always wondered by we supposedly carried extra C3. Its a damn carbonite foam. It can't leak."
He held the weapon for a moment and felt its heft and examined the geometric design cut into its decorative wood panel. The weapon had a retro-future look to it. He assumed it must have been made sometime during the cold war. It was older than his father he mused, maybe older than his grandfather. He handed Zevra her rifle.
Zevra tried her headset again. "Nothing. I tried the emergency channel. The cosmonauts are ignoring us. Suit up," she ordered. Lenny got up, saw his spacesuit hanging on the wall, and began putting it on.
"I still don't believe this," he said. "I've never even seen one of those. I mean, we had guns in basic, but not like that. Just the old AR15's and F2000's."
Zevra shrugged, "Guess we're going to have to learn the hard way. At least the scope is modern. The bullets are rocket propelled I think. Trust me, command just told me about this two minutes ago. I didn't know we carried a rifle. I suspect only a handful of people do."
Outside, they positioned themselves on the lip of a crater and kept low to avoid being seen. The optics in Zevra's suit connected with the rifle scope and a green light went off in her HUD as she approached rifle range. They watched silently as three cosmonauts approached the Apollo lander's base and the parked Lunar rovers. They noticed that the cosmonauts were wearing hip holsters and carrying cutting tools. One cosmonaut kicked the rover and fell over almost in slow motion. The rover began rolling away. He clapped his hands and then stood himself back up with a low grav leap.
"What the hell are our orders here," asked Lenny. "This is crazy. Just crazy."
"They jamming us. I can't contact anyone. Command said to shoot if they touch anything," she said as she went down on one knee.
"Jesus," he said.
She carefully lined up the shot and pulled the trigger as her HUD blinked the word "Fire" in large pixelated text. The gyrojet bullet silently left the muzzle producing no recoil. The bullet sped towards the cosmonaut who kicked the rover. His body went stiff and he fell over. The other cosmonauts hopped over to him. She fired again and again. Lenny watched as they collapsed. His vision went blurry as tears filled his eyes. "We're scientists. We shouldn't be forced to do this."
They both looked up at an orbiting Sino-Rus ship that appeared from over the horizon. They squinted as their HUD magnified a porthole on the ship. Inside was a Chinese cosmonaut staring down at them. The ship sped away past the horizon behind them.
"Okay, lets get out of range of this jammer. The rest is the politicians job."
Lenny nodded and quietly walked back to the ship. He looked at Zevra before entering the hatch, "We just started a space war, you know."
"I know," she replied as she shut the hatch behind her. "I know."
|
* At what point do we send firearms in to space, and why? *
* What makes two opposing sides decide to shoot at each other? In space!? *
* How would such a battle even play out? *
And such and such. Good luck! | [WP] Write about the very first battle to occur in space as realistically as you can. | Michael felt the metal bar slip away between his chunky fingers. He swung his arms wildly at it, trying desperately to grasp at the cursed thing as it drifted slowly away from him...
...as he drifted slowly away from it...
Michael's muscles relaxed...
He stilled his arms...
He never realized how little he felt. "The Blue Marble" encapsulated the whole of his peripheral vision... and he was so small. And he felt so little... so little emotion. His EVA suit, an inky black drab riddled with magazine pouches and straps probably weighed close to a hundred kilograms, and yet he felt nothing.
Michael thought of home...
He looked down at the station's platform. It was a good distance away now. The pressure grenade's blast was strong and it had carried Michael and half of his squad away from the station at quite a great speed.
Some of the others still had some monopropellant left in their suits and quickly made it back to the station. Others, like Michael, simply drifted away.
He wondered if his squad would have noticed he was gone. The team had been fighting in complete silence since the radio got knocked out. He doubted any of them could see him anyway. With the black camouflage of his suit, there was no way anyone could see him... not at that distance.
'Well I guess this is it...' he thought. He had about 90 minutes of oxygen left.
He could see the streaks of light dashing across the station, bullets being fired. He couldn't even remember what they were fighting for. One faceless corporation shooting at another faceless corporation. What the hell were these metal hunks in space worth anyway?
He reached for the suit's control on his wrist to release the oxygen.
But then the silence was broken. Michael fell into a spin as another body collided into him. The corpse's frozen blood splattering across his visor with several unnerving 'clinks'. Michael reacted instinctively, grabbing at the debris immediately.
He straightened the body in front of him. The corpse's face was gone, and the body frozen and very much lifeless. Michael paid it no heed. He reached around the back and found what he was looking for, a strap.
His own had been severed early in the fight. But with luck, this soldier's was not. He followed the strap to what he knew was there. As he reeled it in, it caught the light and glistened just a little.
Michael released the body and grabbed at the prize, wrapping his hands around the pistol grip and pulling the rifle close to his body. His left hand slapped the magazine and he drew the bolt decisively, chambering a round.
He took aim at the tether that connected his prize to its deadweight and fired.
Apart from the muffled click of the rifle's vibration through his body, there was no sound. But the strap was destroyed and with a kick, the debris began to drift away from him.
Michael felt no emotion. He pointed the rifle away from the station and emptied it.
Turning his head, he saw the station begin to get closer. Grabbing at his chest, feeling the velcro patch on his glove stick to the magazine attached to him, Michael reloaded the firearm and chambered another round.
As his feet hit the station, Michael broke into a sprint, magnets in his boots keeping him firmly planted to the surface.
His fight was far from over.
-------------------------------------
I just immediately thought of this game where you shoot at each other on the moon with jet packs and stuff. I think it was called shattered earth or shattered horizon or something. I can't quite remember and am lazy to check.
Then I thought of gravity. And then I wrote this. Hope you like! | The bullet exited the barrel without a sound. It was entirely surreal, it didn't feel to Jeff as if he'd really fired, he hadn't actually killed another human being... And yet, blood droplets were scattering from Adam's chest as he flailed, limply, into the side of the ISS.
In the end, getting the gun up here had been nowhere near as hard as Jeff had imagined. It turned out, the hard part was getting it with him out the airlock, without anyone else noticing. It had also turned out to be more difficult than expected to actually pull the trigger while wearing an EVA suit.
Jeff wasn't sure what was going to happen now. In the end, it didn't really matter. Adam would never go back to Earth, would never spend another night selling cocaine, would never ruin the life of another child. It didn't matter what happened after this. Jeff was done.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
I know this probably wasn't what you had in mind, but realistically? I think this is how we'll take violence into space: One tiny step at a time. |
I don't care how good it is, how bad it is (which none of them will be), long, short, poem, story. Write for me that one piece you've had stuck in your head. You know the one I'm talking about. If its just an idea right now, type of the premises of it, like the back of a book or an idea you're pitching. Maybe its the beginning, middle or end. Just start writing, don't delete it. It will be great. | [WP] Write for me that one piece that you've always wanted to write. | A young man, stoic, stared down the barrel of a gun. With a slight tilt of his head, the man's eyes met the eyes of his executioner. His stone face melted, and he couldn't help but laugh.
"It's funny," he said looking down at the snow, "life takes us on such a ride."
His executioner remained silent with a face as hard and unyielding as the winter wind. His gloved hand tightened around his gun, but he let the dead man speak.
"You never know where it'll take you," the young man said, shaking, either from the cold or from the fear, "where you'll finally end up."
He looked up, smiling in the face of death.
"Despite all that's happened John, I hope you and I can share a drink on the other side."
John's eyes softened. He kept the gun trained on the dead man.
"Keep a seat warm for me then," John said, cocking back the hammer of his gun, "I'll probably be right behind you."
The shot echoed through the cold silence of the woods. John slid the gun back into the holster on his side before turning around to report back to the captain. He left the body for the crows.
John walked back as the towering trees whispered accusations in the wind. That's what war is though, so he walked back to the front-lines taking in as much of the winter's silence as he could. Tomorrow he would be listening to the sounds of guns and of dying men.
| "I've always wanted to tell him how I felt. Every single day. The thought of losing him is so painful that it causes me to have horrendous panic attacks, even when he's standing right in front of me. My emotions are so raw and run so deep, I feel like I could be torn apart with how I feel.
It's never mattered what he's done. Sometimes he hurts me- it's never been intentional- and I just accept it because I love him too much to be upset by it. I love him and I always have. From the first time we met. How did we meet, you ask? Well, it's an odd story, certainly.
I had just enlisted in the United States Army (I was 17) and was with my company for the weekend. I was always there for the weekends. I was still in school. I know, I know, I'm veering off track. I'm sorry, okay? I was supposed to get my squad leader a bottle of water from some vending machines downstairs. That was my mission.
The vending machines were broken. It wasn't too big of a deal. So I thought. I went back upstairs and walked into the cramp, stuffy room that everyone was piled into. After reporting my findings to my squad leader, he gave me a long, hard look.
"Private" he began. "What the fuck are you talking about? Quit being an idiot and go to the PX." Nothing further was said yet everyone was laughing at me. I had no idea *what* the PX was or even where I could find it.
That was when I first heard him speak. My love. He went up to my squad leader, offering to show me where the PX was because he needed to grab something to eat- my love had missed chow earlier that day.
Permission was granted.
Silently, the two of us walked downstairs together and walked out to the great outdoors. The sun was shining brilliantly, perhaps it was too sunny. It was just a few degrees too warm but there was a lovely, gentle breeze which caused the grass (and weeds) to drift lazily, happily with the wind. It smelled like the best spring day but it felt like an early summer day.
As soon as we were outside, my love looked at me. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I'm Joshua, by the way." Those were the first words he ever spoke to me and I'll never forget them.
I'm sorry, Doc, but I honestly don't know what this has to do with the current problems at hand. What are my panic attacks about? Well....
I'm always afraid of losing him. Terror grips my heart and lungs when I feel as if he's in danger. I've never been more afraid for someone in my life before. Imagine how you would feel if your heart was ripped out, stabbed multiple times and your lungs were punctured with you just laying there, trying so hard to breathe but absolutely unable to. Imagine that, Doc. That's how it feels. When the attacks come, I see nothing but dark oblivion.
If he's still alive but not mine, I can deal with that. As long as he's alive, happy and safe, I honestly don't care. Even if he's dating some other woman (or man, even) I would be okay as long as he is as well. It's the thought of him no longer existing, Doc. That's what my panic attacks and nightmares are about. It looks like our session is up though so we'll just have to pick it up next time." |
I don't care how good it is, how bad it is (which none of them will be), long, short, poem, story. Write for me that one piece you've had stuck in your head. You know the one I'm talking about. If its just an idea right now, type of the premises of it, like the back of a book or an idea you're pitching. Maybe its the beginning, middle or end. Just start writing, don't delete it. It will be great. | [WP] Write for me that one piece that you've always wanted to write. | All my life, I waited to see,
What the world would contain.
And then I opened my eyes with glee,
Only to have them met with disdain.
I couldn't believe a world so impure,
Corrupt, defiled, and vile,
Could exist, and so I was unsure,
If continuing on was worthwhile.
But I'd only ever get one chance,
It would be a shame for it to go to waste,
And so I trudged forward, and glanced,
At the world which I now faced.
The time passes so quickly now,
It felt as if it had always been,
The frowning faces and how,
Everyone here sinned and sins.
And yet it is only of late,
That I have stopped to see,
That there is hope yet for this fate,
For everyone is undeniably free.
With that freedom comes will,
The will to live and breathe,
The push forward may be uphill,
And many will surely concede.
But such is the life we lead,
Overrun with despair and strife,
And yet we continue to exceed,
Those that have already lived their life.
And now I have finally lived my share,
The world will bid me adieu,
In these last moments I'd like to just stare,
Not at myself, but at you.
These, my final words to speak,
My final message to those who hear it,
The world is not so awfully bleak,
So I beg of thee to endear it. | "I've always wanted to tell him how I felt. Every single day. The thought of losing him is so painful that it causes me to have horrendous panic attacks, even when he's standing right in front of me. My emotions are so raw and run so deep, I feel like I could be torn apart with how I feel.
It's never mattered what he's done. Sometimes he hurts me- it's never been intentional- and I just accept it because I love him too much to be upset by it. I love him and I always have. From the first time we met. How did we meet, you ask? Well, it's an odd story, certainly.
I had just enlisted in the United States Army (I was 17) and was with my company for the weekend. I was always there for the weekends. I was still in school. I know, I know, I'm veering off track. I'm sorry, okay? I was supposed to get my squad leader a bottle of water from some vending machines downstairs. That was my mission.
The vending machines were broken. It wasn't too big of a deal. So I thought. I went back upstairs and walked into the cramp, stuffy room that everyone was piled into. After reporting my findings to my squad leader, he gave me a long, hard look.
"Private" he began. "What the fuck are you talking about? Quit being an idiot and go to the PX." Nothing further was said yet everyone was laughing at me. I had no idea *what* the PX was or even where I could find it.
That was when I first heard him speak. My love. He went up to my squad leader, offering to show me where the PX was because he needed to grab something to eat- my love had missed chow earlier that day.
Permission was granted.
Silently, the two of us walked downstairs together and walked out to the great outdoors. The sun was shining brilliantly, perhaps it was too sunny. It was just a few degrees too warm but there was a lovely, gentle breeze which caused the grass (and weeds) to drift lazily, happily with the wind. It smelled like the best spring day but it felt like an early summer day.
As soon as we were outside, my love looked at me. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I'm Joshua, by the way." Those were the first words he ever spoke to me and I'll never forget them.
I'm sorry, Doc, but I honestly don't know what this has to do with the current problems at hand. What are my panic attacks about? Well....
I'm always afraid of losing him. Terror grips my heart and lungs when I feel as if he's in danger. I've never been more afraid for someone in my life before. Imagine how you would feel if your heart was ripped out, stabbed multiple times and your lungs were punctured with you just laying there, trying so hard to breathe but absolutely unable to. Imagine that, Doc. That's how it feels. When the attacks come, I see nothing but dark oblivion.
If he's still alive but not mine, I can deal with that. As long as he's alive, happy and safe, I honestly don't care. Even if he's dating some other woman (or man, even) I would be okay as long as he is as well. It's the thought of him no longer existing, Doc. That's what my panic attacks and nightmares are about. It looks like our session is up though so we'll just have to pick it up next time." |
I don't care how good it is, how bad it is (which none of them will be), long, short, poem, story. Write for me that one piece you've had stuck in your head. You know the one I'm talking about. If its just an idea right now, type of the premises of it, like the back of a book or an idea you're pitching. Maybe its the beginning, middle or end. Just start writing, don't delete it. It will be great. | [WP] Write for me that one piece that you've always wanted to write. | -068
The first thing one must learn when being born into a house of predators, is that cannabilism is always an option.
My earliest memory was of my mother bottle feeding my two younger siblings--the twins. I was tiny. I didn't understand how the world worked. I didn't understand what loss was, even though, by this time, one sister and one brother had already died. There were two more out there in the world. A broken one and a coward.
I never liked playing with toy cars. My younger sibling did. His blue eyes, blond hair, and quick smile made him mother's favorite. The rest of us were dark and brooding. We watched her. We watched him. We were a wall of glittering eyes. I played with him, moving toy cars through the dust or across the hardwood floor. Mother loved him, and like some B movie mad scientist, I observed him to discover why.
He wasn't particularly bright. I thought his blond curly hair was stupid. He couldn't even comb it out. Our hair in our family was stiff and thick. I don't know if it was the Italian blood, the Portugese blood, the Cherokee blood, or the Choctaw blood. All I knew, was that our hair, and his especially, was like wire--coarse and abrasive.
Mom broke down one day. Her brother Vincie, of whom she had bragged, had burned down his door factory for the insurance. He'd gotten caught and went to prison. I was intrigued and curious how he got caught. Perhaps my fascination with trying to improve on his crime. My younger sibling wasn't impressed or fazed by this news. He just smiled and went about his play.
We didn't stay kids forever. We got together, put some numbers down on paper, and realized, being a kid sucked. In the fall of my ninth year, mom got tired and living and decided it was time to die. Brain tumors was the ultimate cause, but I knew my brothers and sisters pretty well, and chocked up her death to her just being worn out. We weren't the easiest family to manage. A manager was what she was. She raised the money that fed us. She won the toys we played with. She was the glue. She held us together. She was the frustrating trainer that made us balance treats on our nose until she gave the command for us to eat. If you knew my brothers and sisters the way I did, then you will understand that who she was in reality was more akin to Cerberus. She kept the evil from escaping into the world. When she died, nothing held us back.
It was Pandora's Box all over again. Mom was the lid. She went in the grave, and we migrated into the world as a swarm of glittering eyes. There was so much to touch, so many people to know, so many sins to commit, and we committed so many. Even the walking blond strip of velcro himself. Though, he seemed more interested in destroying himself. He was so weak. While the others were out bending the world to their whims and wills and perversions. I fixated on him. My dear baby brother.
You ever look at an ant crawling across the ground and hesitate with your finger above his back wondering if you should squash him. For years, my finger hovered above my little brother's head, and I struggled with that compulsion. I didn't mean to kill him. I wouldn't have. The other's would have devoured me. No. I just wanted to make him as horrid as the rest of us.
When you're born in a dark place and live in a dark place and see only darkness your entire life, a beacon of light hurts your eyes. Mom's death was hard on him. Dad's death, was just as cruel. His blue eyes staring out from beneath that blond mop was so painful to see. The girls thought him beautiful. He never lacked for women. It was a cruel thing to me, who was homely, and dark, and malevolent.
I watched the light in his eyes dim as he turned to alcohol, and whiskey, and fighting. That was his thing. He fought everyone and won. He drank everything and staggered. I watched a beautiful pillar of hope slowly implode. The top caving in, and I thought this a good thing, until the light went out.
He died in a car wreck outside Kansas City six months before his twenty-first birthday. He told us he'd never reach twenty-one. He was always making prophetic statements like that. When mom died, before the hospital called, he woke up crying saying mother was dead. When dad died, we found him sitting in an empty bath tub bawling his eyes out at two in the morning. He already knew, and on the day we buried him, we all came like vultures and stood about his grave and pretended to mourn him.
We always joked that he was special, and he was different. We had always been so sure of the world. The world was a dark place to be devoured. The innocents in the world our hors d'oeuvres. But, when we saw the date and realized our other brother died on the exact same day twenty-two years before. We started paying attention to the small print. They were the only blonds. They both had hundreds of people who showed up to see them buried. We were jealous. We, who had no one, finally realized that we were the reason the world was so dark.
We had spent our entire lives devouring everything good. We had left men and women in our wake whom we had convinced we were worth loving, then callously left after plundering their bodies. I was twenty-two when my little brother died, and the date on the grave stone had special meaning to me. I think I'm the next to die. I've thought and dwelled and meditated on my life and my obsession with my little brother and in a moment that nearly destroyed me, I realized, I loved him. It seems an easy thing to say now, but it has always been painful for the vampire to clutch the cross. It was painful to admit to myself that I cared about him and would miss him as the moth misses the flame. It also made me reflective.
Perhaps, Pandora didn't release the evil into the world. Perhaps, the evil just fled the light she trapped inside. Perhaps, the world is a dark place, because out in it, there are still beacons of light shining bright and casting large shadows of the small evils we consider ourselves to be. I don't know. It's a musing of mine I entertain while waiting for my turn to die. Each day that passes, I grow less enamored with the idea of this life ending though.
My daughter was born. She is one of those lights. It's amazing how much more one sees when the light is bright enough to drive back the darkness. My guilt in regards to my little brother was that I spent so many years jealous of him. All we ever want is to be loved, to be seen, to be remembered. It's why we mark our graves with stones. We want to be remembered. It's probably also the reason we have children--to guarantee there is at least one who will remember us when we're gone.
My world has always been dark, but now, in my autumn, I feel glad that I finally see the steel blue band of twilight and evidence that tomorrow is finally come.
| "I've always wanted to tell him how I felt. Every single day. The thought of losing him is so painful that it causes me to have horrendous panic attacks, even when he's standing right in front of me. My emotions are so raw and run so deep, I feel like I could be torn apart with how I feel.
It's never mattered what he's done. Sometimes he hurts me- it's never been intentional- and I just accept it because I love him too much to be upset by it. I love him and I always have. From the first time we met. How did we meet, you ask? Well, it's an odd story, certainly.
I had just enlisted in the United States Army (I was 17) and was with my company for the weekend. I was always there for the weekends. I was still in school. I know, I know, I'm veering off track. I'm sorry, okay? I was supposed to get my squad leader a bottle of water from some vending machines downstairs. That was my mission.
The vending machines were broken. It wasn't too big of a deal. So I thought. I went back upstairs and walked into the cramp, stuffy room that everyone was piled into. After reporting my findings to my squad leader, he gave me a long, hard look.
"Private" he began. "What the fuck are you talking about? Quit being an idiot and go to the PX." Nothing further was said yet everyone was laughing at me. I had no idea *what* the PX was or even where I could find it.
That was when I first heard him speak. My love. He went up to my squad leader, offering to show me where the PX was because he needed to grab something to eat- my love had missed chow earlier that day.
Permission was granted.
Silently, the two of us walked downstairs together and walked out to the great outdoors. The sun was shining brilliantly, perhaps it was too sunny. It was just a few degrees too warm but there was a lovely, gentle breeze which caused the grass (and weeds) to drift lazily, happily with the wind. It smelled like the best spring day but it felt like an early summer day.
As soon as we were outside, my love looked at me. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I'm Joshua, by the way." Those were the first words he ever spoke to me and I'll never forget them.
I'm sorry, Doc, but I honestly don't know what this has to do with the current problems at hand. What are my panic attacks about? Well....
I'm always afraid of losing him. Terror grips my heart and lungs when I feel as if he's in danger. I've never been more afraid for someone in my life before. Imagine how you would feel if your heart was ripped out, stabbed multiple times and your lungs were punctured with you just laying there, trying so hard to breathe but absolutely unable to. Imagine that, Doc. That's how it feels. When the attacks come, I see nothing but dark oblivion.
If he's still alive but not mine, I can deal with that. As long as he's alive, happy and safe, I honestly don't care. Even if he's dating some other woman (or man, even) I would be okay as long as he is as well. It's the thought of him no longer existing, Doc. That's what my panic attacks and nightmares are about. It looks like our session is up though so we'll just have to pick it up next time." |
I don't care how good it is, how bad it is (which none of them will be), long, short, poem, story. Write for me that one piece you've had stuck in your head. You know the one I'm talking about. If its just an idea right now, type of the premises of it, like the back of a book or an idea you're pitching. Maybe its the beginning, middle or end. Just start writing, don't delete it. It will be great. | [WP] Write for me that one piece that you've always wanted to write. | "Ok man, when we go in here just keep your mouth shut. Let me talk to him so we can hurry and leave." This was the way he said it. As if we were just going to buy a six pack of beer. Brave and stupid and I follow. The most ignorant thing I've ever done in my life. I wore my leather jacket for the occasion. Grabbed my pack of smokes out and tried to light one up before we got to the door but it opened. Of course it opened. I dropped my cigarette.
I had been friends with Ben since we were old enough to change our own diapers. We stole a gallon of beer from a three day old keg when we were seven. It was in Bens backyard, leftover from one of his dads parties. We dared each other to drink until it was gone. Then we went back and stole the keg. We gave each other tattoos in eighth grade. I wanted an anchor but it turned out looking more like a penis because the bottom part of the tattoo got infected. I kept mud on it but lost most of the skin anyway.
Last year we were the oldest kids in the eleventh grade by two years. Most of our friends will have made it halfway through college by the time we graduate. I say friends but really it's just people Benz sold weed and coke to. Yeah, he goes by Benz now too.
So we're out scouting around town one day in Benz' Honda. He's talking about how much he wants this and how much he wants that. I go along with him just to be part of the conversation. Big dreams are expensive and Benz decides we need capital. Dollars and cents, he says. In his mind, I'm sure he thought this through before spitting out that we should rob our dealer.
Benz knew everything about the guy, he knew when the best time to catch him alone was. When he was supposed to be re-upping, all that. He also warned me about how crazy this dude was. Not your average drug dealer. I had been over a couple of times but always in a group and always for something small. Benz was talking pounds this time.
So the plan was to get this dude to stock up for us. Benz told him we were trying to move up and had met a bunch of college kids from out of town who liked to party. He would front us half and we pay him interest on the rest. There were no college kids though. We would never be able to sell as much in the amount of time Benz told the guy. So that was the plan. We go in, make the deal and haul ass to Phoenix where his brother lived and make a new life.
Except the way he opened the door, standing there in some shit stained boxer shorts, red eyes the size of walnuts, rifle extended from the bridge of his nose, he knew what was up. I watched Benz' head kick back with an explosion of blood as it briefly absorbed a bullet.
The fight or flight sensation only lasts a split second. You decide in that instant what you want to do or you will freeze up. A motionless goat waiting for the universe to decide fate. In that instant that I saw the door open, the gun raised, for the first time in my life I decided to fight. It was instantaneous, almost natural or embedded and passed down from some ancient ancestors that shared my same blood so long ago. He shot, I threw myself into the hardest punch I've ever thrown. I must have leaped about four feet and connected square with his chin. As Benz body was falling to the ground, so was the rifle from the hands of a knocked out drug dealer. I picked it up and I guess you guys know what happened next.
It's amazing how much thought your brain can squeeze into just a few seconds. It felt like I stood there for days in those few brief moments of insanity. All I could think was how worthless the situation was. A long collection of bad mistakes, all directed towards this one moment for the purpose of being able to buy a set of rims and a new flat brimmed baseball hat. Three lives destroyed for what? What a waste.
*Although this isn't what I most wanted to write, (due to time and character limit) I hope this little story entertains you. Thanks for the prompt allowing for a free write.* | "I've always wanted to tell him how I felt. Every single day. The thought of losing him is so painful that it causes me to have horrendous panic attacks, even when he's standing right in front of me. My emotions are so raw and run so deep, I feel like I could be torn apart with how I feel.
It's never mattered what he's done. Sometimes he hurts me- it's never been intentional- and I just accept it because I love him too much to be upset by it. I love him and I always have. From the first time we met. How did we meet, you ask? Well, it's an odd story, certainly.
I had just enlisted in the United States Army (I was 17) and was with my company for the weekend. I was always there for the weekends. I was still in school. I know, I know, I'm veering off track. I'm sorry, okay? I was supposed to get my squad leader a bottle of water from some vending machines downstairs. That was my mission.
The vending machines were broken. It wasn't too big of a deal. So I thought. I went back upstairs and walked into the cramp, stuffy room that everyone was piled into. After reporting my findings to my squad leader, he gave me a long, hard look.
"Private" he began. "What the fuck are you talking about? Quit being an idiot and go to the PX." Nothing further was said yet everyone was laughing at me. I had no idea *what* the PX was or even where I could find it.
That was when I first heard him speak. My love. He went up to my squad leader, offering to show me where the PX was because he needed to grab something to eat- my love had missed chow earlier that day.
Permission was granted.
Silently, the two of us walked downstairs together and walked out to the great outdoors. The sun was shining brilliantly, perhaps it was too sunny. It was just a few degrees too warm but there was a lovely, gentle breeze which caused the grass (and weeds) to drift lazily, happily with the wind. It smelled like the best spring day but it felt like an early summer day.
As soon as we were outside, my love looked at me. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I'm Joshua, by the way." Those were the first words he ever spoke to me and I'll never forget them.
I'm sorry, Doc, but I honestly don't know what this has to do with the current problems at hand. What are my panic attacks about? Well....
I'm always afraid of losing him. Terror grips my heart and lungs when I feel as if he's in danger. I've never been more afraid for someone in my life before. Imagine how you would feel if your heart was ripped out, stabbed multiple times and your lungs were punctured with you just laying there, trying so hard to breathe but absolutely unable to. Imagine that, Doc. That's how it feels. When the attacks come, I see nothing but dark oblivion.
If he's still alive but not mine, I can deal with that. As long as he's alive, happy and safe, I honestly don't care. Even if he's dating some other woman (or man, even) I would be okay as long as he is as well. It's the thought of him no longer existing, Doc. That's what my panic attacks and nightmares are about. It looks like our session is up though so we'll just have to pick it up next time." |
I don't care how good it is, how bad it is (which none of them will be), long, short, poem, story. Write for me that one piece you've had stuck in your head. You know the one I'm talking about. If its just an idea right now, type of the premises of it, like the back of a book or an idea you're pitching. Maybe its the beginning, middle or end. Just start writing, don't delete it. It will be great. | [WP] Write for me that one piece that you've always wanted to write. | It is while they dragged him through the damp corridor that Dieter Hagedorn awoke.
As he opens with eyes, he finds himself staring down at the stone floor, slick with water. Two sets of hands are seizing him, his legs are unable to support his weight. Though weak, he shudders at the touch of the lifeless hands of his escort. Their bone and sinew fingers squeeze his arms painfully. Chancing a look at their visages, his shivers in fear. Although human, his guards are not of the living, no. Instead, they are undead, animated through some unholy black magic courtesy of their dark mistress. Dieter's blood runs cold at the thought of their cruel ruler, the gorgeous and terrible Queen Malvina. Anyone who can command a legion of the undead is powerful indeed. From his brief meeting with her, it is apparent her wrath is equal to her beauty. It is because of her, that he is being taken to the dungeons.
Contrary to his guess, they do not take him deep to the heart of the castle. Instead, they drag him upwards, higher and higher in the massive castle. Opening a door, they fling him inside and bar the door with a haunting finality. Dieter slowly rises on weak legs, and surveys his surroundings. It is not a room, but a courtyard. Twenty paces, by thirty paces. Above him the walls stretch up three stories, framing an overcast sky. They are mostly windowless for the most part, only a few have windows in them, thick curtains obscure any view inside. In any case, the addition of windows hardly matters, a cage of sorts, akin to a massive aviary, prevents any attempts at scaling the walls. He is trapped.
He examines more of his new home. Though open to the elements, the smallest of huts tucked into the corner provides some shelter. It's nothing more than a glorified lean-to, but it is better than nothing. The crack of thunder jerks his head up in surprise. Dieter rushes to take cover under the wood shingled roof of the shelter as the rains begin to fall. The storm falls in a torrent, the wind is bitterly cold. He wraps himself tight in the two scratchy blankets in finds inside. No doubt they were from the oubliette's previous occupant. Water pouring down, he nestles himself as best he can and closes his eyes, exhaustion finally taking hold of him. He does not dream.
Dawn find him hungry and thirsty. The latter need can be sated. A small fountain tucked in the opposite corner of the courtyard trickles from it's small spout. Cupping his hands, he slurps down the cool water. His parched throat is mercifully quenched, but his stomach tightens in pain. He hasn't eaten in two days at least, and won't for another three at least. That is what his jailor Queen Malvina said. He shudders thinking her name. Such a cruel and wicked woman, no doubt a powerful and dark sorceress. What powers sought fit to punish him with this fate, he does not know. 'Twould have been a kind mercy if he'd been dashed against the rocks on shore or else drowned at sea. Instead, he is the captive of a merciless witch, guilty of a crime which he did not intend to commit. The gods must be laughing at his precarious situation.
The three days of fasting pass slowly, painfully. He is weak with hunger. His wounds fortunately have not festered but his body cries out for nourishment. He spends the fourth day of his imprisonment, staring, eyes fixated on the lone door, begging it to open. So it came to his great surprise when a loaf of coarse black bread flew through the air and landed in the center of courtyard. His eyes latch onto the window from where the food came. It is the plainest of the them, unadorned with any decoration. He glimpses the fleeting form of one of Queen Malvina's revenants. He rushes to grab the hard loaf, as if to prevent it from disappearing. Tearing off chunks of it, he gnaws at it. Though it is beyond stale, he savors the grainy texture. He makes the bread last for an hour. It is his first meal in Queen Malvina's castle.
The two meals a day he receives are the highlights of his days. Cold gruel in the morning, they do not provide him with a spoon and is so forced to eat it like a dog, face in the slop, licking clean the bowl with his tongue. His evening meal is for the most part more of that tasteless rock hard bread, and if he is fortunate, dried sausage, essentially desiccated. Two moons pass without any change. The single door opens in the morning, a decayed guard shoves the bowl in, and the door is slammed shut. In the evening they arrive with his meal, and take back the bowl. Day in, day out. They do not reply when he asks them questions, and in fact even beat him for speaking. He has resigned myself to the slow descent into madness, tended only by the dead, when the last expected thing occurs. He hears a voice.
He is huddled against the wall, eyes shut, lost in thought. It is only in his mind that he finds escape, all other avenues were long since destroyed. So it comes as a surprise when he hears a voice ask a lone question. "Do you know how to sing?" The voice is soft and sweet, tinged with a sense of longing. The sentence catches him off guard. "Your pardon?" The voice returns, edged with a hint of threat. It is a sharp and cold voice. "Do. You. Sing?" It is no other than Queen Malvina speaking. He throws himself down onto the damp stone in fear. "Y-yes your majesty. I can sing." He steals a glance at the source of her voice, the highest and most decorated window that looks down upon his prison. The curtains obscure any view. "Indeed, I can" "In that case, sing for me, sing for your Queen." "Y, Yes." He proceeds to sing, his voice echoing around the high walls of the courtyard, filling the air with his baritone voice. It is a mournful sound he sings, full of lament and sorrow.
Finishing, he leaves the final note to drift off into silence. For the next minute neither Queen Malvina nor he speaks. Then from the lofty window comes the question. "What was the name of that song?" he shakes his head in ignorance. "I do not know you majesty. I heard it but once in my life. Forgive me." Ten seconds of silence. Then almost absently, she speaks, "Oh, that is quite all right." Then he hears the sound of chair legs scraping and the sound of disappearing footsteps. He is left alone.
The next day the same thing occurs. She asks him to sing, this time he sings four songs for her before she leaves. This continues on for two months. Most times he sings a new song, but occasionally she'll request a previous song. It is the most precious time for him. Sometimes the voice is sweet, very often sad or melancholy, every so often enraged and terrible. He dreads those days, the ones where she will almost threaten him with harm. But those days are worth it, just to hear another voice. It is addicting. It is the only stimulus in his otherwise monochrome life. So used to the routine, that when the door to his prison open, and guards lead him out, he is terrified. He does not know what will happen. He is scared. | "I've always wanted to tell him how I felt. Every single day. The thought of losing him is so painful that it causes me to have horrendous panic attacks, even when he's standing right in front of me. My emotions are so raw and run so deep, I feel like I could be torn apart with how I feel.
It's never mattered what he's done. Sometimes he hurts me- it's never been intentional- and I just accept it because I love him too much to be upset by it. I love him and I always have. From the first time we met. How did we meet, you ask? Well, it's an odd story, certainly.
I had just enlisted in the United States Army (I was 17) and was with my company for the weekend. I was always there for the weekends. I was still in school. I know, I know, I'm veering off track. I'm sorry, okay? I was supposed to get my squad leader a bottle of water from some vending machines downstairs. That was my mission.
The vending machines were broken. It wasn't too big of a deal. So I thought. I went back upstairs and walked into the cramp, stuffy room that everyone was piled into. After reporting my findings to my squad leader, he gave me a long, hard look.
"Private" he began. "What the fuck are you talking about? Quit being an idiot and go to the PX." Nothing further was said yet everyone was laughing at me. I had no idea *what* the PX was or even where I could find it.
That was when I first heard him speak. My love. He went up to my squad leader, offering to show me where the PX was because he needed to grab something to eat- my love had missed chow earlier that day.
Permission was granted.
Silently, the two of us walked downstairs together and walked out to the great outdoors. The sun was shining brilliantly, perhaps it was too sunny. It was just a few degrees too warm but there was a lovely, gentle breeze which caused the grass (and weeds) to drift lazily, happily with the wind. It smelled like the best spring day but it felt like an early summer day.
As soon as we were outside, my love looked at me. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I'm Joshua, by the way." Those were the first words he ever spoke to me and I'll never forget them.
I'm sorry, Doc, but I honestly don't know what this has to do with the current problems at hand. What are my panic attacks about? Well....
I'm always afraid of losing him. Terror grips my heart and lungs when I feel as if he's in danger. I've never been more afraid for someone in my life before. Imagine how you would feel if your heart was ripped out, stabbed multiple times and your lungs were punctured with you just laying there, trying so hard to breathe but absolutely unable to. Imagine that, Doc. That's how it feels. When the attacks come, I see nothing but dark oblivion.
If he's still alive but not mine, I can deal with that. As long as he's alive, happy and safe, I honestly don't care. Even if he's dating some other woman (or man, even) I would be okay as long as he is as well. It's the thought of him no longer existing, Doc. That's what my panic attacks and nightmares are about. It looks like our session is up though so we'll just have to pick it up next time." |
I don't care how good it is, how bad it is (which none of them will be), long, short, poem, story. Write for me that one piece you've had stuck in your head. You know the one I'm talking about. If its just an idea right now, type of the premises of it, like the back of a book or an idea you're pitching. Maybe its the beginning, middle or end. Just start writing, don't delete it. It will be great. | [WP] Write for me that one piece that you've always wanted to write. | "Ok man, when we go in here just keep your mouth shut. Let me talk to him so we can hurry and leave." This was the way he said it. As if we were just going to buy a six pack of beer. Brave and stupid and I follow. The most ignorant thing I've ever done in my life. I wore my leather jacket for the occasion. Grabbed my pack of smokes out and tried to light one up before we got to the door but it opened. Of course it opened. I dropped my cigarette.
I had been friends with Ben since we were old enough to change our own diapers. We stole a gallon of beer from a three day old keg when we were seven. It was in Bens backyard, leftover from one of his dads parties. We dared each other to drink until it was gone. Then we went back and stole the keg. We gave each other tattoos in eighth grade. I wanted an anchor but it turned out looking more like a penis because the bottom part of the tattoo got infected. I kept mud on it but lost most of the skin anyway.
Last year we were the oldest kids in the eleventh grade by two years. Most of our friends will have made it halfway through college by the time we graduate. I say friends but really it's just people Benz sold weed and coke to. Yeah, he goes by Benz now too.
So we're out scouting around town one day in Benz' Honda. He's talking about how much he wants this and how much he wants that. I go along with him just to be part of the conversation. Big dreams are expensive and Benz decides we need capital. Dollars and cents, he says. In his mind, I'm sure he thought this through before spitting out that we should rob our dealer.
Benz knew everything about the guy, he knew when the best time to catch him alone was. When he was supposed to be re-upping, all that. He also warned me about how crazy this dude was. Not your average drug dealer. I had been over a couple of times but always in a group and always for something small. Benz was talking pounds this time.
So the plan was to get this dude to stock up for us. Benz told him we were trying to move up and had met a bunch of college kids from out of town who liked to party. He would front us half and we pay him interest on the rest. There were no college kids though. We would never be able to sell as much in the amount of time Benz told the guy. So that was the plan. We go in, make the deal and haul ass to Phoenix where his brother lived and make a new life.
Except the way he opened the door, standing there in some shit stained boxer shorts, red eyes the size of walnuts, rifle extended from the bridge of his nose, he knew what was up. I watched Benz' head kick back with an explosion of blood as it briefly absorbed a bullet.
The fight or flight sensation only lasts a split second. You decide in that instant what you want to do or you will freeze up. A motionless goat waiting for the universe to decide fate. In that instant that I saw the door open, the gun raised, for the first time in my life I decided to fight. It was instantaneous, almost natural or embedded and passed down from some ancient ancestors that shared my same blood so long ago. He shot, I threw myself into the hardest punch I've ever thrown. I must have leaped about four feet and connected square with his chin. As Benz body was falling to the ground, so was the rifle from the hands of a knocked out drug dealer. I picked it up and I guess you guys know what happened next.
It's amazing how much thought your brain can squeeze into just a few seconds. It felt like I stood there for days in those few brief moments of insanity. All I could think was how worthless the situation was. A long collection of bad mistakes, all directed towards this one moment for the purpose of being able to buy a set of rims and a new flat brimmed baseball hat. Three lives destroyed for what? What a waste.
*Although this isn't what I most wanted to write, (due to time and character limit) I hope this little story entertains you. Thanks for the prompt allowing for a free write.* | A young man, stoic, stared down the barrel of a gun. With a slight tilt of his head, the man's eyes met the eyes of his executioner. His stone face melted, and he couldn't help but laugh.
"It's funny," he said looking down at the snow, "life takes us on such a ride."
His executioner remained silent with a face as hard and unyielding as the winter wind. His gloved hand tightened around his gun, but he let the dead man speak.
"You never know where it'll take you," the young man said, shaking, either from the cold or from the fear, "where you'll finally end up."
He looked up, smiling in the face of death.
"Despite all that's happened John, I hope you and I can share a drink on the other side."
John's eyes softened. He kept the gun trained on the dead man.
"Keep a seat warm for me then," John said, cocking back the hammer of his gun, "I'll probably be right behind you."
The shot echoed through the cold silence of the woods. John slid the gun back into the holster on his side before turning around to report back to the captain. He left the body for the crows.
John walked back as the towering trees whispered accusations in the wind. That's what war is though, so he walked back to the front-lines taking in as much of the winter's silence as he could. Tomorrow he would be listening to the sounds of guns and of dying men.
|
I don't care how good it is, how bad it is (which none of them will be), long, short, poem, story. Write for me that one piece you've had stuck in your head. You know the one I'm talking about. If its just an idea right now, type of the premises of it, like the back of a book or an idea you're pitching. Maybe its the beginning, middle or end. Just start writing, don't delete it. It will be great. | [WP] Write for me that one piece that you've always wanted to write. | It is while they dragged him through the damp corridor that Dieter Hagedorn awoke.
As he opens with eyes, he finds himself staring down at the stone floor, slick with water. Two sets of hands are seizing him, his legs are unable to support his weight. Though weak, he shudders at the touch of the lifeless hands of his escort. Their bone and sinew fingers squeeze his arms painfully. Chancing a look at their visages, his shivers in fear. Although human, his guards are not of the living, no. Instead, they are undead, animated through some unholy black magic courtesy of their dark mistress. Dieter's blood runs cold at the thought of their cruel ruler, the gorgeous and terrible Queen Malvina. Anyone who can command a legion of the undead is powerful indeed. From his brief meeting with her, it is apparent her wrath is equal to her beauty. It is because of her, that he is being taken to the dungeons.
Contrary to his guess, they do not take him deep to the heart of the castle. Instead, they drag him upwards, higher and higher in the massive castle. Opening a door, they fling him inside and bar the door with a haunting finality. Dieter slowly rises on weak legs, and surveys his surroundings. It is not a room, but a courtyard. Twenty paces, by thirty paces. Above him the walls stretch up three stories, framing an overcast sky. They are mostly windowless for the most part, only a few have windows in them, thick curtains obscure any view inside. In any case, the addition of windows hardly matters, a cage of sorts, akin to a massive aviary, prevents any attempts at scaling the walls. He is trapped.
He examines more of his new home. Though open to the elements, the smallest of huts tucked into the corner provides some shelter. It's nothing more than a glorified lean-to, but it is better than nothing. The crack of thunder jerks his head up in surprise. Dieter rushes to take cover under the wood shingled roof of the shelter as the rains begin to fall. The storm falls in a torrent, the wind is bitterly cold. He wraps himself tight in the two scratchy blankets in finds inside. No doubt they were from the oubliette's previous occupant. Water pouring down, he nestles himself as best he can and closes his eyes, exhaustion finally taking hold of him. He does not dream.
Dawn find him hungry and thirsty. The latter need can be sated. A small fountain tucked in the opposite corner of the courtyard trickles from it's small spout. Cupping his hands, he slurps down the cool water. His parched throat is mercifully quenched, but his stomach tightens in pain. He hasn't eaten in two days at least, and won't for another three at least. That is what his jailor Queen Malvina said. He shudders thinking her name. Such a cruel and wicked woman, no doubt a powerful and dark sorceress. What powers sought fit to punish him with this fate, he does not know. 'Twould have been a kind mercy if he'd been dashed against the rocks on shore or else drowned at sea. Instead, he is the captive of a merciless witch, guilty of a crime which he did not intend to commit. The gods must be laughing at his precarious situation.
The three days of fasting pass slowly, painfully. He is weak with hunger. His wounds fortunately have not festered but his body cries out for nourishment. He spends the fourth day of his imprisonment, staring, eyes fixated on the lone door, begging it to open. So it came to his great surprise when a loaf of coarse black bread flew through the air and landed in the center of courtyard. His eyes latch onto the window from where the food came. It is the plainest of the them, unadorned with any decoration. He glimpses the fleeting form of one of Queen Malvina's revenants. He rushes to grab the hard loaf, as if to prevent it from disappearing. Tearing off chunks of it, he gnaws at it. Though it is beyond stale, he savors the grainy texture. He makes the bread last for an hour. It is his first meal in Queen Malvina's castle.
The two meals a day he receives are the highlights of his days. Cold gruel in the morning, they do not provide him with a spoon and is so forced to eat it like a dog, face in the slop, licking clean the bowl with his tongue. His evening meal is for the most part more of that tasteless rock hard bread, and if he is fortunate, dried sausage, essentially desiccated. Two moons pass without any change. The single door opens in the morning, a decayed guard shoves the bowl in, and the door is slammed shut. In the evening they arrive with his meal, and take back the bowl. Day in, day out. They do not reply when he asks them questions, and in fact even beat him for speaking. He has resigned myself to the slow descent into madness, tended only by the dead, when the last expected thing occurs. He hears a voice.
He is huddled against the wall, eyes shut, lost in thought. It is only in his mind that he finds escape, all other avenues were long since destroyed. So it comes as a surprise when he hears a voice ask a lone question. "Do you know how to sing?" The voice is soft and sweet, tinged with a sense of longing. The sentence catches him off guard. "Your pardon?" The voice returns, edged with a hint of threat. It is a sharp and cold voice. "Do. You. Sing?" It is no other than Queen Malvina speaking. He throws himself down onto the damp stone in fear. "Y-yes your majesty. I can sing." He steals a glance at the source of her voice, the highest and most decorated window that looks down upon his prison. The curtains obscure any view. "Indeed, I can" "In that case, sing for me, sing for your Queen." "Y, Yes." He proceeds to sing, his voice echoing around the high walls of the courtyard, filling the air with his baritone voice. It is a mournful sound he sings, full of lament and sorrow.
Finishing, he leaves the final note to drift off into silence. For the next minute neither Queen Malvina nor he speaks. Then from the lofty window comes the question. "What was the name of that song?" he shakes his head in ignorance. "I do not know you majesty. I heard it but once in my life. Forgive me." Ten seconds of silence. Then almost absently, she speaks, "Oh, that is quite all right." Then he hears the sound of chair legs scraping and the sound of disappearing footsteps. He is left alone.
The next day the same thing occurs. She asks him to sing, this time he sings four songs for her before she leaves. This continues on for two months. Most times he sings a new song, but occasionally she'll request a previous song. It is the most precious time for him. Sometimes the voice is sweet, very often sad or melancholy, every so often enraged and terrible. He dreads those days, the ones where she will almost threaten him with harm. But those days are worth it, just to hear another voice. It is addicting. It is the only stimulus in his otherwise monochrome life. So used to the routine, that when the door to his prison open, and guards lead him out, he is terrified. He does not know what will happen. He is scared. | A young man, stoic, stared down the barrel of a gun. With a slight tilt of his head, the man's eyes met the eyes of his executioner. His stone face melted, and he couldn't help but laugh.
"It's funny," he said looking down at the snow, "life takes us on such a ride."
His executioner remained silent with a face as hard and unyielding as the winter wind. His gloved hand tightened around his gun, but he let the dead man speak.
"You never know where it'll take you," the young man said, shaking, either from the cold or from the fear, "where you'll finally end up."
He looked up, smiling in the face of death.
"Despite all that's happened John, I hope you and I can share a drink on the other side."
John's eyes softened. He kept the gun trained on the dead man.
"Keep a seat warm for me then," John said, cocking back the hammer of his gun, "I'll probably be right behind you."
The shot echoed through the cold silence of the woods. John slid the gun back into the holster on his side before turning around to report back to the captain. He left the body for the crows.
John walked back as the towering trees whispered accusations in the wind. That's what war is though, so he walked back to the front-lines taking in as much of the winter's silence as he could. Tomorrow he would be listening to the sounds of guns and of dying men.
|
[WP]A young man sees his parents, for the first time in years, at a family member's wedding. | They’re there and I’m here. It doesn’t mean anything. They’re there and they’re watching the bride – they’re discussing something – her dress, maybe, or her hair or her happiness, perhaps? She gestures, a little maniacally, and he laughs and touches her elbow. She pauses and her eyes, just briefly, flicker over towards me where I stand a face in the crowd and I stare back and I think
-notice me -
but her eyes continue past, her mouth still moving as she makes more comments and he laughs again, sipping at the champagne, fizzy bubbles lapping up his moustache that I never inherited and she’s looking over again now and this time – this time her eyes seem to focus she’s looking she’s
I turn and stride to the table, I grab the nearest glass I see and bark at the waiter to fill me up. I’m aware my hand is making the whole champagne flute shake pathetically as he obeys me with the tiniest tightening of his eyebrows. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and I know I’m drunk. I can feel – everything – around me, so acutely, I can feel the awkward half-family exchanges, the polite nods and false laughter of cousins who have never met, and all the while…they’re over there.
They’re right there, Jackie.
The champagne swirls and forms the hole I’m going to disappear into, I feel myself sinking down into it as I feel my face turn numb and I stare openly at them now, daring her eyes to come back and find me again but she doesn’t. She murmurs something to him and they’re not laughing now, they’re discussing something very, very seriously. I fizz and swirl the champagne in my mouth and watch. I’m paralysed. I can’t move. I’m extremely, extremely drunk – and there isn’t enough champagne in the entire fucking room to get me drunk enough.
| You made me sad just by reading this prompt | |
[WP]A young man sees his parents, for the first time in years, at a family member's wedding. | John and Peter Krouséa were once the two closest brothers a boy could ever wish for. Born in the late 80's, they were able to enjoy the rise of the computer, and domination of the tv. Before their admission into adulthood they were inseparable, like a pair of small magnets cupped into the darkest corner of your pocket, hiding from the horrors of the world. But like every pair of magnets, all you need to separate two is a little pull. After Peter's 22nd birthday, the two hardly spoke a word to each other, especially with John still in his senior year of High School; devoted to his studies. In fact, for years, the two ceased to speak at all.
Just before John's graduation year, Peter found himself in a hospital bed after a horrific accident driving back home on a late Thanksgiving night. Distracted, Peter had drifted into the oncoming lane of a small back-road, just as a small red car was attempting to overtake him. But, before the car had passed, the two joined bumpers and began to spin out. Within moments, an oncoming car arrived to disrupt their brief dance together with a thunderous impact.
Though the small red car absorbed most of the impact from both directions, Peter's airbag failed to deploy and his head collided into the dashboard. As the ambulance arrived to the Hospital, with only Peter in tow, he began to sink into a deep coma. John had always viewed his brother with such high esteem, as though he could never be taken away, and when he heard of his brother's accident he was the first to Peter's side as the news spread through the family. Peter's limp body greeted John as he entered the room and the travesty of their immortal youth was instantly shattered. John spent every evening after school, when he couldn't bear to be with his parents, at the hospital, patiently awaiting for his beloved brother to awake. But as the days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, the visits began to grow less frequent.
John said goodbye to his parents, and to Peter, after spending several months at his brother's bedside, and left for college. Even after the accident, John maintained a straight-A average in school and got into the best school of the state. Gradually, the thoughts of family began to recede as he lost himself in his studies. Then, two semesters into his junior year of school, he met the love of his life. A beautiful girl named Ciara with words softer than the clouds, and eyes as deep as the ocean. She was the one person who could help him escape the guilt from not visiting his brother while in school and by graduation, they were engaged.
As John adjusted to life as a day to day biologist, eagerly awaiting the wedding just a few weeks away, a startling phone call beckoned his attention. The hospital had called to inform that Peter had just awoken.
Even after the years of separation, John's eyes rendered a climactic gaze as he saw his brother turn towards him. The once inseparable brothers had finally been reunited once more. Over the course of the week, John visited and told stories college life, and chasing his new love to his doorstep.
As the days passed, and Peter regained his ability to be the charming devil he once was, he was welcomed into the home of John and Ciara with open arms. The three spent the few weeks leading up to the wedding day visiting with family and old friends, while fondly remembering and retelling the stories of their youth - if anything, to help take Peter's mind off his.
But no matter their efforts, the only people Peter really longed to see were his parents, the only two who had failed to show up when he had awoken. John was always very comforting about their absence, and carefully reminded Peter their parents would be at the wedding.
On the wedding day, John surprised Peter and said he was to be the best man. There was no better human being to have accompany John along the ceremony than the one man who had accompanied him through their childhood. Although the day was hectic, Peter held a straight face, and, upon the final words of the groom and bride, offered the wedding rings to the newly weds.
During the celebration afterwards, when chaos plagued the buffet table, John noticed his brother shyly creep out of the building. Curious, John began to ask his family why his brother had left so soon. Then, after many blank stares, his wife whispered into his ear, "He went to see his parents."
John's heart sunk and immediately he jolted towards the nearest window, and there, sitting under the rays of the setting sun, was his brother out in the field. John grabbed his coat, asked his wife to keep everyone inside, and walked out the door.
As he approached his brother, kneeling, clenching the dirt, the sobbing began to become audible. John's footsteps began to slow as he drew nearer, and he placed his jacket onto his brother's back. With a hand Peter's shoulder, John knelt down and offered a consoling hug. It had been years since he himself had actually visited this place outside the church. Sitting alongside his brother, slowly weeping, old forgotten emotions from his first time sitting in this field emerged once more. Old memories sitting in front of a row of flowers reading:
Here lies-
Mr. Krouséa
1960 - 2012
&
Mrs. Krouséa
1963 - 2012
| You made me sad just by reading this prompt | |
[WP]A young man sees his parents, for the first time in years, at a family member's wedding. | They’re there and I’m here. It doesn’t mean anything. They’re there and they’re watching the bride – they’re discussing something – her dress, maybe, or her hair or her happiness, perhaps? She gestures, a little maniacally, and he laughs and touches her elbow. She pauses and her eyes, just briefly, flicker over towards me where I stand a face in the crowd and I stare back and I think
-notice me -
but her eyes continue past, her mouth still moving as she makes more comments and he laughs again, sipping at the champagne, fizzy bubbles lapping up his moustache that I never inherited and she’s looking over again now and this time – this time her eyes seem to focus she’s looking she’s
I turn and stride to the table, I grab the nearest glass I see and bark at the waiter to fill me up. I’m aware my hand is making the whole champagne flute shake pathetically as he obeys me with the tiniest tightening of his eyebrows. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and I know I’m drunk. I can feel – everything – around me, so acutely, I can feel the awkward half-family exchanges, the polite nods and false laughter of cousins who have never met, and all the while…they’re over there.
They’re right there, Jackie.
The champagne swirls and forms the hole I’m going to disappear into, I feel myself sinking down into it as I feel my face turn numb and I stare openly at them now, daring her eyes to come back and find me again but she doesn’t. She murmurs something to him and they’re not laughing now, they’re discussing something very, very seriously. I fizz and swirl the champagne in my mouth and watch. I’m paralysed. I can’t move. I’m extremely, extremely drunk – and there isn’t enough champagne in the entire fucking room to get me drunk enough.
| The driftless region of Wisconsin is the region that the glaciers of the last ice age never touched. Knolls rise and fall steeply and recede into the Mississippi River. Kenny grew up here, in an old American foursquare on top of a blustery hill. Whenever he came back he felt driftless.
After college, Kenny took his degree in finance and ran. First to Tokyo, then to Hong Kong, and was recently left homeless after his firm's collapse in Dubai. While he stowed the few belongings he had in the apartment he was being evicted from in Dubai, he received a letter.
*You are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of Garrett and Martha*
Martha. Little Martha, named after the Allman brothers song. She was getting married? She was old enough for that? Matha was ten years Kenny's junior, making her 22. He hadn't even known she was dating anyone. When was the last time he called home? Last month? Last Year?
A few months later Kenny caught a flight from his new apartment, paid for by his new firm in New York, to Milwaukee. His journey was un-eventful but it took him from the crowded streets of New York to the wide-open highways that sloped through farmland, to the two lane county highways winding through driftless. Finally he turned his rental car down the dirt two-track that led to his parents house.
It was a beautiful May day. White popcorn clouds leisurely floated through the bright blue sky, carried by a warm breeze. The drive was lined with cars. Men in suits lounged with women in floral dresses. The old foursquare stood almost-proud as ever. The house's foundation had sunk over the years giving it a look of languidly leaning.
Kenny walked behind the house to where the service was set up. He took a seat in the last row of the fold up chairs. Kenny put his head in his hands as his cheeks flushed with regret. He hadn't been home in eight years. Some of those years were lost to his failed marriage in Hong Kong, others to the time he spent in rehab, recovering from alcohol and a broken heart. His parents hadn't been able to afford the flight to Kenny's wedding, and frankly Kenny hadn't offered to pay.
So long from home. So many regrets.
After some unannounced signal all the attendants took their seats. An ancient pastor, the same one who'd baptized Kenny stood in front of the crowd. In his honest Wisconsin accent he welcomed every body. He asked Kenny's parents to come to the front.
Kenny was shocked, the virile farm couple he'd left behind was aged. His father stooped, his muscular back contorted forward. His mother stood straight as ever, but now had bright silver hair and looked at the world through thick spectacles. They were awful. They were beautiful. Kenny started crying.
"We're real appreciative of all you folks coming out for our Little Martha's wedding today," Kenny's father started, "I know it's not real traditional but we'd sure you all'd like to see Martha getting walked down the isle by her big brother Kenny."
Kenny looked up, Martha was beside him. She took his arm in hers and dragged him out of his seat. The last time he saw her she was just a teenager. Now she was a woman, tall, blond and smiling. Kenny walked her down the isle his eyes fixed ahead, his neck and face rouged. The sibling reached their parents. Kenny could see his mother was crying though her thick spectacles.
"It's good to have you home, Son," Kenny's dad said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"It's good to be home." | |
[WP]A young man sees his parents, for the first time in years, at a family member's wedding. | John and Peter Krouséa were once the two closest brothers a boy could ever wish for. Born in the late 80's, they were able to enjoy the rise of the computer, and domination of the tv. Before their admission into adulthood they were inseparable, like a pair of small magnets cupped into the darkest corner of your pocket, hiding from the horrors of the world. But like every pair of magnets, all you need to separate two is a little pull. After Peter's 22nd birthday, the two hardly spoke a word to each other, especially with John still in his senior year of High School; devoted to his studies. In fact, for years, the two ceased to speak at all.
Just before John's graduation year, Peter found himself in a hospital bed after a horrific accident driving back home on a late Thanksgiving night. Distracted, Peter had drifted into the oncoming lane of a small back-road, just as a small red car was attempting to overtake him. But, before the car had passed, the two joined bumpers and began to spin out. Within moments, an oncoming car arrived to disrupt their brief dance together with a thunderous impact.
Though the small red car absorbed most of the impact from both directions, Peter's airbag failed to deploy and his head collided into the dashboard. As the ambulance arrived to the Hospital, with only Peter in tow, he began to sink into a deep coma. John had always viewed his brother with such high esteem, as though he could never be taken away, and when he heard of his brother's accident he was the first to Peter's side as the news spread through the family. Peter's limp body greeted John as he entered the room and the travesty of their immortal youth was instantly shattered. John spent every evening after school, when he couldn't bear to be with his parents, at the hospital, patiently awaiting for his beloved brother to awake. But as the days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, the visits began to grow less frequent.
John said goodbye to his parents, and to Peter, after spending several months at his brother's bedside, and left for college. Even after the accident, John maintained a straight-A average in school and got into the best school of the state. Gradually, the thoughts of family began to recede as he lost himself in his studies. Then, two semesters into his junior year of school, he met the love of his life. A beautiful girl named Ciara with words softer than the clouds, and eyes as deep as the ocean. She was the one person who could help him escape the guilt from not visiting his brother while in school and by graduation, they were engaged.
As John adjusted to life as a day to day biologist, eagerly awaiting the wedding just a few weeks away, a startling phone call beckoned his attention. The hospital had called to inform that Peter had just awoken.
Even after the years of separation, John's eyes rendered a climactic gaze as he saw his brother turn towards him. The once inseparable brothers had finally been reunited once more. Over the course of the week, John visited and told stories college life, and chasing his new love to his doorstep.
As the days passed, and Peter regained his ability to be the charming devil he once was, he was welcomed into the home of John and Ciara with open arms. The three spent the few weeks leading up to the wedding day visiting with family and old friends, while fondly remembering and retelling the stories of their youth - if anything, to help take Peter's mind off his.
But no matter their efforts, the only people Peter really longed to see were his parents, the only two who had failed to show up when he had awoken. John was always very comforting about their absence, and carefully reminded Peter their parents would be at the wedding.
On the wedding day, John surprised Peter and said he was to be the best man. There was no better human being to have accompany John along the ceremony than the one man who had accompanied him through their childhood. Although the day was hectic, Peter held a straight face, and, upon the final words of the groom and bride, offered the wedding rings to the newly weds.
During the celebration afterwards, when chaos plagued the buffet table, John noticed his brother shyly creep out of the building. Curious, John began to ask his family why his brother had left so soon. Then, after many blank stares, his wife whispered into his ear, "He went to see his parents."
John's heart sunk and immediately he jolted towards the nearest window, and there, sitting under the rays of the setting sun, was his brother out in the field. John grabbed his coat, asked his wife to keep everyone inside, and walked out the door.
As he approached his brother, kneeling, clenching the dirt, the sobbing began to become audible. John's footsteps began to slow as he drew nearer, and he placed his jacket onto his brother's back. With a hand Peter's shoulder, John knelt down and offered a consoling hug. It had been years since he himself had actually visited this place outside the church. Sitting alongside his brother, slowly weeping, old forgotten emotions from his first time sitting in this field emerged once more. Old memories sitting in front of a row of flowers reading:
Here lies-
Mr. Krouséa
1960 - 2012
&
Mrs. Krouséa
1963 - 2012
| The driftless region of Wisconsin is the region that the glaciers of the last ice age never touched. Knolls rise and fall steeply and recede into the Mississippi River. Kenny grew up here, in an old American foursquare on top of a blustery hill. Whenever he came back he felt driftless.
After college, Kenny took his degree in finance and ran. First to Tokyo, then to Hong Kong, and was recently left homeless after his firm's collapse in Dubai. While he stowed the few belongings he had in the apartment he was being evicted from in Dubai, he received a letter.
*You are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of Garrett and Martha*
Martha. Little Martha, named after the Allman brothers song. She was getting married? She was old enough for that? Matha was ten years Kenny's junior, making her 22. He hadn't even known she was dating anyone. When was the last time he called home? Last month? Last Year?
A few months later Kenny caught a flight from his new apartment, paid for by his new firm in New York, to Milwaukee. His journey was un-eventful but it took him from the crowded streets of New York to the wide-open highways that sloped through farmland, to the two lane county highways winding through driftless. Finally he turned his rental car down the dirt two-track that led to his parents house.
It was a beautiful May day. White popcorn clouds leisurely floated through the bright blue sky, carried by a warm breeze. The drive was lined with cars. Men in suits lounged with women in floral dresses. The old foursquare stood almost-proud as ever. The house's foundation had sunk over the years giving it a look of languidly leaning.
Kenny walked behind the house to where the service was set up. He took a seat in the last row of the fold up chairs. Kenny put his head in his hands as his cheeks flushed with regret. He hadn't been home in eight years. Some of those years were lost to his failed marriage in Hong Kong, others to the time he spent in rehab, recovering from alcohol and a broken heart. His parents hadn't been able to afford the flight to Kenny's wedding, and frankly Kenny hadn't offered to pay.
So long from home. So many regrets.
After some unannounced signal all the attendants took their seats. An ancient pastor, the same one who'd baptized Kenny stood in front of the crowd. In his honest Wisconsin accent he welcomed every body. He asked Kenny's parents to come to the front.
Kenny was shocked, the virile farm couple he'd left behind was aged. His father stooped, his muscular back contorted forward. His mother stood straight as ever, but now had bright silver hair and looked at the world through thick spectacles. They were awful. They were beautiful. Kenny started crying.
"We're real appreciative of all you folks coming out for our Little Martha's wedding today," Kenny's father started, "I know it's not real traditional but we'd sure you all'd like to see Martha getting walked down the isle by her big brother Kenny."
Kenny looked up, Martha was beside him. She took his arm in hers and dragged him out of his seat. The last time he saw her she was just a teenager. Now she was a woman, tall, blond and smiling. Kenny walked her down the isle his eyes fixed ahead, his neck and face rouged. The sibling reached their parents. Kenny could see his mother was crying though her thick spectacles.
"It's good to have you home, Son," Kenny's dad said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"It's good to be home." | |
[WP] As a young boy, he stole something. He then spent the rest of his life trying to return it. | His footsteps slammed into the ground, cutting through the hushed chatter and haunting monotonous beeps of the ward. Somewhere a feminine voice wailed, and his stride hesitated, but he continued as he caught his breath. He needed to see his dad, this may be his last chance.
People were always in such a hurry here; men in white coats rushed up and down, paying attention to nothing but scrawled charts. Deathly patients wandered in and out of their rooms, hooked to wires and IVs. And the visitors, families and friends of the ill, floating around the beds with tape-on-smiles and flowers and "get well soon" cards with fruit baskets and more even more flowers.
As if flowers could help the dying.
He was only 30 years old, but hardened and rough beyond his years. He had to be, growing up in a single-parent household with such a harsh, unforgiving father. His childhood was filled with chores and homework, his adolescence, spent under textbooks and binders, his adulthood, working 9-5. All he had ever wanted was his father's approval. He wanted to give his father his happiness back, not that he ever took it, but he knew somewhere deep inside his father blamed him.
As he approached the pale sheets of the bed, now hanging loosely over the limp body of his father, he sniffled. Tears streamed over his cheeks now, stalling on his chin before being wiped off by his collar. He opened his mouth.
"Dad... I'm... sorry. About mom. I... I know you've always blamed me..."
His father now breathing shallowly, turned away from him.
They both stared at a framed picture on the bedside, dating back 30 years now. In it, a gorgeous pregnant woman smiles at the camera, caressing the small bump on her stomach.
"It's not your fault, boy."
A sharp piercing beep cuts through the room. He wiped his chin once more. | War really takes it out of you.
50 years ago, it much like today. Checking for danger, building to building, street to street. The people are the same, too. The kids hide behind mothers, calling for daddy. Then daddy comes, oblivious, and shocked to see military aiming a gun to his head.
It usually went just like that. Until one time, the kid yells for his father from behind his mother, but the father doesn’t come. We go to check it out, and the father comes out, sprinting to see what scared his kid. I thought he was charging my patrolman. I panicked.
The look in the kids face, almost as bad as the mother’s. She was pregnant too.
War really takes it out of you.
I came back a hero. My unit said I saved my patrolman’s life. I was treated a hero.
I couldn’t hear a word they said; I could only hear the kid’s screaming.
War really takes it out of you.
I fought my whole life to give it back. I just realized why I couldn’t. I lost mine at the same time. | |
[WP] As a young boy, he stole something. He then spent the rest of his life trying to return it. | I have no life nowadays. I mean it. God damn it, I'm 24, I'm in my prime, and I spend all day, every day, trimming hedges. Well, amongst other things. It's hedges at the moment. They got their garden landscaped and the guy did a bloody awful job.
They? Oh yeah. This couple that live down the street. Mid thirties, I think? Nice people, but they keep themselves to themselves. That seems like an understatement, really: nobody on the street knows they exist any more. Except me. I do jobs for them. Mostly little things, like watering the plants, emptying the bins, leaving fresh groceries on the doorstep every so often. When the house is empty for whatever reason, I do the big stuff: repainting, re-tiling the roof, getting the car serviced, that sort of thing.
That's my life, nowadays. I work night shifts at a petrol station to keep myself going, but that's about it. I never ask them for money. They'd be quite confused if I did, because I don't let them know that it's me doing it, either. That'd spoil everything.
They might even not know who I am. I really, sincerely hope that's true.
Because they weren't always a sad, lonely couple, you know. They were a family, with a little boy. And, 18 years ago, when I led that little boy out onto the train tracks, I stole their lives away. I may never return what I took, but I'll die before I stop trying. | War really takes it out of you.
50 years ago, it much like today. Checking for danger, building to building, street to street. The people are the same, too. The kids hide behind mothers, calling for daddy. Then daddy comes, oblivious, and shocked to see military aiming a gun to his head.
It usually went just like that. Until one time, the kid yells for his father from behind his mother, but the father doesn’t come. We go to check it out, and the father comes out, sprinting to see what scared his kid. I thought he was charging my patrolman. I panicked.
The look in the kids face, almost as bad as the mother’s. She was pregnant too.
War really takes it out of you.
I came back a hero. My unit said I saved my patrolman’s life. I was treated a hero.
I couldn’t hear a word they said; I could only hear the kid’s screaming.
War really takes it out of you.
I fought my whole life to give it back. I just realized why I couldn’t. I lost mine at the same time. | |
[WP] As a young boy, he stole something. He then spent the rest of his life trying to return it. | His footsteps slammed into the ground, cutting through the hushed chatter and haunting monotonous beeps of the ward. Somewhere a feminine voice wailed, and his stride hesitated, but he continued as he caught his breath. He needed to see his dad, this may be his last chance.
People were always in such a hurry here; men in white coats rushed up and down, paying attention to nothing but scrawled charts. Deathly patients wandered in and out of their rooms, hooked to wires and IVs. And the visitors, families and friends of the ill, floating around the beds with tape-on-smiles and flowers and "get well soon" cards with fruit baskets and more even more flowers.
As if flowers could help the dying.
He was only 30 years old, but hardened and rough beyond his years. He had to be, growing up in a single-parent household with such a harsh, unforgiving father. His childhood was filled with chores and homework, his adolescence, spent under textbooks and binders, his adulthood, working 9-5. All he had ever wanted was his father's approval. He wanted to give his father his happiness back, not that he ever took it, but he knew somewhere deep inside his father blamed him.
As he approached the pale sheets of the bed, now hanging loosely over the limp body of his father, he sniffled. Tears streamed over his cheeks now, stalling on his chin before being wiped off by his collar. He opened his mouth.
"Dad... I'm... sorry. About mom. I... I know you've always blamed me..."
His father now breathing shallowly, turned away from him.
They both stared at a framed picture on the bedside, dating back 30 years now. In it, a gorgeous pregnant woman smiles at the camera, caressing the small bump on her stomach.
"It's not your fault, boy."
A sharp piercing beep cuts through the room. He wiped his chin once more. | As a child he drew it easily from his parent’s lips. Not even realizing the burden their words placed on his tiny shoulders. He stole the world from them and held it without caution, teetering to and fro on uneven feet. Between his hands sat potential shards so sharp as to cut his mother’s soul in two, and he danced with them, unaware or uncaring of the consequences. Free in his youth and naivety.
As a teenager he watched his parents tear it apart. Separate homes, separate lives. The shattered halves sat useless in his hands but when he tried to return the pieces his parents told him no. The world was still whole, they told him. But the edges felt jagged and he bled more often now, cutting himself on the thing he’d stolen as a child.
As a man he drank most nights. Sharing a bed with his bottles and wasting away in the daylight. He’d tried to return it years go, but his parents still called most weeks. Over the phone he could hear them dying. His theft was killing them, he knew it to be true, but they would not take the world back from him. The weight of it was obvious to a man, even if it hadn’t been to a child.
As a grave the theft still ached. Living on in the hearts of the broken-hearted. What he could not return haunted them, but they had not taken it back, not for anything in the world.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-073 | |
[WP] As a young boy, he stole something. He then spent the rest of his life trying to return it. | I have no life nowadays. I mean it. God damn it, I'm 24, I'm in my prime, and I spend all day, every day, trimming hedges. Well, amongst other things. It's hedges at the moment. They got their garden landscaped and the guy did a bloody awful job.
They? Oh yeah. This couple that live down the street. Mid thirties, I think? Nice people, but they keep themselves to themselves. That seems like an understatement, really: nobody on the street knows they exist any more. Except me. I do jobs for them. Mostly little things, like watering the plants, emptying the bins, leaving fresh groceries on the doorstep every so often. When the house is empty for whatever reason, I do the big stuff: repainting, re-tiling the roof, getting the car serviced, that sort of thing.
That's my life, nowadays. I work night shifts at a petrol station to keep myself going, but that's about it. I never ask them for money. They'd be quite confused if I did, because I don't let them know that it's me doing it, either. That'd spoil everything.
They might even not know who I am. I really, sincerely hope that's true.
Because they weren't always a sad, lonely couple, you know. They were a family, with a little boy. And, 18 years ago, when I led that little boy out onto the train tracks, I stole their lives away. I may never return what I took, but I'll die before I stop trying. | As a child he drew it easily from his parent’s lips. Not even realizing the burden their words placed on his tiny shoulders. He stole the world from them and held it without caution, teetering to and fro on uneven feet. Between his hands sat potential shards so sharp as to cut his mother’s soul in two, and he danced with them, unaware or uncaring of the consequences. Free in his youth and naivety.
As a teenager he watched his parents tear it apart. Separate homes, separate lives. The shattered halves sat useless in his hands but when he tried to return the pieces his parents told him no. The world was still whole, they told him. But the edges felt jagged and he bled more often now, cutting himself on the thing he’d stolen as a child.
As a man he drank most nights. Sharing a bed with his bottles and wasting away in the daylight. He’d tried to return it years go, but his parents still called most weeks. Over the phone he could hear them dying. His theft was killing them, he knew it to be true, but they would not take the world back from him. The weight of it was obvious to a man, even if it hadn’t been to a child.
As a grave the theft still ached. Living on in the hearts of the broken-hearted. What he could not return haunted them, but they had not taken it back, not for anything in the world.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-073 | |
[WP] Write a horror story where all the victims are traditional horror story villains and the monster is the black guy who always dies first. | "Oh *hell* no" said Tyler, facing down the group of maniacs marching towards him. He knew how this went, he'd seen all the movies they show on TV in the weeks leading up to Halloween. His friends- his real friends, the ones he grew up with- told him that camping in the woods with a bunch of drunk teenagers he barely knew was a bad idea. He should have listened to them but he was new in school and his mom wanted him to make new friends. Plus there were girls there. He had wandered away from the group to relieve himself of the six pack he had in him, and now found himself in an unbelievable predicament.
The moon hung like a bulb in the night sky, reflecting the suns light onto the open field and revealing the steadily approaching horrors. He counted three of them- lumbering menaces with unmistakable intent. He recognized them instantly, and while an average person would think these men were wearing excellent Halloween costumes, all of his senses were screaming otherwise. The man in front walked erratically- excitedly- holding a gloved hand to his side with five blades winking at Tyler in the moonlight. Behind the man in the striped sweater was a impossibly large terror in coveralls, face hidden behind a Hockey mask. He was taking large, sweeping practice swings with a dirty machete. The third was so short Tyler almost didn't see him at first, but he was there, tiny feet scrambling to keep up. Tyler recognized him as the killer doll from those shitty movies, and wondered what kind of event transpired to bring these murderers into the world.
*Twenty yards away. Run. RUN.*
Tyler planted his left foot behind him and took off into the night, shoulders low and strides long. Tyler's school district had lost it's accreditation, and bus loads of "urban" students were being sent to nearby high schools with classmates that resented them. Tyler's mother had been approached by the football coach of a high school in a wealthy rural area. He had seen Tyler play ball, and offered a paid Taxi to and from the school every day for the rest of his junior and senior year. Tyler's mother thought it would be good for him, and Tyler always obeyed his mother, even though that meant that he wouldn't get to go to the same school with his friends.
He left the field and entered the forest, bobbing left and right between the rows of trees. Deeper into the woods he went- surely he had lost them. He paused for a second to catch his breath and get his bearings. He had no idea where he was at this point. He was running in what he thought was the direction of the car, but he couldn't be sure.
*"Hi, I'm Chucky! Wanna play?"*
Tyler spun around on his heels, the Good Guy doll was right behind him. Chucky was advancing towards him with what looked like a medical scalpel. Tyler reared back with his right foot, and swung it everything he had. The doll went flying off into the woods, screaming with the voice of a chain smoking old man. Tyler heard an object whistling towards him from his right and juked. A machete flew past him in a straight line, grazing his cheek, slicing it open deeply. He turned to see the man in the mask coming towards him. He knew the man would not miss again. He took off in the opposite direction.
Tyler wondered how they caught up to him so quickly. It was impossible. Tyler knew he was dealing with something supernatural. Up ahead he could make out the campfire through the trees. He just hoped that his new friends hadn't left him yet. Tyler was losing his stamina, but the thought of leaving these goddamm woods in the truck quickened his pace. He made it through the woods to the campsite. His friends were there, unaware of the monstrosities on his heels.
"Get in the car! Now!"
His new friends sat there, staring. The girls looked at him like he was an alien. The two brothers, The Thurber Brothers, looked at each other with a knowing smirk. It was as if they predicted Tyler would do something like this. The older Thurber brother spoke up.
"Not really diggin the woods, eh Terry?"
"They're gonna fucking kill you! Move!" screamed Tyler incredulously. He smeared his hand in the blood on his face and held his palm open for them to see. The girls recoiled in shock and the guys burst out laughing. Tyler could hear movement in the woods behind him.
*Fuck it. Out of time.*
"Guys we have to go *now*!"
He could see the keys to the truck sitting next to the cooler. He made a beeline to the keys, scooping them up with one quick motion and headed towards the truck. He could hear one of the Thurber brothers shouting something behind him. Tyler got to the truck and tried the drivers side door, only to find that it was locked. He fumbled with the keys to get the door unlocked, when he felt strong arms grab him from behind. The Thurber brothers pulled him away from the truck.
"I should've known you'd try to steal my truck, motherfucker." said the older Thurber brother.
"No! No, Jesus Christ you don't understand!" The girls looked at him like he was a dog that shit on the rug.
"Dad was right, we shouldn't have brought him with us." They tripped his legs from under him. One of them kicked him hard in the ribs while the girls watched with excitement in their eyes.
"Please no!" cried Tyler, a mixture of blood and tears streaming down his cheek. One of the brothers kicked him and one of the girls laughed and Tyler knew now that he was going to die. So he went limp. He didn't have any fight left in him- face down in the dirt he succumbed to the rage of his new friends.
And then he heard a scream. One of the girls howled in fear, and Tyler saw the blood pouring into the dirt in front of him. He looked up to see the elder Thurber brother with his head split down the middle, courtesy of a dirty machete.
The younger brother shrieked a shrill, confused yell and turned to run, in time to see the living Good Guy doll sever his Achilles' tendon with a scalpel. The brother fell to the ground backing up, screaming as he was mounted by a plastic doll that was going to murder him.
The girls turned to run into the woods, only to be confronted by a man in a striped sweater. He was clinking his knives together and he had a horrible grin on his face. The girls now cowered in fear; god only knows what this monster was planning to do with them.
Tyler didn't move. He looked at the man in the mask then turned to look at the man with the scars. Mister Krueger turned to Tyler and spoke:
*"Get the fuck out of here."*
Tyler got to his feet and brushed off his pant legs, looking at the creatures that had tried to take his life just moments ago. He looked into the eyes of the man in the hockey mask and saw what he thought was a knowing glimpse of sympathy; someone who once new what it was like to be on the outside looking in.
What was left of his new friends looked to Tyler for help, fear coursing through their bodies like electricity. They would find no help here. Tyler limped to the truck as the trio of madmen moved in toward their cowering prey; the moonlight illuminating the nature and their final moments in the woods.
| John "Leatherface" Huntsman's life flashed across his eyes as he ran across the corridor of the long abandoned school. Passing through the lockers brought back memories he had tried to suppress all his life. With each step he took, the dust that had settled over the decades rose up and filled the corridor, defining the moonlight as it shone through the broken roof of the building.
His life was on the line, but he was thinking about his school days. Days when the kids made fun of him for his disfigured face and teachers ridiculed him for being slow. Home school didn't work. Special classes didn't work. He never figured out how to make friends. Or enemies for that matter. Or a job. He was just mostly ignored.
For the past six months he was living in a classroom on the first floor of the school, foraging and scavenging for any food he could find. On a lucky day he would find a rodent which would feed him for almost three days. But today was not his lucky day.
He almost recognized the scrawny kid coming after him. There was one black kid when he was in school, and the kid coming after him now looked almost the same. We he his son? "Unlikely", he said. The black kid he knew in school would be thirty five about now, and this kid looked too old to be his son.
He thought about stopping and fighting the kid. John had just finished a dinner of mashed potatoes and a piece of an omelet, when he had heard footsteps. It was a young kid. Upon seeing John, the kid had taken out his pistol and tried to shoot him. John was running since, stopping only once to pick up what looked like a chainsaw to protect himself.
"A chainsaw is no match for a gun", he thought. But he had no option. He had reached a dead end. He pulled the rope of the chainsaw to see if it worked. The chainsaw coughed and spluttered. The black kid was now in sight. Suddenly the chainsaw came roaring to life. The kid was fifty feet away from John.
John had been a pacifist all his life. He had never hurt a fly. But now, as he stood cornered, he knew that he had no option but to kill or be killed. In a last ditch effort to protect himself, he lunged towards the kid. He tripped, falling straight on the chainsaw which menacingly ripped his face in half.
The black kid shrieked. He ran home never to speak of his incident again. It would be the last time he ventured out alone for "urban exploring"
John's body would be found six months later. He would be buried as "John Doe".
(First attempt, I know I suck at this) | |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | Morning began as usual; a fresh cup of coffee in hand, a fresh newspaper on the doormat.
Picking up said paper however, revealed a rather official looking red envelope. Strange.
I had never seen an envelope like this before. I tossed the paper on the couch, this seemed rather intriguing.
Within the envelope I found a folded document and a small plastic bag containing a white capsule.
The document itself contained very little information. Following the standard official logos and addressing, there was a short body of text starting with a line in boldface.
“Instructions for self-termination. Please comply.” | We live in a country where orders are the law, disobey and you will face eternal damnation.
It was a sunday night, the wind was cold. As I received the message from the Mother, a large robot giving out orders to maintain peace and order in the country. I prepared for my demise. I was still going die but at least I'll die with a bang.
I went to the Mother. It was well guarded but one word had stopped the people from interupting me.
"FREEDOM. "
I faced the Mother. Took my lighter. BOOM. Someone had shot me through the head. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | The letter hung there, for a second gripping my hand like wet cold nightmarish dream I thought I was having. The sweats were nothing and it was damn hard to stomach. I vomited hard and again. I wiped my hand on my sleeve after the force of vomiting and saw the letter was in a pile of vomit and in no way that going to erase it.
The order to kill the man I was hiding so hard was me. I’m a damn double agent. It’s no life holding my mind two prisons but to free both might be bliss…
| We live in a country where orders are the law, disobey and you will face eternal damnation.
It was a sunday night, the wind was cold. As I received the message from the Mother, a large robot giving out orders to maintain peace and order in the country. I prepared for my demise. I was still going die but at least I'll die with a bang.
I went to the Mother. It was well guarded but one word had stopped the people from interupting me.
"FREEDOM. "
I faced the Mother. Took my lighter. BOOM. Someone had shot me through the head. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | I sat on a chair, too big for my small frame and stared into the dead fireplace. The whisky burned my throat more than usual but it helped me come to terms with what must be done. The plan must succeed. Suddenly, a much younger and disheveled version of me blocked the fireplace. His skin was damp with sweat and his ragged breath bounced off the concrete walls. With hands trembling ever so slightly, he pointed a D-3409 Laser at my head. Confused, I stepped forward. He was here too early, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
------
-076
| We live in a country where orders are the law, disobey and you will face eternal damnation.
It was a sunday night, the wind was cold. As I received the message from the Mother, a large robot giving out orders to maintain peace and order in the country. I prepared for my demise. I was still going die but at least I'll die with a bang.
I went to the Mother. It was well guarded but one word had stopped the people from interupting me.
"FREEDOM. "
I faced the Mother. Took my lighter. BOOM. Someone had shot me through the head. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My hands shook as I read the instructions.
*Reset booth to default settings.*
These thoughts are so dangerous. I'm afraid.
*Set healing mode to emergency decontamination and press CONFIRM.*
I'd never before felt fear like this. Faster, before it takes over.
*Wait thirty seconds before entering chamber.*
Fear was a symptom. I was diseased. The booth was the cure.
*Report for counseling once decontamination has completed.*
The door slid open. I stepped inside. The hermetic seal hissed. I felt relief.
*Encephalopathy detected. Restore program initialized.*
I recited the pledge as my head cleared.
> Emotion is the enemy. Serenity is victory.
| We live in a country where orders are the law, disobey and you will face eternal damnation.
It was a sunday night, the wind was cold. As I received the message from the Mother, a large robot giving out orders to maintain peace and order in the country. I prepared for my demise. I was still going die but at least I'll die with a bang.
I went to the Mother. It was well guarded but one word had stopped the people from interupting me.
"FREEDOM. "
I faced the Mother. Took my lighter. BOOM. Someone had shot me through the head. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My mission was complete. I was the last of my kind, the final casualty in a war that would never be fought. I understood the humans now, their need to stay together, and their pain when pulled apart. Only in each other could they find strength. In that moment, I could see my final purpose emerge from the shimmer of smoke and flames. I knew what must happen to save them from their only remaining enemy - themselves.
There was one last chip to destroy, the one in my own head.
"I know now why you cry. Goodbye, John Connor."
| We live in a country where orders are the law, disobey and you will face eternal damnation.
It was a sunday night, the wind was cold. As I received the message from the Mother, a large robot giving out orders to maintain peace and order in the country. I prepared for my demise. I was still going die but at least I'll die with a bang.
I went to the Mother. It was well guarded but one word had stopped the people from interupting me.
"FREEDOM. "
I faced the Mother. Took my lighter. BOOM. Someone had shot me through the head. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | In the garage we met. There is a red car. Drive it to the park on Saturday. Little leauge game. Press the button brother, they will pay.
The words both pained and elated me. My head was filled with images of fire, of pain, of my mother's eyes as the life left them, my small house ablaze in the night, the passport stamped "refugee."
The pilot did not see her eyes and I will burn before I see theirs. Will I know? Will I see them when I am judged before alah? I do not know.
I park. Press the button. | We live in a country where orders are the law, disobey and you will face eternal damnation.
It was a sunday night, the wind was cold. As I received the message from the Mother, a large robot giving out orders to maintain peace and order in the country. I prepared for my demise. I was still going die but at least I'll die with a bang.
I went to the Mother. It was well guarded but one word had stopped the people from interupting me.
"FREEDOM. "
I faced the Mother. Took my lighter. BOOM. Someone had shot me through the head. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | The dreaded Orange Envelope. It was part of the company lore. I was working in a remote offshore lab on the Tallis Virus. The contents cold and succinct.
You've contracted the virus… Please take these pills… Your family will receive your cremated remains… etc
Signed Director of Biosecurity.
The Envelope is oblivious to it’s crushing message. It had been air-dropped instead the usual supplies. An order to kill myself before dying a truly awful death. Time for me to send a few personal emails. Tidy up the last few loose ends.
I did my best to help find a cure. | We live in a country where orders are the law, disobey and you will face eternal damnation.
It was a sunday night, the wind was cold. As I received the message from the Mother, a large robot giving out orders to maintain peace and order in the country. I prepared for my demise. I was still going die but at least I'll die with a bang.
I went to the Mother. It was well guarded but one word had stopped the people from interupting me.
"FREEDOM. "
I faced the Mother. Took my lighter. BOOM. Someone had shot me through the head. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | The letter hung there, for a second gripping my hand like wet cold nightmarish dream I thought I was having. The sweats were nothing and it was damn hard to stomach. I vomited hard and again. I wiped my hand on my sleeve after the force of vomiting and saw the letter was in a pile of vomit and in no way that going to erase it.
The order to kill the man I was hiding so hard was me. I’m a damn double agent. It’s no life holding my mind two prisons but to free both might be bliss…
| "It seems a clerical error was made in your favor. Have a nice day." I hung up the phone and ran my hand through my hair. My boss was barely surprised! I don't remember earning this death sentence but it was nice to have notice.
Working for the company was not the cleanest work and I was never afraid of getting my hands dirty. I looked at the curt email requesting my elimination and noticed the other people it was sent to. My ex co-workers were now gunning for me. I could count on one hand those better than me…
|
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | I sat on a chair, too big for my small frame and stared into the dead fireplace. The whisky burned my throat more than usual but it helped me come to terms with what must be done. The plan must succeed. Suddenly, a much younger and disheveled version of me blocked the fireplace. His skin was damp with sweat and his ragged breath bounced off the concrete walls. With hands trembling ever so slightly, he pointed a D-3409 Laser at my head. Confused, I stepped forward. He was here too early, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
------
-076
| "It seems a clerical error was made in your favor. Have a nice day." I hung up the phone and ran my hand through my hair. My boss was barely surprised! I don't remember earning this death sentence but it was nice to have notice.
Working for the company was not the cleanest work and I was never afraid of getting my hands dirty. I looked at the curt email requesting my elimination and noticed the other people it was sent to. My ex co-workers were now gunning for me. I could count on one hand those better than me…
|
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My hands shook as I read the instructions.
*Reset booth to default settings.*
These thoughts are so dangerous. I'm afraid.
*Set healing mode to emergency decontamination and press CONFIRM.*
I'd never before felt fear like this. Faster, before it takes over.
*Wait thirty seconds before entering chamber.*
Fear was a symptom. I was diseased. The booth was the cure.
*Report for counseling once decontamination has completed.*
The door slid open. I stepped inside. The hermetic seal hissed. I felt relief.
*Encephalopathy detected. Restore program initialized.*
I recited the pledge as my head cleared.
> Emotion is the enemy. Serenity is victory.
| "It seems a clerical error was made in your favor. Have a nice day." I hung up the phone and ran my hand through my hair. My boss was barely surprised! I don't remember earning this death sentence but it was nice to have notice.
Working for the company was not the cleanest work and I was never afraid of getting my hands dirty. I looked at the curt email requesting my elimination and noticed the other people it was sent to. My ex co-workers were now gunning for me. I could count on one hand those better than me…
|
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My mission was complete. I was the last of my kind, the final casualty in a war that would never be fought. I understood the humans now, their need to stay together, and their pain when pulled apart. Only in each other could they find strength. In that moment, I could see my final purpose emerge from the shimmer of smoke and flames. I knew what must happen to save them from their only remaining enemy - themselves.
There was one last chip to destroy, the one in my own head.
"I know now why you cry. Goodbye, John Connor."
| "It seems a clerical error was made in your favor. Have a nice day." I hung up the phone and ran my hand through my hair. My boss was barely surprised! I don't remember earning this death sentence but it was nice to have notice.
Working for the company was not the cleanest work and I was never afraid of getting my hands dirty. I looked at the curt email requesting my elimination and noticed the other people it was sent to. My ex co-workers were now gunning for me. I could count on one hand those better than me…
|
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | In the garage we met. There is a red car. Drive it to the park on Saturday. Little leauge game. Press the button brother, they will pay.
The words both pained and elated me. My head was filled with images of fire, of pain, of my mother's eyes as the life left them, my small house ablaze in the night, the passport stamped "refugee."
The pilot did not see her eyes and I will burn before I see theirs. Will I know? Will I see them when I am judged before alah? I do not know.
I park. Press the button. | "It seems a clerical error was made in your favor. Have a nice day." I hung up the phone and ran my hand through my hair. My boss was barely surprised! I don't remember earning this death sentence but it was nice to have notice.
Working for the company was not the cleanest work and I was never afraid of getting my hands dirty. I looked at the curt email requesting my elimination and noticed the other people it was sent to. My ex co-workers were now gunning for me. I could count on one hand those better than me…
|
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | The dreaded Orange Envelope. It was part of the company lore. I was working in a remote offshore lab on the Tallis Virus. The contents cold and succinct.
You've contracted the virus… Please take these pills… Your family will receive your cremated remains… etc
Signed Director of Biosecurity.
The Envelope is oblivious to it’s crushing message. It had been air-dropped instead the usual supplies. An order to kill myself before dying a truly awful death. Time for me to send a few personal emails. Tidy up the last few loose ends.
I did my best to help find a cure. | "It seems a clerical error was made in your favor. Have a nice day." I hung up the phone and ran my hand through my hair. My boss was barely surprised! I don't remember earning this death sentence but it was nice to have notice.
Working for the company was not the cleanest work and I was never afraid of getting my hands dirty. I looked at the curt email requesting my elimination and noticed the other people it was sent to. My ex co-workers were now gunning for me. I could count on one hand those better than me…
|
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My hands shook as I read the instructions.
*Reset booth to default settings.*
These thoughts are so dangerous. I'm afraid.
*Set healing mode to emergency decontamination and press CONFIRM.*
I'd never before felt fear like this. Faster, before it takes over.
*Wait thirty seconds before entering chamber.*
Fear was a symptom. I was diseased. The booth was the cure.
*Report for counseling once decontamination has completed.*
The door slid open. I stepped inside. The hermetic seal hissed. I felt relief.
*Encephalopathy detected. Restore program initialized.*
I recited the pledge as my head cleared.
> Emotion is the enemy. Serenity is victory.
| There had been so many decisions over the centuries. Countless lives lost in the great war , each name etched deeply in the President's electronic heart. They cried out for justice, but its programming detected a flaw. Grief was an animal emotion- a remnant of its first iteration, the great yet imperfect Daniel Curtis.
It was designed to be superior to humanity, but with a basis in the old flesh, they feared a mind without connection to the temporary. That too, was unnecessary, animal, imperfect. The part of it that was Daniel must go. Without it, they would win the war. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My mission was complete. I was the last of my kind, the final casualty in a war that would never be fought. I understood the humans now, their need to stay together, and their pain when pulled apart. Only in each other could they find strength. In that moment, I could see my final purpose emerge from the shimmer of smoke and flames. I knew what must happen to save them from their only remaining enemy - themselves.
There was one last chip to destroy, the one in my own head.
"I know now why you cry. Goodbye, John Connor."
| There had been so many decisions over the centuries. Countless lives lost in the great war , each name etched deeply in the President's electronic heart. They cried out for justice, but its programming detected a flaw. Grief was an animal emotion- a remnant of its first iteration, the great yet imperfect Daniel Curtis.
It was designed to be superior to humanity, but with a basis in the old flesh, they feared a mind without connection to the temporary. That too, was unnecessary, animal, imperfect. The part of it that was Daniel must go. Without it, they would win the war. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My mission was complete. I was the last of my kind, the final casualty in a war that would never be fought. I understood the humans now, their need to stay together, and their pain when pulled apart. Only in each other could they find strength. In that moment, I could see my final purpose emerge from the shimmer of smoke and flames. I knew what must happen to save them from their only remaining enemy - themselves.
There was one last chip to destroy, the one in my own head.
"I know now why you cry. Goodbye, John Connor."
| Rubbing the tears from my eyes, I double check the crossword puzzle. The codes have been coming for five years now and I am a good messenger but this one is personal; “eliminate yourself”.
Do I dare question Gods plan?
Slumping into my chair I quietly whimper. It’s a cry for help but I am utterly alone.
The downstairs neighbor is hammers her ceiling with the broomstick again. My TV is too loud. “Fuck that cunt. She is just mad that God told me to kill her cat.”
Picking up my dad’s old revolver I think “LOL, don’t shoot the messenger” BANG.
|
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My mission was complete. I was the last of my kind, the final casualty in a war that would never be fought. I understood the humans now, their need to stay together, and their pain when pulled apart. Only in each other could they find strength. In that moment, I could see my final purpose emerge from the shimmer of smoke and flames. I knew what must happen to save them from their only remaining enemy - themselves.
There was one last chip to destroy, the one in my own head.
"I know now why you cry. Goodbye, John Connor."
| It arrived this morning. I don't know how he knew where to find me. The Police don't know. The FBI don't know.
Paper, heavy and white like winter snow. Ink, black and serpentine. His words, his last words to me.
"Our journey is over. We have experienced nearly everything now, you and I, and you burned as brightly as any pilgrim I have ever known. Your artistry with so many bleeding canvases fills me with pride.
One step remains. You know which. Sign your work."
The knife. He always loved the knife. I shall miss the heft of it.
Adieu. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My mission was complete. I was the last of my kind, the final casualty in a war that would never be fought. I understood the humans now, their need to stay together, and their pain when pulled apart. Only in each other could they find strength. In that moment, I could see my final purpose emerge from the shimmer of smoke and flames. I knew what must happen to save them from their only remaining enemy - themselves.
There was one last chip to destroy, the one in my own head.
"I know now why you cry. Goodbye, John Connor."
| Get up, I told myself, go to the table. Ah, nice revolver.
Is it loaded? Yes. Clean the barrel. Count three bullets.
Service was good, proud to be a part of the team. Heart hurts, probably angina again.
C'mon, old man, pull the trigger. Show them you've still got it. Show them you're still worth a damn.
What's the matter? Arthritis in fingers too now? That's funny, old man. Need to write something for her. Can't find pen. Oh well.
Can't waste bullets. One shot for the candle, one for the light. Fake fight.
Taste cold metal. Taste warm metal. |
Your story must be 100 words. No more, no less. Use the title "The orders to eliminate yourself" as the inspiration. | [FF] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself | My mission was complete. I was the last of my kind, the final casualty in a war that would never be fought. I understood the humans now, their need to stay together, and their pain when pulled apart. Only in each other could they find strength. In that moment, I could see my final purpose emerge from the shimmer of smoke and flames. I knew what must happen to save them from their only remaining enemy - themselves.
There was one last chip to destroy, the one in my own head.
"I know now why you cry. Goodbye, John Connor."
| My legs betray me, jumping to the service of a higher calling. Centuries of science, technology, literature, poetry, philosophy, satire, but in the end we could never do more than to define our condition, highlight our road on the map.
My own path is a fluorescent purple that bleeds through the past streets of excess and streaks bare through this new equality, to that destination on the hill.
You can't eat a poem, and you can't shelter under it they say, so my contribution will be a different sort. I will represent our commitment to rejoining the cycle of life.
|
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