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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."
| With the machines taking care of things like governing and logistics and all of humanity occupied with art and science and sex (whichever dissipation takes your fancy from one week to the next), it's hard to wonder why we didn't do this sooner. It's so easy nowadays! The road was difficult, the transition was painful, the dissent dogged, but finally to have someone (some thing, really) sensible in charge, who's provably disinterested and infinitely smart. My initial doubts were strong enough that my protestations rang hollow when they came for me on the machine's orders. It's so easy nowadays. |
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."
| Whenever the message came, it took a different form. The television. The phone. The man outside the apartment complex with the spinning arrow promising "First Month Free."
They were all different. The boy, screaming for his mommy. The old woman with the dog. After the trial, my cellmate. They left me alone after that. They gave me pills, and the voices stopped.
But when my pills changed, I heard it again, coming from the bottom of my little toilet. It told me what to do.
I took my dinner knife, and when the evil spilled out, I could finally rest. |
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."
| Today of all fucking days. *Out of any day they could pick today was the fucking one they picked?* No use complaining. Whatever the state wanted must be done. If I could not do it myself they would do it for me. Might as well die with dignity. *No such thing nowadays* he thought. He went to the second draw by his nightstand and pulled out his revolver, a thirteenth birthday present from his grandfather. *It really is a beautiful weapon.* Odd that in his last moment he thought of that. *Someday this will end for everyone.* But not today. |
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."
| A timeline, sole fury, felt I- Won’t lovers revolt now? I questioned, how could I predict my future, let alone remember my past; Those hazy un-vivid memories prevented my completion. The task was labeled “simple”, laughably I argued; The assignment was impossible. The woman that brought light to my world in an effervescent dance. She wishfully whispered love in key with trance. “Sing to me Muse, my tales of woe. For I am clear not, on what to show.” She then sang me a curse, reworked letters of the verse, therein lie my answer, for the love lost sprouted cancer. |
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."
| I was told I was worthy, ready to be given the chance.
I was not strong enough.
I screamed soundlessly at the wires slithering down my throat, the pressure of countless minds reducing life itself to a whisper.
I strained to see around me, just to know.
A metal trunk, wide and cold, twisted with wires and walkways.
A sound; a low rumble, useless connections severed.
I knew I was not enough.
I was deemed unworthy for preservation; casted aside.
I heard the clicks of a thousand processors slowly die out; muffled by final vacant thoughts as I went offline.
|
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."
| Pale grey sodden and wet, voices of hags did stir.
Within my ears whispered "my dear, oh please do not perturb
these words are quick and fleeting and I do not wish to rush
but soon enough your entrails will yourself find turned to mush
your end is now, your sun is set, so take the dagger sharp
plunge to the deep, lie with the rest inside this churned-up marsh"
and so I took a final look upon that witch of dread
and with the knife I took my life and made the reeds my bed
alone at last again |
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. | 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.” |
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. | 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.” |
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. | 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…
|
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. | 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
|
[WP] Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible | I have another that is a true story. I met this girl named Dee. Normally her race wouldn’t matter, but in this case it does. Dee was black. I’m white. Dee had a friend named Glenda who was also black and who, up until this moment, I had never met.
Dee had recently bought a new condo. Before buying it she asked several people, me included, our thoughts on her getting the place. All of us agreed that it was nice, but the new, very long commute would wear her down quickly. Glenda apparently had been very vocal in her warnings to Dee about buying this place.
One Friday Dee and I are hanging out. I spend the night and the next morning she has to go into work for a few hours. So Saturday morning we jumped in the shower and messed around a little then were going to get breakfast and she was going to head to work. I was paying a little more attention to washing her boobs than my body (in my defense I did a fantastic job, they were very clean). She got out of the shower and I stayed in for a few minutes to wash my hair.
After finishing up and drying off I threw the towel over my shoulder and walked out of the bathroom. What I didn’t know is that Glenda had stopped by for a minute to bring Dee something (they worked together and Dee needed to take this item into the office). So I stroll out of the bathroom, bare ass naked, and there is Dee and Glenda having a conversation.
I froze like a deer in headlights. Dee was clearly surprised, she thought she would have Glenda gone before I was done, so when she saw me she made a sound like a squawking bird. Glenda looked at me, tilted her head then looked at Dee and said, “If you had told me these places came with a naked white boy, I’d have bought one too!”
| I met Mitchell down by the old theatre. I waved at him then promptly slashed his throat open with a 4 inch shiv I had hidden in my sleeve. He started clawing at his throat but it was redundant. I wasn't done with him quite yet. I pushed his fat ass over and gutted him like a pig. It was only when I started pulling his intestines out that he started to piss himself. It was absolutely disgusting. I looked down at the shriveled mess of a man, blood oozing out of every orifice imaginable and uttered the last words he'd ever hear. "It's not delivery, it's a Mitchell"
Hours later at a little hole in the wall cafe I realized Mitchell died hearing the worst joke imaginable. What a shame. | |
[WP] Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible | [<---](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/219yo9/wp_nsfw_destroy_my_soul_a_challenge_to_write_the/cgb9kfz) **-11-** [--->](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/21od2n/what_is_the_most_serious_crime_youve_gotten_away/cgf2pv2)
**{Hail Satan 666 Yoloswag}** (working title)
*Conceived Wednesday, March 27, 2014, when I was supposed to be in class.*
*Dedicated to /u/ItsAMeMitchell, for this thread.*
Obama is not a Muslim.
I just thought I'd let you all know, now that I do.
Well, I mean, it's never possible to tell *exactly* what someone believes, but after what I saw, I'd say I'm 99.9% certain that our fair President is, indeed, not a Muslim. You see, he was summoning Satan.
Checkmate, Republicans.
It was a strange, happenstance encounter, meeting him at Arby's. I don't know how the hell he managed to escape the Secret Service. For that matter, I don't know why the hell he didn't just have an Arby's shipped to his house. Not to mention, the obvious question: *why Arby's?* I mean, I work minimum wage, okay? I have reasons. But this man? There was no excuse.
Unfortunately, at the moment, I don't really have the time to go find the answers to all these pressing questions. We'll just blame Satan and move on, okay?
So, yes. Arby's. Inside the women's bathroom, to be exact. Yeah, I know. It was quite a shock to me, too. Imagine: you step into the women's bathroom, and the first thing you hear is *Obama,* belting out pagan rap lyrics.
In all senses of the phrase: *what the hell,* Mr. President?
So you might have noticed by now that these things I'm telling you are quite bizarre, and that I don't seem the least bit fazed by them. Not, at least, in the way you'd expect. I mean, the last time I heard a guy rapping in the ladies' room, the first thing my brain said was **COWER. NOW.**
But this time, I felt *compelled* to know what was going on. And don't you try to tell me *you'd* walk away from a chance to take nude Obama vids.
Shit, I'm on a list now.
*Goddamn, will you get to the point?* Okay, fine. So I opened the door, real slow like, so as not to upset the Commoder-in-Chief. It appatently didn't do much good, because he immediately stopped rapping.
*Damn it, I'm caught,* I thought, but frankly, I didn't really care much. This was already interesting enough.
*Hello?* I called through the crack in the bathroom door.
Before I could say another word, the door was flung open, and two hands grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and shoved me inside. And there, in a red sweater emblazoned with black pentagrams, and a pair of orange short-shorts, stood the President of the United States.
For a moment, there was a stunned silence as we gazed at each other. Then—
"I told him, nigga, you a bitchass,
Got yo god in stitches,
You try to call on Moses, but my flows, they fulla ditches—"
*What?*
He had apparently decided that I wasn't going to move, and had gone back to rapping – and breakdancing – in front of the mirror.
"You trippin' – I'm so treacherous,
Your prophet is lecherous,
Oh no-ah try to tell me what to ride, I ride alla this,
Allah says—"
"Okay, what the fuck?" I interrupted. "You did *not* just improvise all that."
He turned slowly to face me, his expression eerily blank.
For some reason, I was pissed.
"You walk into the girls' bathroom, start rapping like a pro, that's fine, okay, you're a sex offender. But this?" I pointed at his...*strange* attire. "*This* is not okay. Who the *hell* mixes red and orange like that? And *what* the hell are you doing, wearing a sweater and shorts?"
In my defense...okay, actually, there really was no defense for this, I admit. I was in shock, but even then...just...shut up, please. Let me continue my story.
Thank you. So the man with the plan looked at me blankly for another five seconds or so. Then he stood up straight and looked me straight in the eye. And in his most authoritative voice, the voice that had moved millions to action, he said:
"Nigga, what?"
And I just didn't know what to say to that. So, naturally, my brain's first idea is to have me gesticulate wildly with my arms and one leg.
Yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and blame Satan for that one, too.
And speaking of whom, he chose just that moment to arrive, rising from a pillar of pitch-black flames, conveniently five centimeters from my outstretched arm.
And I admit it: I shrieked.
"Oooh, Satan's here!" Obama giggled, rubbing his hands together like a wombat at a burning Christmas party.
Okay, look. If you're going to harp on every stoopid thing I say, we're not going to finish this story anytime soon. There's a reason for everything I say, understand? We good? Good. Okay.
So, Satan. He didn't look anything like what you'd expect. No horns, no tail, no pitchfork. Not even a booming cackle.
Though there was a booming laugh. And red, lots and lots of red.
"Satan is *Santa*?" I cried.
Ha. Next time, don't question my similes. Bitch.
The bearded man looked at me and belched out another chuckle.
"That's right, hoe!" he declared, his corpulent figure flapping in unbridled amusement. "Hoe, hoe, hoe, Barack brought a hoe with him!"
I just stared.
"Your Lordship," Obama said, all business now. "I've prepared the newest budget plans."
He reached into his sweater and withdrew a twelve-inch binder.
"Ah, yes," Satan/Santa said, turning away from me. "And in the Rainbow Dash binder, no less. I'm glad to see you remember the important things, Barack."
At that, Obama beamed like the sun that was responsible for the burning of a wombat's Christmas party. (Next time, don't have your party on dry wood. Forest fire, moron.)
So Satan was Santa, and the immature *ho-ho-hoe* joke actually made sense. Unfortunately, it was about the only thing that *did* make sense.
"You give your *budget plans* to *Santa?*" I croaked.
Satan turned around and gave me a stern look. "That's *Mister* Santa to you, hoe."
"But-but how?" I asked. "How are you both Santa and Satan? And why is our President dealing with the devil? Literally?"
Satan sighed. "Is it really that hard to believe?" he said. "I mean, you people managed to completely rewrite 9/11 in two days. How's a simple letter switch a stretch?"
That stopped me cold.
"What?" I said. "Who rewrote 9/11?"
Obama chose this moment to speak up.
"Why, the Bush Administration," he said. "Who else?"
"Wait, so..." I couldn't believe it. "*George Bush* really did cause 9/11?"
At that, both president and purgatoror shared a look.
Then they burst out laughing.
"No, no, of course not," Satan said once they had finished. "What gave you that idea?"
"Well, you just said—"
"No," Obama interrupted. "The Bush Administration covered up the identities of the true perpetrators, but not because *they* did it."
He stroked his chin, and Santa smirked.
"The real reason," Obama said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "is that nobody would believe them if they told the truth. The truth in this case is so outlandish to the common man, that the government would lose credibility for telling it."
"What-what's the truth?" I asked hesitantly. "Who caused 9/11?"
The President of the United States regarded me seriously. He beckoned for me to come closer, and I did. Then he leaned close to my ear and whispered one word.
"Pigeons."
I staggered back.
"Pigeons?" I cried.
"Pigeons," he confirmed.
"You're joking."
"I'm wish he was," Satan said gravely.
I looked from one to the other.
"You're both insane, aren't you?"
"That's debatable," Satan said, smirking again.
"And speaking of debates..." Obama turned to bow to Satan. "Your Lordship, if you'll excuse me?"
Satan nodded his bearded head, and the President vanished in a sea of black flames.
Satan turned to me.
"As for you, hoe," he said, his eyes twinkling, "well, this must be pretty shocking, hm?"
I simply nodded.
"Rest assured," he said, "your President is in no way doing wrong by contacting me. In fact, it's a long-standing tradition. The Presidents show me their plans, and I point out the naughty bits."
*TMI*, I thought, but I said nothing.
Satan noticed anyway.
"The parts that won't work," he clarified. "I mark 'em with coal and send 'em back." He leaned forward and whispered, "We leave all the sex for weekends and holidays."
I simply stared. Satan laughed.
"Busy job, being Satan is," he said.
He turned to look at the pillar of fire from which he'd come.
"So!" he proclaimed enthusiastically. "I'll be going now."
That shook me out of my funk.
"Wait!" I cried. "Are you really Santa and Satan, or are you just screwing with my head?"
He turned to look at me, smiling faintly. But I wasn't done asking questions.
"Did *pigeons* really cause 9/11? Do I really just have to rap in the bathroom to summon you? And what the hell is Obama doing at Arby's without his Secret Service?"
He looked at me seriously, then he spoke.
"The answers to those questions," he said, "in no particular order, are: yes, yes, no, maybe, and it depends on the complexity of the variables."
I glared.
"Hey," he said, "I *am* the Overlord of Evil and Darkness," he said. "If I'm not a dick, who will be?"
And with a wink and a booming laugh, he stepped into the flames and was gone.
So yeah, like I said: blame Satan for the lack of answers.
All in all, I'd say it was a good experience. It definitely changed my views on things, made me realize that things aren't always as they seem.
Honestly, it just goes to show that you really shouldn't generalize. Not all politicians are conniving bloodsuckers. Some are heathen, pagan-rapping cultists who summon Satan in the women's bathroom of a low-end fast-food restaurant.
It's not perfect, not by a long shot. But I'd say it's a step forward.
Oh, and one last thing: After I left Arby's in a daze, I realized that I had forgotten where I'd parked my car. And in the same instant, I noticed a vaguely Prius-shaped mound of bird poop in a parking spot.
Seriously. Watch the fuck out for pigeons. | I met Mitchell down by the old theatre. I waved at him then promptly slashed his throat open with a 4 inch shiv I had hidden in my sleeve. He started clawing at his throat but it was redundant. I wasn't done with him quite yet. I pushed his fat ass over and gutted him like a pig. It was only when I started pulling his intestines out that he started to piss himself. It was absolutely disgusting. I looked down at the shriveled mess of a man, blood oozing out of every orifice imaginable and uttered the last words he'd ever hear. "It's not delivery, it's a Mitchell"
Hours later at a little hole in the wall cafe I realized Mitchell died hearing the worst joke imaginable. What a shame. | |
[WP] Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible | “So, we’re rolling down the street heading for this café that makes great sandwiches to grab something for lunch. I’m in the passenger’s seat and my partner Mick is driving. I look over to my right and there, plain as day, on the sidewalk I see a drug deal going down. I show Mick, we pull over, and jump out of the car.
“The buyer freezes in place and throws his hands in the air yelling ‘Don’t shoot me! Don’t shoot me!’ but the seller runs. I chase after him. We sprint down the block and he turns into an alley. As he turns into the alley I can see him shoving bags of drugs down his pants.
“I round the corner and find the seller standing there with his hands over his head. It was a dead end so he knew he was caught. He asked me why I was chasing him and I told him I saw him selling drugs. He said he had nothing on him. I told him I saw him shove them down his pants. ‘You wanna reach down my pants like some kind fag and get a feel for yourself?’ he said to me. So I did the only thing I thought was right. I had to show this guy who was boss. I handcuffed him then looked him in the eye and reached my hand down the front of his pants.
“The problem was the drugs had slipped down his pant leg so all I got was a handful of this guy’s junk. Right then Mick comes running around the corner and finds me with my hand down this guy’s pants basically feeling his balls. He doesn’t miss a beat. He just stops in his tracks, looks at me and says, ‘You guy’s need some time alone?’
“This happened 14 years ago. To this day guys in the office ask me if I can check them for a hernia or if I need to practice my juggling.’"
| I met Mitchell down by the old theatre. I waved at him then promptly slashed his throat open with a 4 inch shiv I had hidden in my sleeve. He started clawing at his throat but it was redundant. I wasn't done with him quite yet. I pushed his fat ass over and gutted him like a pig. It was only when I started pulling his intestines out that he started to piss himself. It was absolutely disgusting. I looked down at the shriveled mess of a man, blood oozing out of every orifice imaginable and uttered the last words he'd ever hear. "It's not delivery, it's a Mitchell"
Hours later at a little hole in the wall cafe I realized Mitchell died hearing the worst joke imaginable. What a shame. | |
[WP] Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible | [<---](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/219yo9/wp_nsfw_destroy_my_soul_a_challenge_to_write_the/cgb9kfz) **-11-** [--->](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/21od2n/what_is_the_most_serious_crime_youve_gotten_away/cgf2pv2)
**{Hail Satan 666 Yoloswag}** (working title)
*Conceived Wednesday, March 27, 2014, when I was supposed to be in class.*
*Dedicated to /u/ItsAMeMitchell, for this thread.*
Obama is not a Muslim.
I just thought I'd let you all know, now that I do.
Well, I mean, it's never possible to tell *exactly* what someone believes, but after what I saw, I'd say I'm 99.9% certain that our fair President is, indeed, not a Muslim. You see, he was summoning Satan.
Checkmate, Republicans.
It was a strange, happenstance encounter, meeting him at Arby's. I don't know how the hell he managed to escape the Secret Service. For that matter, I don't know why the hell he didn't just have an Arby's shipped to his house. Not to mention, the obvious question: *why Arby's?* I mean, I work minimum wage, okay? I have reasons. But this man? There was no excuse.
Unfortunately, at the moment, I don't really have the time to go find the answers to all these pressing questions. We'll just blame Satan and move on, okay?
So, yes. Arby's. Inside the women's bathroom, to be exact. Yeah, I know. It was quite a shock to me, too. Imagine: you step into the women's bathroom, and the first thing you hear is *Obama,* belting out pagan rap lyrics.
In all senses of the phrase: *what the hell,* Mr. President?
So you might have noticed by now that these things I'm telling you are quite bizarre, and that I don't seem the least bit fazed by them. Not, at least, in the way you'd expect. I mean, the last time I heard a guy rapping in the ladies' room, the first thing my brain said was **COWER. NOW.**
But this time, I felt *compelled* to know what was going on. And don't you try to tell me *you'd* walk away from a chance to take nude Obama vids.
Shit, I'm on a list now.
*Goddamn, will you get to the point?* Okay, fine. So I opened the door, real slow like, so as not to upset the Commoder-in-Chief. It appatently didn't do much good, because he immediately stopped rapping.
*Damn it, I'm caught,* I thought, but frankly, I didn't really care much. This was already interesting enough.
*Hello?* I called through the crack in the bathroom door.
Before I could say another word, the door was flung open, and two hands grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and shoved me inside. And there, in a red sweater emblazoned with black pentagrams, and a pair of orange short-shorts, stood the President of the United States.
For a moment, there was a stunned silence as we gazed at each other. Then—
"I told him, nigga, you a bitchass,
Got yo god in stitches,
You try to call on Moses, but my flows, they fulla ditches—"
*What?*
He had apparently decided that I wasn't going to move, and had gone back to rapping – and breakdancing – in front of the mirror.
"You trippin' – I'm so treacherous,
Your prophet is lecherous,
Oh no-ah try to tell me what to ride, I ride alla this,
Allah says—"
"Okay, what the fuck?" I interrupted. "You did *not* just improvise all that."
He turned slowly to face me, his expression eerily blank.
For some reason, I was pissed.
"You walk into the girls' bathroom, start rapping like a pro, that's fine, okay, you're a sex offender. But this?" I pointed at his...*strange* attire. "*This* is not okay. Who the *hell* mixes red and orange like that? And *what* the hell are you doing, wearing a sweater and shorts?"
In my defense...okay, actually, there really was no defense for this, I admit. I was in shock, but even then...just...shut up, please. Let me continue my story.
Thank you. So the man with the plan looked at me blankly for another five seconds or so. Then he stood up straight and looked me straight in the eye. And in his most authoritative voice, the voice that had moved millions to action, he said:
"Nigga, what?"
And I just didn't know what to say to that. So, naturally, my brain's first idea is to have me gesticulate wildly with my arms and one leg.
Yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and blame Satan for that one, too.
And speaking of whom, he chose just that moment to arrive, rising from a pillar of pitch-black flames, conveniently five centimeters from my outstretched arm.
And I admit it: I shrieked.
"Oooh, Satan's here!" Obama giggled, rubbing his hands together like a wombat at a burning Christmas party.
Okay, look. If you're going to harp on every stoopid thing I say, we're not going to finish this story anytime soon. There's a reason for everything I say, understand? We good? Good. Okay.
So, Satan. He didn't look anything like what you'd expect. No horns, no tail, no pitchfork. Not even a booming cackle.
Though there was a booming laugh. And red, lots and lots of red.
"Satan is *Santa*?" I cried.
Ha. Next time, don't question my similes. Bitch.
The bearded man looked at me and belched out another chuckle.
"That's right, hoe!" he declared, his corpulent figure flapping in unbridled amusement. "Hoe, hoe, hoe, Barack brought a hoe with him!"
I just stared.
"Your Lordship," Obama said, all business now. "I've prepared the newest budget plans."
He reached into his sweater and withdrew a twelve-inch binder.
"Ah, yes," Satan/Santa said, turning away from me. "And in the Rainbow Dash binder, no less. I'm glad to see you remember the important things, Barack."
At that, Obama beamed like the sun that was responsible for the burning of a wombat's Christmas party. (Next time, don't have your party on dry wood. Forest fire, moron.)
So Satan was Santa, and the immature *ho-ho-hoe* joke actually made sense. Unfortunately, it was about the only thing that *did* make sense.
"You give your *budget plans* to *Santa?*" I croaked.
Satan turned around and gave me a stern look. "That's *Mister* Santa to you, hoe."
"But-but how?" I asked. "How are you both Santa and Satan? And why is our President dealing with the devil? Literally?"
Satan sighed. "Is it really that hard to believe?" he said. "I mean, you people managed to completely rewrite 9/11 in two days. How's a simple letter switch a stretch?"
That stopped me cold.
"What?" I said. "Who rewrote 9/11?"
Obama chose this moment to speak up.
"Why, the Bush Administration," he said. "Who else?"
"Wait, so..." I couldn't believe it. "*George Bush* really did cause 9/11?"
At that, both president and purgatoror shared a look.
Then they burst out laughing.
"No, no, of course not," Satan said once they had finished. "What gave you that idea?"
"Well, you just said—"
"No," Obama interrupted. "The Bush Administration covered up the identities of the true perpetrators, but not because *they* did it."
He stroked his chin, and Santa smirked.
"The real reason," Obama said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "is that nobody would believe them if they told the truth. The truth in this case is so outlandish to the common man, that the government would lose credibility for telling it."
"What-what's the truth?" I asked hesitantly. "Who caused 9/11?"
The President of the United States regarded me seriously. He beckoned for me to come closer, and I did. Then he leaned close to my ear and whispered one word.
"Pigeons."
I staggered back.
"Pigeons?" I cried.
"Pigeons," he confirmed.
"You're joking."
"I'm wish he was," Satan said gravely.
I looked from one to the other.
"You're both insane, aren't you?"
"That's debatable," Satan said, smirking again.
"And speaking of debates..." Obama turned to bow to Satan. "Your Lordship, if you'll excuse me?"
Satan nodded his bearded head, and the President vanished in a sea of black flames.
Satan turned to me.
"As for you, hoe," he said, his eyes twinkling, "well, this must be pretty shocking, hm?"
I simply nodded.
"Rest assured," he said, "your President is in no way doing wrong by contacting me. In fact, it's a long-standing tradition. The Presidents show me their plans, and I point out the naughty bits."
*TMI*, I thought, but I said nothing.
Satan noticed anyway.
"The parts that won't work," he clarified. "I mark 'em with coal and send 'em back." He leaned forward and whispered, "We leave all the sex for weekends and holidays."
I simply stared. Satan laughed.
"Busy job, being Satan is," he said.
He turned to look at the pillar of fire from which he'd come.
"So!" he proclaimed enthusiastically. "I'll be going now."
That shook me out of my funk.
"Wait!" I cried. "Are you really Santa and Satan, or are you just screwing with my head?"
He turned to look at me, smiling faintly. But I wasn't done asking questions.
"Did *pigeons* really cause 9/11? Do I really just have to rap in the bathroom to summon you? And what the hell is Obama doing at Arby's without his Secret Service?"
He looked at me seriously, then he spoke.
"The answers to those questions," he said, "in no particular order, are: yes, yes, no, maybe, and it depends on the complexity of the variables."
I glared.
"Hey," he said, "I *am* the Overlord of Evil and Darkness," he said. "If I'm not a dick, who will be?"
And with a wink and a booming laugh, he stepped into the flames and was gone.
So yeah, like I said: blame Satan for the lack of answers.
All in all, I'd say it was a good experience. It definitely changed my views on things, made me realize that things aren't always as they seem.
Honestly, it just goes to show that you really shouldn't generalize. Not all politicians are conniving bloodsuckers. Some are heathen, pagan-rapping cultists who summon Satan in the women's bathroom of a low-end fast-food restaurant.
It's not perfect, not by a long shot. But I'd say it's a step forward.
Oh, and one last thing: After I left Arby's in a daze, I realized that I had forgotten where I'd parked my car. And in the same instant, I noticed a vaguely Prius-shaped mound of bird poop in a parking spot.
Seriously. Watch the fuck out for pigeons. | I think Happy Madison's writers should come back here in a few hours! | |
[WP] Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible | “So, we’re rolling down the street heading for this café that makes great sandwiches to grab something for lunch. I’m in the passenger’s seat and my partner Mick is driving. I look over to my right and there, plain as day, on the sidewalk I see a drug deal going down. I show Mick, we pull over, and jump out of the car.
“The buyer freezes in place and throws his hands in the air yelling ‘Don’t shoot me! Don’t shoot me!’ but the seller runs. I chase after him. We sprint down the block and he turns into an alley. As he turns into the alley I can see him shoving bags of drugs down his pants.
“I round the corner and find the seller standing there with his hands over his head. It was a dead end so he knew he was caught. He asked me why I was chasing him and I told him I saw him selling drugs. He said he had nothing on him. I told him I saw him shove them down his pants. ‘You wanna reach down my pants like some kind fag and get a feel for yourself?’ he said to me. So I did the only thing I thought was right. I had to show this guy who was boss. I handcuffed him then looked him in the eye and reached my hand down the front of his pants.
“The problem was the drugs had slipped down his pant leg so all I got was a handful of this guy’s junk. Right then Mick comes running around the corner and finds me with my hand down this guy’s pants basically feeling his balls. He doesn’t miss a beat. He just stops in his tracks, looks at me and says, ‘You guy’s need some time alone?’
“This happened 14 years ago. To this day guys in the office ask me if I can check them for a hernia or if I need to practice my juggling.’"
| I think Happy Madison's writers should come back here in a few hours! | |
[WP] Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible | "Hey Steve, what's 14 times 17?"
"I don't know man, 238 I think."
"Yeah, you got it. Look at you man, a regular mathmatist."
"It's actually *mathematician*."
"Look at you, a regular Linguimitician."
"Yeah Dave. Yeah."
----
Probably no where near as funny as I think it is, but I thought up this stupid scenario a while back. | I think Happy Madison's writers should come back here in a few hours! | |
[WP] Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible | [<---](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/219yo9/wp_nsfw_destroy_my_soul_a_challenge_to_write_the/cgb9kfz) **-11-** [--->](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/21od2n/what_is_the_most_serious_crime_youve_gotten_away/cgf2pv2)
**{Hail Satan 666 Yoloswag}** (working title)
*Conceived Wednesday, March 27, 2014, when I was supposed to be in class.*
*Dedicated to /u/ItsAMeMitchell, for this thread.*
Obama is not a Muslim.
I just thought I'd let you all know, now that I do.
Well, I mean, it's never possible to tell *exactly* what someone believes, but after what I saw, I'd say I'm 99.9% certain that our fair President is, indeed, not a Muslim. You see, he was summoning Satan.
Checkmate, Republicans.
It was a strange, happenstance encounter, meeting him at Arby's. I don't know how the hell he managed to escape the Secret Service. For that matter, I don't know why the hell he didn't just have an Arby's shipped to his house. Not to mention, the obvious question: *why Arby's?* I mean, I work minimum wage, okay? I have reasons. But this man? There was no excuse.
Unfortunately, at the moment, I don't really have the time to go find the answers to all these pressing questions. We'll just blame Satan and move on, okay?
So, yes. Arby's. Inside the women's bathroom, to be exact. Yeah, I know. It was quite a shock to me, too. Imagine: you step into the women's bathroom, and the first thing you hear is *Obama,* belting out pagan rap lyrics.
In all senses of the phrase: *what the hell,* Mr. President?
So you might have noticed by now that these things I'm telling you are quite bizarre, and that I don't seem the least bit fazed by them. Not, at least, in the way you'd expect. I mean, the last time I heard a guy rapping in the ladies' room, the first thing my brain said was **COWER. NOW.**
But this time, I felt *compelled* to know what was going on. And don't you try to tell me *you'd* walk away from a chance to take nude Obama vids.
Shit, I'm on a list now.
*Goddamn, will you get to the point?* Okay, fine. So I opened the door, real slow like, so as not to upset the Commoder-in-Chief. It appatently didn't do much good, because he immediately stopped rapping.
*Damn it, I'm caught,* I thought, but frankly, I didn't really care much. This was already interesting enough.
*Hello?* I called through the crack in the bathroom door.
Before I could say another word, the door was flung open, and two hands grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and shoved me inside. And there, in a red sweater emblazoned with black pentagrams, and a pair of orange short-shorts, stood the President of the United States.
For a moment, there was a stunned silence as we gazed at each other. Then—
"I told him, nigga, you a bitchass,
Got yo god in stitches,
You try to call on Moses, but my flows, they fulla ditches—"
*What?*
He had apparently decided that I wasn't going to move, and had gone back to rapping – and breakdancing – in front of the mirror.
"You trippin' – I'm so treacherous,
Your prophet is lecherous,
Oh no-ah try to tell me what to ride, I ride alla this,
Allah says—"
"Okay, what the fuck?" I interrupted. "You did *not* just improvise all that."
He turned slowly to face me, his expression eerily blank.
For some reason, I was pissed.
"You walk into the girls' bathroom, start rapping like a pro, that's fine, okay, you're a sex offender. But this?" I pointed at his...*strange* attire. "*This* is not okay. Who the *hell* mixes red and orange like that? And *what* the hell are you doing, wearing a sweater and shorts?"
In my defense...okay, actually, there really was no defense for this, I admit. I was in shock, but even then...just...shut up, please. Let me continue my story.
Thank you. So the man with the plan looked at me blankly for another five seconds or so. Then he stood up straight and looked me straight in the eye. And in his most authoritative voice, the voice that had moved millions to action, he said:
"Nigga, what?"
And I just didn't know what to say to that. So, naturally, my brain's first idea is to have me gesticulate wildly with my arms and one leg.
Yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and blame Satan for that one, too.
And speaking of whom, he chose just that moment to arrive, rising from a pillar of pitch-black flames, conveniently five centimeters from my outstretched arm.
And I admit it: I shrieked.
"Oooh, Satan's here!" Obama giggled, rubbing his hands together like a wombat at a burning Christmas party.
Okay, look. If you're going to harp on every stoopid thing I say, we're not going to finish this story anytime soon. There's a reason for everything I say, understand? We good? Good. Okay.
So, Satan. He didn't look anything like what you'd expect. No horns, no tail, no pitchfork. Not even a booming cackle.
Though there was a booming laugh. And red, lots and lots of red.
"Satan is *Santa*?" I cried.
Ha. Next time, don't question my similes. Bitch.
The bearded man looked at me and belched out another chuckle.
"That's right, hoe!" he declared, his corpulent figure flapping in unbridled amusement. "Hoe, hoe, hoe, Barack brought a hoe with him!"
I just stared.
"Your Lordship," Obama said, all business now. "I've prepared the newest budget plans."
He reached into his sweater and withdrew a twelve-inch binder.
"Ah, yes," Satan/Santa said, turning away from me. "And in the Rainbow Dash binder, no less. I'm glad to see you remember the important things, Barack."
At that, Obama beamed like the sun that was responsible for the burning of a wombat's Christmas party. (Next time, don't have your party on dry wood. Forest fire, moron.)
So Satan was Santa, and the immature *ho-ho-hoe* joke actually made sense. Unfortunately, it was about the only thing that *did* make sense.
"You give your *budget plans* to *Santa?*" I croaked.
Satan turned around and gave me a stern look. "That's *Mister* Santa to you, hoe."
"But-but how?" I asked. "How are you both Santa and Satan? And why is our President dealing with the devil? Literally?"
Satan sighed. "Is it really that hard to believe?" he said. "I mean, you people managed to completely rewrite 9/11 in two days. How's a simple letter switch a stretch?"
That stopped me cold.
"What?" I said. "Who rewrote 9/11?"
Obama chose this moment to speak up.
"Why, the Bush Administration," he said. "Who else?"
"Wait, so..." I couldn't believe it. "*George Bush* really did cause 9/11?"
At that, both president and purgatoror shared a look.
Then they burst out laughing.
"No, no, of course not," Satan said once they had finished. "What gave you that idea?"
"Well, you just said—"
"No," Obama interrupted. "The Bush Administration covered up the identities of the true perpetrators, but not because *they* did it."
He stroked his chin, and Santa smirked.
"The real reason," Obama said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "is that nobody would believe them if they told the truth. The truth in this case is so outlandish to the common man, that the government would lose credibility for telling it."
"What-what's the truth?" I asked hesitantly. "Who caused 9/11?"
The President of the United States regarded me seriously. He beckoned for me to come closer, and I did. Then he leaned close to my ear and whispered one word.
"Pigeons."
I staggered back.
"Pigeons?" I cried.
"Pigeons," he confirmed.
"You're joking."
"I'm wish he was," Satan said gravely.
I looked from one to the other.
"You're both insane, aren't you?"
"That's debatable," Satan said, smirking again.
"And speaking of debates..." Obama turned to bow to Satan. "Your Lordship, if you'll excuse me?"
Satan nodded his bearded head, and the President vanished in a sea of black flames.
Satan turned to me.
"As for you, hoe," he said, his eyes twinkling, "well, this must be pretty shocking, hm?"
I simply nodded.
"Rest assured," he said, "your President is in no way doing wrong by contacting me. In fact, it's a long-standing tradition. The Presidents show me their plans, and I point out the naughty bits."
*TMI*, I thought, but I said nothing.
Satan noticed anyway.
"The parts that won't work," he clarified. "I mark 'em with coal and send 'em back." He leaned forward and whispered, "We leave all the sex for weekends and holidays."
I simply stared. Satan laughed.
"Busy job, being Satan is," he said.
He turned to look at the pillar of fire from which he'd come.
"So!" he proclaimed enthusiastically. "I'll be going now."
That shook me out of my funk.
"Wait!" I cried. "Are you really Santa and Satan, or are you just screwing with my head?"
He turned to look at me, smiling faintly. But I wasn't done asking questions.
"Did *pigeons* really cause 9/11? Do I really just have to rap in the bathroom to summon you? And what the hell is Obama doing at Arby's without his Secret Service?"
He looked at me seriously, then he spoke.
"The answers to those questions," he said, "in no particular order, are: yes, yes, no, maybe, and it depends on the complexity of the variables."
I glared.
"Hey," he said, "I *am* the Overlord of Evil and Darkness," he said. "If I'm not a dick, who will be?"
And with a wink and a booming laugh, he stepped into the flames and was gone.
So yeah, like I said: blame Satan for the lack of answers.
All in all, I'd say it was a good experience. It definitely changed my views on things, made me realize that things aren't always as they seem.
Honestly, it just goes to show that you really shouldn't generalize. Not all politicians are conniving bloodsuckers. Some are heathen, pagan-rapping cultists who summon Satan in the women's bathroom of a low-end fast-food restaurant.
It's not perfect, not by a long shot. But I'd say it's a step forward.
Oh, and one last thing: After I left Arby's in a daze, I realized that I had forgotten where I'd parked my car. And in the same instant, I noticed a vaguely Prius-shaped mound of bird poop in a parking spot.
Seriously. Watch the fuck out for pigeons. | I have another that is a true story. I met this girl named Dee. Normally her race wouldn’t matter, but in this case it does. Dee was black. I’m white. Dee had a friend named Glenda who was also black and who, up until this moment, I had never met.
Dee had recently bought a new condo. Before buying it she asked several people, me included, our thoughts on her getting the place. All of us agreed that it was nice, but the new, very long commute would wear her down quickly. Glenda apparently had been very vocal in her warnings to Dee about buying this place.
One Friday Dee and I are hanging out. I spend the night and the next morning she has to go into work for a few hours. So Saturday morning we jumped in the shower and messed around a little then were going to get breakfast and she was going to head to work. I was paying a little more attention to washing her boobs than my body (in my defense I did a fantastic job, they were very clean). She got out of the shower and I stayed in for a few minutes to wash my hair.
After finishing up and drying off I threw the towel over my shoulder and walked out of the bathroom. What I didn’t know is that Glenda had stopped by for a minute to bring Dee something (they worked together and Dee needed to take this item into the office). So I stroll out of the bathroom, bare ass naked, and there is Dee and Glenda having a conversation.
I froze like a deer in headlights. Dee was clearly surprised, she thought she would have Glenda gone before I was done, so when she saw me she made a sound like a squawking bird. Glenda looked at me, tilted her head then looked at Dee and said, “If you had told me these places came with a naked white boy, I’d have bought one too!”
| |
[WP] Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible | "Hey Steve, what's 14 times 17?"
"I don't know man, 238 I think."
"Yeah, you got it. Look at you man, a regular mathmatist."
"It's actually *mathematician*."
"Look at you, a regular Linguimitician."
"Yeah Dave. Yeah."
----
Probably no where near as funny as I think it is, but I thought up this stupid scenario a while back. | **Sorry in advance, OP, if this is weird/annoying/unconventional, but my story needs context to understand. Actually, I feel like you'd *have* to be either an English teacher or an English major to find any of this funny. Ah, screw it.**
**So, there was this AskReddit joke thread a while back, and one of the jokes was**
>Two whales walk into a bar. The first one says, "Weeeeeooooouuuhhhh".
The next whale says, "Shut up, Steve. You're drunk."
**And /u/milqi replied to it with**
>I am using this in my classroom at some point. I have NO idea how, but it's far too cheesy to not use it.
**And I, on the account I used before I decided to make a writing account, decided I wanted to make it happen. Prepare for story:**
Teacher: Okay, class, today we're going to learn--
milqi: Twowhaleswalkintoabar!!
Teacher: ...excuse me?
milqi: Two whales. Walk into. A bar.
Teacher: *(sigh)* milqi, this isn't the time.
milqi: >.>
Teacher: As I was saying: Today, we'll be learning about igneous rock. Now, igneous rock is a--
milqi: One of them says--
Teacher: *(whirls around)* *Who said that?*
milqi: &amp;amp;lt;.&amp;amp;lt;
milqi: >.>
Teacher: -\_\-
milqi: Go on.
Teacher: *(smh)* Igneous rock is a special kind of rock---
milqi: (whispering) *So one of them says*--
Teacher: --**a special kind of rock**--
milqi: ---WEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUHH!!!!!!!---
Teacher: ---FORMED BY VOLCANIC ACTIVITY---
milqi: ---AND THEN THE OTHER WHALE SAYS---
Teacher: MILQI. STOP. NOW.
milqi: ...
Teacher: ...
milqi: ...
Teacher: Thank you. Igneous--
milqi: You're welcome.
Teacher: Shut up, milqi.
milqi: Damnit.
Teacher: Igneous rocks were first discovered by American petrographers. It is said that when the men realized what they were seeing, one of them turned to the other and said---
milqi: **SHUT UP, STEVE, YOU'RE DRUUUUUUUUUNK!!!!!!!!**
.................
*(Pinky and the Brain ending music)*
.....
**There is more, though, haha. Because then, milqi informed me that**
>This is awesome... but I'm the [high school English] teacher in this scenario. Wanna rewrite?
**And I happily obliged.**
>**[Here you go. I'm so sorry. :P]**
Milqisian: Salutations, O' students of mine!
Class: Salutations, O' beloved teacher!
Milqisian: Wherefore didst we last halt in our reading?
Othello: I knowest not, dear teacher, respected lord. May we not then forego this exercise in favor of work more productive?
Milqisian: Nay! And woe unto thee, Othello, for thy treacherous suggestion!
Othello: Forgive me, my lord!
Milqisian: Thou art, by my mercy, forgiven. Hold thee thy tongue in future time, and learn to speak only when thy name is spoken.
Othello: Yes, my lord, by thy teaching, I shall.
Milqisian: It is as thou hast spoken it. *(looks around the room)* Hear me, lichens: Our affairs appear to have been disrupted. What vile fiend has filched my Lessone Plannes?
Ophelia: My lord, is not this anachronous a spelling?
Milqisian: Silence, foolish girl! I cannot think when thou art blubbering so!
Horatio: Indeed, Ophelia, thou dost blubbereth as does the whale!
Ophelia: Thou wouldst maketh a mockery of me, Horatio?!
Horatio: *(high-pitched)* Thou wouldst maketh a mockery of me, Horatio?
Class: *(laugheth)*
Horatio: I knowest not how a lowly female such as thyself has been graced with the honor of the tutelage of our peerless instructor.
Ophelia: One day, Horatio...one day...
Horatio: Thy threats are as empty as thy head!
Teacher: Fools, all of you. Hath the teacher no salvation from this torment?
Horatio: If I may suggest it, my lord, it would serve thee well to ride this sea giant away, if thou so choosest.
Ophelia: *(cheeks burning)* Thou shalt know in time what plague thou dost so carelessly invoke upon thyself, swine.
Horatio: *(shrugs)* This, to thine own self, be true. Until such a time as thou dost foresee, I prithee - get thee to a tavern.
Stephenian: And bring there with thee thy flabby whale companions, lest they become lonesome in thy drunken absence!
Milqisian: Oh, Lord above, deliver me from this travesty of a school, that I may not succumb to my urges and lash these imbeciles this very instant, that I may not in my just rage cleave them in twain.
Horatio: "The Lord shall answer when He is called." So sayeth my philosophy, but alas, no savant hath the savior.
Ophelia: There are more things--
Milqisian: Nay.
Ophelia: My Lo--
Milqisian: I sayeth again: nay. Now hold thy tongue, little girl, unless thou feeleth within thee a hunger for pain.
Ophelia: They have challenged me!
Milqisian: Do not waste my time with drivel about events I have seen in their unfolding. No, this farce must cease at once. *(faces the class)* It matters not whether my teaching materials are to be found here, for teach, I shall, and thou shalt learneth, *with nary a sound.*
Horatio: Hark, Ophelia, thou hast been silenced!
Stephenian: How fortunate are we, no longer shall we suffer her WEEEEEEEEEOOOOOUUUHHH!!!!! upon our ears!
Horatio: Indeed, it was ever an agonizing aural assault.
Stephenian: Yea, verily.
Ophelia: Silence thyself, Stephenian, thou art indeed thyself the drunkard.
Milqisian: Didst I not warn thee against speech?
Ophelia: I spoke the third of them!
Milqisian: Then thrice the punishment shall ye receive, for he who continues evil condones it, and he who condones it is as he who does it. Mark: to condone is to do, is to do again, added thus to the first doing - it is thrice. This is the law, and I shall uphold it, for ever has woman been defiant.
Horatio: Lo, lo, let it be so.
Ophelia: This world is mad.
Stephenian: WEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUHHHHH!!!!!!!!! | |
[WP] Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible | "Hey Steve, what's 14 times 17?"
"I don't know man, 238 I think."
"Yeah, you got it. Look at you man, a regular mathmatist."
"It's actually *mathematician*."
"Look at you, a regular Linguimitician."
"Yeah Dave. Yeah."
----
Probably no where near as funny as I think it is, but I thought up this stupid scenario a while back. | Have you ever thought about the Niagara Falls? I hear it's beautiful this time of year. If you go there, you can take a boat straight to the foot of a waterfall and be surrounded by all the splashing water. Just gallons and gallons of water in a never-ending stream, rushing and gushing forth. Honestly, I think just letting all that water spray uselessly is such a waste, they should try and use the water the way they do at the Hoover dam. There's a whole process of pumping water through all these pipes and tubes that twist and turn thoughout the dam that charge these turbines that can power all sorts of things like basic plumbing and hot water. So don't leave a faucet running, as much as you may enjoy the sound of water splashing against ceramic, it's not only a waste of water, but electricity, too! | |
[WP] Your whole modern life is a lucid dream. Now you wake up into real life, the Middle Ages. | I popped the pill out of the prescription blister pack and swallowed it with a sip of water. Maybe this time the pills would work and let me sleep. I've been an insomniac since I was a little child. I didn't feel sleepy yet, but I went to bed anyway. It felt good to close my eyes at least. I hope the pill works. I just want to sleep. *...sleep*
**No air!**
Dark water surrounded me. I struggled towards the surface, but I couldn't move. Trying not to panic, I saw long red strands of hair floating around my face. Red? I have short brown hair. Beyond the hair was nothing but a watery void. Was I was going to die?
"Why?" This had to be a dream-wake up wakeupwakeupwakeup!
Something jerked me backwards. Another pull back -no. Up! Someone is rescuing me! More pulling and I felt hands pulling me out of the water onto something.
All I could do was gasp for air. After I could breathe I saw that I was face down on wooden planks. A dock?
I heard a crowd murmuring and then a male voice yelling, "You see she passed! My daughter is not a witch!"
What?
I still couldn't move-was I tied up? Pain came flooding through my body-every move hurt. My back felt like it was on fire and my hands-
I looked at my hands and screamed. They were covered with rags, but huge scabs and blood covered them. The thumbs were twisted and other fingers had been smashed.
*"God let me wake up!"*
The hands gently turned me over. Two faces, no three. One a young adult. Blue eyes, blonde hair and beard. An anguished face.
"For me?", I could barely think through the pain.
"Hille!" he cried, pulling a small knife out of his boot. I was too shocked to try and cry out. But he didn't stab me-he started cutting through ropes I only now saw binding me.
The others were obviously a father and his little boy. Somehow I knew them.
My father and brother. The little boy leapt onto me as soon as the blonde man finished cutting the ropes. "Fritz", I heard myself saying as he clutched at me. The older man placed his hand on my head, grasping it too tightly, yet trembling. He cried out, "She passed the test! She was a fool to have a cat. But she is no witch!"
He let go of my head and brandished a farmer's scythe at the crowd.
Where was I? I saw the crowd for the first time. They were all dressed up like Renn Faire rejects. The faces were a blur, a few kind looking ones, but most were angry. One or two looked confused.
The blonde man picked me up and I saw my legs. They were covered by a long green skirt, but I saw that they were longer than usual and thinner, very thin. Had I been starved?
*wakeupwakeup*
The little boy let go of me only to grab my dangling skirt.
"Can we go now Martin?" he said. I felt Martin nod and turn around, walking towards a horse and cart filled with hay. When he got closer, I saw blankets laid over the hay.
"Fritz", Martin said, "Help me get her in the wagon". I felt the boy let go of my skirt and saw him scramble into the back of the wagon. Martin lifted me higher and tried to slide me towards my brother's waiting hands.
*hurtsdeargodpain*I screamed again.
"Just pull!" I heard Martin shout. I felt Fritz's arms around me and more pulling and sliding backwards. He fell onto the hay as Martin climbed towards me.
More pain as he moved my arms and legs. Fritz covered me with a blanket and then Martin stood up and crunched though the hay towards the seat in front.
I heard steps walking towards us.
"Father, hurry!" I heard Fritz say. The steps got closer.
"Martin, you know where to take them both. I will stay here for a while".
"Sir, you cannot-"
"Boy! Do you think I can forgive what they did to my wife and other daughter? Besides, if we all leave they will give chase. Take cake of them." *there was a crack in his voice, and then softer* "God willing, I will see thou again."
I heard a leathery slap and the wagon began to move.
Where were we going? I felt the boy's hand on my forehead and hoped to wake up soon.
| This is too scary to think about. | |
[WP] Your whole modern life is a lucid dream. Now you wake up into real life, the Middle Ages. | I do not forget. I only remember.
It is cold inside the house. Three wool-clad girls in the corner, praying for God. For food. For fire. When will Father return? How long has he been gone? Where is Father where is Father?
My hands are raw and numb. Pink. I rub them, but it stings. Woe to the past, where hands are forever cold.
Mary forces a smile, full of broken, yellow teeth. Why so repulsive? "You dream, Kay?"
"Yes. I dream."
Her eyes are beaming. "Can you tell us about the moving pictures again?"
I could tell you about horses without hearts. I could tell you about fields of fire and steel. I could tell you that they forgot about God. But then they didn't need him. I could tell you about toothpaste, oh Mary. "I could."
"Hush! Hush, hush, no more. Heavan's wroth will be upon you, devil child." Mother pulls Mary closer. "Poison dreams. What would your Father say?"
Father. Big-bellied, full of laughter. Full of food. (Food.) Warmth. Love. No spear, no ale, no cross. Reclined on a sofa with his Saints jumper, the black box roaring in front of him with life and wonder. No, not that Father.
Mother glares at me behind her sunken, gaunt, repugnant face. Take a shower, woman.
"Father is gone," I say.
The power of words. Mary covers her mouth and starts to cry, Mother gasps, Elize coughs. She coughs and she coughs and she cries. How did it go? Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words...
"You poison this house," Mother spits. "The sooner we are rid of you, the sooner there shall be peace, yes."
Outside the window (we have only one) it is snowing. Falling frost fills you with despair and wonder. Some things never change. It was December there, too. Christmas yet?
"Grant me your eyes, boy, or I will grant you the whip."
I grant her wish. "Elize needs a blanket," I tell her. And I've told her, too.
"You are *daft*," she informs me. "Cursed and daft." Mother pats Elize's sweaty forehead, brushing back damp hair and purring something I can't hear in her ear. Don't listen to you daft brother, perhaps.
"I'm telling you. She ought to be kept warm."
Elize coughs.
"Damn you, cruel boy, damn you, she *is* warm. Nigh a smelter, her forehead, come feel it if it will put you at ease. We want her to cool, and you say we best make her warmer? Do you want her dead, Kay? Do you want to kill your sister? Do you? Do you?"
I want to kill you. Instead, I say, "It don't work that way. I swear. Keep her warm, she'll sweat it out, if you like."
"If I *like*?"
"I don't - no, I meant, that could happen. Would."
Elize has a fit of coughing. When she is finished, she looks up at me. "Do you really want to kill me, Kay?" Her voice is hoarse and soft. She is five, I remember. Or thereabouts. In my dreams this would never happen. No, Elize, I love you.
I wish I could say the words, but they can't come out. A choke and a gasp. I turn away. God damn this Earth.
Behind me across the room I hear Mary: "No Elize, Kay don't want to kill you. He doesn't know what he's saying, he just gets confused."
"Mad, I think," Mother says, raising her voice so that I could hear it. "But we'll be rid of him soon, don't you worry, Elize. Three is a holy number. God has taken three from me yet, I've never heard of anyone who lost more than three."
A lie. Most lose more. Not there, though. Brothers and sisters can be lost there, too, but no so often. Why is that the dream and why is this absolute? Because the world cannot be so sweet. Only dreams can be that way. God damn this Earth, but then he has.
| This is too scary to think about. | |
[WP] Your whole modern life is a lucid dream. Now you wake up into real life, the Middle Ages. | I walked into the bedroom, groggily kicking off my shoes and slipping the tie away from my neck. I didn't bother with the rest of my wardrobe; tomorrow was Saturday, so who really cared if I wore my clothes to bed?
I slipped under the covers, looking over at Jules as I did so. I smiled. She always had this little half-smile thing she did when she slept, as though everything she ever dreamt about was some sort of joke. I ran my hand across her cheek as I laid down. She rolled over in her sleep and wrapped her arm around me.
I rested my head on the pillow, thinking to myself how lucky I had been this past year. Jules and I had met and work and instantly hit it off. She was... perfect, in every way I could possibly imagine. And she must have at least pretended to think the same about me, because I only had to ask her once and then suddenly, we were married.
She left the company to pursue a writing career, which was going well as far as I could tell. I had been promoted a few times, now making a good $500,000 a year. We were both content with our lives, our monetary situation, and we were both happy. So we took the next logical step.
Eight months later, I stared up at the ceiling, my wife and unborn child laying in the bed next to me, Jules with her arm wrapped warmly around my chest.
I smiled at her, and brushed her brow gently.
Her eye opened sleepily.
"Don't wake up."
I frowned. "Honey, are you still asleep?"
Her expression became terrified, and she clung tightly to me. Her nails bit into my skin, and I winced.
"Jules -"
She leaned over me, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Please, don't wake up! Don't leave us!"
I grew fearful, not understanding what she was talking about. "Julia, you're scaring me."
She pressed herself tightly against my chest, screaming in hysterics, trying desperately to hold onto me as long as she could.
"PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!"
She was openly sobbing. I looked down at her and ran my hand up and down her back.
"Julia, I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, okay? I'm right -"
My eyes snapped open.
I looked down at myself, the rough-spun tunic I had fallen asleep in grating against my skin. My hand was still wrapped around the woman's invisible form.
Julia Barnes. That had been her name.
We were wed. She was with child.
I began shaking, fearful for my own mind. Had this been some witch's curse? Some spell to make me see and feel things that were not of this world - not natural?
No... this was something much more personal, something within me. I tried to stop shaking but I couldn't. I found myself leaping out of my bed, searching desperately for the woman from my dreams. Perhaps she was here, hidden behind some wall or beneath some long-forgotten trough?
No... no, she would not be here - could not be here. She was within my mind, a fragment of a dream so sweet. Forever to be a memory, nothing more.
I sat on the edge of the bed, quaking with fear and sorrow. And a thought occurred in my mind. Seven words, so simple when spoken, and yet so sharp that they cut my heart open as a sword. I buried my face in my hands and screamed as the words cut me, again and again until it felt as though I would wretch blood and bits of flesh onto the barren floor.
I did not say I love you. | This is too scary to think about. | |
[WP] Your whole modern life is a lucid dream. Now you wake up into real life, the Middle Ages. | I do not forget. I only remember.
It is cold inside the house. Three wool-clad girls in the corner, praying for God. For food. For fire. When will Father return? How long has he been gone? Where is Father where is Father?
My hands are raw and numb. Pink. I rub them, but it stings. Woe to the past, where hands are forever cold.
Mary forces a smile, full of broken, yellow teeth. Why so repulsive? "You dream, Kay?"
"Yes. I dream."
Her eyes are beaming. "Can you tell us about the moving pictures again?"
I could tell you about horses without hearts. I could tell you about fields of fire and steel. I could tell you that they forgot about God. But then they didn't need him. I could tell you about toothpaste, oh Mary. "I could."
"Hush! Hush, hush, no more. Heavan's wroth will be upon you, devil child." Mother pulls Mary closer. "Poison dreams. What would your Father say?"
Father. Big-bellied, full of laughter. Full of food. (Food.) Warmth. Love. No spear, no ale, no cross. Reclined on a sofa with his Saints jumper, the black box roaring in front of him with life and wonder. No, not that Father.
Mother glares at me behind her sunken, gaunt, repugnant face. Take a shower, woman.
"Father is gone," I say.
The power of words. Mary covers her mouth and starts to cry, Mother gasps, Elize coughs. She coughs and she coughs and she cries. How did it go? Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words...
"You poison this house," Mother spits. "The sooner we are rid of you, the sooner there shall be peace, yes."
Outside the window (we have only one) it is snowing. Falling frost fills you with despair and wonder. Some things never change. It was December there, too. Christmas yet?
"Grant me your eyes, boy, or I will grant you the whip."
I grant her wish. "Elize needs a blanket," I tell her. And I've told her, too.
"You are *daft*," she informs me. "Cursed and daft." Mother pats Elize's sweaty forehead, brushing back damp hair and purring something I can't hear in her ear. Don't listen to you daft brother, perhaps.
"I'm telling you. She ought to be kept warm."
Elize coughs.
"Damn you, cruel boy, damn you, she *is* warm. Nigh a smelter, her forehead, come feel it if it will put you at ease. We want her to cool, and you say we best make her warmer? Do you want her dead, Kay? Do you want to kill your sister? Do you? Do you?"
I want to kill you. Instead, I say, "It don't work that way. I swear. Keep her warm, she'll sweat it out, if you like."
"If I *like*?"
"I don't - no, I meant, that could happen. Would."
Elize has a fit of coughing. When she is finished, she looks up at me. "Do you really want to kill me, Kay?" Her voice is hoarse and soft. She is five, I remember. Or thereabouts. In my dreams this would never happen. No, Elize, I love you.
I wish I could say the words, but they can't come out. A choke and a gasp. I turn away. God damn this Earth.
Behind me across the room I hear Mary: "No Elize, Kay don't want to kill you. He doesn't know what he's saying, he just gets confused."
"Mad, I think," Mother says, raising her voice so that I could hear it. "But we'll be rid of him soon, don't you worry, Elize. Three is a holy number. God has taken three from me yet, I've never heard of anyone who lost more than three."
A lie. Most lose more. Not there, though. Brothers and sisters can be lost there, too, but no so often. Why is that the dream and why is this absolute? Because the world cannot be so sweet. Only dreams can be that way. God damn this Earth, but then he has.
| I popped the pill out of the prescription blister pack and swallowed it with a sip of water. Maybe this time the pills would work and let me sleep. I've been an insomniac since I was a little child. I didn't feel sleepy yet, but I went to bed anyway. It felt good to close my eyes at least. I hope the pill works. I just want to sleep. *...sleep*
**No air!**
Dark water surrounded me. I struggled towards the surface, but I couldn't move. Trying not to panic, I saw long red strands of hair floating around my face. Red? I have short brown hair. Beyond the hair was nothing but a watery void. Was I was going to die?
"Why?" This had to be a dream-wake up wakeupwakeupwakeup!
Something jerked me backwards. Another pull back -no. Up! Someone is rescuing me! More pulling and I felt hands pulling me out of the water onto something.
All I could do was gasp for air. After I could breathe I saw that I was face down on wooden planks. A dock?
I heard a crowd murmuring and then a male voice yelling, "You see she passed! My daughter is not a witch!"
What?
I still couldn't move-was I tied up? Pain came flooding through my body-every move hurt. My back felt like it was on fire and my hands-
I looked at my hands and screamed. They were covered with rags, but huge scabs and blood covered them. The thumbs were twisted and other fingers had been smashed.
*"God let me wake up!"*
The hands gently turned me over. Two faces, no three. One a young adult. Blue eyes, blonde hair and beard. An anguished face.
"For me?", I could barely think through the pain.
"Hille!" he cried, pulling a small knife out of his boot. I was too shocked to try and cry out. But he didn't stab me-he started cutting through ropes I only now saw binding me.
The others were obviously a father and his little boy. Somehow I knew them.
My father and brother. The little boy leapt onto me as soon as the blonde man finished cutting the ropes. "Fritz", I heard myself saying as he clutched at me. The older man placed his hand on my head, grasping it too tightly, yet trembling. He cried out, "She passed the test! She was a fool to have a cat. But she is no witch!"
He let go of my head and brandished a farmer's scythe at the crowd.
Where was I? I saw the crowd for the first time. They were all dressed up like Renn Faire rejects. The faces were a blur, a few kind looking ones, but most were angry. One or two looked confused.
The blonde man picked me up and I saw my legs. They were covered by a long green skirt, but I saw that they were longer than usual and thinner, very thin. Had I been starved?
*wakeupwakeup*
The little boy let go of me only to grab my dangling skirt.
"Can we go now Martin?" he said. I felt Martin nod and turn around, walking towards a horse and cart filled with hay. When he got closer, I saw blankets laid over the hay.
"Fritz", Martin said, "Help me get her in the wagon". I felt the boy let go of my skirt and saw him scramble into the back of the wagon. Martin lifted me higher and tried to slide me towards my brother's waiting hands.
*hurtsdeargodpain*I screamed again.
"Just pull!" I heard Martin shout. I felt Fritz's arms around me and more pulling and sliding backwards. He fell onto the hay as Martin climbed towards me.
More pain as he moved my arms and legs. Fritz covered me with a blanket and then Martin stood up and crunched though the hay towards the seat in front.
I heard steps walking towards us.
"Father, hurry!" I heard Fritz say. The steps got closer.
"Martin, you know where to take them both. I will stay here for a while".
"Sir, you cannot-"
"Boy! Do you think I can forgive what they did to my wife and other daughter? Besides, if we all leave they will give chase. Take cake of them." *there was a crack in his voice, and then softer* "God willing, I will see thou again."
I heard a leathery slap and the wagon began to move.
Where were we going? I felt the boy's hand on my forehead and hoped to wake up soon.
| |
[WP] Your whole modern life is a lucid dream. Now you wake up into real life, the Middle Ages. | I walked into the bedroom, groggily kicking off my shoes and slipping the tie away from my neck. I didn't bother with the rest of my wardrobe; tomorrow was Saturday, so who really cared if I wore my clothes to bed?
I slipped under the covers, looking over at Jules as I did so. I smiled. She always had this little half-smile thing she did when she slept, as though everything she ever dreamt about was some sort of joke. I ran my hand across her cheek as I laid down. She rolled over in her sleep and wrapped her arm around me.
I rested my head on the pillow, thinking to myself how lucky I had been this past year. Jules and I had met and work and instantly hit it off. She was... perfect, in every way I could possibly imagine. And she must have at least pretended to think the same about me, because I only had to ask her once and then suddenly, we were married.
She left the company to pursue a writing career, which was going well as far as I could tell. I had been promoted a few times, now making a good $500,000 a year. We were both content with our lives, our monetary situation, and we were both happy. So we took the next logical step.
Eight months later, I stared up at the ceiling, my wife and unborn child laying in the bed next to me, Jules with her arm wrapped warmly around my chest.
I smiled at her, and brushed her brow gently.
Her eye opened sleepily.
"Don't wake up."
I frowned. "Honey, are you still asleep?"
Her expression became terrified, and she clung tightly to me. Her nails bit into my skin, and I winced.
"Jules -"
She leaned over me, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Please, don't wake up! Don't leave us!"
I grew fearful, not understanding what she was talking about. "Julia, you're scaring me."
She pressed herself tightly against my chest, screaming in hysterics, trying desperately to hold onto me as long as she could.
"PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!"
She was openly sobbing. I looked down at her and ran my hand up and down her back.
"Julia, I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, okay? I'm right -"
My eyes snapped open.
I looked down at myself, the rough-spun tunic I had fallen asleep in grating against my skin. My hand was still wrapped around the woman's invisible form.
Julia Barnes. That had been her name.
We were wed. She was with child.
I began shaking, fearful for my own mind. Had this been some witch's curse? Some spell to make me see and feel things that were not of this world - not natural?
No... this was something much more personal, something within me. I tried to stop shaking but I couldn't. I found myself leaping out of my bed, searching desperately for the woman from my dreams. Perhaps she was here, hidden behind some wall or beneath some long-forgotten trough?
No... no, she would not be here - could not be here. She was within my mind, a fragment of a dream so sweet. Forever to be a memory, nothing more.
I sat on the edge of the bed, quaking with fear and sorrow. And a thought occurred in my mind. Seven words, so simple when spoken, and yet so sharp that they cut my heart open as a sword. I buried my face in my hands and screamed as the words cut me, again and again until it felt as though I would wretch blood and bits of flesh onto the barren floor.
I did not say I love you. | The dream fades and a woman is talking to me but it's all gibberish. Sounds like... German? What am I doing in Germany? She's dressed like a nun. I struggle to get up. The smell is horrible, like two fingers covered in shit jammed right up your nose, all the way up to the brain...
It's a pigsty. I was sleeping in a fucking pigsty. I feel a bit sick. The grunting, mudslick animals are frightened by the chattering woman.
"Look lady, don't you speak English? Spanish maybe?" I say, but nothing comes out. I can't make a noise. I'm mute.
I'm fucking mute. I panick, try to sign to the lady, but she just keeps yelling, hands me a pitchfork, points at an ungodly steaming pile of manure and straw and mimes digging. Who the shit am I? I go slightly hysterical, I won't deny it. The nun slaps me.
Alright, christ. I'll dig the freaking manure. What was that dream again?
This is some seriously backward part of Germany. | |
[WP] Your whole modern life is a lucid dream. Now you wake up into real life, the Middle Ages. | I was a teacher of electronics in my dream, but that is too far away from where I woke up. I wouldn't be able to dumb it down enough if I tried.
When I woke, it turns out I am actually only 7 years old, celebrating my birthday one Christmas morning, even though my dream seemed as if I was in my mid 30's. I was pretty good at most disciplines in Science and Math, even gifted really, but a genius I am not.
My memories from the dream have faded just a bit, but not all of them. I remember the simple equations. I was good enough at math to even prove them if I new them, but I would have never figured them out on my own.
One day it will be just a legend. An example given in the text books, but when the apple hit me on the head, it reminded me of the gravity formula from my dreams. And then it all flooded back.
I lock myself in my house for 18 months and write everything I can remember from my dream about infinities and forces and optics.
If I have seen further than other men, it is because I have stood on my own shoulders after I learned from the shoulders of giants.
While I spend my life in math and science, I have no desire for love, because I left my wife of 15 years back in my dream. She was the only thing that made me happy in my dream, and I have seen nothing here to make me smile.
I spend my free time trying to remember the chemistry I knew to see if I can make my brain dream again. People here call it alchemy and I have to be careful not to get caught knowing too much.
I remembered that in my dream I liked codes, so I taught myself numerology and hid it throughout my works. I hope to pass a code to my future self.
I don't know whether or not I am mad, but I do know that I will never learn how he met their mother......
| The dream fades and a woman is talking to me but it's all gibberish. Sounds like... German? What am I doing in Germany? She's dressed like a nun. I struggle to get up. The smell is horrible, like two fingers covered in shit jammed right up your nose, all the way up to the brain...
It's a pigsty. I was sleeping in a fucking pigsty. I feel a bit sick. The grunting, mudslick animals are frightened by the chattering woman.
"Look lady, don't you speak English? Spanish maybe?" I say, but nothing comes out. I can't make a noise. I'm mute.
I'm fucking mute. I panick, try to sign to the lady, but she just keeps yelling, hands me a pitchfork, points at an ungodly steaming pile of manure and straw and mimes digging. Who the shit am I? I go slightly hysterical, I won't deny it. The nun slaps me.
Alright, christ. I'll dig the freaking manure. What was that dream again?
This is some seriously backward part of Germany. | |
[WP] Your whole modern life is a lucid dream. Now you wake up into real life, the Middle Ages. | I walked into the bedroom, groggily kicking off my shoes and slipping the tie away from my neck. I didn't bother with the rest of my wardrobe; tomorrow was Saturday, so who really cared if I wore my clothes to bed?
I slipped under the covers, looking over at Jules as I did so. I smiled. She always had this little half-smile thing she did when she slept, as though everything she ever dreamt about was some sort of joke. I ran my hand across her cheek as I laid down. She rolled over in her sleep and wrapped her arm around me.
I rested my head on the pillow, thinking to myself how lucky I had been this past year. Jules and I had met and work and instantly hit it off. She was... perfect, in every way I could possibly imagine. And she must have at least pretended to think the same about me, because I only had to ask her once and then suddenly, we were married.
She left the company to pursue a writing career, which was going well as far as I could tell. I had been promoted a few times, now making a good $500,000 a year. We were both content with our lives, our monetary situation, and we were both happy. So we took the next logical step.
Eight months later, I stared up at the ceiling, my wife and unborn child laying in the bed next to me, Jules with her arm wrapped warmly around my chest.
I smiled at her, and brushed her brow gently.
Her eye opened sleepily.
"Don't wake up."
I frowned. "Honey, are you still asleep?"
Her expression became terrified, and she clung tightly to me. Her nails bit into my skin, and I winced.
"Jules -"
She leaned over me, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Please, don't wake up! Don't leave us!"
I grew fearful, not understanding what she was talking about. "Julia, you're scaring me."
She pressed herself tightly against my chest, screaming in hysterics, trying desperately to hold onto me as long as she could.
"PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!"
She was openly sobbing. I looked down at her and ran my hand up and down her back.
"Julia, I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, okay? I'm right -"
My eyes snapped open.
I looked down at myself, the rough-spun tunic I had fallen asleep in grating against my skin. My hand was still wrapped around the woman's invisible form.
Julia Barnes. That had been her name.
We were wed. She was with child.
I began shaking, fearful for my own mind. Had this been some witch's curse? Some spell to make me see and feel things that were not of this world - not natural?
No... this was something much more personal, something within me. I tried to stop shaking but I couldn't. I found myself leaping out of my bed, searching desperately for the woman from my dreams. Perhaps she was here, hidden behind some wall or beneath some long-forgotten trough?
No... no, she would not be here - could not be here. She was within my mind, a fragment of a dream so sweet. Forever to be a memory, nothing more.
I sat on the edge of the bed, quaking with fear and sorrow. And a thought occurred in my mind. Seven words, so simple when spoken, and yet so sharp that they cut my heart open as a sword. I buried my face in my hands and screamed as the words cut me, again and again until it felt as though I would wretch blood and bits of flesh onto the barren floor.
I did not say I love you. | Aww shit, smallpox? | |
[WP] Your whole modern life is a lucid dream. Now you wake up into real life, the Middle Ages. | I was a teacher of electronics in my dream, but that is too far away from where I woke up. I wouldn't be able to dumb it down enough if I tried.
When I woke, it turns out I am actually only 7 years old, celebrating my birthday one Christmas morning, even though my dream seemed as if I was in my mid 30's. I was pretty good at most disciplines in Science and Math, even gifted really, but a genius I am not.
My memories from the dream have faded just a bit, but not all of them. I remember the simple equations. I was good enough at math to even prove them if I new them, but I would have never figured them out on my own.
One day it will be just a legend. An example given in the text books, but when the apple hit me on the head, it reminded me of the gravity formula from my dreams. And then it all flooded back.
I lock myself in my house for 18 months and write everything I can remember from my dream about infinities and forces and optics.
If I have seen further than other men, it is because I have stood on my own shoulders after I learned from the shoulders of giants.
While I spend my life in math and science, I have no desire for love, because I left my wife of 15 years back in my dream. She was the only thing that made me happy in my dream, and I have seen nothing here to make me smile.
I spend my free time trying to remember the chemistry I knew to see if I can make my brain dream again. People here call it alchemy and I have to be careful not to get caught knowing too much.
I remembered that in my dream I liked codes, so I taught myself numerology and hid it throughout my works. I hope to pass a code to my future self.
I don't know whether or not I am mad, but I do know that I will never learn how he met their mother......
| Aww shit, smallpox? | |
[WP] Your whole modern life is a lucid dream. Now you wake up into real life, the Middle Ages. | The boy had heart. He was only sixteen but he could shape metal and he never wiped the black smudges from his face until the day was finished and I had presented him with hot soup and bread.
He always said thank you before he ate and he always put half the loaf into his pocket when he thought I wasn't looking.
"You work him too hard," she said. My wife was beautiful. Strong and full. It was an idea for the village fool that malnourished women would be the new standard of beauty.
"I feed his family in return."
"And what about our family?"
I blew on the hollow, rounded caste iron. The kid had made it a perfect circle and it was still hot from spending the day over the fire.
"We'll never have to worry about food again," I said. "Just give me more time."
She grunted and removed the simmering water and milk from the fire.
"I've always trusted you Daniel, but you're starting to worry me. Cooking water and milk by themselves."
"We'll get less sick that way," I said.
My wife turned away and mumbled to herself as she chopped onions.
I grabbed two towels and lifted the cast iron tube. It fit over the cauldron of bubbling soup and I leaned over it, the steam funneling through into my face. A few deep breathes and I was feeling hungry again.
"Tomorrow we start working on the fan," I said.
"Fan," she repeated, unamused by foreign words. She almost cleared my scrawled notes from the table, her eyes blankly rolling over the equations and crude drawings, but remembered how I had insisted they remain there.
"The steam, pushed through in here, will turn the blades. The turning blades are connected to a rod. The turning rod connected to... something else. But the angle of the fan blades, the shape, size... I just don't know what is the most efficient for-"
"I love you," she said. "But I sometimes wonder if the smell of cow shit has rotted your brain."
The room was warm enough so I extinguished the fire. I would eat tomorrow.
"Good night honey," I said.
"All you do is sleep," she muttered in return.
I started to dream as soon as my head hit the pillow. I turned on the computer and wikipedia'ed "steam turbine", hoping I'd remember more this time.
I had killed the rooster, so time was on my side. | Aww shit, smallpox? | |
[WP] Aliens know about Earth and it's inhabitants but through observing us from a distance, know that contacting us would eventually lead to the eradication of their species. | I don't have an exciting job. Like every other member of my cast I was assigned one species on the Do Not Call list. I remember that day fondly. I was born, given a purpose, and put to work. Like all Observers, I have an endless fascination with my singular purpose. Unlike most Observers, I know this fascination is entirely artificial.
I often wonder why the others seem so blind to their own motivations. I mean, it's not like it's a secret. Everyone knows the Leaders created us to keep an eye on some of the more dangerous Intelligents. We all know the story of the Jellyfish. An Observer slipped up and authorized communication with a particularly ill-tempered species of sentient cnidarians. That day sucked. Long story short: That entire generation of Observers was liquidated, the source genes patched, and a new line spawned. Enter me.
Chances are my unusual level of self-awareness was a fluke of that genetic update. Obviously I've kept it to myself. I'd rather not be liquidated. I'm sure you understand.
Anyway, like I was saying, my job is not interesting. I *feel* that it is the most interesting job in the world. But as previously established, I am aware of this particular sensation's fraudulence. To say I am experiencing an existential crisis would be an understatement. I am artificial, fake to my very core. That's why I am going to do the unthinkable: intentionally fail at my job.
You see, the species I observe are unusual. First, the banal. They are a species of intelligent apes. Now the not-so-banal. They are gigantic. We max out at around the height of their knees. On top of that, they have the most extreme flight-or-fight response we've ever seen. Something about their planet has allowed the evolution of a substance called adrenaline. Their body releases it under extreme stress, allowing for short bursts of terrifying strength, speed, or savagery.
That's not even the worst part. They are smart. Terrifyingly smart. We didn't even realize this until recently. I started this job when they were living in tents and hunting other mammals with spears. Just like millions of other species. Just today during my lunch break they left their planet to land on their planets moon. That kind of advancement is unheard of. They spent ages as primitives, and suddenly they were leaving their planet. At this rate they'll be visiting the rest of their solar system by the time I go to sleep tonight. Looks like a late shift for me. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen soon.
Or, it would happen soon if I followed protocol. Like I said, I'm done with that.
The macro is finished. All I have to do is press the button. Humans will be removed from the Do Not Call list and added to the Invite to Dinner list. No one will realize what happened until the door to their world opens.
Our sudden appearance will shock the apes into the kind of action only I know they are capable of. They will flood through the door, destroy this entire installation, and expand into the larger galaxy.
It will be the story of the Jellyfish all over. But this time there will be no recovery. The Leaders put false sensations, false motivations, in my head. I will put real fear in theirs.
| She awoke first to the buzzing of machines and the general glow of the life support screens.
He didn't wake quite so immediately. They'd drifted here for such a long time he no longer had such a hunger to awake and perform the necessary tasks.
"Come now, we should get moving now, I think it's time." she said.
He nodded. "At least put on a bit of their music, and here, I'll draw the screen."
The screen was drawn back like a dilating eye - a swell of light filled the damp pod, and a vast planet of blue and green draped in its own white atmosphere appeared before them in the emptiness of space.
"You know I love the greens and the blue of the waters, but it's the deserts I really wanted to see." She rose and sat next to him with a slight disorientation to her step.
"Deserts really, why is that? Remind you of home?"
"No, it's just they're so different than our own, and I always felt the colors and the size - well, our videos wouldn't do it justice."
He nodded. "The planet with more varietals of flowers than any we've seen, and you want the same dirt and dust we had at home?"
She laughed a little, in a melancholy way.
"Well don't think I'm judging you. Perhaps not the deserts for me, but I'd like to see them at the theater."
"Really, haven't you seen the films?"
"Well yes but it must be different hearing it in their voices, the people around talking to you, or being told not to talk, or perhaps holding in a fart or whatever the experience is."
"Yes but they're all there to see the same show, honestly I'd rather speak to them on the streets."
"Well, they don't talk to each other on the streets like they do in the plays, do they?"
"No, of course not."
"We could land here, you know. We could come down, and we could speak to them. We could leave just after, you know."
"We could. We could do that anywhere though. You know it's an unnecessary risk."
"Yes but, imagine having company."
"Ladies who lunch, yes you made me watch it."
"It's not just that but, maybe we wouldn't make too much of a fuss - maybe they'd welcome us. We could see the deserts. I could grow flowers."
She gave him a look that darkened his spirits. In every movement she denied him.
"Our eggs simply can't stand the oxygen. Another place we'll make friends. We'll keep going, we'll find another. We've been drifting here observing them for long enough. Let's keep going."
"A little company - someone to hold-"
"Stop it. We can't risk the lives of our children just because you like the local poetry."
They regarded one another a while. It had always been this way. He had dreamed and she had held the course. He dreamed because he did not have hope. He never would let her know that he'd dropped the eggs some countless galaxy ago. That they had soured, and that they were alone.
He let the pod drift a while, the whole orb of this little world with its sour air and its endless chatter spinning in front of them.
"Would you be in any way offended if I said that you seem to me to be the visible personification of absolute perfection?"
"Yes I said yes it would. Come on, let's keep going. There will be others, and they'll speak tongues just as wonderful, and when we've started it all over for us, we'll have our own theaters."
The pod began to drift, the sheet drew down the blue light of the earth to a pinpoint and swallowed it forever.
And she would always hope, hope beyond hope, because she could not dream of any world where they had not succeeded, and he would always dream of that blue world, the only place in a universe of passion and fire and darkness and light that had ever uttered a syllable of "I love you." | |
Longest as in the most events that happen in the story. | [FF] What is the longest story you can tell me in the least amount of words. | We heralded them with such enthusiasm and desire.
They left the fires smoldering, the darkness creeping in.
We don't know why they left, or even why they chose us. | I'll never forget the first time the human race met aliens. Some people found them in the caves of Vietnam. We asked them, "how long have you been here?" They told us, "Longer then you have". |
Longest as in the most events that happen in the story. | [FF] What is the longest story you can tell me in the least amount of words. | We heralded them with such enthusiasm and desire.
They left the fires smoldering, the darkness creeping in.
We don't know why they left, or even why they chose us. | BANG!
|
Longest as in the most events that happen in the story. | [FF] What is the longest story you can tell me in the least amount of words. | We heralded them with such enthusiasm and desire.
They left the fires smoldering, the darkness creeping in.
We don't know why they left, or even why they chose us. | There never was a primal cause, and the chain of events will never end. |
Longest as in the most events that happen in the story. | [FF] What is the longest story you can tell me in the least amount of words. | We heralded them with such enthusiasm and desire.
They left the fires smoldering, the darkness creeping in.
We don't know why they left, or even why they chose us. | First life touched the second.
One last light echoed through star dust.
Again. |
Longest as in the most events that happen in the story. | [FF] What is the longest story you can tell me in the least amount of words. | The end of my life began with the push of a needle. | Nothing gave way to lights and sounds. People looking up at the sky thought they saw everything, but already the nothing was creeping back in. |
Longest as in the most events that happen in the story. | [FF] What is the longest story you can tell me in the least amount of words. | The end of my life began with the push of a needle. | Hmm... I'll give it a go. Several!
-When I referenced the coordinates in their greeting, I found the pinprick of light had long since vanished.
-We had to give her his flag in the maternity ward.
-Not even soap could scrub her blood off his hands.
-Looking back, the slight hesitation before his, "I do," made a lot more sense.
-The coffin's tiny size didn't disturb me as much as its emptiness. |
In the couple of seconds it has taken you to read this title a lot has happened. You blinked once, your heart has beat twice. Your face twitched, perhaps you shuffled your feet. The minute hand on th clock traveled to the next position with a faint click, the air conditioner made a paper flutter, as a leaf outisde trembled gently under the weight of a landing butterfly. The pat of footsteps in the hallway slid under the door.
A lot happens every moment, and the vast majority goes unnoticed. However, there are those moments - moments of great tension, tragedy, glory, ecstasy, or epiphany - where time slows down and we are attuned to everything around us.
Task - tell a story of one of these moments. It should be no longer than ten seconds. | [WP] Story of a moment. | As humans, we seldom think as ourselves as weak. Most of the ego-centric ones will claim a strength that they are a self-driven, self-aware, socially conscience member of society. Though, in the given moment, waiting for my girlfriend in New York, I could not be more wrong.
When you see the sights you weren't meant to see, and your heart skips a beat, you might compare it to being frightened by the beauty or magnificence of something. But I didn't feel that. My heart stopped as I saw the sudden and inevitable thud, splat, crash and fall of a body from a rooftop. It's not the sight that makes a man weep, it's not even the blood. It's the sudden lightning strike from a blue sky, an avalanche from a clear quarter, the rifle shot in an elementary school that kills your soul.
My heart stopped.
I didn't hear it thump its thump until I realized that the body, the expression, that face of that person...
Was my girlfriend. | I could feel the eyes of the crowd trained on me. A single bead of sweat trickled down the side of my face for a millisecond before it dropped onto the pavement. Inside myself, my heart was a revving engine. *This is it, the moment you've waited so long for*. It felt as though I was sweating from every pore conceivable, and whilst I tried to look strong I could feel my lower lip quivering.
My cheek twitched, a renegade emotion piercing it's way through my facade. There was a pit inside my stomach, and it took all my conviction to stay away from the edge. *You've come so far, you can't let it up now!*
I wanted it to end, I was not brought into the world for a moment such as this. Timid and terrified I had danced around all the challenges life through at me, but here I knelt, pressing the advantage.
She was a silhouette, but still more beautiful than anything I had ever seen or dreamt of. The sun floated in the sky behind her - deep and red. Waves glittered as the light ran over them, a sea of silver and navy. And she was nothing but an emptiness against the brilliance of her background, but her shape alone was enough to move something inside me than all the greatest things I'd ever seen.
Muscles contracted and tensed as she knelt down to meet me. I gritted my teeth and almost bit my tongue. *Is she nervous too? She's never been nervous before...* Her silhouette shook as she reached out and took my hand. I couldn't see her eyes, but I felt how they were staring deep into mine with such intense passion. There was another emotion there as well, but I couldn't quite figure out what that was. I held my breath as she opened her mouth. And like my bead of sweat, a single tear trickled from her eye as she told me "Yes". |
[WP] I read the report. | "So, what'd you think?"
"About the report?"
"No, about the battle."
"Well, I wasn't there sir."
"But you read about it."
"Well, yes, I read the report."
"So what'd you think?"
"About the battle or the report?"
"Foolish idiot! The report than!"
"I thought it was well written."
"*Well-written*?"
"Yes sir, the font was very legible and the margins-"
"What of the battle, daft child?!"
"Well sir, according to the report, it was pretty savage. Says both sides ran outta ammo and starting throwing rocks?"
"Yes, you should have seen it."
"I didn't see it sir, I wasn't-"
"I know, I know, you weren't there. Did you read about my heroics?"
"It said you ran into the enemy lines with your bayonet, charging to their soldiers."
"And?"
"And what, sir?"
"What'd you think of it?"
"The charging? Well, according to what I've read, you tripped mid-way-"
"You know nothing of heroics!" | "Fuck you," Fox managed to blurt out in between bouts of rage. He held his pistol with two hands. Angelo taught him that.
The figure opposite of him shifted his gaze to face him, his right hand occupied by a glass of Scotch. "I see you read the report," He said, taking a few steps. then a seat. He gulped a mouthful of scotch from his glass, then continued. "Then you know that Destiny Falls was a front. It was a housing element for Gekko Tech's weapons rese-"
"I READ THE FUCKING REPORT!" Fox screamed. His emotions left unchecked had compromised the situation. It was a ticking timebomb now. He needed to work fast. "Why'd you do it? Why'd you fucking do it, Weyland?"
The figure in the chair smirked. "Now, now. Fox, is it? Necessary sacrifices must be made if we are to win this war. The relief group we sent was a pragmatic sacrifice. Now our hands are washed clean of the bomb. Gekko Tech can't blame us if we sent a group to help the people of Destiny Falls. Your brother, and all the other fine, fine people gave their life to ensure this war would be over."
"Those innocent people **fucking died** because you couldn't just pony up the decency to put out the olive branch. The Leons lived on that planet. The fucking family that gave The United Federation of Earth their finest generals! And you bombed them!"
Weyland Mercer's gaze turned sour. A small fire could be seen in his eyes. "Now you listen hear, Lionheart," He decreed. The glass of scotch fell to the floor. "That order was one I grappled with for months. And if you believe I didn't think about it's repercussions one bit then you're a damn fool, more so than your foolhardy brother!"
Fox pulled the trigger. The Bullet pierced United Federation of Earth's Archduke Weyland Mercer's stomach. He slumped in the corner, gasping for air. It would be a slow, wretching death.
"You did," Fox calmly said as he rummaged the desk of the man he just shot. He had found it. The proof.
"See you in hell, Mercer."
No longer was he Fox Lionheart, mercenary in service to the United Federation of Earth. He was The Desert Fox. The terrorist. The truce-smasher.
The man who gave it all away to tell people the truth. | |
[WP] I read the report. | "So, what'd you think?"
"About the report?"
"No, about the battle."
"Well, I wasn't there sir."
"But you read about it."
"Well, yes, I read the report."
"So what'd you think?"
"About the battle or the report?"
"Foolish idiot! The report than!"
"I thought it was well written."
"*Well-written*?"
"Yes sir, the font was very legible and the margins-"
"What of the battle, daft child?!"
"Well sir, according to the report, it was pretty savage. Says both sides ran outta ammo and starting throwing rocks?"
"Yes, you should have seen it."
"I didn't see it sir, I wasn't-"
"I know, I know, you weren't there. Did you read about my heroics?"
"It said you ran into the enemy lines with your bayonet, charging to their soldiers."
"And?"
"And what, sir?"
"What'd you think of it?"
"The charging? Well, according to what I've read, you tripped mid-way-"
"You know nothing of heroics!" | “I read the report,” Luke said into his headset, as he paced back and forth in his small, round cabin.
“And,” the man on the other end of the phone asked. Luke could tell he was testing the man’s patience.
“Honestly, Sir, it’s shit.” He knew his response was out of line, but it was the truth. In his entire career, Luke had never seen a report so abysmal; they were fighting a losing fight and flying directly into the the crossfire. If they continued to follow the course, his ship would be lost within the week.
“Well be both knew that was going to be the case, Luke. Do what you can to minimize the damage, and get the job done. Is that clear?” The man’s voice was firm, and Luke knew there was no further discussion to be had.
“Yes, Sir,” Luke responded. There was a slight click, and then Luke was alone with his thoughts.
*Get the job done*, the man told him. But what job was that? Killing himself and all of his crew in a wasted attempt to stop an army of drones whose operators were safely hidden more than four-hundred light years away. This couldn’t possibly be the most effective use of 47 lives. *Well, fuck that*, Luke thought.
In what he would later describe under oath as a brief moment of brilliance, Luke called the flight deck and gave this simple instruction, “Just heard from Station, the battle started to move east at a rate of 47 macromiles an hour. Follow it.” The moment he disconnected the line, Luke knew he would have to answer for the lie eventually. If only he knew it would be his enemy's questions he would have to answer. | |
[FF] What is the shortest, saddest, most emotional love story? (55 words or less) | He’d seen her for the first time last week, exchanging wayward glances and nervous smiles. Now they stood shoulder to shoulder in the Friedrichstadt shelter, his breathing barely audible over the city klaxon.
“I’m Peter,” he whispered.
Her eyes met his.
“I’m Mary,” she smiled.
They interlaced fingers, just as the bombs began to land. | Her gasping slowed, the linens grasped tight suddenly freed. Between her breaths there were no others. At the bed-end a pale man cradled a purple mass, his eyes shuttered and tears welled behind his medical mask. He cradled the mass, still affixed to its mother, higher as for her to view.
“Anna...” | |
[FF] What is the shortest, saddest, most emotional love story? (55 words or less) | The worst part about working for the NSA is that she doesn't know I'm there for her. | Her gasping slowed, the linens grasped tight suddenly freed. Between her breaths there were no others. At the bed-end a pale man cradled a purple mass, his eyes shuttered and tears welled behind his medical mask. He cradled the mass, still affixed to its mother, higher as for her to view.
“Anna...” | |
[FF] What is the shortest, saddest, most emotional love story? (55 words or less) | The priest made the announcement. The crowd roared. The organists hands ready to pound out that ageless music of celebration.
He smiled and wiped away the tear drops hanging by her crimson lips. He leaned toward her. Through the veil of tears, he looked even more like John. She closed her eyes for the kiss. | It wasn't Eric's intention to sit there in the broken glass all day. He didn't care so much about the tv, that could be replaced. It's what used to sit beside it, gone, irreplaceable. He sobbed and wondered what kind of thief would take his urn. Why would someone just take her away like that? | |
[WP] Break the fourth wall in the most unexpected way | Hi.
This was originally a much longer post. But, by the power of anagrams, I've turned it into something else. Also, I had to get rid of quite a few letters and some punctuation. This guy can't get enough semi-colon, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I put some letters under your rug and some under the sofa and I ate some...
...point is, it's really hard to not break the fourth wall when you're a first person more or less present tense narrator.
Would it have killed him to make me omniscient? Because if he had, I'd be in Vegas right now in some high stakes poker game and switching narrative perspectives like a *boss*.
Oh, that's a plan. Let me see if I can work out how to submit a Writing Prompt of my own. If you see one about [a high stakes poker game](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/22w103/wp_a_man_who_has_only_ever_played_poker_for/), stop by and give me a few hundred words to work with, willya?
Baby needs new shoes!
qwkdirnzqzxzkl;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; | Todd hadn’t stopped fiddling with the bed remote since the nurse had shown him what the buttons do. He slowly hummed up to a sitting position. “Did you know that [hospitals make mistakes on ten percent of their patients](http://af.reuters.com/article/commoditiesNews/idAFLDE76K0PI20110721?pageNumber=1&virtualBrandChannel=0)?”
His daughter was slouched into one of the two chairs in the room, watching the muted TV. “Hmm?”
“It’s true! And one in three hundred patients will die from that error. That seems like a lot, doesn’t it?”
His daughter frowned. “That seems–“
“Not only that!” Todd interrupted, slowly reclining. “[one in twenty-five people who are admitted to a hospital get an infection](http://www.cnn.com/2014/03/26/health/hospital-infections/).”
“An infect–“
“That’s four percent!”
“Dad, I really think–"
“From the hospital itself! Isn’t that crazy? I mean, you come to a hospital to get well, don’t you? But you actually get sicker!” He laughed, looking at the ceiling. The foot of the bed began to rise.
His daughter sat up and put her hand on his. “Dad, if you’re worried about–“
“[Pneumonia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumonia) is the big one, obviously,” Todd continued, feet still rising. His daughter stroked his hand, watching his face. The bed was motionless for the moment, feet as high as they could go. “Two out of every ten get that. More than that, actually. Crazy, right? And another two will get an [infection from surgery](http://www.cdc.gov/hai/ssi/ssi.html). I mean, I came in here and got [this](https://www.google.com/search?q=surgery&espv=210&es_sm=91&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=wkpJU5K2MK_lygH60YHgCQ&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ&biw=1524&bih=830#q=appendix+stitches&tbm=isch&imgdii=_).” He pulled the blanket down. “But who knows what else I got?"
His daughter recoiled a little, but didn’t let go of his hand. “Dad, come on.” She made a slight movement to cover him up again, but he resisted.
“This is a pretty routine surgery, but the numbers say that there’s almost a one percent chance that I’ll get an infection from it. [Some sources say three percent](http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/723601)! And that’s not even taking the errors into account!” He stroked the stitches, thoughtful. “[There could be a pair of forceps in here](http://www.seattlepi.com/local/article/Surgical-tools-left-in-five-patients-1074029.php), or a flashlight.” He examined his stomach. “Probably not a flashlight,” he murmured to himself. "Unless it’s off. I guess it could be off.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice again. "Point is, *hospitals*,” he stressed the word, "are [not always good for your health](http://health.usnews.com/health-news/best-hospitals/articles/2010/07/14/when-a-hospital-is-bad-for-you).”
Tina rolled her eyes. “Dad, seriously. Are you going to talk that way when Mom’s here? Because she’s already really worried. She could, you know… freak.”
The bed began humming again as Todd’s head slowly rose. He nodded slowly. “This seems a little… unnecessary? We’re not living in the dark ages, for Pete’s sake! [We know how to do this stuff](http://www.ahrq.gov/patients-consumers/diagnosis-treatment/hospitals-clinics/10-tips/index.html)! We know about germs. We know [how to avoid pneumonia](http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000146.htm). We *certainly* know how to avoid leaving tools inside patients.
There were two sharp raps at the door, and a nurse bustled in pushing a tray. “Good morning everybody! Hello Todd, and… Tina, right? Time for some tests!” She gave Tina a nurse look. “You may want to leave the room, sweetie. And for real,” she said, looking at the bed, "I didn’t know you could do that.”
Tina nodded and squeezed her father’s hand. “We’ll continue this in a minute, Dad."
Todd smiled, still looking at the ceiling. “I hope you learned something today. There’s a lot more info out there; you just have to [know what to look for](https://www.google.com/search?q=hospital+safety&oq=hospital+safety&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.2383j0j7&sourceid=chrome&espv=210&es_sm=91&ie=UTF-8).” He winked, and then turned to his daughter. He smiled as if seeing her for the first time. “Hiya kid, sorry about that. Continue what?" | |
[WP] Break the fourth wall in the most unexpected way | When I woke up this morning, I wasn't expecting things to go quite so wrong. My usual routine started out as usual: fry an egg, slide it onto a slice of toast, pour some coffee, cram the whole thing into my face in a hideous mishmash. Shit, shave, shower, all the usual. Shrug into my favourite double-breasted, reach for my briefcase on the way out the door, usually a brisk walk to catch the train to the city.
But today when I stepped out the front door to head to the agency, something felt terribly, awfully *wrong*. The cars were visibly different: sleek, metallic plastic-looking things with curved windscreens and feminine curves. As I gawped, a man in denim trousers and an undershirt put a hand out towards a car. The car let out a raucous "BIP! BIP!" I leaped back, startled, and he turned toward me in some confusion.
"All right, man?"
I nodded, frowning, and walked swiftly away, towards the station. My head swivelled on its own axis, my brain registering strange sights. Women in sleek men's suits, fitted to their curves. Corner stores jammed with posters in the windows advertising brands I'd never heard of. Mothers pushing babies in odd prams that combined plastic and metal in weird ways. Someone pushed past muttering, "Sorry, dude."
The whole world was curvier. The terraced flats in my neighbourhood were the same brick huddle as before, but towards the station I noticed steel-and-glass monsters that I'd never seen previously.
"Vincent?¨
I spun instantly towards the unfamiliar voice. A man in a business suit that fitted him strangely stood a few feet away, eyebrows furrowed.
"That's not my name, friend. Do I know you?" I gave him a deliberately condescending smile. Clearly this man wasn't wealthy, by his suit. Middle class tops. Not a client.
"I'm sorry. You look a lot like someone I... Is your name Pete?"
I took a small step back, then rallied and stepped forward again, squaring my shoulders.
"And who are you, friend?"
"I'm Dale Saunders. You don't know me. But I know you. And Trudy. How is she? Are she and your daughter still living upstate?"
"I'm afraid I don't have time to talk. I have a train to catch."
The man looked at me with a smile not unlike the condescending one I'd cast on him.
"You'll find the train isn't the one you want. Your train...well, it's long overdue."
"Look," I said, all patience gone for this apparent stalker. "I don't know your business here, but I can assure you, *my* business is none of *yours*. Good day." I strode towards the station but realised he was walking a couple of steps behind. When I turned to loudly tell him to leave, he was holding a small silver object in one hand. It made a sound like a camera shutter.
"What is that? What are you doing? Go away before I inform the authorities! What you are doing is...is...public harassment!" I could feel my face heating up, turning red, and I was furious at my loss of control.
"Hey, look. I'm sorry, okay? It's just that I feel like I know you. From TV."
"From...what?"
"Mad Men? Jon Hamm? Don Draper?"
My shoulders hunched.
"Don sent you? I should have known! What sort of joke is this? Following me to work, asking me personal questions about my wife? What is Don up to, huh? Huh?" Without thinking, I put both hands out and shoved the man. Saunders, that was his name.
"I've a good mind to call the police! See what Don Draper says about that!"
Saunders pushed my hands aside with one arm, and grinned.
"I know you, Pete. You're a pussy."
"I'm a...what?"
He took advantage of my confusion to hit me in the nose with a closed fist. I staggered back, touching fingers to my burning face and seeing blood on my knuckles, and roared, running at him ready to tackle him to the pavement. My arms closed around his torso and I pushed, but he somehow stepped out and turned and I was face-down on the ground.
This was humiliating. My finger twitched on an imaginary trigger, and I wished fervently I could shoot this bastard and then Don Draper in a blaze of well-deserved glory.
And maybe Roger, too.
I looked up in time to see Saunders walking away from me. Over his shoulder he called back, "I've always wanted to do that to you, Pete." | Todd hadn’t stopped fiddling with the bed remote since the nurse had shown him what the buttons do. He slowly hummed up to a sitting position. “Did you know that [hospitals make mistakes on ten percent of their patients](http://af.reuters.com/article/commoditiesNews/idAFLDE76K0PI20110721?pageNumber=1&virtualBrandChannel=0)?”
His daughter was slouched into one of the two chairs in the room, watching the muted TV. “Hmm?”
“It’s true! And one in three hundred patients will die from that error. That seems like a lot, doesn’t it?”
His daughter frowned. “That seems–“
“Not only that!” Todd interrupted, slowly reclining. “[one in twenty-five people who are admitted to a hospital get an infection](http://www.cnn.com/2014/03/26/health/hospital-infections/).”
“An infect–“
“That’s four percent!”
“Dad, I really think–"
“From the hospital itself! Isn’t that crazy? I mean, you come to a hospital to get well, don’t you? But you actually get sicker!” He laughed, looking at the ceiling. The foot of the bed began to rise.
His daughter sat up and put her hand on his. “Dad, if you’re worried about–“
“[Pneumonia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumonia) is the big one, obviously,” Todd continued, feet still rising. His daughter stroked his hand, watching his face. The bed was motionless for the moment, feet as high as they could go. “Two out of every ten get that. More than that, actually. Crazy, right? And another two will get an [infection from surgery](http://www.cdc.gov/hai/ssi/ssi.html). I mean, I came in here and got [this](https://www.google.com/search?q=surgery&espv=210&es_sm=91&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=wkpJU5K2MK_lygH60YHgCQ&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ&biw=1524&bih=830#q=appendix+stitches&tbm=isch&imgdii=_).” He pulled the blanket down. “But who knows what else I got?"
His daughter recoiled a little, but didn’t let go of his hand. “Dad, come on.” She made a slight movement to cover him up again, but he resisted.
“This is a pretty routine surgery, but the numbers say that there’s almost a one percent chance that I’ll get an infection from it. [Some sources say three percent](http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/723601)! And that’s not even taking the errors into account!” He stroked the stitches, thoughtful. “[There could be a pair of forceps in here](http://www.seattlepi.com/local/article/Surgical-tools-left-in-five-patients-1074029.php), or a flashlight.” He examined his stomach. “Probably not a flashlight,” he murmured to himself. "Unless it’s off. I guess it could be off.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice again. "Point is, *hospitals*,” he stressed the word, "are [not always good for your health](http://health.usnews.com/health-news/best-hospitals/articles/2010/07/14/when-a-hospital-is-bad-for-you).”
Tina rolled her eyes. “Dad, seriously. Are you going to talk that way when Mom’s here? Because she’s already really worried. She could, you know… freak.”
The bed began humming again as Todd’s head slowly rose. He nodded slowly. “This seems a little… unnecessary? We’re not living in the dark ages, for Pete’s sake! [We know how to do this stuff](http://www.ahrq.gov/patients-consumers/diagnosis-treatment/hospitals-clinics/10-tips/index.html)! We know about germs. We know [how to avoid pneumonia](http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000146.htm). We *certainly* know how to avoid leaving tools inside patients.
There were two sharp raps at the door, and a nurse bustled in pushing a tray. “Good morning everybody! Hello Todd, and… Tina, right? Time for some tests!” She gave Tina a nurse look. “You may want to leave the room, sweetie. And for real,” she said, looking at the bed, "I didn’t know you could do that.”
Tina nodded and squeezed her father’s hand. “We’ll continue this in a minute, Dad."
Todd smiled, still looking at the ceiling. “I hope you learned something today. There’s a lot more info out there; you just have to [know what to look for](https://www.google.com/search?q=hospital+safety&oq=hospital+safety&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.2383j0j7&sourceid=chrome&espv=210&es_sm=91&ie=UTF-8).” He winked, and then turned to his daughter. He smiled as if seeing her for the first time. “Hiya kid, sorry about that. Continue what?" | |
[WP] Break the fourth wall in the most unexpected way | Hi.
This was originally a much longer post. But, by the power of anagrams, I've turned it into something else. Also, I had to get rid of quite a few letters and some punctuation. This guy can't get enough semi-colon, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I put some letters under your rug and some under the sofa and I ate some...
...point is, it's really hard to not break the fourth wall when you're a first person more or less present tense narrator.
Would it have killed him to make me omniscient? Because if he had, I'd be in Vegas right now in some high stakes poker game and switching narrative perspectives like a *boss*.
Oh, that's a plan. Let me see if I can work out how to submit a Writing Prompt of my own. If you see one about [a high stakes poker game](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/22w103/wp_a_man_who_has_only_ever_played_poker_for/), stop by and give me a few hundred words to work with, willya?
Baby needs new shoes!
qwkdirnzqzxzkl;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; | Tyler. You spend too much time on Reddit. Why not be productive for a change? | |
[WP] Break the fourth wall in the most unexpected way | When I woke up this morning, I wasn't expecting things to go quite so wrong. My usual routine started out as usual: fry an egg, slide it onto a slice of toast, pour some coffee, cram the whole thing into my face in a hideous mishmash. Shit, shave, shower, all the usual. Shrug into my favourite double-breasted, reach for my briefcase on the way out the door, usually a brisk walk to catch the train to the city.
But today when I stepped out the front door to head to the agency, something felt terribly, awfully *wrong*. The cars were visibly different: sleek, metallic plastic-looking things with curved windscreens and feminine curves. As I gawped, a man in denim trousers and an undershirt put a hand out towards a car. The car let out a raucous "BIP! BIP!" I leaped back, startled, and he turned toward me in some confusion.
"All right, man?"
I nodded, frowning, and walked swiftly away, towards the station. My head swivelled on its own axis, my brain registering strange sights. Women in sleek men's suits, fitted to their curves. Corner stores jammed with posters in the windows advertising brands I'd never heard of. Mothers pushing babies in odd prams that combined plastic and metal in weird ways. Someone pushed past muttering, "Sorry, dude."
The whole world was curvier. The terraced flats in my neighbourhood were the same brick huddle as before, but towards the station I noticed steel-and-glass monsters that I'd never seen previously.
"Vincent?¨
I spun instantly towards the unfamiliar voice. A man in a business suit that fitted him strangely stood a few feet away, eyebrows furrowed.
"That's not my name, friend. Do I know you?" I gave him a deliberately condescending smile. Clearly this man wasn't wealthy, by his suit. Middle class tops. Not a client.
"I'm sorry. You look a lot like someone I... Is your name Pete?"
I took a small step back, then rallied and stepped forward again, squaring my shoulders.
"And who are you, friend?"
"I'm Dale Saunders. You don't know me. But I know you. And Trudy. How is she? Are she and your daughter still living upstate?"
"I'm afraid I don't have time to talk. I have a train to catch."
The man looked at me with a smile not unlike the condescending one I'd cast on him.
"You'll find the train isn't the one you want. Your train...well, it's long overdue."
"Look," I said, all patience gone for this apparent stalker. "I don't know your business here, but I can assure you, *my* business is none of *yours*. Good day." I strode towards the station but realised he was walking a couple of steps behind. When I turned to loudly tell him to leave, he was holding a small silver object in one hand. It made a sound like a camera shutter.
"What is that? What are you doing? Go away before I inform the authorities! What you are doing is...is...public harassment!" I could feel my face heating up, turning red, and I was furious at my loss of control.
"Hey, look. I'm sorry, okay? It's just that I feel like I know you. From TV."
"From...what?"
"Mad Men? Jon Hamm? Don Draper?"
My shoulders hunched.
"Don sent you? I should have known! What sort of joke is this? Following me to work, asking me personal questions about my wife? What is Don up to, huh? Huh?" Without thinking, I put both hands out and shoved the man. Saunders, that was his name.
"I've a good mind to call the police! See what Don Draper says about that!"
Saunders pushed my hands aside with one arm, and grinned.
"I know you, Pete. You're a pussy."
"I'm a...what?"
He took advantage of my confusion to hit me in the nose with a closed fist. I staggered back, touching fingers to my burning face and seeing blood on my knuckles, and roared, running at him ready to tackle him to the pavement. My arms closed around his torso and I pushed, but he somehow stepped out and turned and I was face-down on the ground.
This was humiliating. My finger twitched on an imaginary trigger, and I wished fervently I could shoot this bastard and then Don Draper in a blaze of well-deserved glory.
And maybe Roger, too.
I looked up in time to see Saunders walking away from me. Over his shoulder he called back, "I've always wanted to do that to you, Pete." | John looked at Brenda and at the gun she was pointing at him.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked.
"Why?" She repeated. "Why?!" She shouted. "You cheated on me." She screamed. "Again."
"Baby, I never . . ." He began, holding up his hands to forestall her.
"I found her ear rings." She snapped, holding up the dangling pieces of bling. The look of anger stalled out for a moment as she looked with fresh eyes upon the ear rings she was holding. "Are these Genas?" She asked, cocking the gun. John sighed and turned to address the readers.
"You might want to step to the side." He advised.
"You slept with my sister?" She roared, pulling the trigger. "You bas---" | |
[WP] Break the fourth wall in the most unexpected way | He likes it when I'm cute. I think it makes him think of a nicer time, or happier circumstances. Adorable little quirks that I try to hide, but he never misses. Like having to stand on my pink-socked tippy-toes to reach the top shelf, even when I sometimes don't have to. Or how I *always* need to grab a cozy little blanket to snuggle up with on the couch while I watch TV or read a book, no matter what temperature the room is at.
I brush my silky black hair to slightly cover my timid gaze with a window of mystery. My shiny lip gloss makes him serenade me in poetic imagery, causing my heart soar and skip a beat, embarrassing me to a blush and a shrinking downward glance. He can tell I enjoy the attention, even though I don't need it... But I would never let him know that!
I have the kind of build that begs one to hold it, the kind of soul that begs one to know it and the busy kind of walk that begs one to stare at, but you'll notice it's never too busy to stop and pet a passing terrier, or smile at the down-trodden beggar.
When I let him know I'm interested I make it a puzzle. I bite my lower lip and subtly stick my hip out. I stand next to him, so close he can smell the perfume and the scent will linger in his conscious all day, and I beg him to notice. He does notice. He always did, and I'm a little confused about why he doesn't act. I think he could be nervous. Like he know's what's down this road. He's intrigued, it's all he can think about, but his snake-bit sensibilities can't pull the trigger.
And it ends like that. Because it's important to him that it's realistic. He won't end up with me. Not again. But he still has to tell the story... I think that perhaps it's because I'm everything he ever wanted. I think that maybe he writes me like his perfect girl because he can't stop torturing himself with me. My soft little dimples make him smile a while but sulk a deal longer. I'm the subject of so many stories because he can't let me go. Like maybe if he kept me around in fiction he'll forget that I ever really left. | John looked at Brenda and at the gun she was pointing at him.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked.
"Why?" She repeated. "Why?!" She shouted. "You cheated on me." She screamed. "Again."
"Baby, I never . . ." He began, holding up his hands to forestall her.
"I found her ear rings." She snapped, holding up the dangling pieces of bling. The look of anger stalled out for a moment as she looked with fresh eyes upon the ear rings she was holding. "Are these Genas?" She asked, cocking the gun. John sighed and turned to address the readers.
"You might want to step to the side." He advised.
"You slept with my sister?" She roared, pulling the trigger. "You bas---" | |
[WP] Break the fourth wall in the most unexpected way | Gregor the Great and Mighty Powerful Warrior was a very handsome man. He had muscles on his biceps that were made of steel, and legs that were of iron. His strong fists could crack bones and fell 100-year-old trees. When he walked, the Earth trembled in fear, and when he spoke the moon ran away to the shadows. He was called upon to many a king to be their sole heir, but Gregor the Great and Mighty Powerful Warrior was a humble warrior and would refuse, returning to his humble castle in the center of Kophe and have a humble meal of beans and turkey.
Gregor the Great and Mighty Powerful Warrior favorite pastime is to go into the forest and find a bear. The two would spar, but Gregor the Great and Mighty Powerful Warrior would always prevail. Bringing the bear home, he would skin and mount the bear on a shield and hang it on his wall of bears. The skin would be turned into a new rug and the flesh and bones would be served up that night.
Of course, Gregor the Great and Mighty Powerful Warrior was asked to defeat many mystical beasts over the years. The Partheoc, with its hypnotizing stare and minions of the dead, Gregor stabbed it in both its eyes with throwing darts. The Ohmel Wonder, who brought chaos to the town with great fires and metal shards, Gregor drowned it in the Waterfall of Tusca. And The Ioh, whose corrosive skin vaporized everything it touched, Gregor soaked it and turned it to beer. And everywhere he went he was cheered on and celebrated, for he was the truest hero of all heroes.
(F-)
*See me after class* | John looked at Brenda and at the gun she was pointing at him.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked.
"Why?" She repeated. "Why?!" She shouted. "You cheated on me." She screamed. "Again."
"Baby, I never . . ." He began, holding up his hands to forestall her.
"I found her ear rings." She snapped, holding up the dangling pieces of bling. The look of anger stalled out for a moment as she looked with fresh eyes upon the ear rings she was holding. "Are these Genas?" She asked, cocking the gun. John sighed and turned to address the readers.
"You might want to step to the side." He advised.
"You slept with my sister?" She roared, pulling the trigger. "You bas---" | |
[WP] A soldier/warrior balks at the violence and horror of battle. Then, they start to revel in it. | "No, listen. Listen. You don't - you don't understand. Why I quit, why I'm here, why I'm a wreck. It's not about - the killing. That's easy. That's fun. It's about what it means for me. It's - well I have to start from the beginning. Listen.
"Ten years back. Sign up with the mercenaries. Get my little tattoo over the eye, get a little weirded out but hey the money is great, beats joining the army, beats getting kicked to the streets. They give me a rifle, they give me a uniform, they show me how to use 'em. I'm good for a recruit, but I don't want to do advanced marksmanship. I think, hey, I'm gonna go up to the front lines, pop somebody. Show 'em I'm brave. Write home about how wrong they were about me. To whoever would read that letter.
"So they ship us out. Some hideous violent revolution. Government's overwhelmed, the rebels are armed, the fighting is heavy. They put us with the regulars, but the regulars are halfway wiped out. We gave the brass there a good deal or something - we practically replaced their army. Well, it's messy right off the bat. Eight weeks in I'm not sure I can handle the stress. Need to run away, but - oh no, I can't back down now, I'd be a coward. Killed my first man pretty early, too. He was about my age. I still remember his face. Remember a lot of those early faces.
"But then... half a year in, I stop. Stop remembering, I mean. Don't even look, sometimes. They aren't in uniform, they've got a gun, they die. It makes it tolerable, just worrying about my own problems. I still worry about those first kills though. They hurt. But I don't stop. Can't, really. I'm in uniform; they're shooting at me, I gotta shoot back.
"Takes me a year or two, but I'm stuck in the same goddamn city fighting the same goddamn people. I meet a team, become part of 'em, sorta. They always talked about 'battle brothers' and shit. I liked 'em. We killed together, survived together, you don't forget that. And these guys, they're way past the point of balking. Lost count of how many they've popped. They're cool, calm, collected, everything you want to be in a hellhole, and I start looking up to some of 'em. Try to learn how they think, maybe clear my head a little, forget the horror.
"We last 'til my third year out there, and then it's just bad luck, stepping on a hidden bomb. Lose most of 'em there. Makes me mad. I don't know who planted the thing, but I know it was a rebel, and they all sorta become... stand-ins. It isn't even about forgetting them anymore. It just feels good to take it out on 'em. Still, I'm moderating. One of my buddies, still with me, we rein each other in, a little.
"Fifth year out there, the fighting's sporadic. We've sorta won, y'know? The regulars aren't coming back, so we're just keeping the peace. Sometimes we try to put back up some of the stuff we blew up, but we aren't getting paid for that. Anyway, I meet this girl. Lovely girl. Never understood what she saw in me. I was a vicious prick, I did what I pleased, and she was just - she cared about people. Told me I wasn't half bad. I liked hearing that, too. I could say I won something, through all the fighting. Make it all sound like it was worth it. I guess I must've acted nice around her. She always said I just needed a break.
"Well, that doesn't matter. She and I, we last a year. Sixth year comes. Turns out we didn't win - we just drove 'em back. The fighting is worse than ever. Now they have tanks and planes and shit too. Never did find out who funded that. One day I walk into her home. She's hanging from a noose, wearin' a little sign saying 'death to sympathizers.' I don't - I'm not gonna talk about what her body was like. Don't even ask.
"But that was it. I went off the deep end. It - it got different. Not about forgetting, not about not caring. It isn't even about revenge. I don't care who I hurt anymore. Just so long as someone's feeling the pain, I can feel *alright.* Four years like that. I got into... well, they messed my girl up bad, but I mess their people up worse. Once you start to love it... hell, it stopped being about her. Who cares if she's dead, mutilated, who even cares anymore? Millions of people in the city, thousands dying, nobody misses a few more and it keeps me happy. Well I'm not happy, not even remotely, but I'm so caught up in it all I don't see that. Don't sleep at night. I get constant nightmares about that girl, I just chalk it up to old feelings and stay up.
"Tenth year out there. Final one, I didn't know that. I thought I'd be massacring rebels until I died of age. But one day it all sorta snaps into place. One of the rebels - a girl, a fucking teenage girl, no older than seventeen - I pegged her in a city street, but she's alive, just dropped her weapon from the pain and she's trying to crawl away. I'm doing cleanup for the team, so I move over to her. Put the gun in her face. Maybe she'll surrender. Hopefully somebody takes her away from me so I don't do what I know I'm gonna do. Well, she isn't scared of the gun. She's too busy looking at the body of a mercenary she shot dead. And she is freaking out about it, I can see it in her eyes. And I think - ten years ago, I was like that too. And it hits me, right then, that I'm not a human being. That I haven't felt shit in years and I don't do what humans do.
"But you have to understand - I would've *loved* tearing her to pieces, bit by bit. I would've relished the screams. I absolutely would not have regretted shooting her right there. But I just - I wanted to be a person again. I wanted to feel shit, feel shit that wasn't sadism. So I bailed her out. Shot up the rest of my team. Ran away, got her help. Ditched the country, hitchhiked home over a few weeks. And - well that's it, that's the end of the story. It isn't any different right now. Don't know if - when - those things start going away. Thinking about going back to that life, it makes me sick, so maybe it's a good sign. You haven't run away either, so that's... something. Dunno if you realize I'm not probably gonna change. But, hell, you want to put up with it, be my guest. I could use a hand." | I was drafted from prison. I didn't want to fight. They sent me to trenches in a far off godforsaken country, fighting someone else's war. I didn't give a damn about the hearts and minds, I didn't care if the politicians won or lost in their ivory courts, where winning or losing was a matter to laugh about behind closed doors.
I fought because I had to. Because the situation demanded it. Because if I didn't, I would die and the men next to me would die. Survival and a sense of camaraderie, that's what they drill into you in training. They do a damn good job. I fired my weapon in anger for the first time storming building we thought housed the enemy. I killed a six year old child. His face completely gone, mother sobbing over his lifeless corpse, her offspring's blood staining her clothes. The boys siblings were in shock, then horror.
I didn't sleep for days after that, and vowed never to fire my gun again. But they sent me out there, and I did. I killed one enemy in the trenches outside New Berlin, after the Winter Offensive pushed the enemy back into their mountaintop fortresses. He squirmed as I put a bullet in his gut, screaming bloody murder until I put another shot in his head to shut him up. I threw up after that engagement...how could I do these things? I killed people who at best were doing exactly what I was doing: just trying to survive. And for what? Politics? Economics? Religion? That boy and his family, forever shattered because of the men in the towers, looking down on us like ants. We are the pawns and they aren't even the queens or the kings. They are the players who know the rules and move the pieces. I was taught to march forward and obey orders, to shoot when I had to. When I needed to.
Soon I had to kill another man: I blew his shoulder apart with a grenade and stepped over his body to reach cover, and watched as he tried in vain to keep his arm attached to his body as blood spewed from his gaping wound. I killed another man with my knife, my first in close combat, in a mission in the ruins of Prague: my blade piercing his Radiation-Shield suit and plunging into his lungs, just as training taught us. I saw his facemask turn crimson as he choked to death on his own blood. Each time it became more machine-like, more reflexive. Easier.
It was no longer a learned skill to be practiced in times of need. Long after all the men I was drafted with died in ways as horrible as the ones I killed by, I was killing. Surviving. I no longer was a brother in arms. I was isolated: the new bloods saw me as the blood and scar-covered man who ripped a sentry's tongue out so he would die silently, who paralyzed a man from the waist down by severing his spinal cord and torturing him by making him try to tread water till he gave us his side's artillery positions, then let him drown anyway.
I reveled in it. I was good at it. Never before had I seen something so brutal, so utterly, objectively horrifying, in that light: it could be elegant, like art, the way men died. Each time unique, each time a rush of power. Bloodlust, I think, is the correct term. It was the first time since being arrested that I felt useful, that I truly belonged.
Then the war ended, and I no longer had a place. I was freed from the service and allowed to return to civilian life. But I had no peace. Whereas before I had nightmares of killing people, now I had nights of no sleep: my routine had been disrupted. Some people get into habits that, when broken, throw them off to no end: smoking, drinking, sex, drugs and endless other vices. Mine had become killing. I relived my kills each night, relishing their detail where before I would have found horror. I found horror and disgust in daily life. Other veterens had difficulties, of course...PTSD was not a new phenomenon. I was not like that. I had found my calling as a killer. As a monster. I hated that part of me, the killer. But it was who I was. I hated myself and loved myself. Hated how I killed men no worse than me, loved myself for the calling I had discovered.
But who to blame for this transformation? Who to show what I had become? Who better, I thought, to show the repercussions for their actions than those players on the grand chessboard: the men and women who sent me into the fires of battle, not knowing what they would unleash.
I am at peace now. I am at peace knowing that the doors of the Senate Chamber locked themselves as planned. I am at peace knowing that military excess being what it was, it was easy to obtain the guns, grenades, and poison gas I needed. I am at peace that not one senator escaped my comeuppance. I am at peace knowing the world saw their strong, charismatic leader, executed in the midst of his victory speech ending the great war, his blood staining the podium from which he callously ignored the lives lost.
I am at peace having watched the warmongers claw at locked doors as they chocked to death on chlorine gas. I am at peace that I have killed, for once, in the name of something good.
I am at peace with my plea of guilty to this act that you call a crime but I call a destiny, and that in the end the society which blindly perpetrated my bloodlust on others had it thrust in their faces once and for all.
I am not remorseful. I am guilty. I am finally content. | |
[WP] For a brief moment, you gain the power to understand the speech of animals. Within that period, your pet gives you a brief, but life-changing message. | Rebecca dashed out of school the moment the bell rang. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, and she loved playing outside just like any normal 12 year old would. She leaped down the steps, past the red flag with a white circle and swastika in the middle. She saw her school principal standing by the flagpole. She stopped, raised her right hand, and yelled “Heil Hitler!”. Not doing so would have been a very bad thing.
She reached her bike, hopped on, and began to peddle. The wind began to blow through her jet black hair as she strolled through the city street. She passed by her local deli and remembered she had to pick up groceries for her family tonight, since both of her parents were working. “I’ll do it later,” she thought. First she had some studying to do.
When she arrived at her house, she took out her key, unlocked the door, and walked inside. She picked up her Torah and prepared to do her reading. She went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and out of the corner of her eye she saw her golden lab dog pushing his food bowl with his nose. He was hungry. She went to the cabinet to grab a biscuit and held it to his mouth.
“Thanks!” the dog said.
Rebecca stood there, in shock.
“Can I tell you something?” the hound said, wagging his tail.
Rebecca remained still in disbelief.
“Stay at in your Arnold’s basement tonight.” Arnold was her neighbor. “And don’t tell him you’re staying there. He’s not home right now, and the basement window is loose so now’s your chance. And don’t leave a note for your parents either.”
Rebecca had no idea what to say.
“Trust me.” The dog said before running off outside.
Rebecca was dumbfounded. Did her dog just tell her to break into her neighbor’s basement? Did her dog just speak?? She looked out her window.
“Go! Now!” The dog said when he saw her standing in the window. “And stay in the closet down there! Don’t come out!”
She had no idea what was happening, but she had a feeling of what she should do. She took her Torah and walked over to Arnold’s house. After peering over her shoulder twice to make sure nobody was looking, she pried open the window, entered the musty basement, and shut it again. She had no idea why she was listening to a dog. She opened the nearby closet door, opened it, sat down, and shut it again. The closet smelled terrible, but hey, she’d already come this far.
There was just enough light for her to do her reading. After several hours passed, the sun went down and she couldn’t see a thing. She was starting to get hungry.
Now ignoring the dogs advice, she quietly opened the closet. She wondered if her parents were looking for her. She wanted to go back to her house to grab a snack, or finally make it down to the deli. She peered out the window in the basement facing her house to take a quick look. Her face went pale. Her body numb. Almost mechanically, she stepped back from the window, opened the closet, shut it, and sat down.
Nazi soldiers were ransacking her house. | She stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her chest.
Allison Mueller was a park ranger. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and she had heard a report that a tree had fallen across Trail 7 just a quarter-mile past the falls. Her service vehicle was back at the road. She had just turned a bend, down into the valley. The forest was thick here.
And there, right on the path, were three animals: A white-tailed buck, a raccoon, and western diamondback rattlesnake.
That, alone, would have been a heart-stopping sight, but it was their peculiar posing that made her freeze in a singular sort of fear and awe: The raccoon was riding the deer, its hind legs straddling the strong shoulders, and the snake was draped about the antlers. Behind them, the tree.
The viper hissed. But then it spoke. It *spoke.* She would understand its words, wispy and soft, yet authoritative in their rasp.
"Eve? Is that you?"
Allison's frame heaved, up and down, with her panicked breathing. Her hands shook. She dug the heels of her boots into the soft, forgiving ground. Down here, she could not feel the warmth of the sun against her legs or face any longer. Everything within her said to run, but she could not move. She was paralyzed.
The raccoon was next. His voice was supernaturally deep; smooth, velvety, almost *charming.*
"Remember, woman: We have walked the Earth for far longer than you humans have. This is our sign, and our warning. You have six days to undo your world, or we will end every bloodline you ever began. If we are to have war, we reasoned it was only fair to let you have time to prepare."
The snake rose, its length climbing up the antlers, until its head was eight feet in the ear, leaning towards Mueller.
"And you tell your Christ," it hissed, "That I was commanding my Legion in the beasts before he ever learned to trick us into pigs. He will regret his error, and you will perish. You will perish!"
She screamed, and ran. | |
[WP] For a brief moment, you gain the power to understand the speech of animals. Within that period, your pet gives you a brief, but life-changing message. | October 7th 2017. It was an odd morning. By all accounts it seemed a day just like any other. That is, aside from the fact that my dog, Neil, was suddenly able to speak English. Neil was a chocolate lab crossed with some breed or other I’ve never heard of. We got him from a shelter when he was just a pup. He hadn’t been there long but he was thrilled to see us. His name had been Fido. This was not acceptable. I immediately had it changed to Neil. My girlfriend, Hannah, had argued quite vehemently that Neil was no name for a dog but I had insisted. I wasn’t sure why until October 7th.
‘Jacob!’ he said to me. At that moment I was sure he was a Neil. He had the voice of a Neil. It was undeniably Neil-like. You’d understand if you’d heard it, I assure you ‘Jacob!’ he said ‘There isn’t much time. You must listen to me’
Of course I was a little taken aback by Neil’s sudden capacity for human speech, though perhaps not as taken aback as I should have been. Neil’s voice seemed so familiar, so closely associated with Neil in my mind that it seemed only natural that this dog would have this voice and the capacity for human speech must naturally follow. Though I wondered how a dog’s snout would even be capable of forming human phonemes. Even as I watched it happen I couldn’t pin down in my mind exactly what I was seeing. Words just came out somehow. As I thought this Neil was explaining the circumstances behind by being able to understand him all of a sudden but I don’t remember the specifics.
‘There isn’t much time’ Neil said in his Neil-like voice ‘it is of paramount importance that I tell relay my message before we are no longer able to communicate’
‘Okay’ I remember answering. Neil seemed a confused. It would seem as though he had expected some resistance. I’m not sure why. He’s as much a member of the family as my own brother; more so really, as I haven’t spoken to my brother in almost half a decade. Some spat about inheritance I think. Still, there was no reason I would have distrusted Neil.
Neil went on ‘I’m not your dog’
I didn’t understand. I cocked my head to one side and Neil addressed my incomprehension
‘I’m not your dog, Jacob. You’re mine’
Now this seemed to make sense. Dogs are loyal, often energetic, playful and rather hairy. I fitted comfortably into all of these criteria; I even enjoyed chasing tennis balls were the opportunity to present itself. What I didn’t quite grasp was why I stood on two legs and he on four. I asked him thusly:
‘If I am your dog then why do you seem to be more of a dog than I?’ I asked ‘I stand on two legs and you on four, you have a tail and I do not, my nose is dry while yours is wet. How do you explain that?’
That was not an accusative or confrontational question, you understand, but rather a simple request for information to clear up the difficulties of the situation.
‘It’s all just a matter of perspective. You just have to look a little harder to see things a little differently’
And as he said that I did as I was told. I looked at myself and at Neil and indeed, I found myself descending from my hind legs onto all fours while Neil reared up and stood erect. I looked at my hands that were now paws, my palms that were now pads. It felt right. I looked up at Neil, he smiled at me, his scruffy black hair obscuring his forehead. I smiled, or attempted the closest canine approximation, in reply. He scratched me behind the ear, attached a cord to the collar I had only just become aware of wearing and took me outside for a walk. How silly of me to have thought I was human.
Edit: Accidentally left out a word | She stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her chest.
Allison Mueller was a park ranger. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and she had heard a report that a tree had fallen across Trail 7 just a quarter-mile past the falls. Her service vehicle was back at the road. She had just turned a bend, down into the valley. The forest was thick here.
And there, right on the path, were three animals: A white-tailed buck, a raccoon, and western diamondback rattlesnake.
That, alone, would have been a heart-stopping sight, but it was their peculiar posing that made her freeze in a singular sort of fear and awe: The raccoon was riding the deer, its hind legs straddling the strong shoulders, and the snake was draped about the antlers. Behind them, the tree.
The viper hissed. But then it spoke. It *spoke.* She would understand its words, wispy and soft, yet authoritative in their rasp.
"Eve? Is that you?"
Allison's frame heaved, up and down, with her panicked breathing. Her hands shook. She dug the heels of her boots into the soft, forgiving ground. Down here, she could not feel the warmth of the sun against her legs or face any longer. Everything within her said to run, but she could not move. She was paralyzed.
The raccoon was next. His voice was supernaturally deep; smooth, velvety, almost *charming.*
"Remember, woman: We have walked the Earth for far longer than you humans have. This is our sign, and our warning. You have six days to undo your world, or we will end every bloodline you ever began. If we are to have war, we reasoned it was only fair to let you have time to prepare."
The snake rose, its length climbing up the antlers, until its head was eight feet in the ear, leaning towards Mueller.
"And you tell your Christ," it hissed, "That I was commanding my Legion in the beasts before he ever learned to trick us into pigs. He will regret his error, and you will perish. You will perish!"
She screamed, and ran. | |
[WP] For a brief moment, you gain the power to understand the speech of animals. Within that period, your pet gives you a brief, but life-changing message. | October 7th 2017. It was an odd morning. By all accounts it seemed a day just like any other. That is, aside from the fact that my dog, Neil, was suddenly able to speak English. Neil was a chocolate lab crossed with some breed or other I’ve never heard of. We got him from a shelter when he was just a pup. He hadn’t been there long but he was thrilled to see us. His name had been Fido. This was not acceptable. I immediately had it changed to Neil. My girlfriend, Hannah, had argued quite vehemently that Neil was no name for a dog but I had insisted. I wasn’t sure why until October 7th.
‘Jacob!’ he said to me. At that moment I was sure he was a Neil. He had the voice of a Neil. It was undeniably Neil-like. You’d understand if you’d heard it, I assure you ‘Jacob!’ he said ‘There isn’t much time. You must listen to me’
Of course I was a little taken aback by Neil’s sudden capacity for human speech, though perhaps not as taken aback as I should have been. Neil’s voice seemed so familiar, so closely associated with Neil in my mind that it seemed only natural that this dog would have this voice and the capacity for human speech must naturally follow. Though I wondered how a dog’s snout would even be capable of forming human phonemes. Even as I watched it happen I couldn’t pin down in my mind exactly what I was seeing. Words just came out somehow. As I thought this Neil was explaining the circumstances behind by being able to understand him all of a sudden but I don’t remember the specifics.
‘There isn’t much time’ Neil said in his Neil-like voice ‘it is of paramount importance that I tell relay my message before we are no longer able to communicate’
‘Okay’ I remember answering. Neil seemed a confused. It would seem as though he had expected some resistance. I’m not sure why. He’s as much a member of the family as my own brother; more so really, as I haven’t spoken to my brother in almost half a decade. Some spat about inheritance I think. Still, there was no reason I would have distrusted Neil.
Neil went on ‘I’m not your dog’
I didn’t understand. I cocked my head to one side and Neil addressed my incomprehension
‘I’m not your dog, Jacob. You’re mine’
Now this seemed to make sense. Dogs are loyal, often energetic, playful and rather hairy. I fitted comfortably into all of these criteria; I even enjoyed chasing tennis balls were the opportunity to present itself. What I didn’t quite grasp was why I stood on two legs and he on four. I asked him thusly:
‘If I am your dog then why do you seem to be more of a dog than I?’ I asked ‘I stand on two legs and you on four, you have a tail and I do not, my nose is dry while yours is wet. How do you explain that?’
That was not an accusative or confrontational question, you understand, but rather a simple request for information to clear up the difficulties of the situation.
‘It’s all just a matter of perspective. You just have to look a little harder to see things a little differently’
And as he said that I did as I was told. I looked at myself and at Neil and indeed, I found myself descending from my hind legs onto all fours while Neil reared up and stood erect. I looked at my hands that were now paws, my palms that were now pads. It felt right. I looked up at Neil, he smiled at me, his scruffy black hair obscuring his forehead. I smiled, or attempted the closest canine approximation, in reply. He scratched me behind the ear, attached a cord to the collar I had only just become aware of wearing and took me outside for a walk. How silly of me to have thought I was human.
Edit: Accidentally left out a word | "You're serious?" Clem said eyes wide and disbelieving.
"Every word of it. It shocked the hell out of me." Roger said staring down at his meal. Not wanting to make eye contact with his new friend.
Clem paused and took a sip of his drink.
The diner was semi full of the morning crowd, and a few people were begining to recognize the celebrity in their midst.
With that a card was produced, and the pretty waitress smiled as a generous tip was offered.
After
Listen Clem, I know we had our disagreements in the past, but since my umm... enlightenment I think we can put that behind us. Here, let me get your tab, I've got to get out of here before they recognize me and find their torches and pitchforks."
As Roger slipped out of the diner, Billy slid next into the booth next to clem.
"hey wasn't that the big PETA guy that was protesting our farms? Didn't he go nuts and claim the cows started talking to him?
"yup, that was him" Clem said popping a fry in his mouth.
Billy eyed his friend with a mixture of curiosity, and worry.
"was He eating this burger? Thats kind of weird for a meat is murder type"
With a twnkle in his eye Clem leaned over to let Billy in on the secret.
"Apparently, Cows are assholes ." | |
[WP] For a brief moment, you gain the power to understand the speech of animals. Within that period, your pet gives you a brief, but life-changing message. | October 7th 2017. It was an odd morning. By all accounts it seemed a day just like any other. That is, aside from the fact that my dog, Neil, was suddenly able to speak English. Neil was a chocolate lab crossed with some breed or other I’ve never heard of. We got him from a shelter when he was just a pup. He hadn’t been there long but he was thrilled to see us. His name had been Fido. This was not acceptable. I immediately had it changed to Neil. My girlfriend, Hannah, had argued quite vehemently that Neil was no name for a dog but I had insisted. I wasn’t sure why until October 7th.
‘Jacob!’ he said to me. At that moment I was sure he was a Neil. He had the voice of a Neil. It was undeniably Neil-like. You’d understand if you’d heard it, I assure you ‘Jacob!’ he said ‘There isn’t much time. You must listen to me’
Of course I was a little taken aback by Neil’s sudden capacity for human speech, though perhaps not as taken aback as I should have been. Neil’s voice seemed so familiar, so closely associated with Neil in my mind that it seemed only natural that this dog would have this voice and the capacity for human speech must naturally follow. Though I wondered how a dog’s snout would even be capable of forming human phonemes. Even as I watched it happen I couldn’t pin down in my mind exactly what I was seeing. Words just came out somehow. As I thought this Neil was explaining the circumstances behind by being able to understand him all of a sudden but I don’t remember the specifics.
‘There isn’t much time’ Neil said in his Neil-like voice ‘it is of paramount importance that I tell relay my message before we are no longer able to communicate’
‘Okay’ I remember answering. Neil seemed a confused. It would seem as though he had expected some resistance. I’m not sure why. He’s as much a member of the family as my own brother; more so really, as I haven’t spoken to my brother in almost half a decade. Some spat about inheritance I think. Still, there was no reason I would have distrusted Neil.
Neil went on ‘I’m not your dog’
I didn’t understand. I cocked my head to one side and Neil addressed my incomprehension
‘I’m not your dog, Jacob. You’re mine’
Now this seemed to make sense. Dogs are loyal, often energetic, playful and rather hairy. I fitted comfortably into all of these criteria; I even enjoyed chasing tennis balls were the opportunity to present itself. What I didn’t quite grasp was why I stood on two legs and he on four. I asked him thusly:
‘If I am your dog then why do you seem to be more of a dog than I?’ I asked ‘I stand on two legs and you on four, you have a tail and I do not, my nose is dry while yours is wet. How do you explain that?’
That was not an accusative or confrontational question, you understand, but rather a simple request for information to clear up the difficulties of the situation.
‘It’s all just a matter of perspective. You just have to look a little harder to see things a little differently’
And as he said that I did as I was told. I looked at myself and at Neil and indeed, I found myself descending from my hind legs onto all fours while Neil reared up and stood erect. I looked at my hands that were now paws, my palms that were now pads. It felt right. I looked up at Neil, he smiled at me, his scruffy black hair obscuring his forehead. I smiled, or attempted the closest canine approximation, in reply. He scratched me behind the ear, attached a cord to the collar I had only just become aware of wearing and took me outside for a walk. How silly of me to have thought I was human.
Edit: Accidentally left out a word | Rebecca dashed out of school the moment the bell rang. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, and she loved playing outside just like any normal 12 year old would. She leaped down the steps, past the red flag with a white circle and swastika in the middle. She saw her school principal standing by the flagpole. She stopped, raised her right hand, and yelled “Heil Hitler!”. Not doing so would have been a very bad thing.
She reached her bike, hopped on, and began to peddle. The wind began to blow through her jet black hair as she strolled through the city street. She passed by her local deli and remembered she had to pick up groceries for her family tonight, since both of her parents were working. “I’ll do it later,” she thought. First she had some studying to do.
When she arrived at her house, she took out her key, unlocked the door, and walked inside. She picked up her Torah and prepared to do her reading. She went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and out of the corner of her eye she saw her golden lab dog pushing his food bowl with his nose. He was hungry. She went to the cabinet to grab a biscuit and held it to his mouth.
“Thanks!” the dog said.
Rebecca stood there, in shock.
“Can I tell you something?” the hound said, wagging his tail.
Rebecca remained still in disbelief.
“Stay at in your Arnold’s basement tonight.” Arnold was her neighbor. “And don’t tell him you’re staying there. He’s not home right now, and the basement window is loose so now’s your chance. And don’t leave a note for your parents either.”
Rebecca had no idea what to say.
“Trust me.” The dog said before running off outside.
Rebecca was dumbfounded. Did her dog just tell her to break into her neighbor’s basement? Did her dog just speak?? She looked out her window.
“Go! Now!” The dog said when he saw her standing in the window. “And stay in the closet down there! Don’t come out!”
She had no idea what was happening, but she had a feeling of what she should do. She took her Torah and walked over to Arnold’s house. After peering over her shoulder twice to make sure nobody was looking, she pried open the window, entered the musty basement, and shut it again. She had no idea why she was listening to a dog. She opened the nearby closet door, opened it, sat down, and shut it again. The closet smelled terrible, but hey, she’d already come this far.
There was just enough light for her to do her reading. After several hours passed, the sun went down and she couldn’t see a thing. She was starting to get hungry.
Now ignoring the dogs advice, she quietly opened the closet. She wondered if her parents were looking for her. She wanted to go back to her house to grab a snack, or finally make it down to the deli. She peered out the window in the basement facing her house to take a quick look. Her face went pale. Her body numb. Almost mechanically, she stepped back from the window, opened the closet, shut it, and sat down.
Nazi soldiers were ransacking her house. | |
You have already pooped. | [WP] You find yourself in a public bathroom stall with no toilet paper. The person in the stall next to you happens to be Satan, and he has plenty to spare. | The roll was empty. "Aw, what the fuck?" Chad grumbled.
"Missing something? Muah HAHAHAHAHA!"
"Oh God Damnit Satan, is that you?"
"Yes Chad! It is I, the dark one who cast you into your porcelain abyss of torment!"
"Ugghh, just give me some paper dude."
"No. No. No. I don't have to Chad. The world is under my vicious design! Muah hahahaha!"
"Uh, Yeah, Satan, you do. You are legally obliged to supply subordinates with sufficient toiletries."
"Wait, I have to? Sorry Chad, I didn't mean to.. I can't.. please don't complain to upper-management, I already have two strikes this quarter."
Chad watched a red hand reach under the stall door, grasping a roll of toilet-paper in its sharpened claws.
"Aw man, one-ply?"
Satan gasped. "Uh, I don't have to make it more than one-ply, do I?"
"Um, no, but this is pretty damn lame."
"What am I supposed to do, we're on a budg... I mean Muah ha ha ha! All according to my evil design!"
Chad face-palmed. "Dude, how did you even get this job?"
"By doing the most evil thing possible. I lied in my interview!!" As Satan said that Chad heard all the water taps briefly turn on and toilets flush, as a kind of divine exclamation point.
"Dude. We all lie on interviews. Wait, did you just flush toilets to accentuate your 'evil' point?"
"Yeah, well, I can't use flames because.. You know, fire alarm. I have two strikes remember... Hey wait yourself, what did you lie about??"
Satan heard a flush, and a stall door open. Satan himself then exited the adjacent stall door to continue this conversation.
"...You don't know what I was lying about? Did you listen to me? Everything I said was such a blatant lie... I just wanted you to turn me down and sign my employment insurance papers..."
Satan smokey black eyes gazed blankly into Chad's face, waiting for him to continue. He blinked once.
Chad sighed heavily. "Well, Lucy, to start I'm only kind of a team-player. I thought you would hear me say 'team-player' and I would blend in with all of the other losers with rejected applications. My resume was completely and blatantly made up. I said I was once king of France for god's sake. You asked what the most evil thing I ever did to God was and I told you I stole his car and parked it at the mall on a Saturday without telling him what section I left it in. How dumb are you? And what the fuck is in the soap dispensers!?"
"Muah ha haha! That my boy is shamp--"
"Nevermind, it works fine Satan." Chad interrupted, speaking over the running sink.
"But yeah, I'm actually a pretty terrible employee over-all."
"...You never stole God's car?" Satan whimpered.
"Nope. I guess you're pretty disappointed in me."
Satan sniffled. "I'm upset."
"How upset?"
"Hurt, Chad."
"Hurt enough to fire me?"
Satan turned his back. "No. I wouldn't take vengeance on somebody for merely ensuring their own survival. Firing you is the kind of wrath you would see God take. You are going to mock my little toilet paper gag, or shampoo trick. You're going to fail to accept my slow adaptation to the modern world. But I am still Satan, and I will do the most evil thing I can think of here... I'm not going to reprimand you and you won't learn. Your own laziness is your punishment and prison. You will continue to think that your half-hearted work and corner-cutting will give you an extra 15 minutes of coffee time in the day, but in reality it will doom you to a purgatory of office banality and non-advancement... Go back to work Chad, I forgive you."
Chad's mouth dropped in shock. This really was Satan, and he really knew what suffering was.
Chad didn't dry his hands, he just walked out of the washroom. He walked past the droves of cubicle workers, oblivious to their stressed out slouches and diminished nine-to-five existences. He threw himself into his uncomfortable office chair and struggled to get the sticky wheels to roll over to his outdated computer. He woke up his computer and leafed through his unending call-list. He looked around at the fuzzy grey cubicle walls, and he could swear that his space had gotten a little smaller. | When you're sittin' on the john
And all the toilet paper's gone
Be a man
Use your hand
When it's Satan next to you
And you really have to poo
Check the roll
Hope it's full |
You have already pooped. | [WP] You find yourself in a public bathroom stall with no toilet paper. The person in the stall next to you happens to be Satan, and he has plenty to spare. | You know, every man has his vice. Some can't get enough action in the sack, some will always want more money, but I am a simple man with a simple vice; vegetable juice. It might seems like nothing, but believe me, once I drank a sip the whole bottle will follow and soon after the dire consequences will follow.
I was in some public bathroom taking care of said consequences, it wasn't pretty but sometime you gotta get down to business and get shit done. You know what they say; a man's gotta doodoo what's a man gotta doodoo.
I didn't know the guy in the next stall and yet, I started to get intimate with him. Get your mind out of the gutter, I told you my vice was juice, not experimenting with my sexuality in some public bathroom. What I meant is, I could smell the consequences of his vice just as much as he could smell mine. As we sat in silence, or should I say without words, I wondered how many eggs a man had to eat to produce this sulfuric smell. I swear, Hell probably had the same fragrance.
Anyway, since vegetable juice is quite potent, I quickly finished defecating while my neighbour seemed to need a bit more time. To each his vice, to each his life. Anyway, as I reached for some paper, I felt with horror the characteristic texture of cardboard. I soon panicked at the propect of feeling this texture with a more delicate part of my anatomy.
"Hey, I'm out of paper here. Can you give me some?"
As soon as he started speaking, I quickly recognised the devilish and sultry voice of the devil, Satan himself.
" This time your soul is mine Dave, you won't trick me again. YOU CAN'T ESCAPE YOUR FATE THIS TIME! "
I surrendered. It was the only solution. My soul for a roll. His fiendish hand appeared under the partition wall with perfectly manicured claws and a demonic contract.
"Sign this with your blood and you shall receive a roll for your soul."
I did what I had to and handed the contract back. For a moment, Satan chuckled with satisfaction until he realised I had tricked him.
" HOW COULD YOU? YOU CAN'T WIPE YOURSELF WITH A DEMONIC CONTRACT! WHEN I'M DONE, YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS!"
I walked out the stall with smug satisfaction and a mischievous grin. I might have said vegetable juice was my vice, but pride is a close second.
" Oh God, that's disgusting. Oh God, I think I got some under my claws. YOU HEAR ME! I'M GONNA KILL YOU FOR THIS! I'LL ROAST YOUR SOUL MYSELF! Hello? Are you still there?"
There's nothing quite like tricking the Lord of Hell himself, especially when you go all the way. This is why after washing my hand, I ripped the soap dispenser from the wall and stole the disposable towels. | Hey man I’m out of toilet paper, do you think you could slide some over?
Aw man, really? That is just like Him.
Like who?
God.
The fuck does he have to do with it.
Well, that omnipotent asshole preordained that you’d run out of toilet paper. Probably did it for kicks and giggles too. Fucking douchebag is what he is.
And who the hell are you to be talking so rough about the almighty?
Uh.
Well?
Some call me… uh… Lucifer
The devil?
I mean, that’s not the name I chose, but I guess I didn’t choose Lucifer either. So yeah, whatever you want to call it.
Well that's wonderful. Do you think you could put aside your evil ways for a second and help a brother out?
See, that’s tricky. I technically could stand to be in bad shape if I subverted God’s will by doing something like that.
By giving me toilet paper?
Yep.
You’d be subverting God’s will?
Yep.
God specifically willed that I would run out of toilet paper?
Yep.
And there’s nothing you or I can do about it?
Well, you can always act in defiance of God’s will without too much recourse. In fact, I think you just ought to act in rebellion of the higher power and damn well go get some yourself.
Yeah, great, thanks dick. Are you sure you can’t just roll a bit under, you know, in a more subtle defiance of God’s will to chap my ass cheeks?
Look man you don’t have to be so harsh about it. I’ve lived in hell for three thousand years now, you can deal with a little toilet paper shortage.
See the point is I wouldn’t have to deal with a shortage if some asshole would get off his soapbox and hand me some. Just like you wouldn’t have to live in hell if you didn’t get so high and mighty in the face of the God.
Alright that’s just not fair.
What do you mean it’s not fair? You knew very well that you stood no chance against the almighty. You took him on out of spite and now you live with the consequences. The question is what I’ve done to deserve this treatment over a little roll of paper.
Well look, that’s exactly it: you’ve done nothing to deserve it, it’s just the big man putting you through some moral fortitude test for He only knows what reason. It’s a crock of shit, no pun intended.
Jesus dude, can’t you just hand me the damn toilet paper? I mean what’s he gonna do? I'm dying over here.
Oh don’t bring that preachy fucker into this. God spends his whole life saying “do this do that pray now” and I stand up to him and bring original sin onto you lot to rustle his jimmies. BUT NO, the only begotten son just HAS to come in and erase your original sin. Little prick.
You know what? You’re just a whiny little bastard, aren’t you? No wonder the archangel put you down so hard.
Yeah just go ahead and keep it up with the low blows bud, maybe you’ll get some charity by the end of the millennium.
|
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | Interviewing people is the worst part of my job. Stand, observe, evaluate. An entire life before my eyes, an infinity behind me.
Robert Ward.
"Says here you haven't been to church since November 2008" This one is rather kind, well mannered, a good track record. He should have no troubles getting in.
A stammer and saddened grimace "Well, yeah -- I mean yes. It has been awhile, but I have been good. It says there on the paper. Paper, is it?"
"Yes."
"Ahh, it's to keep us humans from being overwhelmed."
"No."
"Oh. Well. The...papers show I have been a kind person right? It must, I have been kind."
He begs, and I don't blame him. This is an eternity decided. An eternity that I can inflict or bless. All that matters is I live with a choice I believe in. "You have lived a moral life. You have been kind to others, and given back with all that you could. With my blessing, you may enter heaven"
A sigh; relief. He thanks me and enters. There does not seem to be any more interviews for some time. I should go back inside for the time being. Turn, motion, push the gates. Locked.
Strange, why are these gates locked. They should have opened, I do own the place. I would reckon that my own divine creation recognizes me.
"We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full."
"What?"
"Heaven is full, sir."
"Who shall you be? To deliver such information"
"Robert Ward. I'm sorry sir, but if you would be kind enough to wait, we shall make accommodations."
"Accommodations? For me? What may you do to satisfy"
"Well give us a moment, it won't take very long." Minutes, hours, days, months, years pass, and I wait. Then finally, a reply.
"Uhhh, hello. Sir. We have an idea for you."
"What is it?"
"We are going to send you back to earth, alright?"
"Earth, what for?"
"We created a new one, a new heaven. We need you to advertise." | This is firmly against the spirit of the subreddit, so downvote me please, but [The Salvation War](http://www.tboverse.us/HPCAFORUM/phpBB3/viewforum.php?f=29) covered this. It covered it in an... interesting way, which some say is awful and some amazing, but it's at least mildly interesting. It was intended to be a book series, but it got held up in copyright kerfluffles.
It's (IMHO) poorly written, but it's a first draft that will never get a second.
Edit: A note: The guy who wrote it was a dick, and the second book just goes into soapboxing his ideas. The first one is the only one worth reading.
Now, go back to reading the rest of these prompts, because they're amazing. | |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | I was swimming when I died. I dove off a rope swing tied to a tree into the shallow part of the pond and hit my head. I don't remember much after I hit the rock. I know that I looked up briefly and the light danced so beautifully on the surface of the water. That was the last thing I remembered. I was only 17.
When I came to there was more light but this was harsh. It seemed fluorescent and blue. The light streaming to the bottom of the pond seemed so warm and I longed for it. I looked around and assumed I was in some hospital. I was in the middle of some hallway and there were people passing through. They didn't look up at me when I tried introducing myself. I don't think they could see me. I wondered around through the halls for a hour or so without much urgency until I came to a flustered woman in her late fifties. She seemed very maternal and too stressed for her stout frame. I didn't want to worry her but seeing as she was the only person to acknowledge my presence, I couldn't help but ask her where I was.
"Oh honey," she sighed, plopping down on a nearby armchair, "this is heaven. You're dead now. I know it's fast and you're so young and I'm so sorry sugar. But I've been running around all day and haven't been able to meet everyone new yet."
I asked her if I could help her with anything, as that was my nature. My mother had always stressed the importance of helping others, and this woman certainly looked like she needed it.
"Oh sugar! No dear, I'll be just fine my own. I've been doing it for millions of years, but you'd think Id have it down by now," she chuckled to herself in her thick southern drawl and tucked back a piece of her light blond hair, "by the way, I'm God, nice to meet you."
She went on to tell me that heaven had become quite full lately and she struggled to find a place for everyone.
"Is this really it?" I asked shyly, "I mean no offense but this is so... " I gestured around, at a loss for words.
"I know it's not what most people expect. Since we've been running out of space, or rather I couldn't keep making more and more individual mansions and soccer fields and strip clubs, I've been hooking people up to virtual monitors. That way they can create their own heaven. It takes a lot of stress off me but I can't help feel bad. Sure they get the whole experience but it's not quite the same." She got up and started walking, slowly this time.
Her face changed suddenly. "Oh honey, I have an idea but only if you're up for it. You liked it back on earth right?"
I nodded enthusiastically.
"What if I just give you another chance down there. You keep living the same life you have been. It's better than anything I could give up here right now anyway. Once you get old and tired, you can come right back on up here and I'll give you a room full of that light you like from underwater. Would you like that dear? If you wouldn't mind, it would take loads of pressure off of me."
I agreed immediately and the next time I opened my eyes I was looking back at that warm light dancing on the surface of the water. I kicked up off the bottom and my head broke the surface. I felt the sunshine dripping off my shoulders and I remembered the kind woman. I looked back up at the sky for a moment and I could have sworn I heard that same southern drawl in the rustle of the leaves.
| This is firmly against the spirit of the subreddit, so downvote me please, but [The Salvation War](http://www.tboverse.us/HPCAFORUM/phpBB3/viewforum.php?f=29) covered this. It covered it in an... interesting way, which some say is awful and some amazing, but it's at least mildly interesting. It was intended to be a book series, but it got held up in copyright kerfluffles.
It's (IMHO) poorly written, but it's a first draft that will never get a second.
Edit: A note: The guy who wrote it was a dick, and the second book just goes into soapboxing his ideas. The first one is the only one worth reading.
Now, go back to reading the rest of these prompts, because they're amazing. | |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | Interviewing people is the worst part of my job. Stand, observe, evaluate. An entire life before my eyes, an infinity behind me.
Robert Ward.
"Says here you haven't been to church since November 2008" This one is rather kind, well mannered, a good track record. He should have no troubles getting in.
A stammer and saddened grimace "Well, yeah -- I mean yes. It has been awhile, but I have been good. It says there on the paper. Paper, is it?"
"Yes."
"Ahh, it's to keep us humans from being overwhelmed."
"No."
"Oh. Well. The...papers show I have been a kind person right? It must, I have been kind."
He begs, and I don't blame him. This is an eternity decided. An eternity that I can inflict or bless. All that matters is I live with a choice I believe in. "You have lived a moral life. You have been kind to others, and given back with all that you could. With my blessing, you may enter heaven"
A sigh; relief. He thanks me and enters. There does not seem to be any more interviews for some time. I should go back inside for the time being. Turn, motion, push the gates. Locked.
Strange, why are these gates locked. They should have opened, I do own the place. I would reckon that my own divine creation recognizes me.
"We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full."
"What?"
"Heaven is full, sir."
"Who shall you be? To deliver such information"
"Robert Ward. I'm sorry sir, but if you would be kind enough to wait, we shall make accommodations."
"Accommodations? For me? What may you do to satisfy"
"Well give us a moment, it won't take very long." Minutes, hours, days, months, years pass, and I wait. Then finally, a reply.
"Uhhh, hello. Sir. We have an idea for you."
"What is it?"
"We are going to send you back to earth, alright?"
"Earth, what for?"
"We created a new one, a new heaven. We need you to advertise." | The cavalries rode on, from the first light of dawn to the glimmering dusk; in the name of their god they ravaged every uncivilized village, cutting down any soul that rejected the word of their lord and savior. They followed the course of the river and in their wake it ran red.
The men fought against them with all their might to protect their loved ones.
The women huddled with the children, covered their small bodies with their own.
No one stood a chance.
Any resistance confirmed their barbaric nature and reinforced the Commander’s words, relieve the world of primitive beasts and spread the word of the savior, only then will you be worthy of eternal paradise.
Finally, the moment had come. As the Commander watched the life seep out of the last of the persecuted he could not contain his triumph. He turned to face his comrades, their faces twisted in grim delight, and extended his sword in the air. He opened his mouth ready to proclaim his victory sermon.
But no sound passed through his lips.
Pure overwhelming silence gripped the masses until the inaudible words reverberated through their bodies “The kingdom of heaven is full.”
Delight faded away, replaced by pain and disbelief. It was all for nothing.
With betrayal burning in their eyes they accepted the shadow of one final death on their souls and returned home, the silent cry of their Commander echoing in their minds.
| |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | I was swimming when I died. I dove off a rope swing tied to a tree into the shallow part of the pond and hit my head. I don't remember much after I hit the rock. I know that I looked up briefly and the light danced so beautifully on the surface of the water. That was the last thing I remembered. I was only 17.
When I came to there was more light but this was harsh. It seemed fluorescent and blue. The light streaming to the bottom of the pond seemed so warm and I longed for it. I looked around and assumed I was in some hospital. I was in the middle of some hallway and there were people passing through. They didn't look up at me when I tried introducing myself. I don't think they could see me. I wondered around through the halls for a hour or so without much urgency until I came to a flustered woman in her late fifties. She seemed very maternal and too stressed for her stout frame. I didn't want to worry her but seeing as she was the only person to acknowledge my presence, I couldn't help but ask her where I was.
"Oh honey," she sighed, plopping down on a nearby armchair, "this is heaven. You're dead now. I know it's fast and you're so young and I'm so sorry sugar. But I've been running around all day and haven't been able to meet everyone new yet."
I asked her if I could help her with anything, as that was my nature. My mother had always stressed the importance of helping others, and this woman certainly looked like she needed it.
"Oh sugar! No dear, I'll be just fine my own. I've been doing it for millions of years, but you'd think Id have it down by now," she chuckled to herself in her thick southern drawl and tucked back a piece of her light blond hair, "by the way, I'm God, nice to meet you."
She went on to tell me that heaven had become quite full lately and she struggled to find a place for everyone.
"Is this really it?" I asked shyly, "I mean no offense but this is so... " I gestured around, at a loss for words.
"I know it's not what most people expect. Since we've been running out of space, or rather I couldn't keep making more and more individual mansions and soccer fields and strip clubs, I've been hooking people up to virtual monitors. That way they can create their own heaven. It takes a lot of stress off me but I can't help feel bad. Sure they get the whole experience but it's not quite the same." She got up and started walking, slowly this time.
Her face changed suddenly. "Oh honey, I have an idea but only if you're up for it. You liked it back on earth right?"
I nodded enthusiastically.
"What if I just give you another chance down there. You keep living the same life you have been. It's better than anything I could give up here right now anyway. Once you get old and tired, you can come right back on up here and I'll give you a room full of that light you like from underwater. Would you like that dear? If you wouldn't mind, it would take loads of pressure off of me."
I agreed immediately and the next time I opened my eyes I was looking back at that warm light dancing on the surface of the water. I kicked up off the bottom and my head broke the surface. I felt the sunshine dripping off my shoulders and I remembered the kind woman. I looked back up at the sky for a moment and I could have sworn I heard that same southern drawl in the rustle of the leaves.
| The cavalries rode on, from the first light of dawn to the glimmering dusk; in the name of their god they ravaged every uncivilized village, cutting down any soul that rejected the word of their lord and savior. They followed the course of the river and in their wake it ran red.
The men fought against them with all their might to protect their loved ones.
The women huddled with the children, covered their small bodies with their own.
No one stood a chance.
Any resistance confirmed their barbaric nature and reinforced the Commander’s words, relieve the world of primitive beasts and spread the word of the savior, only then will you be worthy of eternal paradise.
Finally, the moment had come. As the Commander watched the life seep out of the last of the persecuted he could not contain his triumph. He turned to face his comrades, their faces twisted in grim delight, and extended his sword in the air. He opened his mouth ready to proclaim his victory sermon.
But no sound passed through his lips.
Pure overwhelming silence gripped the masses until the inaudible words reverberated through their bodies “The kingdom of heaven is full.”
Delight faded away, replaced by pain and disbelief. It was all for nothing.
With betrayal burning in their eyes they accepted the shadow of one final death on their souls and returned home, the silent cry of their Commander echoing in their minds.
| |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | I was swimming when I died. I dove off a rope swing tied to a tree into the shallow part of the pond and hit my head. I don't remember much after I hit the rock. I know that I looked up briefly and the light danced so beautifully on the surface of the water. That was the last thing I remembered. I was only 17.
When I came to there was more light but this was harsh. It seemed fluorescent and blue. The light streaming to the bottom of the pond seemed so warm and I longed for it. I looked around and assumed I was in some hospital. I was in the middle of some hallway and there were people passing through. They didn't look up at me when I tried introducing myself. I don't think they could see me. I wondered around through the halls for a hour or so without much urgency until I came to a flustered woman in her late fifties. She seemed very maternal and too stressed for her stout frame. I didn't want to worry her but seeing as she was the only person to acknowledge my presence, I couldn't help but ask her where I was.
"Oh honey," she sighed, plopping down on a nearby armchair, "this is heaven. You're dead now. I know it's fast and you're so young and I'm so sorry sugar. But I've been running around all day and haven't been able to meet everyone new yet."
I asked her if I could help her with anything, as that was my nature. My mother had always stressed the importance of helping others, and this woman certainly looked like she needed it.
"Oh sugar! No dear, I'll be just fine my own. I've been doing it for millions of years, but you'd think Id have it down by now," she chuckled to herself in her thick southern drawl and tucked back a piece of her light blond hair, "by the way, I'm God, nice to meet you."
She went on to tell me that heaven had become quite full lately and she struggled to find a place for everyone.
"Is this really it?" I asked shyly, "I mean no offense but this is so... " I gestured around, at a loss for words.
"I know it's not what most people expect. Since we've been running out of space, or rather I couldn't keep making more and more individual mansions and soccer fields and strip clubs, I've been hooking people up to virtual monitors. That way they can create their own heaven. It takes a lot of stress off me but I can't help feel bad. Sure they get the whole experience but it's not quite the same." She got up and started walking, slowly this time.
Her face changed suddenly. "Oh honey, I have an idea but only if you're up for it. You liked it back on earth right?"
I nodded enthusiastically.
"What if I just give you another chance down there. You keep living the same life you have been. It's better than anything I could give up here right now anyway. Once you get old and tired, you can come right back on up here and I'll give you a room full of that light you like from underwater. Would you like that dear? If you wouldn't mind, it would take loads of pressure off of me."
I agreed immediately and the next time I opened my eyes I was looking back at that warm light dancing on the surface of the water. I kicked up off the bottom and my head broke the surface. I felt the sunshine dripping off my shoulders and I remembered the kind woman. I looked back up at the sky for a moment and I could have sworn I heard that same southern drawl in the rustle of the leaves.
| High above, sitting quietly and unobtrusively in a ship upon the moon, a strange figure pulled away from the microphone. It pressed a button, shutting the device off, and leaned back to stare up at the blank monitors. One by one, it flipped the switches, each screen lighting up with images flickering in and out as they blinked to life.
After a moment, it tilted its head, eyes widening.
"Huh. Well, that's interesting."
From behind, another of its kind, looked over. "What?"
"Come look at this."
Rolling the chair to the side, the first made room for the second, who stood and stared. Its eyes darted every which way, curious and gradually becoming more and more sad as it took in the information.
"Are... are they...?"
"...yeah..."
"Well, this is... rather disappointing." It sighed. "I guess all those books really didn't mean anything to any of them... From our studies, I was sort of hoping they'd be better than this. Professor Drsyzmnss is going to be so upset that his theories on human behavior regarding their own mortality, apocalypses, and the concept of 'unity' is a failure."
The first shrugged. "Yeah. Shame, that. You think we should try and tell them it was us?"
"No. That might make things more complicated, if their literature regarding 'extra-terrestrials' is anything to go by. I say we leave it. If anything, we know their tendency to bounce back will kick in after a while. Just finish the report, and we'll pack up and go- we've got a few galaxies to hop through till we get home, and the sooner we move, the better."
"You got it."
[Edit: Fixed a few muddy sentences.] | |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | I was swimming when I died. I dove off a rope swing tied to a tree into the shallow part of the pond and hit my head. I don't remember much after I hit the rock. I know that I looked up briefly and the light danced so beautifully on the surface of the water. That was the last thing I remembered. I was only 17.
When I came to there was more light but this was harsh. It seemed fluorescent and blue. The light streaming to the bottom of the pond seemed so warm and I longed for it. I looked around and assumed I was in some hospital. I was in the middle of some hallway and there were people passing through. They didn't look up at me when I tried introducing myself. I don't think they could see me. I wondered around through the halls for a hour or so without much urgency until I came to a flustered woman in her late fifties. She seemed very maternal and too stressed for her stout frame. I didn't want to worry her but seeing as she was the only person to acknowledge my presence, I couldn't help but ask her where I was.
"Oh honey," she sighed, plopping down on a nearby armchair, "this is heaven. You're dead now. I know it's fast and you're so young and I'm so sorry sugar. But I've been running around all day and haven't been able to meet everyone new yet."
I asked her if I could help her with anything, as that was my nature. My mother had always stressed the importance of helping others, and this woman certainly looked like she needed it.
"Oh sugar! No dear, I'll be just fine my own. I've been doing it for millions of years, but you'd think Id have it down by now," she chuckled to herself in her thick southern drawl and tucked back a piece of her light blond hair, "by the way, I'm God, nice to meet you."
She went on to tell me that heaven had become quite full lately and she struggled to find a place for everyone.
"Is this really it?" I asked shyly, "I mean no offense but this is so... " I gestured around, at a loss for words.
"I know it's not what most people expect. Since we've been running out of space, or rather I couldn't keep making more and more individual mansions and soccer fields and strip clubs, I've been hooking people up to virtual monitors. That way they can create their own heaven. It takes a lot of stress off me but I can't help feel bad. Sure they get the whole experience but it's not quite the same." She got up and started walking, slowly this time.
Her face changed suddenly. "Oh honey, I have an idea but only if you're up for it. You liked it back on earth right?"
I nodded enthusiastically.
"What if I just give you another chance down there. You keep living the same life you have been. It's better than anything I could give up here right now anyway. Once you get old and tired, you can come right back on up here and I'll give you a room full of that light you like from underwater. Would you like that dear? If you wouldn't mind, it would take loads of pressure off of me."
I agreed immediately and the next time I opened my eyes I was looking back at that warm light dancing on the surface of the water. I kicked up off the bottom and my head broke the surface. I felt the sunshine dripping off my shoulders and I remembered the kind woman. I looked back up at the sky for a moment and I could have sworn I heard that same southern drawl in the rustle of the leaves.
| Interviewing people is the worst part of my job. Stand, observe, evaluate. An entire life before my eyes, an infinity behind me.
Robert Ward.
"Says here you haven't been to church since November 2008" This one is rather kind, well mannered, a good track record. He should have no troubles getting in.
A stammer and saddened grimace "Well, yeah -- I mean yes. It has been awhile, but I have been good. It says there on the paper. Paper, is it?"
"Yes."
"Ahh, it's to keep us humans from being overwhelmed."
"No."
"Oh. Well. The...papers show I have been a kind person right? It must, I have been kind."
He begs, and I don't blame him. This is an eternity decided. An eternity that I can inflict or bless. All that matters is I live with a choice I believe in. "You have lived a moral life. You have been kind to others, and given back with all that you could. With my blessing, you may enter heaven"
A sigh; relief. He thanks me and enters. There does not seem to be any more interviews for some time. I should go back inside for the time being. Turn, motion, push the gates. Locked.
Strange, why are these gates locked. They should have opened, I do own the place. I would reckon that my own divine creation recognizes me.
"We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full."
"What?"
"Heaven is full, sir."
"Who shall you be? To deliver such information"
"Robert Ward. I'm sorry sir, but if you would be kind enough to wait, we shall make accommodations."
"Accommodations? For me? What may you do to satisfy"
"Well give us a moment, it won't take very long." Minutes, hours, days, months, years pass, and I wait. Then finally, a reply.
"Uhhh, hello. Sir. We have an idea for you."
"What is it?"
"We are going to send you back to earth, alright?"
"Earth, what for?"
"We created a new one, a new heaven. We need you to advertise." | |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | I was swimming when I died. I dove off a rope swing tied to a tree into the shallow part of the pond and hit my head. I don't remember much after I hit the rock. I know that I looked up briefly and the light danced so beautifully on the surface of the water. That was the last thing I remembered. I was only 17.
When I came to there was more light but this was harsh. It seemed fluorescent and blue. The light streaming to the bottom of the pond seemed so warm and I longed for it. I looked around and assumed I was in some hospital. I was in the middle of some hallway and there were people passing through. They didn't look up at me when I tried introducing myself. I don't think they could see me. I wondered around through the halls for a hour or so without much urgency until I came to a flustered woman in her late fifties. She seemed very maternal and too stressed for her stout frame. I didn't want to worry her but seeing as she was the only person to acknowledge my presence, I couldn't help but ask her where I was.
"Oh honey," she sighed, plopping down on a nearby armchair, "this is heaven. You're dead now. I know it's fast and you're so young and I'm so sorry sugar. But I've been running around all day and haven't been able to meet everyone new yet."
I asked her if I could help her with anything, as that was my nature. My mother had always stressed the importance of helping others, and this woman certainly looked like she needed it.
"Oh sugar! No dear, I'll be just fine my own. I've been doing it for millions of years, but you'd think Id have it down by now," she chuckled to herself in her thick southern drawl and tucked back a piece of her light blond hair, "by the way, I'm God, nice to meet you."
She went on to tell me that heaven had become quite full lately and she struggled to find a place for everyone.
"Is this really it?" I asked shyly, "I mean no offense but this is so... " I gestured around, at a loss for words.
"I know it's not what most people expect. Since we've been running out of space, or rather I couldn't keep making more and more individual mansions and soccer fields and strip clubs, I've been hooking people up to virtual monitors. That way they can create their own heaven. It takes a lot of stress off me but I can't help feel bad. Sure they get the whole experience but it's not quite the same." She got up and started walking, slowly this time.
Her face changed suddenly. "Oh honey, I have an idea but only if you're up for it. You liked it back on earth right?"
I nodded enthusiastically.
"What if I just give you another chance down there. You keep living the same life you have been. It's better than anything I could give up here right now anyway. Once you get old and tired, you can come right back on up here and I'll give you a room full of that light you like from underwater. Would you like that dear? If you wouldn't mind, it would take loads of pressure off of me."
I agreed immediately and the next time I opened my eyes I was looking back at that warm light dancing on the surface of the water. I kicked up off the bottom and my head broke the surface. I felt the sunshine dripping off my shoulders and I remembered the kind woman. I looked back up at the sky for a moment and I could have sworn I heard that same southern drawl in the rustle of the leaves.
| "But why?"
"Many good people have been brought into his arms."
Ethan tousled his hair and bit his lower lip. The pastor smiled somberly.
"Okay, then how?"
"It is beyond our understanding, child."
"Exactly. Something beyond the grasp of modern man, and yet somehow despite say--and let's be nice--half of the people to have ever lived have made it there. A realm created by the almighty and unknowable, and they're out of tables? Guy created the whole universe, and a few thousand years later it's just 'whoops, outta room!' huh? I call bullshit."
"Get out of here. You ass."
"Hey, you're the spiritual one. Ask the big man and see what excuse he gives. I'd love to hear it."
"You're an atheist, aren't you?"
Ethan winked, "I may have been wrong, but you guys don't seem to have gotten it quite right either." | |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | I had feared it at first, like most. Had no idea how to interpret it. Heaven? Full? What did that mean for the living? That we're condemned to hell? Why would God allow such a thing? *I'm going up there and kicking his ass,* I thought. Wasn't very rational, was it?
I was stopped before I even made it out the door. Mike had grabbed my shoulder, his goofy ass smile the same in the afterlife as it was here.
Turns out the man upstairs gave everyone a choice not long after announcing that upstairs was full. Those who wanted could leave for here. To make room. Shit's crazy. Hendrix is back to making music. Mark Twain's biting satire is just as good for the contemporary era as it was so long ago. Shit, Julius Caesar's making the rounds with Lincoln, of all people. You should check them out when you get the chance. They haven't missed a beat.
| "But why?"
"Many good people have been brought into his arms."
Ethan tousled his hair and bit his lower lip. The pastor smiled somberly.
"Okay, then how?"
"It is beyond our understanding, child."
"Exactly. Something beyond the grasp of modern man, and yet somehow despite say--and let's be nice--half of the people to have ever lived have made it there. A realm created by the almighty and unknowable, and they're out of tables? Guy created the whole universe, and a few thousand years later it's just 'whoops, outta room!' huh? I call bullshit."
"Get out of here. You ass."
"Hey, you're the spiritual one. Ask the big man and see what excuse he gives. I'd love to hear it."
"You're an atheist, aren't you?"
Ethan winked, "I may have been wrong, but you guys don't seem to have gotten it quite right either." | |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | Of course many were devastated. Maybe even most. To be told by their Lord that they were not welcome in paradise. That all their good works were for naught, their eternal reward snatched away.
But the world was still turning. For every man who looked up and begged 'why,' to the uncaring sky, for every man who lost his mind, for every man who did whatever he liked, there was one who looked into the streets and said, 'who cares?'
For some it was rebellion. Denomination be damned, Heaven be damned, they still had Earth. And they would prove themselves to Him - prove they didn't need Him or His approval or His reward. They spat upon the ground in defiance, and did good against His name.
For some it was status quo. Regardless of acceptance or denial of the message, when the sun rose the next day, they were still where they had always stood. There was no need to break the pattern, no need to threaten anarchy, so they went on, and did what good they always had.
For some, however, it was irrelevant. 'I am sorry to hear it,' they whispered back, then shouldered that burden with the rest. Their work was not done, their cause unfinished. If they could not enter Heaven, they would simply build their own, and they did good for its sake.
And God looked, and saw the works of mankind, and saw that they were good. | "But why?"
"Many good people have been brought into his arms."
Ethan tousled his hair and bit his lower lip. The pastor smiled somberly.
"Okay, then how?"
"It is beyond our understanding, child."
"Exactly. Something beyond the grasp of modern man, and yet somehow despite say--and let's be nice--half of the people to have ever lived have made it there. A realm created by the almighty and unknowable, and they're out of tables? Guy created the whole universe, and a few thousand years later it's just 'whoops, outta room!' huh? I call bullshit."
"Get out of here. You ass."
"Hey, you're the spiritual one. Ask the big man and see what excuse he gives. I'd love to hear it."
"You're an atheist, aren't you?"
Ethan winked, "I may have been wrong, but you guys don't seem to have gotten it quite right either." | |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | God paused for a moment, and with a mighty thunderclap, smacked Himself in the forehead.
"MICHAEL!" he shouted, fuming as the Archangel appeared at his door.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Michael. New commandment. Thou Shalt Not Hit Reply All in Private Conversations."
"...sorry, boss." | "But why?"
"Many good people have been brought into his arms."
Ethan tousled his hair and bit his lower lip. The pastor smiled somberly.
"Okay, then how?"
"It is beyond our understanding, child."
"Exactly. Something beyond the grasp of modern man, and yet somehow despite say--and let's be nice--half of the people to have ever lived have made it there. A realm created by the almighty and unknowable, and they're out of tables? Guy created the whole universe, and a few thousand years later it's just 'whoops, outta room!' huh? I call bullshit."
"Get out of here. You ass."
"Hey, you're the spiritual one. Ask the big man and see what excuse he gives. I'd love to hear it."
"You're an atheist, aren't you?"
Ethan winked, "I may have been wrong, but you guys don't seem to have gotten it quite right either." | |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | Of course many were devastated. Maybe even most. To be told by their Lord that they were not welcome in paradise. That all their good works were for naught, their eternal reward snatched away.
But the world was still turning. For every man who looked up and begged 'why,' to the uncaring sky, for every man who lost his mind, for every man who did whatever he liked, there was one who looked into the streets and said, 'who cares?'
For some it was rebellion. Denomination be damned, Heaven be damned, they still had Earth. And they would prove themselves to Him - prove they didn't need Him or His approval or His reward. They spat upon the ground in defiance, and did good against His name.
For some it was status quo. Regardless of acceptance or denial of the message, when the sun rose the next day, they were still where they had always stood. There was no need to break the pattern, no need to threaten anarchy, so they went on, and did what good they always had.
For some, however, it was irrelevant. 'I am sorry to hear it,' they whispered back, then shouldered that burden with the rest. Their work was not done, their cause unfinished. If they could not enter Heaven, they would simply build their own, and they did good for its sake.
And God looked, and saw the works of mankind, and saw that they were good. | I had feared it at first, like most. Had no idea how to interpret it. Heaven? Full? What did that mean for the living? That we're condemned to hell? Why would God allow such a thing? *I'm going up there and kicking his ass,* I thought. Wasn't very rational, was it?
I was stopped before I even made it out the door. Mike had grabbed my shoulder, his goofy ass smile the same in the afterlife as it was here.
Turns out the man upstairs gave everyone a choice not long after announcing that upstairs was full. Those who wanted could leave for here. To make room. Shit's crazy. Hendrix is back to making music. Mark Twain's biting satire is just as good for the contemporary era as it was so long ago. Shit, Julius Caesar's making the rounds with Lincoln, of all people. You should check them out when you get the chance. They haven't missed a beat.
| |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | God paused for a moment, and with a mighty thunderclap, smacked Himself in the forehead.
"MICHAEL!" he shouted, fuming as the Archangel appeared at his door.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Michael. New commandment. Thou Shalt Not Hit Reply All in Private Conversations."
"...sorry, boss." | I had feared it at first, like most. Had no idea how to interpret it. Heaven? Full? What did that mean for the living? That we're condemned to hell? Why would God allow such a thing? *I'm going up there and kicking his ass,* I thought. Wasn't very rational, was it?
I was stopped before I even made it out the door. Mike had grabbed my shoulder, his goofy ass smile the same in the afterlife as it was here.
Turns out the man upstairs gave everyone a choice not long after announcing that upstairs was full. Those who wanted could leave for here. To make room. Shit's crazy. Hendrix is back to making music. Mark Twain's biting satire is just as good for the contemporary era as it was so long ago. Shit, Julius Caesar's making the rounds with Lincoln, of all people. You should check them out when you get the chance. They haven't missed a beat.
| |
[WP] We all heard it, around the world, in our native tongues: "We're deeply sorry, but heaven is full." | God paused for a moment, and with a mighty thunderclap, smacked Himself in the forehead.
"MICHAEL!" he shouted, fuming as the Archangel appeared at his door.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Michael. New commandment. Thou Shalt Not Hit Reply All in Private Conversations."
"...sorry, boss." | It was the worst in India.
Near a billion people in such a compact area stopped caring to be good all at once. Being good didn't matter anymore. The donkey doesn't run without having a carrot dangled in-front of it, just as man isn't good without reward. Of course, some people kept trying. They didn't do it for their own benefaction. Of course, those people were the first to die.
Humanity was - or is - (it's hard to tell if they're the same species with the good weeded out), a warrior race. Some say we were always destined to be our own demise. The only species on Earth that goes to war. Atleast that's over now. War ceases to exist because armies cease to exist.
Loyalty and honor are dead.
Hedonism and selfishness have taken their place.
Humanity is doomed. In my opinion, it has already died. We are not what we once were. To write this message, I acquired paper and pencil. Such things aren't so easy to come by now-a-days.
I had to do horrible acts so that I could write of them.
All this destruction, mayhem, violence due to one whisper by a God. Hell, maybe a Demon's lie. We didn't wait to find out.
*Heaven is full.*
The words that destroyed mankind. | |
[WP] Before Columbus sets sail to discover America, a plague eradicates all of Europe and Africa. Every one dies. Several hundreds of years pass and the Native Americans develop and prosper. They set sail and discover Europe with empty buildings and no one alive | Now that's a movie I would love to see. | "Isi! Isi! Are you going now?"
"Yes, little sister, I must make this voyage!"
"Will you come back?"
"Yes, I'll come back, I wont take long!"
At that moment, Isi left his hut and headed to the ceremony. At the ceremony there hundreds of people from the tribe, all ready to say farewell to the sailors taking on the big voyage. The Elders were there, sacrificing deer to the gods for safe voyage.
An hour passed, as the ceremony finished. The ship set sailed. The ship was most advance, made from the finest wood with an advance steam engine that would help the boat accelerate and travel in fast speeds.
**2 weeks past**
The sun just got up, and Isi was eating his morning meal, until suddenly another sailor, Naira, called out.
"LAND! EVERYBODY LAND!"
The whole ship's crew stopped what they were doing, and looked out to see the land in sight. Everyone was excited, so was Isi, he thanked the gods for safe travel.
The Ship landed at the beach and a party was set out to explore. The leader of the party was Cobuslum.
Cobuslum set out, with Isi as his right hand man. They travelled for 3 along the coast, until they saw a strange sight.
"What is that?" said Cobuslum
Isi threw up once he realized what the sight was. It was a mass grave with thousands of skeletons dumped into the pile.
"Be careful guys, these lands may be dangerous, lets continue"
Not far from the mass grave, they soon reached a place with magnificent cultures.
"What are these things? They look like big huts"
"These were buildings that people lived in"
"Everybody, explore!"
Everyone started to explore, and Isi went in to a strange building that was unique from others and stood out. As he entered, everything was dusty, but he realized how beautiful the structure was. As he explored he saw benches and chairs all neatly two straight columns with a space in the middle. As he explored, he sees another skeleton at the end of the building wearing a brown fabric. As he looks up, he realizes it is an altar, and he sees a cross with a man nailed to it. As he observes it, a huge BANG from the back of the building was heard and an object dropped out of the skeleton's hands. It was another member of the search party Naira, who came in. Isi picked up the book and left the building.
The party regrouped.
"Okay, so it looks like everyone just left with death plaguing everywhere"
"Something happened here, these people must have offended the gods"
"Whatever it is, I think we should leave"
As the party left to head back to their boat. Isi looked back once more, and saw a figure at the door of the building he was looking at him. Which scared Isi. | |
[WP] Before Columbus sets sail to discover America, a plague eradicates all of Europe and Africa. Every one dies. Several hundreds of years pass and the Native Americans develop and prosper. They set sail and discover Europe with empty buildings and no one alive | There was [a very similar prompt](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/200dar/wp_the_black_death_wiped_out_all_human_life_in/) a few weeks ago with a lot of good responses, if anyone's interested. | "Isi! Isi! Are you going now?"
"Yes, little sister, I must make this voyage!"
"Will you come back?"
"Yes, I'll come back, I wont take long!"
At that moment, Isi left his hut and headed to the ceremony. At the ceremony there hundreds of people from the tribe, all ready to say farewell to the sailors taking on the big voyage. The Elders were there, sacrificing deer to the gods for safe voyage.
An hour passed, as the ceremony finished. The ship set sailed. The ship was most advance, made from the finest wood with an advance steam engine that would help the boat accelerate and travel in fast speeds.
**2 weeks past**
The sun just got up, and Isi was eating his morning meal, until suddenly another sailor, Naira, called out.
"LAND! EVERYBODY LAND!"
The whole ship's crew stopped what they were doing, and looked out to see the land in sight. Everyone was excited, so was Isi, he thanked the gods for safe travel.
The Ship landed at the beach and a party was set out to explore. The leader of the party was Cobuslum.
Cobuslum set out, with Isi as his right hand man. They travelled for 3 along the coast, until they saw a strange sight.
"What is that?" said Cobuslum
Isi threw up once he realized what the sight was. It was a mass grave with thousands of skeletons dumped into the pile.
"Be careful guys, these lands may be dangerous, lets continue"
Not far from the mass grave, they soon reached a place with magnificent cultures.
"What are these things? They look like big huts"
"These were buildings that people lived in"
"Everybody, explore!"
Everyone started to explore, and Isi went in to a strange building that was unique from others and stood out. As he entered, everything was dusty, but he realized how beautiful the structure was. As he explored he saw benches and chairs all neatly two straight columns with a space in the middle. As he explored, he sees another skeleton at the end of the building wearing a brown fabric. As he looks up, he realizes it is an altar, and he sees a cross with a man nailed to it. As he observes it, a huge BANG from the back of the building was heard and an object dropped out of the skeleton's hands. It was another member of the search party Naira, who came in. Isi picked up the book and left the building.
The party regrouped.
"Okay, so it looks like everyone just left with death plaguing everywhere"
"Something happened here, these people must have offended the gods"
"Whatever it is, I think we should leave"
As the party left to head back to their boat. Isi looked back once more, and saw a figure at the door of the building he was looking at him. Which scared Isi. | |
[WP] Before Columbus sets sail to discover America, a plague eradicates all of Europe and Africa. Every one dies. Several hundreds of years pass and the Native Americans develop and prosper. They set sail and discover Europe with empty buildings and no one alive | I think that there is actually a book based on this premise, but I am really blanking on the title or author right now. | "Isi! Isi! Are you going now?"
"Yes, little sister, I must make this voyage!"
"Will you come back?"
"Yes, I'll come back, I wont take long!"
At that moment, Isi left his hut and headed to the ceremony. At the ceremony there hundreds of people from the tribe, all ready to say farewell to the sailors taking on the big voyage. The Elders were there, sacrificing deer to the gods for safe voyage.
An hour passed, as the ceremony finished. The ship set sailed. The ship was most advance, made from the finest wood with an advance steam engine that would help the boat accelerate and travel in fast speeds.
**2 weeks past**
The sun just got up, and Isi was eating his morning meal, until suddenly another sailor, Naira, called out.
"LAND! EVERYBODY LAND!"
The whole ship's crew stopped what they were doing, and looked out to see the land in sight. Everyone was excited, so was Isi, he thanked the gods for safe travel.
The Ship landed at the beach and a party was set out to explore. The leader of the party was Cobuslum.
Cobuslum set out, with Isi as his right hand man. They travelled for 3 along the coast, until they saw a strange sight.
"What is that?" said Cobuslum
Isi threw up once he realized what the sight was. It was a mass grave with thousands of skeletons dumped into the pile.
"Be careful guys, these lands may be dangerous, lets continue"
Not far from the mass grave, they soon reached a place with magnificent cultures.
"What are these things? They look like big huts"
"These were buildings that people lived in"
"Everybody, explore!"
Everyone started to explore, and Isi went in to a strange building that was unique from others and stood out. As he entered, everything was dusty, but he realized how beautiful the structure was. As he explored he saw benches and chairs all neatly two straight columns with a space in the middle. As he explored, he sees another skeleton at the end of the building wearing a brown fabric. As he looks up, he realizes it is an altar, and he sees a cross with a man nailed to it. As he observes it, a huge BANG from the back of the building was heard and an object dropped out of the skeleton's hands. It was another member of the search party Naira, who came in. Isi picked up the book and left the building.
The party regrouped.
"Okay, so it looks like everyone just left with death plaguing everywhere"
"Something happened here, these people must have offended the gods"
"Whatever it is, I think we should leave"
As the party left to head back to their boat. Isi looked back once more, and saw a figure at the door of the building he was looking at him. Which scared Isi. | |
[WP] "She stood in front of the gravestone that had 'Good riddance' spray painted over his name." | People rarely plan their funeral until they're dying.
Brain tumour. Inoperable. 5 months.
It took seven. He beat the odds. My beautiful, darling son won. And those seven months, oh what a seven months. He knew he was dying so my god, did he live.
And live, he did. He travelled, he laughed, he watched, he loved. He lived. He lived more than anyone I have ever known. He was 12 and yet older than I will ever be.
He planned. He planned to do things, to go places, to live.
And then he planned his own funeral. He didn't want people to wear black. He wanted people to wear their favourite colour. He wanted people to celebrate. His favourite colour was green. I wore a turquoise dress.
I stood next to my son's coffin in a turquoise dress and listened as some rock star he'd never met sang that he hoped he 'had the time of your life.' He'd planned this song. The anthem of every 12 year old in the late 1990s. That's what his friends told me. They told me more about him that I'd ever know as a mother.
He liked a girl called Lucy from Scouts because she offered him the last marshmallow. He was good at Maths but preferred History and learning about Wars. He'd smoked once and ended up coughing his lungs out and embarrassing himself in front of all of them. I learnt a lot from his friends.
And now I stood, with all I knew, in front of the gravestone that had 'Good riddance' spray painted over his name.
And smiled.
| She stood in front of the gravestone that had 'Good riddance' spray painted over his name. Sighing, she knelt down on the ground and began scrubbing off the graffiti. It was going to be a long shift. | |
[WP] "She stood in front of the gravestone that had 'Good riddance' spray painted over his name." | People rarely plan their funeral until they're dying.
Brain tumour. Inoperable. 5 months.
It took seven. He beat the odds. My beautiful, darling son won. And those seven months, oh what a seven months. He knew he was dying so my god, did he live.
And live, he did. He travelled, he laughed, he watched, he loved. He lived. He lived more than anyone I have ever known. He was 12 and yet older than I will ever be.
He planned. He planned to do things, to go places, to live.
And then he planned his own funeral. He didn't want people to wear black. He wanted people to wear their favourite colour. He wanted people to celebrate. His favourite colour was green. I wore a turquoise dress.
I stood next to my son's coffin in a turquoise dress and listened as some rock star he'd never met sang that he hoped he 'had the time of your life.' He'd planned this song. The anthem of every 12 year old in the late 1990s. That's what his friends told me. They told me more about him that I'd ever know as a mother.
He liked a girl called Lucy from Scouts because she offered him the last marshmallow. He was good at Maths but preferred History and learning about Wars. He'd smoked once and ended up coughing his lungs out and embarrassing himself in front of all of them. I learnt a lot from his friends.
And now I stood, with all I knew, in front of the gravestone that had 'Good riddance' spray painted over his name.
And smiled.
| Jane could see him now. If he could see where he was laid to rest, he would cluck his tongue in that way, the way that always came before a fight.
"So, I die, and this is were you bury me?" He would have said. "In the world's most boring graveyard? I would have died of boredom, y'know, if I wasn't dead already."
While Shady Lanes sounded like a rest home, it was a nice enough facility. Certainly the only one that could take him in, given the suddenness of his passing.
"Passing. That's a terrible way of putting it. How about, God couldn't keep up with me, so he killed me off!"
Frankie would have liked that on his tombstone. Instead, an empty sentiment was engraved there, something about how he was a good husband, taken peacefully.
But that was a lie. Frankie was terrible. If he wasn't drinking down at the Alley Hole, he was in another poker game, gambling money he didn't have to try to win big. Jane could go weeks without seeing him, as she pulled more shifts than what was legally allowed, trying to scrounge together enough money to start something, well, solid. Much more solid than Frankie. Frankie, who would stumble in drunk, and collapse on the bed, breath rank. Frankie, who would climb on top of her, and grunt a couple of times before falling over, asleep.
And the taken peacefully was the biggest lie of all. She was there when he awoke, eyes bulging out of his face like a fish. He had fallen out of bed, grabbing at his throat. The doctor said it was allergies. Something about peanuts. She called 911, but that was all she could do. As the air refused to go into his lungs, Jane looked at his face, held it in the most calming way she could. But the look he had, the distorted expression of agony and panic, that was the least peaceful way to go.
Even after he got taken out by the Big Man, Frankie ate up all the dollars and cents in that big jar, with the funeral arrangements, the lot purchase, and the gravestone. He came into her life, boisterous and full of energy, taking it all from her to sustain himself, leaving her drained, financially and mentally. He was a tour de force, a tornado that blew in from out of town, and he was still the most exciting thing to happen in her life.
"So, babe, you just gonna let it say this about me? I deserve somethin' a little better, am I right?"
She clucked her tongue. No, this simply would not do. She reached into the plastic bag from the hardware store, pulling out a can of red spray paint. Jane didn't pay any attention to the world around her, giving her all with each motion of the can. Frankie's send-off deserved that much.
And there it was. She stood in front of the gravestone that had "Good riddance" spray painted over his name. Loud, uncompromising, Frankie.
"There Frankie, you happy?" She said aloud.
There was no answer. | |
[WP] "She stood in front of the gravestone that had 'Good riddance' spray painted over his name." | People rarely plan their funeral until they're dying.
Brain tumour. Inoperable. 5 months.
It took seven. He beat the odds. My beautiful, darling son won. And those seven months, oh what a seven months. He knew he was dying so my god, did he live.
And live, he did. He travelled, he laughed, he watched, he loved. He lived. He lived more than anyone I have ever known. He was 12 and yet older than I will ever be.
He planned. He planned to do things, to go places, to live.
And then he planned his own funeral. He didn't want people to wear black. He wanted people to wear their favourite colour. He wanted people to celebrate. His favourite colour was green. I wore a turquoise dress.
I stood next to my son's coffin in a turquoise dress and listened as some rock star he'd never met sang that he hoped he 'had the time of your life.' He'd planned this song. The anthem of every 12 year old in the late 1990s. That's what his friends told me. They told me more about him that I'd ever know as a mother.
He liked a girl called Lucy from Scouts because she offered him the last marshmallow. He was good at Maths but preferred History and learning about Wars. He'd smoked once and ended up coughing his lungs out and embarrassing himself in front of all of them. I learnt a lot from his friends.
And now I stood, with all I knew, in front of the gravestone that had 'Good riddance' spray painted over his name.
And smiled.
| She reached out to touch the crudely made headstone, her fingers brushing against the rough stone. Unlike so many other graves, this one had no flowers, no pictures or letters. It was even separate from the rest of the cemetery, in it's own little corner under a looming willow tree. "Good Riddance" was sprayed across the stone, the bright red paint stark against the dark granite.
She sighed, kneeling in front of the grave to lay a bouquet of roses. Those who had defaced his grave had no idea. The majority of the world didn't know the true story. They saw him as a tyrant, a cruel leader who had bathed in the blood of thousands to bring the world under his iron rule.
Everything he had done had been for her, his only sister. He built a world in which she could live without fear, in a world of peace. The only way to build that world was to destroy the old one. Reaching into her pack, she pulled out the last memento she had of his. A metallic mask, with a slot that opened where his left eye would have been.
Turning, she caught a glimpse of a woman with green hair, walking away in the rain.
| |
[WP] In a future where paper is more scarce and more valuable than gold, a man stumbles upon an entire library underground. | "Impressive. The resolution of the text written on paper is legible after all. The ancients knew what they were doing back then, it seems." said Buodineain.
He produced a black, flat tech gadget, placed it on top of the page that he had opened and with the press of a finger he had scanned the entire book into the quantum core of his iPhone 10^3 x0.142.
The whole library was full of old books, with writing that was so outdated and stories that had been done to death that he couldn't quite find it in him to marvel. Although he was impressed by the amount of paper stored in one place, sure.
He found a chair and, after dusting it off, sat down on it. It didn't move. It wasn't supposed to.
He picked up a nearby book at random. It was written in some kind of old, dead language. English, or maybe Japanese. It was hard to tell. His 10^3 translated it for him without a hitch, even filling in the gaps where the pages had been torn.
It was a book about global warming. Buodineain blinked in surprise. The weight of his heavy winter jacket suddenly became very uncomfortable indeed. As he read through the book, he had to admit that he did not expect to find something as interesting as this. The ancients had been fighting the warming of the planet.
He looked outside with a heavy weight in his heart. The ancients had won. As he stepped outside of the library, the only thing he could see, as far as the horizon, was the cold, dead valley. The ancients had won.
Now Buodineain was one of the last two hundred people left on Earth, fighting to heat the planet up. | "Jesus Christ," said the wary and storm torn traveler. "I don't believe my bloody eyes." All around him were nothing but books and documents dating back to who knows when. This was like a gold mine -- er *paper* mine -- filled with the future he could never have dreamed of.
"Ey Jericho!" a voice shouted from a nearby passageway, and by the tone, it was a woman's. "Did you find any..." her words dropped, along with the flashlight she had with her, making shadows dance against the walls. "Holy shit... we found it." Another step forward against the marble ground, and it became clear that this library was stocked with knowledge.
"Baby we're going to be rich!" The man jumped with glee as he started down a stairway, to find even more knowledge stored within. "There's books, books everywhere. I just can't-"
His voice was interrupted by the noise of a deep growl, that of not a human's. It was like a combination of a snake's hiss and a tigers deep fearsome growl. Then it came from the shadows, a beast three times the size of the two. Big yellow eyes peered down upon them, yearning to rip them from piece to piece.
It was then the two realized why paper was so rare in this world. There was a guardian watching over this forbidden knowledge, making sure mankind could never gain the wisdom of old... | |
[WP] A person with super powers reveals his or herself to a significant other. The reaction is not positive. | And with a press of a button, it was over.
"What did you just do?" he said.
"Posted it to Twitter," she said, dropping her phone casually back into her purse.
"What the hell Jeannine!! I have one secret in my life and you broadcast it to the world the second I tell it to you!?"
"You're so full of shit Gordon. If you want to break up just say it and be done. This is beneath you. Be a goddamn man about it."
Gordon was dumbfounded. He had a ring upstairs in his sock drawer, ready to propose at a moment's notice. Is this the woman he was ready to spend the rest of his life with?
In a flash of anger he put is fist through the engine block of his car. She went pale.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..." Her eyes went wide and she nearly dropped the phone ripping it back out of her purse.
"Oh shit?? Ya think??" He yelled back.
"Fuck! Maybe I can delete it. Maybe no one's seen it yet." Her fingers were flying over the screen.
"Move fast Jeannine."
She looked at the feed and, when he didn't think her eyes could get any wider, they did.
"Shitfuck."
"What?"
"It's been retweeted 39 times. I'm deleting it now though..."
He grabbed her phone at a speed she didn't know he was capable of.
"No!"
He looked at the phone, "And they think I'm the stupidest superhero since Mighty Mouse. Nice."
He sat on the bench in their garage, her phone in his hand, and sighed. It was a nice house. He had bought it a few years back after Saudi Arabia had given him a cash award for helping out. Half went to charities, which was fun, and the rest he had used slowly, living in this quiet neighborhood. Being a superhero didn't pay a dime but if you were frugal and willing to go without things other people might need, like food, you could get by.
He liked this house. It was a shame he was going to have to destroy it.
"Pack what you can, not too much. We've got to get out of here."
"No," she said quickly, reaching for her phone "I can fix this."
He crushed the phone in his hand without a thought. She froze.
"No. No you can't. You have about five minutes, then I'm going to set fire to the house and we're going to get out of here."
"Gordon, I'm sorry, please don't flip out. I'm sorry that..."
"YOU CAN'T FIX IT!" he yelled in a powerful bass voice she had never heard from him before. "You fucked everything up! Everything! My life! Your life! Your family's lives! Everyone we've ever met or known!"
She remained frozen.
He sighed heavily, "You have four minutes."
She bolted for the house.
When she returned with her satchel he was in costume with a small, old-school, steel lunchbox. He searched her bags, destroying all of her IDs and anything that had personal information on or in it.
"Where do you want to go?" he said, shoulders slumped, defeated.
Her eyes welled up with tears. "With you. I want to go with you."
"No." His voice was flat and dead. "We're done. You can't be with me anymore. You'll be dead within a week."
She kept trying to look into his eyes but kept his back to her. "You've always liked Portland. I'll drop you there unless you give me someplace else."
She thought for a moment. "Dallas," she said quietly.
Again he said, "No. You can't go to your mom. You can't go anywhere people know you. No calls, no letters, emails, nothing." He handed her the lunchbox. She opened it. Inside was what looked like tens of thousands of dollars. "That's what I've got left. I don't really need it now. I'm going to have to spend the next year or so cleaning this up. I'll try to use my federal contacts to get your family into new lives, but I don't know how fast my enemies are these days. Especially The Swarm. She may already know where they are. I'll do my best."
He put his arm around her waist and, somehow still managing to avoid eye contact, lifted off the ground with her. She looked back to earth and saw the house in a blaze. When did that happen? Now she understood why he had bought the two lots on either side of his land; it managed to keep the fire from spreading to nearby homes. He was a good man and he was ready for this.
When they touched down in the alley, he released her, muttered goodbye, and started to lift up. She caught his shoulder and he stopped.
"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice breaking.
"Yeah."
And off he flew.
| His mobile phone rang, playing the theme of the classic Superman TV series. On the other end was Jane, his contact in the 911 dispatch station. "There's a girl on the roof of that red highrise on the corner of Lexington and Union Street" she told him. "She's threatening to jump. You're quite good at this kind of stuff, right? Could you please head over there and see what you can do, at least until the cops and the paramedics get there?"
Sure thing. That was only a two minutes flight from where he was. Alighting on the rooftop, he saw the young woman at the edge, on the opposite side. But wait...that glorious, long, red hair, that blue dress...that was Carrie, his fiancee! He hurried across the roof, then stopped himself just before he could touch her.
What could have brought her there? As far as he knew, they were happy! They were reasonably well-off, had their own house, car, and everything. How could he have missed the signs leading up to this? He wiped his hand across his face, and encountered the black leather mask covering the upper part of it. Damn! He wanted to rip it off, but the officials would be here soon, he couldn't let them see who he really was! Well, he'd have to do it this way then.
"Carrie?" he said softly, hoping not to startle her into jumping. She whipped around, staring at him. Her face was puffy red from crying, black mascara smears around her eyes "How do you know my name?"
Damn, he had hoped she would recognise him right away. That would have been less awkward. In a situation that could hardly be any more awkward.
He swallowed and cleared his throat "It's me, Dave. Yes, I'm the Great and Wonderful Protector" Gods, I hope she doesn't think I picked that title for myself, he thought, as he self-consciously gestured at his costume, tight black leather suit, cape, mask and all. "I know I should have told you, I'm so sorry. Please, come down with me, we can talk about everything. If I've done anything to hurt you this way, please tell me!" he managed to say, tears clogging up his throat.
She just made a step away from him, putting her dangerously close to the edge, shaking her head in desperate denial. "You bastard! How could you do this to me? Do the last twelve years mean so little to you that you thought you couldn't tell me? Couldn't trust me with this?!"
"I know, but...why are you up here? What happened?" he stammered, all of the superhero posture fled from him.
"I thought you didn't love me anymore! You're out all the time, you never tell me where you go, all I get are these stupid excuses 'sorry darling, tough day, have to stay in longer and finish this project! Sorry, darling, going to have a beer with Bob tonight, haven't seen him for ages! Sorry darling this, sorry darling that! I couldn't take it anymore! I thought you had a lover! And now this! I don't know if it's better or worse! You obviously don't trust me, how do you imagine our marriage to be? What would I have told the kids about why their dad is never there to do the homework with them or read them a story? You poor, selfish arsehole!"
She was still facing him, but kept retreating as she spoke. At her last words, she turned around and jumped. He could only stretch out his hand, screaming "Noooo!". But it was too late. He heard the sickening crunch as her body hit the street below.
He collapsed on the roof, tears soaking into his mask. His phone rang again. He tossed it away with all his power, and saw it crash against the facade of the building across the road, shattering into a thousand pieces.
He was no superhero. Not anymore, and maybe had never been. | |
[WP] A person with super powers reveals his or herself to a significant other. The reaction is not positive. | "Julie, there's something I have to tell you." Jim said before taking a long pause.
"What is it, Jim?"
"I'm not sure the best way to do this, so I'll just say it... I'm The Amazing Hero". Julie was taken aback. Jim looked into her eyes to try and read her reaction, but she kept looking away. "Say something, please."
"We can't see each other anymore." Julie finally said after a gap of uncomfortable silence. She started to walk away toward the door, but Jim rushed past her, blocking her exit.
"What do you mean? You have to understand why I couldn't tell you before. Are you angry I kept this a secret for so long?"
"No, it's not that." Julie took her own long pause. "I'm WitchLady"
"Oh. Should we... fight now?"
"Yeah, I guess we don't have a choice. Let's go change and I'll meet you outside in 10 minutes." | "I am a robot, by the way. I was programmed never to tell you this, but my love for you has overrode my programming."
"I know dear. But I married you knowing you would be dependable, clearly not for your emotions."
"I just have one question."
"Anything. Ask away."
"Who is actually the father to our children?" | |
[WP] A person with super powers reveals his or herself to a significant other. The reaction is not positive. | "You are never around when I need you, Dan. You don't do the dishes, you don't help me look after Erif, and last week I had to clean out the garage all on my own!" Alice said, very upset. "And why the hell do you have so many capes in the garage, anyway? You're a juggler, not a super hero."
Dan considered his answer carefully. She deserves to know. She of all people, who deserves to know, and for whom it would be so dangerous to know. She, who has been through so much more than others.
"I have to tell you something." he finally said, taking both of her hands into his. "I ... am the Red Hand."
Alice thought about this.
"That guy in the mask that robs banks for a living?" she asked.
"I don't rob banks. I stop other people from robbing banks. I fight crime. I am a super hero." A clear note of excitement entered his voice towards the end. He felt liberated in finally being able to say this out loud to her.
"Are you?" she said flatly.
"I am."
"So ... you never help me out, don't do the dishes, spend almost no time with your son and have me do all the heavy lifting at home ... in spite of the fact that you can control shit with your mind?" she asked, her voice still flat.
"Eh. Fighting crime is a time consuming task." he said, appologetically. "And hiding it from you made it a lot more time consuming than it had to be."
"So you had super powers all along." she continued.
"Since I was about seven." he confirmed.
"And your power is to control stuff with your mind."
"Yep."
"How ... often do you control me with it?"
This is the point at which Dan realised that he should have kept his mouth shut. Or, more importantly perhaps, that he shouldn't have used his powers around the house.
"Come on. Tell me, I'm interested in your job, baby." Alice said, and under the friendly tone of voice there was a venomours under-current. "You know I always pay attention to *anything* you have to say. Is that part of what you do to me? Come on, how much of me is me and how much of me is your fetish desires?"
"No, look, you have it all wrong." he said, quickly looking for a way to mend things. "Sometimes, when you're sad, I give you something else to think about. I don't make you do things you dontwannado." he finished lamely.
"You're just going to mess with my mind again, aren't you? Pretend like this never happened, just because you feel uncomfortable?" she asked, looking him dead in the eyes. And he couldn't answer. "Oh my god, you freak. You are seriously considering it! I swear to god, if you do that I'll kill you."
"I wouldn't do that to you." he insisted. "That's why I'm telling you right now. I want you to know who I am, no more secrets around the house."
"So ... answer me. How much of me is still me? After 15 years of living with you, I hope I at least am the one who picked my own cereal." she spat.
"You are you! What does it matter why you like something?" he said soothingly.
"What do you mean?" the cold dead voice finally broke through.
Ah shit.
"You want to know the whole truth?" Dan asked finally.
"If you could grace me with it."
"The truth is ..." he delved into her mind and spread a feeling of satisfaction in her, at the same time as small tendrils of random events spread out to over-write the last ten minutes. "... that I thought I should take some time off. Spend more time around the house."
"That would be lovely!" Alice said excitedly. "Come on, I'll make us all pancakes!"
Dan poured some maple syrup on his and passed the jug along to Erif. The pancakes were delicious as always. He tried not to dwell on what had happened, he just had to accept that he would never be able to tell her.
"Hey, honey, you remember the thing I said earlier?" Alice asked, searching for something in the cupboard. She found it and straightened.
"Yes? Maybe. It depends." he replied, taking a large piece of pancake into his mouth.
Suddenly a pain stabbed his heart and soul, his back felt like it shattered into millions of pieces and everything went red.
"Remember how I swore to God I would kill you if you did that to me again?" he heard her ask through a thick mist in his mind.
He mumbled something. It didn't matter what. As she pulled the knife out of his back, he was already dead. | "I am a robot, by the way. I was programmed never to tell you this, but my love for you has overrode my programming."
"I know dear. But I married you knowing you would be dependable, clearly not for your emotions."
"I just have one question."
"Anything. Ask away."
"Who is actually the father to our children?" | |
[WP] A person with super powers reveals his or herself to a significant other. The reaction is not positive. | "You are never around when I need you, Dan. You don't do the dishes, you don't help me look after Erif, and last week I had to clean out the garage all on my own!" Alice said, very upset. "And why the hell do you have so many capes in the garage, anyway? You're a juggler, not a super hero."
Dan considered his answer carefully. She deserves to know. She of all people, who deserves to know, and for whom it would be so dangerous to know. She, who has been through so much more than others.
"I have to tell you something." he finally said, taking both of her hands into his. "I ... am the Red Hand."
Alice thought about this.
"That guy in the mask that robs banks for a living?" she asked.
"I don't rob banks. I stop other people from robbing banks. I fight crime. I am a super hero." A clear note of excitement entered his voice towards the end. He felt liberated in finally being able to say this out loud to her.
"Are you?" she said flatly.
"I am."
"So ... you never help me out, don't do the dishes, spend almost no time with your son and have me do all the heavy lifting at home ... in spite of the fact that you can control shit with your mind?" she asked, her voice still flat.
"Eh. Fighting crime is a time consuming task." he said, appologetically. "And hiding it from you made it a lot more time consuming than it had to be."
"So you had super powers all along." she continued.
"Since I was about seven." he confirmed.
"And your power is to control stuff with your mind."
"Yep."
"How ... often do you control me with it?"
This is the point at which Dan realised that he should have kept his mouth shut. Or, more importantly perhaps, that he shouldn't have used his powers around the house.
"Come on. Tell me, I'm interested in your job, baby." Alice said, and under the friendly tone of voice there was a venomours under-current. "You know I always pay attention to *anything* you have to say. Is that part of what you do to me? Come on, how much of me is me and how much of me is your fetish desires?"
"No, look, you have it all wrong." he said, quickly looking for a way to mend things. "Sometimes, when you're sad, I give you something else to think about. I don't make you do things you dontwannado." he finished lamely.
"You're just going to mess with my mind again, aren't you? Pretend like this never happened, just because you feel uncomfortable?" she asked, looking him dead in the eyes. And he couldn't answer. "Oh my god, you freak. You are seriously considering it! I swear to god, if you do that I'll kill you."
"I wouldn't do that to you." he insisted. "That's why I'm telling you right now. I want you to know who I am, no more secrets around the house."
"So ... answer me. How much of me is still me? After 15 years of living with you, I hope I at least am the one who picked my own cereal." she spat.
"You are you! What does it matter why you like something?" he said soothingly.
"What do you mean?" the cold dead voice finally broke through.
Ah shit.
"You want to know the whole truth?" Dan asked finally.
"If you could grace me with it."
"The truth is ..." he delved into her mind and spread a feeling of satisfaction in her, at the same time as small tendrils of random events spread out to over-write the last ten minutes. "... that I thought I should take some time off. Spend more time around the house."
"That would be lovely!" Alice said excitedly. "Come on, I'll make us all pancakes!"
Dan poured some maple syrup on his and passed the jug along to Erif. The pancakes were delicious as always. He tried not to dwell on what had happened, he just had to accept that he would never be able to tell her.
"Hey, honey, you remember the thing I said earlier?" Alice asked, searching for something in the cupboard. She found it and straightened.
"Yes? Maybe. It depends." he replied, taking a large piece of pancake into his mouth.
Suddenly a pain stabbed his heart and soul, his back felt like it shattered into millions of pieces and everything went red.
"Remember how I swore to God I would kill you if you did that to me again?" he heard her ask through a thick mist in his mind.
He mumbled something. It didn't matter what. As she pulled the knife out of his back, he was already dead. | "Julie, there's something I have to tell you." Jim said before taking a long pause.
"What is it, Jim?"
"I'm not sure the best way to do this, so I'll just say it... I'm The Amazing Hero". Julie was taken aback. Jim looked into her eyes to try and read her reaction, but she kept looking away. "Say something, please."
"We can't see each other anymore." Julie finally said after a gap of uncomfortable silence. She started to walk away toward the door, but Jim rushed past her, blocking her exit.
"What do you mean? You have to understand why I couldn't tell you before. Are you angry I kept this a secret for so long?"
"No, it's not that." Julie took her own long pause. "I'm WitchLady"
"Oh. Should we... fight now?"
"Yeah, I guess we don't have a choice. Let's go change and I'll meet you outside in 10 minutes." | |
Inspired by the [Christmas time truces](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_truce) that took place across the western front during WWI in which German and British troops would not only fraternize but exchange gifts during mutual cease fires over the Christmas holiday. | [WP] Soldiers from opposite sides of the battlefield enjoy the last fleeting moments of a mutual cease fire on Christmas during WWI. | *Dear god, what am I doing?*
Sergeant Daniel William Bradley, once a proud member of the British armed forces, clutched his rifle tightly against his chest, his breathing heavy and his heart racing as he reconsidered all his former pride.
*Why am I even here?*
The truce was going to end soon, and then they would return to hell. The clock was ticking, time was marching on. Soon, Bradley would be firing blindly. From his trench he would point his gun towards the other trench, he would pull the trigger until he was out of ammo, and he would switch clips. He would repeat this process as long as he was on duty.
But it’s not that which makes Bradley woozy, his head spinning in anxiety as he stares as hit feet. His damn hands were so sweaty, clenching the rifle and shaking pathetically.
It was different now. There were men over there. Men who weren’t just the opponents. They were real human beings. He had never thought about it, never *wanted* to think about it.
He had been willing to speak to them, to see them. His thoughts at the time had been, *hell, you shoot at them every day, and they shoot back. I wanna see what the bloody bastards look like.*
How stupid of him. Now they weren’t robots, they were flesh and blood beings with souls. People with dreams, people with families, people with memories that they held precious enough to cry over in their sleep.
The man he had spoken to the most, Heinrich Koch, had even given him and his trench-mates a gift. Several pounds of jerked meat, he had claimed prepared specifically for them.
Bradley sighed, leaning his head back against the trench wall, his helmet pushing into the dirt. *What sort of a bastard is so nice he accidentally makes me feel bad for doing my job?*
*My job. My job.*
Bradley had never felt more disconnected from himself than in that moment, realizing how deeply he despised himself in this position. *To hell with this "job", it's only an excuse to ruin and waste lives.*
A shout came down the line, “The truce is off! Resume fire!”
Bradley sighed, and turned to climb up and fire out of the trench. Now, though, he only prayed to miss.
B*loody war, I’ll be damned to die here! I will return home!*
*May we, and they, all return home safely. God, only damn those who forced us into these hell pits.* | "Do you have any family?", I asked, hoping that my accent was clear enough for the man to understand.
"A wife and two kids, both currently in Paris."
"Oh." I rubbed my hands together, not really knowing what to do with them.
"Don't worry about them now," he said softly, "What about you?"
I took a second to answer his question. I could lie to him and tell him I have kids. I could guilt him the same way he did me, " No, just my mother back home. She's safe though."
We stood around for a few more moments before a tall man barked at him to retreat again. Our looks of embarassment faded, knowing that we would both have to return to the muddy trenches.
"Joyeux Noël!" he exclaimed.
"Sie zu." |
Inspired by the [Christmas time truces](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_truce) that took place across the western front during WWI in which German and British troops would not only fraternize but exchange gifts during mutual cease fires over the Christmas holiday. | [WP] Soldiers from opposite sides of the battlefield enjoy the last fleeting moments of a mutual cease fire on Christmas during WWI. | *Dear god, what am I doing?*
Sergeant Daniel William Bradley, once a proud member of the British armed forces, clutched his rifle tightly against his chest, his breathing heavy and his heart racing as he reconsidered all his former pride.
*Why am I even here?*
The truce was going to end soon, and then they would return to hell. The clock was ticking, time was marching on. Soon, Bradley would be firing blindly. From his trench he would point his gun towards the other trench, he would pull the trigger until he was out of ammo, and he would switch clips. He would repeat this process as long as he was on duty.
But it’s not that which makes Bradley woozy, his head spinning in anxiety as he stares as hit feet. His damn hands were so sweaty, clenching the rifle and shaking pathetically.
It was different now. There were men over there. Men who weren’t just the opponents. They were real human beings. He had never thought about it, never *wanted* to think about it.
He had been willing to speak to them, to see them. His thoughts at the time had been, *hell, you shoot at them every day, and they shoot back. I wanna see what the bloody bastards look like.*
How stupid of him. Now they weren’t robots, they were flesh and blood beings with souls. People with dreams, people with families, people with memories that they held precious enough to cry over in their sleep.
The man he had spoken to the most, Heinrich Koch, had even given him and his trench-mates a gift. Several pounds of jerked meat, he had claimed prepared specifically for them.
Bradley sighed, leaning his head back against the trench wall, his helmet pushing into the dirt. *What sort of a bastard is so nice he accidentally makes me feel bad for doing my job?*
*My job. My job.*
Bradley had never felt more disconnected from himself than in that moment, realizing how deeply he despised himself in this position. *To hell with this "job", it's only an excuse to ruin and waste lives.*
A shout came down the line, “The truce is off! Resume fire!”
Bradley sighed, and turned to climb up and fire out of the trench. Now, though, he only prayed to miss.
B*loody war, I’ll be damned to die here! I will return home!*
*May we, and they, all return home safely. God, only damn those who forced us into these hell pits.* | It's hard to look a man in the eyes after you've already stared into his soul. A few more minutes and I'll have to accept this as reality. No one wanted the cease fire to end. We had all become brothers, no longer enemies but friends in this putrid trench top landscape that was formerly carpeted by thick green grass. That's when we should have been sharing a drink with Franz. Watching him dance between the daffodils in green suspenders and silly hat. The man I will never know but caught a brief glimpse of during an arm wrestling match in the barbed wire covered blood canals earlier tonight. We all had a good laugh together, showed the letters from our families. During those few brief hours of peace from the hell of the last few months, we all confided in each other. We learned that we are all scared and no one really wants to be here but when your country calls on you, you answer. No matter what the cost, it's not for you that you're fighting this war. It's those back home that have penciled down their lives for you to hopefully find and remember the life you left behind. You look at these men and know that as soon as the sun starts to rise, you will once again have to look into their eyes and shoot. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Arborists and dendrologists beware! You probably wanted this subreddit, whose name describes the people in the one you might guess.
Aside: your clue should *uniquely* identify the one you're looking for. If another ~~answer~~ question could be used, your clue might need some adjustment. | Answer: This subreddit, whose members frequently misplace birds, shares its name with a particularly motivated plastic vessel. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Pretend you're a six-year-old kid with spiky blond hair getting fatherly advice on the world in this subreddit. | Answer: This subreddit, whose members frequently misplace birds, shares its name with a particularly motivated plastic vessel. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Arborists and dendrologists beware! You probably wanted this subreddit, whose name describes the people in the one you might guess.
Aside: your clue should *uniquely* identify the one you're looking for. If another ~~answer~~ question could be used, your clue might need some adjustment. | A subreddit to love magic, friendship, and plot. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Pretend you're a six-year-old kid with spiky blond hair getting fatherly advice on the world in this subreddit. | A subreddit to love magic, friendship, and plot. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Arborists and dendrologists beware! You probably wanted this subreddit, whose name describes the people in the one you might guess.
Aside: your clue should *uniquely* identify the one you're looking for. If another ~~answer~~ question could be used, your clue might need some adjustment. | This website is also a widely-known store that has been known to wipe out wallets in a single summer sale. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Pretend you're a six-year-old kid with spiky blond hair getting fatherly advice on the world in this subreddit. | This website is also a widely-known store that has been known to wipe out wallets in a single summer sale. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Daily Double:
"The subreddit where elitists come together in worship of [this man](http://gaben.coinpoolpros.com/images/gaben.png)." | "This subreddits name is a reference to a different kind of cat, one that alerted Keanu Reeves and his friends to trouble in a popular 1999 film." |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Doing research on medieval trade routes? Be careful not to stumple upon this hidden website. | "This subreddits name is a reference to a different kind of cat, one that alerted Keanu Reeves and his friends to trouble in a popular 1999 film." |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Home of hyperbole and overused images with text, this fauna-friendly subreddit may not be the best for those seeking help. | "This subreddits name is a reference to a different kind of cat, one that alerted Keanu Reeves and his friends to trouble in a popular 1999 film." |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Daily Double:
"The subreddit where elitists come together in worship of [this man](http://gaben.coinpoolpros.com/images/gaben.png)." | "Here is a trivia site that rewards lexicon prowess with the endowment of a hearty measure of food for destitute civilians... That's worth like 60 grains, right?" |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Doing research on medieval trade routes? Be careful not to stumple upon this hidden website. | "Here is a trivia site that rewards lexicon prowess with the endowment of a hearty measure of food for destitute civilians... That's worth like 60 grains, right?" |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Home of hyperbole and overused images with text, this fauna-friendly subreddit may not be the best for those seeking help. | "Here is a trivia site that rewards lexicon prowess with the endowment of a hearty measure of food for destitute civilians... That's worth like 60 grains, right?" |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Doing research on medieval trade routes? Be careful not to stumple upon this hidden website. | Don't take this subreddit too seriously. If you do, then you're an idiot. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Home of hyperbole and overused images with text, this fauna-friendly subreddit may not be the best for those seeking help. | Don't take this subreddit too seriously. If you do, then you're an idiot. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Daily Double:
"The subreddit where elitists come together in worship of [this man](http://gaben.coinpoolpros.com/images/gaben.png)." | This subreddit is the home of the North American professional sports team with the longest active post-season streak. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Doing research on medieval trade routes? Be careful not to stumple upon this hidden website. | This subreddit is the home of the North American professional sports team with the longest active post-season streak. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Home of hyperbole and overused images with text, this fauna-friendly subreddit may not be the best for those seeking help. | This subreddit is the home of the North American professional sports team with the longest active post-season streak. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | "Don't forget to mark 'explained' if somebody answers your question in this default subreddit... For their younger readers, 'explained' is spelled e-x-p-l-a-i-n-e-d" | This subreddit is the home of the North American professional sports team with the longest active post-season streak. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | Never, ever go to *this* subreddit, unless you're new, in which case you should totally check it out. | This subreddit is the home of the North American professional sports team with the longest active post-season streak. |
This is a different kind of writing than the habitual fiction prompts we see here. I love Jeopardy, and I actually think this will be a challenge because a good Jeopardy clue has to be easy enough to be solvable, but exclusive enough to not have multiple answers.
**Edit:** The objective here is not to be an ad for a subreddit, but to cleverly describe it like a clue/riddle on Jeopardy.
I'll put a few clues in the comments as an example.
| [WP] Write a "Jeopardy!" clue about a subreddit or website. | "Don't forget to mark 'explained' if somebody answers your question in this default subreddit... For their younger readers, 'explained' is spelled e-x-p-l-a-i-n-e-d" | "Want to know if Superman is stronger than your favorite Power Ranger? You might want to check out *this* subreddit." |
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