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All sexual desire in humans of any kind has disappeared. Every other desire is the exact same as it was before, however, e.g. The desire to sleep, eat, have companionship etc. | [WP] All sexual desire in the human race disappears one day. Tell me what the world is like 6 months later. | “Akirameru. That’s your problem”.
“I am not suicidal.” His cheeks were pink in cold, his lips curled in frustration
“You just haven’t reached there yet. Otherwise, I think you have given up life completely.”
“No. What I am suggesting is that there is nothing worth living for. Look at this billboard. Your next child should have a gene coefficient score of 180. Do you think we would be looking at something like this six months ago?”
“It’s still not bad as you think. Surrogacy has increased ofcourse, but not everyone is doing it. Look! Six months ago experts predicted an apocalypse. Everything is normal.”
“There is an apocalypse. Our apocalypse is boredom.”
“So you want people to run havoc all around rioting and pillaging?”
“Why not? I can’t understand how people can be calm about it. Fuck this whole Zen Celibacy thing. It’s all mumbo jumbo.”
“Asexuals have lived in this world before. On a grand scale, our lives mean nothing, whether we procreate or not it doesn’t make any difference. You know this more than anyone.” They were out of the alley now into a crowded market by the lake. They settled by the plastic seating rail colored in black and orange.
“Did you read today’s newspaper... about the man from Minnesota?”
She blurted into laughter. He looked into her sky blue eyes as it reminded the days when they laid on the bed looking into each other.
“You mean the guy who watched pornographic movies for five months straight and now claims that he finally has an erection.”
He fell silent.
“You know how it is going to end up. Like every other nutcase in the world that claimed to have a libido. The media and government will waste time on him, and then his claims would be debunked. You used to be so sceptical, its funny and sad that now you are starting to believe.”
“I like to think that one of them might be true.”
“Who knows, maybe the Nigerian state is right when they claim that their country is unaffected by it”
He smiled, because he knew she was taking him on a ride. She grabbed her arm and kissed him on his lips. He felt nothing.
“Its true that Nigeria is the only country to have a stable population in all this time. But that is because, there is an accusation against the regime of terrible crimes on women. Meanwhile studies across the world have been pretty much inconclusive. So there is still hope for you.”
This time she kissed him deeply. Her eyes were closed, and she pulled him towards her. He knew she was being passionate. But still nothing.
“I gotta go. Don’t worry. You won’t find me when you come home today. Its our anniversary and like last year, you will have to hunt me down. And deliver your punishment on this naughty girl.” She made a baby face and then whispered.
“Haven’t seen me on my new sexy underwear perchance, have you?.”
She gripped his arm and let it go. And then she walked back across the street. He looked at her for one last time. The strands of her hair flying in the wind, it is something he loves about her. He looked into the lake, the water was cold and sky blue.
EDIT: Check /u/Lost_Madness comment. :( | “Good evening, America. I’m Lauren Greene, and this is the evening political talk show ‘Everyone’s Opinions Matter.’ Our guests tonight include Ms. Klein, a leading businesswoman here to explain why men have no place continuing to push for equal pay for equal work.”
“Let the free market decide what men are worth. Don’t get the government involved.”
“Also tonight we have Sister Christian, a nun here to tell us God’s view of the recent lack of motivation in men. Also, she will tell us ‘what’s her price for flight.’”
“I specifically requested no Night Ranger jokes, I had someone call ahead. You promised.”
“And finally, we have a group of six women who have taken it upon themselves to bear children. We will ask about the difficulties they faced in conceiving.”
Simultaneously “We’re not getting any younger.”
“All this tonight, on EOM.” Cue music, roll intro credits.
|
They tell you to start on reddit. | [WP] You are hired by Comcast to improve their reputation. | Day one has arrived. After stepping out of the shower, I looked in the mirror. "You're going to change the face of this business. They all love you. Show them why!" I said to myself in my best motivational speak tone. I've been trained by many self-help gurus and top notch salesmen, I was fairly sure I could do this. I put on my best suit, checked the mirror again, and started walking to the door. My old dog, jack, was on the couch snoozing away. "Later Jack, I'm off to change the face of Comcast!" I yelled. Jack jerked up, started, and I giggled a bit. "Hey fuck you, pal! I was asleep! Get the fuck outta here and go do whatever stupid shit you was just talkin' about!!". I nodded at him, grabbed my hat, and stepped out the door... | Sweat dripped down my chest, pooling in the thick curls between my heaving breasts. With every thrust, a few drops would fly free, tumbling in the air towards its waiting target. A feeble moan followed every splash of pungent, masculine froth, as my cock, the lube, and the tumbling beads of sweat would mix. Alexis had always wanted my cock, but those feeble moans and those quivering legs betrayed the pain and difficulty of handling my massive manhood. I decided to go easy. Pulling my throbbing cock free from Alexis's red gaping hole, I ordered the slut down to the knees, pushing my sweat slicked balls into a waiting mouth. My meat covered most of the slut's face, and between long, purposeful strokes I lifted my massive man hunk and let it fall with a dull thud on the slut's cheek. As I built towards orgasm, I yelled down to my submissive fuck toy: "so you're going to get your mods in line, right? No more anti-Comcast propaganda?" The slut moaned "anything for you." I sprayed a huge load on the smiling slut's face. "Just remember who fucks who," I said as I zipped up my slacks and stuffed one of my socks into the slut's mouth. "Here, keep it. You've earned it."
Alexis moaned in rapture, then gently removed the sock and slipped it into his pocket. "When will you be back?" Alexis Ohanion asked me. "Whenever I want," I replied with a smirk. I strode through the halls of Reddit's Executive office wing with one less sock, and one less liability for my generous employer. Stopping at the front desk on my way out, I gave a sly grin to the secretary. "The Triple Play is back! Only $99.99 for tv, phone, and XFinity broadband! Here's my card, darling." She'll call. They always do. |
They tell you to start on reddit. | [WP] You are hired by Comcast to improve their reputation. | It's my first day at my new job. Comcast hired me to be their new marketing manager. First things first, a meeting with Janet, my boss. During the meeting, Janet goes over all the recent problems and poorly implemented solutions. She also explains what is expected of me. After being shown everything, Janet turns to me and asks, "So, what do you think?". My response: "You're fucked. Comcast is the worst run company I've ever seen. I quit."
So, I guess technically, this is my last day at my old job. | Sweat dripped down my chest, pooling in the thick curls between my heaving breasts. With every thrust, a few drops would fly free, tumbling in the air towards its waiting target. A feeble moan followed every splash of pungent, masculine froth, as my cock, the lube, and the tumbling beads of sweat would mix. Alexis had always wanted my cock, but those feeble moans and those quivering legs betrayed the pain and difficulty of handling my massive manhood. I decided to go easy. Pulling my throbbing cock free from Alexis's red gaping hole, I ordered the slut down to the knees, pushing my sweat slicked balls into a waiting mouth. My meat covered most of the slut's face, and between long, purposeful strokes I lifted my massive man hunk and let it fall with a dull thud on the slut's cheek. As I built towards orgasm, I yelled down to my submissive fuck toy: "so you're going to get your mods in line, right? No more anti-Comcast propaganda?" The slut moaned "anything for you." I sprayed a huge load on the smiling slut's face. "Just remember who fucks who," I said as I zipped up my slacks and stuffed one of my socks into the slut's mouth. "Here, keep it. You've earned it."
Alexis moaned in rapture, then gently removed the sock and slipped it into his pocket. "When will you be back?" Alexis Ohanion asked me. "Whenever I want," I replied with a smirk. I strode through the halls of Reddit's Executive office wing with one less sock, and one less liability for my generous employer. Stopping at the front desk on my way out, I gave a sly grin to the secretary. "The Triple Play is back! Only $99.99 for tv, phone, and XFinity broadband! Here's my card, darling." She'll call. They always do. |
They tell you to start on reddit. | [WP] You are hired by Comcast to improve their reputation. | Nice try Comcast | Sweat dripped down my chest, pooling in the thick curls between my heaving breasts. With every thrust, a few drops would fly free, tumbling in the air towards its waiting target. A feeble moan followed every splash of pungent, masculine froth, as my cock, the lube, and the tumbling beads of sweat would mix. Alexis had always wanted my cock, but those feeble moans and those quivering legs betrayed the pain and difficulty of handling my massive manhood. I decided to go easy. Pulling my throbbing cock free from Alexis's red gaping hole, I ordered the slut down to the knees, pushing my sweat slicked balls into a waiting mouth. My meat covered most of the slut's face, and between long, purposeful strokes I lifted my massive man hunk and let it fall with a dull thud on the slut's cheek. As I built towards orgasm, I yelled down to my submissive fuck toy: "so you're going to get your mods in line, right? No more anti-Comcast propaganda?" The slut moaned "anything for you." I sprayed a huge load on the smiling slut's face. "Just remember who fucks who," I said as I zipped up my slacks and stuffed one of my socks into the slut's mouth. "Here, keep it. You've earned it."
Alexis moaned in rapture, then gently removed the sock and slipped it into his pocket. "When will you be back?" Alexis Ohanion asked me. "Whenever I want," I replied with a smirk. I strode through the halls of Reddit's Executive office wing with one less sock, and one less liability for my generous employer. Stopping at the front desk on my way out, I gave a sly grin to the secretary. "The Triple Play is back! Only $99.99 for tv, phone, and XFinity broadband! Here's my card, darling." She'll call. They always do. |
They tell you to start on reddit. | [WP] You are hired by Comcast to improve their reputation. | "Get him on the phone! Get that asshole on the phone now!"
"I'm right here, be there in a minute." I shouted back. His reaction meant he'd read my comprehensive report and had chosen one of the plans of action I'd laid out as the best hope for reviving Comcast's image. For some reason he didn't sound happy. I shrugged and turned my efforts back to buxom secretary who kept smiling despite my sorry attempts to woo her. "So, about lunch. I'm probably gonna be free in about five, maybe ten minutes, and I know this sushi place..."
"Get your ass now! You crook! I want my money back! Every dime! This is utter bullshit!"
I smiled again at the secretary, then walked into the CEOs office and plopped down into the leather chair in front of desk.
"I'm beginning to get the impression you have an issue with my suggestions?" I asked innocently.
"Have a problem? Have a problem? Are you kidding? This is a joke. I'll sue you for breach of contract."
"Whoa there buddy. Those are all valid suggestions, just because you don't like them doesn't make them bad."
"I don't like them? You suggested that we lock our customer service reps in stockades and let people pummel them with rancid fruit. You suggested that we offer the best internet package available for no cost for every internet issue we can't fix in twenty four hours!"
"Wait, what's wrong with that one? Good service for bad service."
"You suggested we pay for it from a competitor." He howled.
"Who would still want Comcast if it goes down all the time?"
"And where are the reddit suggestions?"
"Page eleven, after the summary. Did you not see it?" I stood up and reached forward flipping to page eleven. Under the 16-point font with the 'Reddit' in red, was one sentence that he read now, spitting the words: "Leave those good people alone."
I smiled at him and sat back down. I could tell he wanted to throw something at me but nothing on his desk was heavy enough.
"Anything else?" I asked, a lilt in my voice.
His face started at red and went to purple, and he furiously flipped through pages backwards. "Page forty seven! Pay customer's who cancel our service a hundred dollars a day for every day we don't turn their service off after the cancellation request."
"Think of the confidence it inspires."
"You suggested that we change the name to *'We're a bunch of crooks, don't do business with us'* and we sell the rights to the name Comcast to child pornographers."
"That last one is wrong. I checked and right now, you might have to give them something to take it off your hands." I gave him a weak shrug.
"I'm cancelling your consulting contract!" He screamed at the top of lungs, then calmed himself and looked me in my eye. "Effective immediately. I don't need any revisions. Get out of my office right now."
I looked at him quizzically, pulled out my smartphone and tapped a few icons. "Oh, um, my records say your account is still active. Contract requires you return all the equipment in the original packaging, unopened, to my office at the South Pole. Let me give you the number to my customer support people, do you speak Igbo?" | Sweat dripped down my chest, pooling in the thick curls between my heaving breasts. With every thrust, a few drops would fly free, tumbling in the air towards its waiting target. A feeble moan followed every splash of pungent, masculine froth, as my cock, the lube, and the tumbling beads of sweat would mix. Alexis had always wanted my cock, but those feeble moans and those quivering legs betrayed the pain and difficulty of handling my massive manhood. I decided to go easy. Pulling my throbbing cock free from Alexis's red gaping hole, I ordered the slut down to the knees, pushing my sweat slicked balls into a waiting mouth. My meat covered most of the slut's face, and between long, purposeful strokes I lifted my massive man hunk and let it fall with a dull thud on the slut's cheek. As I built towards orgasm, I yelled down to my submissive fuck toy: "so you're going to get your mods in line, right? No more anti-Comcast propaganda?" The slut moaned "anything for you." I sprayed a huge load on the smiling slut's face. "Just remember who fucks who," I said as I zipped up my slacks and stuffed one of my socks into the slut's mouth. "Here, keep it. You've earned it."
Alexis moaned in rapture, then gently removed the sock and slipped it into his pocket. "When will you be back?" Alexis Ohanion asked me. "Whenever I want," I replied with a smirk. I strode through the halls of Reddit's Executive office wing with one less sock, and one less liability for my generous employer. Stopping at the front desk on my way out, I gave a sly grin to the secretary. "The Triple Play is back! Only $99.99 for tv, phone, and XFinity broadband! Here's my card, darling." She'll call. They always do. |
They tell you to start on reddit. | [WP] You are hired by Comcast to improve their reputation. | "Get him on the phone! Get that asshole on the phone now!"
"I'm right here, be there in a minute." I shouted back. His reaction meant he'd read my comprehensive report and had chosen one of the plans of action I'd laid out as the best hope for reviving Comcast's image. For some reason he didn't sound happy. I shrugged and turned my efforts back to buxom secretary who kept smiling despite my sorry attempts to woo her. "So, about lunch. I'm probably gonna be free in about five, maybe ten minutes, and I know this sushi place..."
"Get your ass now! You crook! I want my money back! Every dime! This is utter bullshit!"
I smiled again at the secretary, then walked into the CEOs office and plopped down into the leather chair in front of desk.
"I'm beginning to get the impression you have an issue with my suggestions?" I asked innocently.
"Have a problem? Have a problem? Are you kidding? This is a joke. I'll sue you for breach of contract."
"Whoa there buddy. Those are all valid suggestions, just because you don't like them doesn't make them bad."
"I don't like them? You suggested that we lock our customer service reps in stockades and let people pummel them with rancid fruit. You suggested that we offer the best internet package available for no cost for every internet issue we can't fix in twenty four hours!"
"Wait, what's wrong with that one? Good service for bad service."
"You suggested we pay for it from a competitor." He howled.
"Who would still want Comcast if it goes down all the time?"
"And where are the reddit suggestions?"
"Page eleven, after the summary. Did you not see it?" I stood up and reached forward flipping to page eleven. Under the 16-point font with the 'Reddit' in red, was one sentence that he read now, spitting the words: "Leave those good people alone."
I smiled at him and sat back down. I could tell he wanted to throw something at me but nothing on his desk was heavy enough.
"Anything else?" I asked, a lilt in my voice.
His face started at red and went to purple, and he furiously flipped through pages backwards. "Page forty seven! Pay customer's who cancel our service a hundred dollars a day for every day we don't turn their service off after the cancellation request."
"Think of the confidence it inspires."
"You suggested that we change the name to *'We're a bunch of crooks, don't do business with us'* and we sell the rights to the name Comcast to child pornographers."
"That last one is wrong. I checked and right now, you might have to give them something to take it off your hands." I gave him a weak shrug.
"I'm cancelling your consulting contract!" He screamed at the top of lungs, then calmed himself and looked me in my eye. "Effective immediately. I don't need any revisions. Get out of my office right now."
I looked at him quizzically, pulled out my smartphone and tapped a few icons. "Oh, um, my records say your account is still active. Contract requires you return all the equipment in the original packaging, unopened, to my office at the South Pole. Let me give you the number to my customer support people, do you speak Igbo?" | "You want me to *what?*" I asked, imposing a calm and rational expression onto my face.
"We have it on good authority that you're the man for the job, sir. We thought you could, ah, offer your expertise in this matter. We do of course have much to offer, in the way of stock options, extensive healthcare plans, not to mention a very *large* annual salary--"
"ಠ_ಠ"
"I, uh... what?" The portly Comcast representative at my doorstep was at a loss. "I, didn't, um, quite catch that--"
"What is wrong with you people? Do you actually think your products *help* people? Do you imagine that your tech support team does anything other than remotely *molest* your clients? *Do you even*--" By this point I was raising my voice, and I began to notice Ms. Clarke at the edge of my peripheral vision glaring at me. It was, after all, broad daylight, and some of us (*ahem*) have armies of cats at their disposal. Better be on the safe side.
"Sir, sir, please, we *know.* Comcast doesn't have the very best of reputations, we know, and--"
"You are literally the worst telecom company in the U.S. right now. Probably the worst in the *world.*"
"Yes, sir, and that's were you come in."
"What, you need me to tell you how bad you are? And you'll pay me for it?"
"Respectfully sir, what, in your opinion, makes us so bad?"
"ಠ_ಠ"
"Uh..."
"Your prices are ridiculous. Not in the regular, "ooh-look-at-me-I'm-bartering" sense, in the sense that it doesn't cost you even a *fraction* of what you charge."
"Okay..."
"No, shut up. Not only that, but you effectively have a monopoly, meaning that you're focing people to give you money for goods and services that, for all the bullshit price tags and hidden costs and fees, don't actually work. *Ever.*"
"Alright..."
"Shut the *fuck* up. Then, when your shittiness just gets too fucking much, you invariably end up waiting hours (sometimes days) for tech support to actually pick *up,* then several hours (or days) more getting yourself passed around employees like the company whore, and *then,* when everything's nice and dry, they "accidentally" charge you for shit you never got from them. This is where you go back to the cycle, to get strapped to a table and molested using massive, horse-sized rubber dildos."
"I, um..."
"*That's* why your company sucks. *That's* what everyone says about you."
"That was very graphic."
"You know what's graphic? The way my butt is still sore from the numerous times Comcast raped me. *That's* graphic."
The heavy set man looked me over searchingly; after a few moments, he seemed satified.
"What?"
"And how would you do it, sir?"
"Do what? Stare seductively at someone?"
"What would you change about Comcast? How can you improve our reputation?"
I narrowed my eyes thoughtfully, looking into the distance.
"Well," I said slowly, "that would be easy. For starters, I'd need--" My eyes widened suddenly. "*Oh!*"
He grinned at my expression. "Sir, I've been instructed to tell you that your company-issued custom-made Hennessey Venom GT is very lonely, sitting there in the private parking lot all on its own."
"This...hmm. This might not be such a bad job after all."
"I've also been instructed to take you directly to your office." He beckonned invitingly to the nondescript Comcast van. He drove to get there. Come to think of it, those things don't look so bad, when you see them from the right angle.
"You know what? I accept."
"You what?"
"I say yes. You're hiring me!"
"Oh, of course. But who said you had a choice?"
He looked at me seriously for all of two seconds before he burst out laughing.
"Heh. Funny, that," I muttered to myself. "When do I start?"
"Oh. Right. Hold on one second!" He scurried to his van, rumaged around in it for a few seconds, and came all but running back, panting and sweaty, holding a shoebox with the Comcast logo on the top.
"What's this?" I asked, taking the box from his outstreched, straining fingers. I gasped when I took the box. It was surprisingly heavy.
"I don't know, sir," He panted, wiping his face on some spaghetti he pulled out of his pocket. "It's for you not for me."
"Well, what do I do with this?" I asked. I looked down at the box nestled in my arms. When I looked up again, he was gone. *Dammit, Comcast,* I thought. *You just had to hire freaking* Batman *for this, didn't you?*
I sighed, and went back inside my home, somehow managing to both close and lock the front door using only my feet and elbows. As I cleared some junk off my coffee table, and set it down onto it, it suddenly began glowing around the edges, in a sort of ethereal way. It settled down when I grasped the lid, and lifted it off the shoebox, careful not to touch it in any way, lest I be cursed with the wails of disgruntled Comcast customers for the rest of my mortal existence. Out of the box, I carefully lifted out a surprisingly heavy stack of papers. The first page was blank, save for a criptic inscription in wingdings in the center of the page, inked in the blood of orphans."
*Thus my journey begins.* |
They tell you to start on reddit. | [WP] You are hired by Comcast to improve their reputation. | "Get him on the phone! Get that asshole on the phone now!"
"I'm right here, be there in a minute." I shouted back. His reaction meant he'd read my comprehensive report and had chosen one of the plans of action I'd laid out as the best hope for reviving Comcast's image. For some reason he didn't sound happy. I shrugged and turned my efforts back to buxom secretary who kept smiling despite my sorry attempts to woo her. "So, about lunch. I'm probably gonna be free in about five, maybe ten minutes, and I know this sushi place..."
"Get your ass now! You crook! I want my money back! Every dime! This is utter bullshit!"
I smiled again at the secretary, then walked into the CEOs office and plopped down into the leather chair in front of desk.
"I'm beginning to get the impression you have an issue with my suggestions?" I asked innocently.
"Have a problem? Have a problem? Are you kidding? This is a joke. I'll sue you for breach of contract."
"Whoa there buddy. Those are all valid suggestions, just because you don't like them doesn't make them bad."
"I don't like them? You suggested that we lock our customer service reps in stockades and let people pummel them with rancid fruit. You suggested that we offer the best internet package available for no cost for every internet issue we can't fix in twenty four hours!"
"Wait, what's wrong with that one? Good service for bad service."
"You suggested we pay for it from a competitor." He howled.
"Who would still want Comcast if it goes down all the time?"
"And where are the reddit suggestions?"
"Page eleven, after the summary. Did you not see it?" I stood up and reached forward flipping to page eleven. Under the 16-point font with the 'Reddit' in red, was one sentence that he read now, spitting the words: "Leave those good people alone."
I smiled at him and sat back down. I could tell he wanted to throw something at me but nothing on his desk was heavy enough.
"Anything else?" I asked, a lilt in my voice.
His face started at red and went to purple, and he furiously flipped through pages backwards. "Page forty seven! Pay customer's who cancel our service a hundred dollars a day for every day we don't turn their service off after the cancellation request."
"Think of the confidence it inspires."
"You suggested that we change the name to *'We're a bunch of crooks, don't do business with us'* and we sell the rights to the name Comcast to child pornographers."
"That last one is wrong. I checked and right now, you might have to give them something to take it off your hands." I gave him a weak shrug.
"I'm cancelling your consulting contract!" He screamed at the top of lungs, then calmed himself and looked me in my eye. "Effective immediately. I don't need any revisions. Get out of my office right now."
I looked at him quizzically, pulled out my smartphone and tapped a few icons. "Oh, um, my records say your account is still active. Contract requires you return all the equipment in the original packaging, unopened, to my office at the South Pole. Let me give you the number to my customer support people, do you speak Igbo?" | Day one has arrived. After stepping out of the shower, I looked in the mirror. "You're going to change the face of this business. They all love you. Show them why!" I said to myself in my best motivational speak tone. I've been trained by many self-help gurus and top notch salesmen, I was fairly sure I could do this. I put on my best suit, checked the mirror again, and started walking to the door. My old dog, jack, was on the couch snoozing away. "Later Jack, I'm off to change the face of Comcast!" I yelled. Jack jerked up, started, and I giggled a bit. "Hey fuck you, pal! I was asleep! Get the fuck outta here and go do whatever stupid shit you was just talkin' about!!". I nodded at him, grabbed my hat, and stepped out the door... |
They tell you to start on reddit. | [WP] You are hired by Comcast to improve their reputation. | "Get him on the phone! Get that asshole on the phone now!"
"I'm right here, be there in a minute." I shouted back. His reaction meant he'd read my comprehensive report and had chosen one of the plans of action I'd laid out as the best hope for reviving Comcast's image. For some reason he didn't sound happy. I shrugged and turned my efforts back to buxom secretary who kept smiling despite my sorry attempts to woo her. "So, about lunch. I'm probably gonna be free in about five, maybe ten minutes, and I know this sushi place..."
"Get your ass now! You crook! I want my money back! Every dime! This is utter bullshit!"
I smiled again at the secretary, then walked into the CEOs office and plopped down into the leather chair in front of desk.
"I'm beginning to get the impression you have an issue with my suggestions?" I asked innocently.
"Have a problem? Have a problem? Are you kidding? This is a joke. I'll sue you for breach of contract."
"Whoa there buddy. Those are all valid suggestions, just because you don't like them doesn't make them bad."
"I don't like them? You suggested that we lock our customer service reps in stockades and let people pummel them with rancid fruit. You suggested that we offer the best internet package available for no cost for every internet issue we can't fix in twenty four hours!"
"Wait, what's wrong with that one? Good service for bad service."
"You suggested we pay for it from a competitor." He howled.
"Who would still want Comcast if it goes down all the time?"
"And where are the reddit suggestions?"
"Page eleven, after the summary. Did you not see it?" I stood up and reached forward flipping to page eleven. Under the 16-point font with the 'Reddit' in red, was one sentence that he read now, spitting the words: "Leave those good people alone."
I smiled at him and sat back down. I could tell he wanted to throw something at me but nothing on his desk was heavy enough.
"Anything else?" I asked, a lilt in my voice.
His face started at red and went to purple, and he furiously flipped through pages backwards. "Page forty seven! Pay customer's who cancel our service a hundred dollars a day for every day we don't turn their service off after the cancellation request."
"Think of the confidence it inspires."
"You suggested that we change the name to *'We're a bunch of crooks, don't do business with us'* and we sell the rights to the name Comcast to child pornographers."
"That last one is wrong. I checked and right now, you might have to give them something to take it off your hands." I gave him a weak shrug.
"I'm cancelling your consulting contract!" He screamed at the top of lungs, then calmed himself and looked me in my eye. "Effective immediately. I don't need any revisions. Get out of my office right now."
I looked at him quizzically, pulled out my smartphone and tapped a few icons. "Oh, um, my records say your account is still active. Contract requires you return all the equipment in the original packaging, unopened, to my office at the South Pole. Let me give you the number to my customer support people, do you speak Igbo?" | It's my first day at my new job. Comcast hired me to be their new marketing manager. First things first, a meeting with Janet, my boss. During the meeting, Janet goes over all the recent problems and poorly implemented solutions. She also explains what is expected of me. After being shown everything, Janet turns to me and asks, "So, what do you think?". My response: "You're fucked. Comcast is the worst run company I've ever seen. I quit."
So, I guess technically, this is my last day at my old job. |
They tell you to start on reddit. | [WP] You are hired by Comcast to improve their reputation. | "Get him on the phone! Get that asshole on the phone now!"
"I'm right here, be there in a minute." I shouted back. His reaction meant he'd read my comprehensive report and had chosen one of the plans of action I'd laid out as the best hope for reviving Comcast's image. For some reason he didn't sound happy. I shrugged and turned my efforts back to buxom secretary who kept smiling despite my sorry attempts to woo her. "So, about lunch. I'm probably gonna be free in about five, maybe ten minutes, and I know this sushi place..."
"Get your ass now! You crook! I want my money back! Every dime! This is utter bullshit!"
I smiled again at the secretary, then walked into the CEOs office and plopped down into the leather chair in front of desk.
"I'm beginning to get the impression you have an issue with my suggestions?" I asked innocently.
"Have a problem? Have a problem? Are you kidding? This is a joke. I'll sue you for breach of contract."
"Whoa there buddy. Those are all valid suggestions, just because you don't like them doesn't make them bad."
"I don't like them? You suggested that we lock our customer service reps in stockades and let people pummel them with rancid fruit. You suggested that we offer the best internet package available for no cost for every internet issue we can't fix in twenty four hours!"
"Wait, what's wrong with that one? Good service for bad service."
"You suggested we pay for it from a competitor." He howled.
"Who would still want Comcast if it goes down all the time?"
"And where are the reddit suggestions?"
"Page eleven, after the summary. Did you not see it?" I stood up and reached forward flipping to page eleven. Under the 16-point font with the 'Reddit' in red, was one sentence that he read now, spitting the words: "Leave those good people alone."
I smiled at him and sat back down. I could tell he wanted to throw something at me but nothing on his desk was heavy enough.
"Anything else?" I asked, a lilt in my voice.
His face started at red and went to purple, and he furiously flipped through pages backwards. "Page forty seven! Pay customer's who cancel our service a hundred dollars a day for every day we don't turn their service off after the cancellation request."
"Think of the confidence it inspires."
"You suggested that we change the name to *'We're a bunch of crooks, don't do business with us'* and we sell the rights to the name Comcast to child pornographers."
"That last one is wrong. I checked and right now, you might have to give them something to take it off your hands." I gave him a weak shrug.
"I'm cancelling your consulting contract!" He screamed at the top of lungs, then calmed himself and looked me in my eye. "Effective immediately. I don't need any revisions. Get out of my office right now."
I looked at him quizzically, pulled out my smartphone and tapped a few icons. "Oh, um, my records say your account is still active. Contract requires you return all the equipment in the original packaging, unopened, to my office at the South Pole. Let me give you the number to my customer support people, do you speak Igbo?" | Nice try Comcast |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | Here I sit now at the base of this Rahs-forsaken obelisk, the fulfillment of a fools errand we were sent upon an indeterminate amount of time ago. Time, bah, a concept, and not one which this great black tower seems to have any respect for. For that is what it is now, I’m sure of it. I, Shantan, the last of our party and by far the poorest equipped to survive out here, reached this behemoth this morn, and touched it with my own hands. Now I sit here, fulfilling my duty to our state, using my profession to record what I can about the obelisk before the desert finishes its job and claims me too.
The first thing I noticed is that the obelisk is small. Some trick of the light must draw its stature up to the proportions we admire from back home, for our trek of many months has only yielded a slab of rock smaller than some of the buildings back in Gol. What a cruel joke I’ve found here set in stone, luring us out to our demise.
The very same trick of the light that seems to draw this simple tower up into the great obelisk worshipped by those on high Roth also seems at play down here at it’s base. As I first walked around it, it appeared to move with me. The edges and angles never felt entirely true, although it clearly reached up above me. The whole thing seems constantly in motion, staring up at it too long leaves me dizzy. It feels as if this great rock is alive somewhat, shifting itself, watching me. Even now as I lean against it, I swear I can feel it shift behind me.
This far out on the rim of the world the days are long, as has long been known by our scholars. The sun bears down on me and the desert around far longer than it ever did in our great cities. I feel as if I’m being slow roasted like some leg of beast in the kitchens under the palace, and yet when I touch the tower it is as cold as the peak of Roth. The black slabs that undoubtedly comprise it must be filled with a dark magic all their own, for even after hours, days, years in this beating sun, the obelisk warms not at all.
I said that I know of this obelisk now as a tower, for that is what it is. I look up and I can see, before the terminus of the spire, a large cut section, seemingly designed as a viewing platform for those within. I spent some time looking for a door or stairs set into the rock, but the looking left me only with a sickening feeling I could not shake, and so I sat to write this. I expect nobody to find it, most like these pages will be whipped away from my long dead corpse, shredded by the sands that claimed my companions. Night seems to be coming, or some semblance of it, and so now I will rest.
A long night full of terrors. How I managed any rest at all I could not say, for an intense feeling of foreboding accompanied night fall. Still, find sleep I did, and with it came horrific visions and dreams. When morning came I awoke dripping in sweat, and not from the heat. I spent some time examining the pictures carved into the black rock walls this morning. Each wall is covered, from left to right, in slight variations of a similar story. Each panel is roughly a hand in height, and all share two similar features, a mountain on the left and a tower on the right. These panels are all the same length, which makes little sense when I gaze up at the pinnacle of this obelisk and see it tapers to a point shortly after the large windows. All of the panels I observed featured little groups of figures starting at the mountain and making their way over to the tower. As they went, some of their number stayed along the way. Some trick of the light played at the figures, making them writhe as if in pain. Shortly thereafter I had another dizzy spell, and began to write again, hoping to make some sense of it all.
It is nearly night again now, and so I use the last of todays light to document my afternoon. Again I brood on the hopelessness of these writings, but I use them as much to think through my findings as anything. I managed to find no door this afternoon, but I noted the all 4 faces of the tower had similar variations of the same story. The figures were different on each side, but all still writhed in their pain, even those bathed in the shadow of the great tower. I figure that whatever magic enchants this tower into staying cool also cause the apparent motion of the characters. Finally, I also noted that no figure ever reaches the tower. Admittedly, I can’t see very far up the tower, but the 30 or so panels I can make out on each face have no figure even remotely close to the tower.
Perhaps tonight I will rest better.
I think now I understand how I will meet my end. It is near, but not so near that it will go undocumented. I write this now from the top of the tower. I found the door this morning. I had searched around the tower again, checking to see if any figures I had missed reached the tower. It was then I noticed a new panel. I know it is new, because it was on the side I had come to last yesterday. The panels on this side seemed shorter than their counterparts on other faces, and so I examined closer. Sure enough, one figure had reached the tower, and had touched it.
It was then something took hold of me. I stepped back and looked up at the peak of the tower above. I put my hand out on the tower again, and I pushed. A seam appeared in the panels in front of me, black dust flowing as the seam became a crack. A soft clink of stone on stone came sounding out, and the door popped open towards me. I grabbed my things and stepped inside.
Ahead of me lay a stairwell, reaching up into the tower above. The door slid shut behind me, and for a moment I was alone in darkness. Suddenly the whole interior was filled with light. I could see, clear as day, all of the walls around me. The same pattern of panels filled the walls in here, and yet they were different from those outside. well, all but one of them. All of these panels had at least a single figure touching the tower, but there was more. Some foul horrid beast languished behind the tower here. Everything about it tore at my knowledge of our world, the very existence of it was torture. It was then I screamed, and blacked out.
I can’t be sure how much later I awoke, but when I did so I had a clear head and felt fresher than I had in months. I began to make my way up the stairs. The beast existed in all of the panels, yet now it seemed not so threatening. I was at peace. I reached the peak of the tower. I expected to see nothing but desert. I hoped to lay eyes on our fair state once more. Instead I was greeted by everything all at once. I saw the streets and houses of our cities. I saw the brothels and bars and docks of Gol. I saw the priests chanting high on Roth. I saw the King and his maid fornicating in his chambers. I saw other states too, other civilisations in other times all rising and falling. I saw the creep of this great desert and the wars fought in all our times. And I saw more than that. I saw this whole great world we live on, flat and wide and fierce, from its creation to its end. Now I sit here, waiting, for I saw my end too. | I was born and raised in Shin Ras, the Capital city that borders the desert. Every since I was a little boy I remember staring at the black pillar in the distance and wondering just what it was. My father told me stories of the expeditions our people had sent to discover the pillar and how non were successful, he told me myths of the mighty pillar that our people had worshiped since the dawn of our civilization. Daily life in the city wouldn't have been the same without it, as if it had a face of its own it would always stare at me, inescapable and piercing with its gaze. As I grew older my fascination with the pillar never wavered and my curiosity only grew with my age.
By the time I had become old enough to raise children of my own I knew what I had to do. My simple, meager existence as a shopkeeper would no longer suffice for my life. Every 5 years, as is tradition with our civilization, our people would mount an expedition to try to attempt to reach the pillar, knowing full well that never once has anyone returned from it, almost as if it were a sacrifice to the god-pillar. Against the wishes of my wife and family, I volunteered to go and with the 7 other men who volunteered we had set up and set out.
No one had ever returned from their attempt to reach the pillar so the only knowledge we had of the journey was what we learned ourselves on the way. The most perplexing thing I noticed about the journey and the pillar itself is that it has always been within eyesight even from the city but as the first few days came and went it felt as though we had made no progress whatsoever. By the second week our food and fresh water supplies were low. Tobias, a peculiar fellow with a heavier build, was the first to go. He died in his sleep however the cause of his passing was unknown. The supplies were running low and we had begun rationing but he still should have been fine.
More days passed and the pillar still seemed like a months journey away. We approached the end of the third week and most of our supplies were gone despite our attempts to ration. Three more of our men died from exposure or so we told ourselves. I hate to say this but we had to eat their corpses and to this day despite my best efforts to scrub my tongue the taste of their flesh has permanently contaminated my palate. The three of us who were left discussed turning back. Mayo was the main dissenter among us, he advocated taking our freshly replenished meat sacks and turning back but Ulysses and I voted against it saying that we would die either way we went.
Two more days passed and eventually Mayo lost his will to continue onward and succumb to the conditions of the desert. Ulysses and I scavenged what we could of his boney body and moved forward. Our water ran out and we had to drink of own urine for hydration. The tower seemed closer now but still too far to reach especially under these conditions. We settled down for the night and went to sleep. Upon walking up I saw that Ulysses was gone. No footprints in the sand, no food taken, no signs of his departure but he was just gone. Perhaps, I thought to myself, I was already dead and this desert was my own personal unending hell. Regardless I continued my march, alone now, seeing no better option.
A day or two past, I couldn't remember by this point. My food was gone and I couldn't produce anymore liquids. I thought that I would be next and I found myself confused as to why I should be the one to make it. All of the other men were far more physically stronger and more capable but why me? My thoughts turned to my soon to be widowed wife and our children who would never see their father again because he choose to pursue his childish fantasy. I lost my ability to form intelligent thoughts by this time. My mind was stripped of internal dialogue leaving only tired, raw emotions of sadness and regret and then black.
I woke up and my thoughts immediately went to wondering if I had died and if this was the afterlife. Then I regained my senses and saw I was still in the desert surrounded by miles and miles of sand. I stood up feeling refreshed somehow. I turned my head and when I did I saw it, the pillar, the monolith, the obelisk, God. I got there. I thought I had died, I thought I had joined my comrades but here I was. I slowly approached and gently put my hand to the stone sides of the imposing construct. As I began to touch it I felt my skin cool to the temperature of nice breeze, completely unlike the scorching temperature of the desert. As I continued to touch it I felt like a presence compelled me to keep my hand locked to the wall. I felt God, a presence completely indescribable with words or thoughts, beyond the normal senses of man and then it all made sense. The desert, the tower, the city, humanity. It all clicked. I ascended to godhood and in this realm I met my comrades and the thousands of others who had made the journey before me. We stood together as one in the void of space and time and melted together as one back into the tower. As I felt myself becoming one with god I felt another strange sensation, the tower itself physically moved outward and away from the city slightly, I'd say about 6 feet and then it was gone and then I was gone. I had become one with the cruel zookeeper my people had called God. | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | The sand in the winds had not worn the words from the ancient stone.
---
"For the crime of spreading subversive notions, you were sentenced to a simulated existence in the city from which you have come so far, which has been generated and populated entirely by your own mind. You have lived 612 simulated lifetimes, the end of each followed immediately by the beginning of another, and would have continued to do so without end until you reached this obelisk of your own accord, an event which marks the end of your sentence. At the present time 27 years have passed in the real world since you were placed into deep sleep and your simulation begun.
The War continues, and you will be eligible for draft upon reawakening.
You may reawaken and return to Service by placing your hand on this engraving.
To begin another simulated lifetime, simply turn back the way you came."
---
Long moments passed as I read and re-read the words.
A crushing sense of deja vu overwhelmed me as I turned away. | I was born and raised in Shin Ras, the Capital city that borders the desert. Every since I was a little boy I remember staring at the black pillar in the distance and wondering just what it was. My father told me stories of the expeditions our people had sent to discover the pillar and how non were successful, he told me myths of the mighty pillar that our people had worshiped since the dawn of our civilization. Daily life in the city wouldn't have been the same without it, as if it had a face of its own it would always stare at me, inescapable and piercing with its gaze. As I grew older my fascination with the pillar never wavered and my curiosity only grew with my age.
By the time I had become old enough to raise children of my own I knew what I had to do. My simple, meager existence as a shopkeeper would no longer suffice for my life. Every 5 years, as is tradition with our civilization, our people would mount an expedition to try to attempt to reach the pillar, knowing full well that never once has anyone returned from it, almost as if it were a sacrifice to the god-pillar. Against the wishes of my wife and family, I volunteered to go and with the 7 other men who volunteered we had set up and set out.
No one had ever returned from their attempt to reach the pillar so the only knowledge we had of the journey was what we learned ourselves on the way. The most perplexing thing I noticed about the journey and the pillar itself is that it has always been within eyesight even from the city but as the first few days came and went it felt as though we had made no progress whatsoever. By the second week our food and fresh water supplies were low. Tobias, a peculiar fellow with a heavier build, was the first to go. He died in his sleep however the cause of his passing was unknown. The supplies were running low and we had begun rationing but he still should have been fine.
More days passed and the pillar still seemed like a months journey away. We approached the end of the third week and most of our supplies were gone despite our attempts to ration. Three more of our men died from exposure or so we told ourselves. I hate to say this but we had to eat their corpses and to this day despite my best efforts to scrub my tongue the taste of their flesh has permanently contaminated my palate. The three of us who were left discussed turning back. Mayo was the main dissenter among us, he advocated taking our freshly replenished meat sacks and turning back but Ulysses and I voted against it saying that we would die either way we went.
Two more days passed and eventually Mayo lost his will to continue onward and succumb to the conditions of the desert. Ulysses and I scavenged what we could of his boney body and moved forward. Our water ran out and we had to drink of own urine for hydration. The tower seemed closer now but still too far to reach especially under these conditions. We settled down for the night and went to sleep. Upon walking up I saw that Ulysses was gone. No footprints in the sand, no food taken, no signs of his departure but he was just gone. Perhaps, I thought to myself, I was already dead and this desert was my own personal unending hell. Regardless I continued my march, alone now, seeing no better option.
A day or two past, I couldn't remember by this point. My food was gone and I couldn't produce anymore liquids. I thought that I would be next and I found myself confused as to why I should be the one to make it. All of the other men were far more physically stronger and more capable but why me? My thoughts turned to my soon to be widowed wife and our children who would never see their father again because he choose to pursue his childish fantasy. I lost my ability to form intelligent thoughts by this time. My mind was stripped of internal dialogue leaving only tired, raw emotions of sadness and regret and then black.
I woke up and my thoughts immediately went to wondering if I had died and if this was the afterlife. Then I regained my senses and saw I was still in the desert surrounded by miles and miles of sand. I stood up feeling refreshed somehow. I turned my head and when I did I saw it, the pillar, the monolith, the obelisk, God. I got there. I thought I had died, I thought I had joined my comrades but here I was. I slowly approached and gently put my hand to the stone sides of the imposing construct. As I began to touch it I felt my skin cool to the temperature of nice breeze, completely unlike the scorching temperature of the desert. As I continued to touch it I felt like a presence compelled me to keep my hand locked to the wall. I felt God, a presence completely indescribable with words or thoughts, beyond the normal senses of man and then it all made sense. The desert, the tower, the city, humanity. It all clicked. I ascended to godhood and in this realm I met my comrades and the thousands of others who had made the journey before me. We stood together as one in the void of space and time and melted together as one back into the tower. As I felt myself becoming one with god I felt another strange sensation, the tower itself physically moved outward and away from the city slightly, I'd say about 6 feet and then it was gone and then I was gone. I had become one with the cruel zookeeper my people had called God. | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | Here I sit now at the base of this Rahs-forsaken obelisk, the fulfillment of a fools errand we were sent upon an indeterminate amount of time ago. Time, bah, a concept, and not one which this great black tower seems to have any respect for. For that is what it is now, I’m sure of it. I, Shantan, the last of our party and by far the poorest equipped to survive out here, reached this behemoth this morn, and touched it with my own hands. Now I sit here, fulfilling my duty to our state, using my profession to record what I can about the obelisk before the desert finishes its job and claims me too.
The first thing I noticed is that the obelisk is small. Some trick of the light must draw its stature up to the proportions we admire from back home, for our trek of many months has only yielded a slab of rock smaller than some of the buildings back in Gol. What a cruel joke I’ve found here set in stone, luring us out to our demise.
The very same trick of the light that seems to draw this simple tower up into the great obelisk worshipped by those on high Roth also seems at play down here at it’s base. As I first walked around it, it appeared to move with me. The edges and angles never felt entirely true, although it clearly reached up above me. The whole thing seems constantly in motion, staring up at it too long leaves me dizzy. It feels as if this great rock is alive somewhat, shifting itself, watching me. Even now as I lean against it, I swear I can feel it shift behind me.
This far out on the rim of the world the days are long, as has long been known by our scholars. The sun bears down on me and the desert around far longer than it ever did in our great cities. I feel as if I’m being slow roasted like some leg of beast in the kitchens under the palace, and yet when I touch the tower it is as cold as the peak of Roth. The black slabs that undoubtedly comprise it must be filled with a dark magic all their own, for even after hours, days, years in this beating sun, the obelisk warms not at all.
I said that I know of this obelisk now as a tower, for that is what it is. I look up and I can see, before the terminus of the spire, a large cut section, seemingly designed as a viewing platform for those within. I spent some time looking for a door or stairs set into the rock, but the looking left me only with a sickening feeling I could not shake, and so I sat to write this. I expect nobody to find it, most like these pages will be whipped away from my long dead corpse, shredded by the sands that claimed my companions. Night seems to be coming, or some semblance of it, and so now I will rest.
A long night full of terrors. How I managed any rest at all I could not say, for an intense feeling of foreboding accompanied night fall. Still, find sleep I did, and with it came horrific visions and dreams. When morning came I awoke dripping in sweat, and not from the heat. I spent some time examining the pictures carved into the black rock walls this morning. Each wall is covered, from left to right, in slight variations of a similar story. Each panel is roughly a hand in height, and all share two similar features, a mountain on the left and a tower on the right. These panels are all the same length, which makes little sense when I gaze up at the pinnacle of this obelisk and see it tapers to a point shortly after the large windows. All of the panels I observed featured little groups of figures starting at the mountain and making their way over to the tower. As they went, some of their number stayed along the way. Some trick of the light played at the figures, making them writhe as if in pain. Shortly thereafter I had another dizzy spell, and began to write again, hoping to make some sense of it all.
It is nearly night again now, and so I use the last of todays light to document my afternoon. Again I brood on the hopelessness of these writings, but I use them as much to think through my findings as anything. I managed to find no door this afternoon, but I noted the all 4 faces of the tower had similar variations of the same story. The figures were different on each side, but all still writhed in their pain, even those bathed in the shadow of the great tower. I figure that whatever magic enchants this tower into staying cool also cause the apparent motion of the characters. Finally, I also noted that no figure ever reaches the tower. Admittedly, I can’t see very far up the tower, but the 30 or so panels I can make out on each face have no figure even remotely close to the tower.
Perhaps tonight I will rest better.
I think now I understand how I will meet my end. It is near, but not so near that it will go undocumented. I write this now from the top of the tower. I found the door this morning. I had searched around the tower again, checking to see if any figures I had missed reached the tower. It was then I noticed a new panel. I know it is new, because it was on the side I had come to last yesterday. The panels on this side seemed shorter than their counterparts on other faces, and so I examined closer. Sure enough, one figure had reached the tower, and had touched it.
It was then something took hold of me. I stepped back and looked up at the peak of the tower above. I put my hand out on the tower again, and I pushed. A seam appeared in the panels in front of me, black dust flowing as the seam became a crack. A soft clink of stone on stone came sounding out, and the door popped open towards me. I grabbed my things and stepped inside.
Ahead of me lay a stairwell, reaching up into the tower above. The door slid shut behind me, and for a moment I was alone in darkness. Suddenly the whole interior was filled with light. I could see, clear as day, all of the walls around me. The same pattern of panels filled the walls in here, and yet they were different from those outside. well, all but one of them. All of these panels had at least a single figure touching the tower, but there was more. Some foul horrid beast languished behind the tower here. Everything about it tore at my knowledge of our world, the very existence of it was torture. It was then I screamed, and blacked out.
I can’t be sure how much later I awoke, but when I did so I had a clear head and felt fresher than I had in months. I began to make my way up the stairs. The beast existed in all of the panels, yet now it seemed not so threatening. I was at peace. I reached the peak of the tower. I expected to see nothing but desert. I hoped to lay eyes on our fair state once more. Instead I was greeted by everything all at once. I saw the streets and houses of our cities. I saw the brothels and bars and docks of Gol. I saw the priests chanting high on Roth. I saw the King and his maid fornicating in his chambers. I saw other states too, other civilisations in other times all rising and falling. I saw the creep of this great desert and the wars fought in all our times. And I saw more than that. I saw this whole great world we live on, flat and wide and fierce, from its creation to its end. Now I sit here, waiting, for I saw my end too. | Marcus couldn't believe it. He had made it. Centuries of struggle and strife and longing, and he was the first to make it.
He used the hem of his dusty shirt to wipe the sweat from his head and took a long draft from his canteen. He savored it- he knew it would most likely be his last.
Sitting in the shade of The Obelisk, Marcus experienced his first pitiful relief from the relentless sun since about two days. He figured he had earned the rest.
He thought back to the beginning of his journey: to the king, the ruler of the capital, looking at him with eyes of disapproval. He thought too of the queen, remembering that when he first saw her that the phrase "your majesty" hardly did her justice. In that first instant, he had felt a twinge of doubt, just a twinge; however, he had every confidence his plan would work.
"King Henry, your steward announced why I was hear, and I can see a decision in you already," Marcus began. "It is more than understandable and I have of course heard of your wisdom." A little flattery never hurt, did it? "However, my king, I urge you to let me finish. If nothing else, I have already single-handedly changed the course of history in your kingdom forever." Henry cocked an eyebrow. The queen remained inscrutable. Marcus continued quickly, "Since the beginning of time our people have lived here in the capital. We've searched and scoured every possible part of our world, and no where else have we seen something like it. Something so mysterious, something so wonderful, something so completely *awesome*." Marcus was getting in to it now. He forged ahead passionately, "Of course I speak of the Obelisk. Every scouting party, every expedition loaded with water and supplies and animals for the slaughter- never has one made it back. Men more brilliant than I have concluded that The Obelisk must be enormous to appear so close, so within our grasp, that it appears one could make the journey in an afternoon. Well, my king, I am here to tell you that, finally, after millennia, it *is* within our grasp."
This final statement did not quite have the gravitas Marcus had hoped. The king looked bored and the queen looked kindly on with a mild pity as if to say, "oh sweetie."
Before Marcus could continue, Henry raised a hand to cut him off. "Marcus. We have heard of you. We have heard of your brilliance, your fantastic deeds, your ingenious solutions to ancient problems, but this, this problem, this is beyond you. It is beyond all of us. The Obelisk is and shall remain a mystery." The king's gaze softened slightly. "I do not want to lose another brilliant soul to that savage desert. You know there have been scholars, scientists, and philosophers who have all tried and who have all failed at this task. What makes you think you can succeed where they have failed?" Marcus had hoped he would ask that; with the most staunch face he could muster he said, "With all due respect, sir, they couldn't fly."
**part 2 is somewhere else in the thread. Sorry I couldn't figure out how to reply to my own comment on mobile :)** | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | The sand in the winds had not worn the words from the ancient stone.
---
"For the crime of spreading subversive notions, you were sentenced to a simulated existence in the city from which you have come so far, which has been generated and populated entirely by your own mind. You have lived 612 simulated lifetimes, the end of each followed immediately by the beginning of another, and would have continued to do so without end until you reached this obelisk of your own accord, an event which marks the end of your sentence. At the present time 27 years have passed in the real world since you were placed into deep sleep and your simulation begun.
The War continues, and you will be eligible for draft upon reawakening.
You may reawaken and return to Service by placing your hand on this engraving.
To begin another simulated lifetime, simply turn back the way you came."
---
Long moments passed as I read and re-read the words.
A crushing sense of deja vu overwhelmed me as I turned away. | Marcus couldn't believe it. He had made it. Centuries of struggle and strife and longing, and he was the first to make it.
He used the hem of his dusty shirt to wipe the sweat from his head and took a long draft from his canteen. He savored it- he knew it would most likely be his last.
Sitting in the shade of The Obelisk, Marcus experienced his first pitiful relief from the relentless sun since about two days. He figured he had earned the rest.
He thought back to the beginning of his journey: to the king, the ruler of the capital, looking at him with eyes of disapproval. He thought too of the queen, remembering that when he first saw her that the phrase "your majesty" hardly did her justice. In that first instant, he had felt a twinge of doubt, just a twinge; however, he had every confidence his plan would work.
"King Henry, your steward announced why I was hear, and I can see a decision in you already," Marcus began. "It is more than understandable and I have of course heard of your wisdom." A little flattery never hurt, did it? "However, my king, I urge you to let me finish. If nothing else, I have already single-handedly changed the course of history in your kingdom forever." Henry cocked an eyebrow. The queen remained inscrutable. Marcus continued quickly, "Since the beginning of time our people have lived here in the capital. We've searched and scoured every possible part of our world, and no where else have we seen something like it. Something so mysterious, something so wonderful, something so completely *awesome*." Marcus was getting in to it now. He forged ahead passionately, "Of course I speak of the Obelisk. Every scouting party, every expedition loaded with water and supplies and animals for the slaughter- never has one made it back. Men more brilliant than I have concluded that The Obelisk must be enormous to appear so close, so within our grasp, that it appears one could make the journey in an afternoon. Well, my king, I am here to tell you that, finally, after millennia, it *is* within our grasp."
This final statement did not quite have the gravitas Marcus had hoped. The king looked bored and the queen looked kindly on with a mild pity as if to say, "oh sweetie."
Before Marcus could continue, Henry raised a hand to cut him off. "Marcus. We have heard of you. We have heard of your brilliance, your fantastic deeds, your ingenious solutions to ancient problems, but this, this problem, this is beyond you. It is beyond all of us. The Obelisk is and shall remain a mystery." The king's gaze softened slightly. "I do not want to lose another brilliant soul to that savage desert. You know there have been scholars, scientists, and philosophers who have all tried and who have all failed at this task. What makes you think you can succeed where they have failed?" Marcus had hoped he would ask that; with the most staunch face he could muster he said, "With all due respect, sir, they couldn't fly."
**part 2 is somewhere else in the thread. Sorry I couldn't figure out how to reply to my own comment on mobile :)** | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | Here I sit now at the base of this Rahs-forsaken obelisk, the fulfillment of a fools errand we were sent upon an indeterminate amount of time ago. Time, bah, a concept, and not one which this great black tower seems to have any respect for. For that is what it is now, I’m sure of it. I, Shantan, the last of our party and by far the poorest equipped to survive out here, reached this behemoth this morn, and touched it with my own hands. Now I sit here, fulfilling my duty to our state, using my profession to record what I can about the obelisk before the desert finishes its job and claims me too.
The first thing I noticed is that the obelisk is small. Some trick of the light must draw its stature up to the proportions we admire from back home, for our trek of many months has only yielded a slab of rock smaller than some of the buildings back in Gol. What a cruel joke I’ve found here set in stone, luring us out to our demise.
The very same trick of the light that seems to draw this simple tower up into the great obelisk worshipped by those on high Roth also seems at play down here at it’s base. As I first walked around it, it appeared to move with me. The edges and angles never felt entirely true, although it clearly reached up above me. The whole thing seems constantly in motion, staring up at it too long leaves me dizzy. It feels as if this great rock is alive somewhat, shifting itself, watching me. Even now as I lean against it, I swear I can feel it shift behind me.
This far out on the rim of the world the days are long, as has long been known by our scholars. The sun bears down on me and the desert around far longer than it ever did in our great cities. I feel as if I’m being slow roasted like some leg of beast in the kitchens under the palace, and yet when I touch the tower it is as cold as the peak of Roth. The black slabs that undoubtedly comprise it must be filled with a dark magic all their own, for even after hours, days, years in this beating sun, the obelisk warms not at all.
I said that I know of this obelisk now as a tower, for that is what it is. I look up and I can see, before the terminus of the spire, a large cut section, seemingly designed as a viewing platform for those within. I spent some time looking for a door or stairs set into the rock, but the looking left me only with a sickening feeling I could not shake, and so I sat to write this. I expect nobody to find it, most like these pages will be whipped away from my long dead corpse, shredded by the sands that claimed my companions. Night seems to be coming, or some semblance of it, and so now I will rest.
A long night full of terrors. How I managed any rest at all I could not say, for an intense feeling of foreboding accompanied night fall. Still, find sleep I did, and with it came horrific visions and dreams. When morning came I awoke dripping in sweat, and not from the heat. I spent some time examining the pictures carved into the black rock walls this morning. Each wall is covered, from left to right, in slight variations of a similar story. Each panel is roughly a hand in height, and all share two similar features, a mountain on the left and a tower on the right. These panels are all the same length, which makes little sense when I gaze up at the pinnacle of this obelisk and see it tapers to a point shortly after the large windows. All of the panels I observed featured little groups of figures starting at the mountain and making their way over to the tower. As they went, some of their number stayed along the way. Some trick of the light played at the figures, making them writhe as if in pain. Shortly thereafter I had another dizzy spell, and began to write again, hoping to make some sense of it all.
It is nearly night again now, and so I use the last of todays light to document my afternoon. Again I brood on the hopelessness of these writings, but I use them as much to think through my findings as anything. I managed to find no door this afternoon, but I noted the all 4 faces of the tower had similar variations of the same story. The figures were different on each side, but all still writhed in their pain, even those bathed in the shadow of the great tower. I figure that whatever magic enchants this tower into staying cool also cause the apparent motion of the characters. Finally, I also noted that no figure ever reaches the tower. Admittedly, I can’t see very far up the tower, but the 30 or so panels I can make out on each face have no figure even remotely close to the tower.
Perhaps tonight I will rest better.
I think now I understand how I will meet my end. It is near, but not so near that it will go undocumented. I write this now from the top of the tower. I found the door this morning. I had searched around the tower again, checking to see if any figures I had missed reached the tower. It was then I noticed a new panel. I know it is new, because it was on the side I had come to last yesterday. The panels on this side seemed shorter than their counterparts on other faces, and so I examined closer. Sure enough, one figure had reached the tower, and had touched it.
It was then something took hold of me. I stepped back and looked up at the peak of the tower above. I put my hand out on the tower again, and I pushed. A seam appeared in the panels in front of me, black dust flowing as the seam became a crack. A soft clink of stone on stone came sounding out, and the door popped open towards me. I grabbed my things and stepped inside.
Ahead of me lay a stairwell, reaching up into the tower above. The door slid shut behind me, and for a moment I was alone in darkness. Suddenly the whole interior was filled with light. I could see, clear as day, all of the walls around me. The same pattern of panels filled the walls in here, and yet they were different from those outside. well, all but one of them. All of these panels had at least a single figure touching the tower, but there was more. Some foul horrid beast languished behind the tower here. Everything about it tore at my knowledge of our world, the very existence of it was torture. It was then I screamed, and blacked out.
I can’t be sure how much later I awoke, but when I did so I had a clear head and felt fresher than I had in months. I began to make my way up the stairs. The beast existed in all of the panels, yet now it seemed not so threatening. I was at peace. I reached the peak of the tower. I expected to see nothing but desert. I hoped to lay eyes on our fair state once more. Instead I was greeted by everything all at once. I saw the streets and houses of our cities. I saw the brothels and bars and docks of Gol. I saw the priests chanting high on Roth. I saw the King and his maid fornicating in his chambers. I saw other states too, other civilisations in other times all rising and falling. I saw the creep of this great desert and the wars fought in all our times. And I saw more than that. I saw this whole great world we live on, flat and wide and fierce, from its creation to its end. Now I sit here, waiting, for I saw my end too. | Take heed the journey you will meet, if you seek as far as the eye could see,
there has only been one who reached its peak, yet they were a pack they traveled as three,
the first did off by the sweltering heat, It beat his soul before his feet,
the second by icy night, frozen far from the light,
the third trudged through one step at a time, had he died he wouldn’t have mind, because the others had to die for him to see, that now I am one when once I was three.
Took some liberty with the prompt the obelisk represents who you want to be the party is the vices/people/mindsets in life you must let go or let die in order to become that person.
I don’t write a lot.
| |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | The sand in the winds had not worn the words from the ancient stone.
---
"For the crime of spreading subversive notions, you were sentenced to a simulated existence in the city from which you have come so far, which has been generated and populated entirely by your own mind. You have lived 612 simulated lifetimes, the end of each followed immediately by the beginning of another, and would have continued to do so without end until you reached this obelisk of your own accord, an event which marks the end of your sentence. At the present time 27 years have passed in the real world since you were placed into deep sleep and your simulation begun.
The War continues, and you will be eligible for draft upon reawakening.
You may reawaken and return to Service by placing your hand on this engraving.
To begin another simulated lifetime, simply turn back the way you came."
---
Long moments passed as I read and re-read the words.
A crushing sense of deja vu overwhelmed me as I turned away. | Take heed the journey you will meet, if you seek as far as the eye could see,
there has only been one who reached its peak, yet they were a pack they traveled as three,
the first did off by the sweltering heat, It beat his soul before his feet,
the second by icy night, frozen far from the light,
the third trudged through one step at a time, had he died he wouldn’t have mind, because the others had to die for him to see, that now I am one when once I was three.
Took some liberty with the prompt the obelisk represents who you want to be the party is the vices/people/mindsets in life you must let go or let die in order to become that person.
I don’t write a lot.
| |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | Here I sit now at the base of this Rahs-forsaken obelisk, the fulfillment of a fools errand we were sent upon an indeterminate amount of time ago. Time, bah, a concept, and not one which this great black tower seems to have any respect for. For that is what it is now, I’m sure of it. I, Shantan, the last of our party and by far the poorest equipped to survive out here, reached this behemoth this morn, and touched it with my own hands. Now I sit here, fulfilling my duty to our state, using my profession to record what I can about the obelisk before the desert finishes its job and claims me too.
The first thing I noticed is that the obelisk is small. Some trick of the light must draw its stature up to the proportions we admire from back home, for our trek of many months has only yielded a slab of rock smaller than some of the buildings back in Gol. What a cruel joke I’ve found here set in stone, luring us out to our demise.
The very same trick of the light that seems to draw this simple tower up into the great obelisk worshipped by those on high Roth also seems at play down here at it’s base. As I first walked around it, it appeared to move with me. The edges and angles never felt entirely true, although it clearly reached up above me. The whole thing seems constantly in motion, staring up at it too long leaves me dizzy. It feels as if this great rock is alive somewhat, shifting itself, watching me. Even now as I lean against it, I swear I can feel it shift behind me.
This far out on the rim of the world the days are long, as has long been known by our scholars. The sun bears down on me and the desert around far longer than it ever did in our great cities. I feel as if I’m being slow roasted like some leg of beast in the kitchens under the palace, and yet when I touch the tower it is as cold as the peak of Roth. The black slabs that undoubtedly comprise it must be filled with a dark magic all their own, for even after hours, days, years in this beating sun, the obelisk warms not at all.
I said that I know of this obelisk now as a tower, for that is what it is. I look up and I can see, before the terminus of the spire, a large cut section, seemingly designed as a viewing platform for those within. I spent some time looking for a door or stairs set into the rock, but the looking left me only with a sickening feeling I could not shake, and so I sat to write this. I expect nobody to find it, most like these pages will be whipped away from my long dead corpse, shredded by the sands that claimed my companions. Night seems to be coming, or some semblance of it, and so now I will rest.
A long night full of terrors. How I managed any rest at all I could not say, for an intense feeling of foreboding accompanied night fall. Still, find sleep I did, and with it came horrific visions and dreams. When morning came I awoke dripping in sweat, and not from the heat. I spent some time examining the pictures carved into the black rock walls this morning. Each wall is covered, from left to right, in slight variations of a similar story. Each panel is roughly a hand in height, and all share two similar features, a mountain on the left and a tower on the right. These panels are all the same length, which makes little sense when I gaze up at the pinnacle of this obelisk and see it tapers to a point shortly after the large windows. All of the panels I observed featured little groups of figures starting at the mountain and making their way over to the tower. As they went, some of their number stayed along the way. Some trick of the light played at the figures, making them writhe as if in pain. Shortly thereafter I had another dizzy spell, and began to write again, hoping to make some sense of it all.
It is nearly night again now, and so I use the last of todays light to document my afternoon. Again I brood on the hopelessness of these writings, but I use them as much to think through my findings as anything. I managed to find no door this afternoon, but I noted the all 4 faces of the tower had similar variations of the same story. The figures were different on each side, but all still writhed in their pain, even those bathed in the shadow of the great tower. I figure that whatever magic enchants this tower into staying cool also cause the apparent motion of the characters. Finally, I also noted that no figure ever reaches the tower. Admittedly, I can’t see very far up the tower, but the 30 or so panels I can make out on each face have no figure even remotely close to the tower.
Perhaps tonight I will rest better.
I think now I understand how I will meet my end. It is near, but not so near that it will go undocumented. I write this now from the top of the tower. I found the door this morning. I had searched around the tower again, checking to see if any figures I had missed reached the tower. It was then I noticed a new panel. I know it is new, because it was on the side I had come to last yesterday. The panels on this side seemed shorter than their counterparts on other faces, and so I examined closer. Sure enough, one figure had reached the tower, and had touched it.
It was then something took hold of me. I stepped back and looked up at the peak of the tower above. I put my hand out on the tower again, and I pushed. A seam appeared in the panels in front of me, black dust flowing as the seam became a crack. A soft clink of stone on stone came sounding out, and the door popped open towards me. I grabbed my things and stepped inside.
Ahead of me lay a stairwell, reaching up into the tower above. The door slid shut behind me, and for a moment I was alone in darkness. Suddenly the whole interior was filled with light. I could see, clear as day, all of the walls around me. The same pattern of panels filled the walls in here, and yet they were different from those outside. well, all but one of them. All of these panels had at least a single figure touching the tower, but there was more. Some foul horrid beast languished behind the tower here. Everything about it tore at my knowledge of our world, the very existence of it was torture. It was then I screamed, and blacked out.
I can’t be sure how much later I awoke, but when I did so I had a clear head and felt fresher than I had in months. I began to make my way up the stairs. The beast existed in all of the panels, yet now it seemed not so threatening. I was at peace. I reached the peak of the tower. I expected to see nothing but desert. I hoped to lay eyes on our fair state once more. Instead I was greeted by everything all at once. I saw the streets and houses of our cities. I saw the brothels and bars and docks of Gol. I saw the priests chanting high on Roth. I saw the King and his maid fornicating in his chambers. I saw other states too, other civilisations in other times all rising and falling. I saw the creep of this great desert and the wars fought in all our times. And I saw more than that. I saw this whole great world we live on, flat and wide and fierce, from its creation to its end. Now I sit here, waiting, for I saw my end too. | A quick flash of the knife was all I saw before Robert fell from me, getting smaller and smaller as his body hastened on its journey to the ground below. Robert had cut his line. He knew the anchor would not hold us both. Robert Benjamin Thorne - I will never forget that man. I may be the one to reach the obelisk but he is the one who made it possible. He and the half dozen others who perished similarly selfless deaths.
Without Robert, the rest of the cliffside climb became more manageable. I reached the top of the cliff and threw my pack over, then hoisted myself over. Stone scraped my shins and flakes of rock leapt from the edge to join Robert's body at the bottom of the cliff.
On my back, catching my breath, I nearly forgot the reason I came. I stood up and turned toward the obelisk, a flat, rectangular slab of stone, dark as sin and bespeckled with metallic chips. The obelisk emitted a slight buzzing, as if muffled machinery hummed beneath its glossy shell.
Behind the obelisk was something just as bewildering. A desert of blue sand stretched beyond sight, glistening in the sun and shifting with the wind.
I gazed upon the slab, towering half my height above me, and extended my right hand to the obelisk, but I never felt its surface. Instead I felt an icy, chilled fog envelope my hand and wrist. The pattern of metallic flakes seemed to stretch, as if the obelisk were a doorway to a very large room. The twinkling flakes in the obelisk slowly moved in circular arrangements, spiraling around darker formations in their centers.
Without provocation the obelisk slowly faded to solid white and disappeared, and to my horror left an icy stub where my hand had once been adjoined to my arm. In the distance behind where the obelisk previously stood, across the blue desert, a mountain formed - no, not forming, not rising from the ground, only coming into view, rushing toward me. I turned around to see that, behind me, a mountain in the distance was sinking, slowly fading from view. On either side of me mountains and valleys were falling and rising from view. The land was a tumultuous roiling broil of leaping sand.
Soon the transformation was finished and the world lay still. I clutched my arm and, looking about, realized that my journey home would now be shorter if I walk beyond where the obelisk once stood than if I venture from the direction I had come. | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | The sand in the winds had not worn the words from the ancient stone.
---
"For the crime of spreading subversive notions, you were sentenced to a simulated existence in the city from which you have come so far, which has been generated and populated entirely by your own mind. You have lived 612 simulated lifetimes, the end of each followed immediately by the beginning of another, and would have continued to do so without end until you reached this obelisk of your own accord, an event which marks the end of your sentence. At the present time 27 years have passed in the real world since you were placed into deep sleep and your simulation begun.
The War continues, and you will be eligible for draft upon reawakening.
You may reawaken and return to Service by placing your hand on this engraving.
To begin another simulated lifetime, simply turn back the way you came."
---
Long moments passed as I read and re-read the words.
A crushing sense of deja vu overwhelmed me as I turned away. | A quick flash of the knife was all I saw before Robert fell from me, getting smaller and smaller as his body hastened on its journey to the ground below. Robert had cut his line. He knew the anchor would not hold us both. Robert Benjamin Thorne - I will never forget that man. I may be the one to reach the obelisk but he is the one who made it possible. He and the half dozen others who perished similarly selfless deaths.
Without Robert, the rest of the cliffside climb became more manageable. I reached the top of the cliff and threw my pack over, then hoisted myself over. Stone scraped my shins and flakes of rock leapt from the edge to join Robert's body at the bottom of the cliff.
On my back, catching my breath, I nearly forgot the reason I came. I stood up and turned toward the obelisk, a flat, rectangular slab of stone, dark as sin and bespeckled with metallic chips. The obelisk emitted a slight buzzing, as if muffled machinery hummed beneath its glossy shell.
Behind the obelisk was something just as bewildering. A desert of blue sand stretched beyond sight, glistening in the sun and shifting with the wind.
I gazed upon the slab, towering half my height above me, and extended my right hand to the obelisk, but I never felt its surface. Instead I felt an icy, chilled fog envelope my hand and wrist. The pattern of metallic flakes seemed to stretch, as if the obelisk were a doorway to a very large room. The twinkling flakes in the obelisk slowly moved in circular arrangements, spiraling around darker formations in their centers.
Without provocation the obelisk slowly faded to solid white and disappeared, and to my horror left an icy stub where my hand had once been adjoined to my arm. In the distance behind where the obelisk previously stood, across the blue desert, a mountain formed - no, not forming, not rising from the ground, only coming into view, rushing toward me. I turned around to see that, behind me, a mountain in the distance was sinking, slowly fading from view. On either side of me mountains and valleys were falling and rising from view. The land was a tumultuous roiling broil of leaping sand.
Soon the transformation was finished and the world lay still. I clutched my arm and, looking about, realized that my journey home would now be shorter if I walk beyond where the obelisk once stood than if I venture from the direction I had come. | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | Here I sit now at the base of this Rahs-forsaken obelisk, the fulfillment of a fools errand we were sent upon an indeterminate amount of time ago. Time, bah, a concept, and not one which this great black tower seems to have any respect for. For that is what it is now, I’m sure of it. I, Shantan, the last of our party and by far the poorest equipped to survive out here, reached this behemoth this morn, and touched it with my own hands. Now I sit here, fulfilling my duty to our state, using my profession to record what I can about the obelisk before the desert finishes its job and claims me too.
The first thing I noticed is that the obelisk is small. Some trick of the light must draw its stature up to the proportions we admire from back home, for our trek of many months has only yielded a slab of rock smaller than some of the buildings back in Gol. What a cruel joke I’ve found here set in stone, luring us out to our demise.
The very same trick of the light that seems to draw this simple tower up into the great obelisk worshipped by those on high Roth also seems at play down here at it’s base. As I first walked around it, it appeared to move with me. The edges and angles never felt entirely true, although it clearly reached up above me. The whole thing seems constantly in motion, staring up at it too long leaves me dizzy. It feels as if this great rock is alive somewhat, shifting itself, watching me. Even now as I lean against it, I swear I can feel it shift behind me.
This far out on the rim of the world the days are long, as has long been known by our scholars. The sun bears down on me and the desert around far longer than it ever did in our great cities. I feel as if I’m being slow roasted like some leg of beast in the kitchens under the palace, and yet when I touch the tower it is as cold as the peak of Roth. The black slabs that undoubtedly comprise it must be filled with a dark magic all their own, for even after hours, days, years in this beating sun, the obelisk warms not at all.
I said that I know of this obelisk now as a tower, for that is what it is. I look up and I can see, before the terminus of the spire, a large cut section, seemingly designed as a viewing platform for those within. I spent some time looking for a door or stairs set into the rock, but the looking left me only with a sickening feeling I could not shake, and so I sat to write this. I expect nobody to find it, most like these pages will be whipped away from my long dead corpse, shredded by the sands that claimed my companions. Night seems to be coming, or some semblance of it, and so now I will rest.
A long night full of terrors. How I managed any rest at all I could not say, for an intense feeling of foreboding accompanied night fall. Still, find sleep I did, and with it came horrific visions and dreams. When morning came I awoke dripping in sweat, and not from the heat. I spent some time examining the pictures carved into the black rock walls this morning. Each wall is covered, from left to right, in slight variations of a similar story. Each panel is roughly a hand in height, and all share two similar features, a mountain on the left and a tower on the right. These panels are all the same length, which makes little sense when I gaze up at the pinnacle of this obelisk and see it tapers to a point shortly after the large windows. All of the panels I observed featured little groups of figures starting at the mountain and making their way over to the tower. As they went, some of their number stayed along the way. Some trick of the light played at the figures, making them writhe as if in pain. Shortly thereafter I had another dizzy spell, and began to write again, hoping to make some sense of it all.
It is nearly night again now, and so I use the last of todays light to document my afternoon. Again I brood on the hopelessness of these writings, but I use them as much to think through my findings as anything. I managed to find no door this afternoon, but I noted the all 4 faces of the tower had similar variations of the same story. The figures were different on each side, but all still writhed in their pain, even those bathed in the shadow of the great tower. I figure that whatever magic enchants this tower into staying cool also cause the apparent motion of the characters. Finally, I also noted that no figure ever reaches the tower. Admittedly, I can’t see very far up the tower, but the 30 or so panels I can make out on each face have no figure even remotely close to the tower.
Perhaps tonight I will rest better.
I think now I understand how I will meet my end. It is near, but not so near that it will go undocumented. I write this now from the top of the tower. I found the door this morning. I had searched around the tower again, checking to see if any figures I had missed reached the tower. It was then I noticed a new panel. I know it is new, because it was on the side I had come to last yesterday. The panels on this side seemed shorter than their counterparts on other faces, and so I examined closer. Sure enough, one figure had reached the tower, and had touched it.
It was then something took hold of me. I stepped back and looked up at the peak of the tower above. I put my hand out on the tower again, and I pushed. A seam appeared in the panels in front of me, black dust flowing as the seam became a crack. A soft clink of stone on stone came sounding out, and the door popped open towards me. I grabbed my things and stepped inside.
Ahead of me lay a stairwell, reaching up into the tower above. The door slid shut behind me, and for a moment I was alone in darkness. Suddenly the whole interior was filled with light. I could see, clear as day, all of the walls around me. The same pattern of panels filled the walls in here, and yet they were different from those outside. well, all but one of them. All of these panels had at least a single figure touching the tower, but there was more. Some foul horrid beast languished behind the tower here. Everything about it tore at my knowledge of our world, the very existence of it was torture. It was then I screamed, and blacked out.
I can’t be sure how much later I awoke, but when I did so I had a clear head and felt fresher than I had in months. I began to make my way up the stairs. The beast existed in all of the panels, yet now it seemed not so threatening. I was at peace. I reached the peak of the tower. I expected to see nothing but desert. I hoped to lay eyes on our fair state once more. Instead I was greeted by everything all at once. I saw the streets and houses of our cities. I saw the brothels and bars and docks of Gol. I saw the priests chanting high on Roth. I saw the King and his maid fornicating in his chambers. I saw other states too, other civilisations in other times all rising and falling. I saw the creep of this great desert and the wars fought in all our times. And I saw more than that. I saw this whole great world we live on, flat and wide and fierce, from its creation to its end. Now I sit here, waiting, for I saw my end too. | **cant reply to my own comment on mobile for some reason so here's part 2 of my story**
Silence. Then, first from nowhere, then from everywhere: laughter, uproarious laughter. The king was nearly doubled over in his throne guffawing wildly. The queen's cheeks were red from the effort of holding back her outburst to short titters. A few people in line behind Marcus who were waiting to see the king didn't bother to be polite about their amusement. The steward covered his mouth, turned, and left the room.
Marcus had expected this. He merely waited.
Finally, after nearly five long minutes the king and queen regained their composure enough to address Marcus. "Oh.. ho ho... ha... Marcus while certainly funny, I thought better of you than to make light of something so serious."
"Sir, I am not making fun. I am serious. Please follow me outside."
The king's face had changed back to its previous state of disapproval upon hearing this. "Marcus it is only because of your glowing reputation I am even considering this. If nothing else it should make for a short distraction. Lead the way."
After he had seen his machine and the short demonstration Marcus had set up, the king really had no choice but to grant his approval for Marcus's mission on the condition that Marcus leave his plans for the flying contraption with the court scientist. The king knew now that Marcus was right. No matter what happened, he had single-handedly changed the course of the kingdom forever.
...
That was all well and good until his plane crashed two days into his journey. At first things had been going so well. He had had a strong wind at his back for the entire flight, and by the rate The Obelisk was growing on the horizon he estimated it would have taken him only a few more hours to reach it before the disaster. He gave a quick prayer of thanks for having survived the crash then grabbed his canteen and set on his way.
At that point, the great Obelisk was bigger than he could ever have imagined. His brain literally could not accept the size of it. So, he ended up looking down for most of the walk, glancing up sparingly to make sure of his path. It took him almost exactly two days to reach The Obelisk.
And now he was here. Sitting against it.
"Well let's take a proper look, shall we?" He got up, using The Obelisk for support. As he was rising, he pushed his right hand against it, and, suddenly, his hand sank into it! A rectangular chunk of the obelisk almost exactly the size of his hand depressed about two inches into the jet black wall. He simply gave it a confused look until he heard a great grinding noise, and then he jumped back as quickly as he could. He stared, slack jawed, as a great gate was being lowered. It seemed to lower as if by magic, it required no chains or pulleys like the gate at the king's castle. Marcus seemed to know right away that there was no way he would be able to discern how it worked.
The gate met the ground with barely a whisper of shifting sand. Marcus stared for two minutes before deciding there was no point in *not* going in. He took what were surely the most important steps of his life and entered The Obelisk.
At first it was dark. Then one by one lights started to come to life all around him. They were strange lights. They held a stable glow. The did not flicker and dance like a candle flame, and these lights came in every color of the rainbow! Even stranger, they were all perfect squares.
He walked to the wall straight in front of him to get a closer look, and saw that each glowing square was actually raised slightly out of the wall. He put his hand closer to a green one and felt no heat coming from it, so he touched it with his finger. It was slightly warm, but no where near hot like a lantern. He tapped the strange light a few times and suddenly it depressed just like the wall outside.
The wall! It was closing behind him, much faster than it had opened. He panicked, trying to get back out before it closed, but it was too late; Marcus was trapped in The Obelisk.
Before he could ruminate on his fate, something else began happening. More and more of those strange square lights came on, but now the were turning on and off and in short half-second intervals, almost like they were winking at him. A hum began to fill the air. He looked around wildly. Marcus was filled with a sense of dread as the inside of The Obelisk came alive around him.
By now the hum had turned into a full on vibration. Marcus thought he must have angered God for touching His Obelisk and now He was trying to shake him out. He began to pray and cry at the same time. The vibrations continued and increased steadily.
All of a sudden, Marcus was aware of a new sensation. He felt heavier than he had ever felt in his life. The pressure on him increased and increased until he was forced to a knee, then forced to lie face down on the floor. The pressure increased until it was almost unbearable- then, with no warning, the pressure was gone.
...
People in the capital still talk about him from time to time. The new generations don't believe their grandparents. They didn't believe in their crazy story about Obelisks that shoot fire from their behinds. Why do old people make things like that up? Didn't they think the world was interesting enough? People could fly like birds for goodness sake! Still it's better to be polite and listen, they are from a different time after all. | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | The sand in the winds had not worn the words from the ancient stone.
---
"For the crime of spreading subversive notions, you were sentenced to a simulated existence in the city from which you have come so far, which has been generated and populated entirely by your own mind. You have lived 612 simulated lifetimes, the end of each followed immediately by the beginning of another, and would have continued to do so without end until you reached this obelisk of your own accord, an event which marks the end of your sentence. At the present time 27 years have passed in the real world since you were placed into deep sleep and your simulation begun.
The War continues, and you will be eligible for draft upon reawakening.
You may reawaken and return to Service by placing your hand on this engraving.
To begin another simulated lifetime, simply turn back the way you came."
---
Long moments passed as I read and re-read the words.
A crushing sense of deja vu overwhelmed me as I turned away. | **cant reply to my own comment on mobile for some reason so here's part 2 of my story**
Silence. Then, first from nowhere, then from everywhere: laughter, uproarious laughter. The king was nearly doubled over in his throne guffawing wildly. The queen's cheeks were red from the effort of holding back her outburst to short titters. A few people in line behind Marcus who were waiting to see the king didn't bother to be polite about their amusement. The steward covered his mouth, turned, and left the room.
Marcus had expected this. He merely waited.
Finally, after nearly five long minutes the king and queen regained their composure enough to address Marcus. "Oh.. ho ho... ha... Marcus while certainly funny, I thought better of you than to make light of something so serious."
"Sir, I am not making fun. I am serious. Please follow me outside."
The king's face had changed back to its previous state of disapproval upon hearing this. "Marcus it is only because of your glowing reputation I am even considering this. If nothing else it should make for a short distraction. Lead the way."
After he had seen his machine and the short demonstration Marcus had set up, the king really had no choice but to grant his approval for Marcus's mission on the condition that Marcus leave his plans for the flying contraption with the court scientist. The king knew now that Marcus was right. No matter what happened, he had single-handedly changed the course of the kingdom forever.
...
That was all well and good until his plane crashed two days into his journey. At first things had been going so well. He had had a strong wind at his back for the entire flight, and by the rate The Obelisk was growing on the horizon he estimated it would have taken him only a few more hours to reach it before the disaster. He gave a quick prayer of thanks for having survived the crash then grabbed his canteen and set on his way.
At that point, the great Obelisk was bigger than he could ever have imagined. His brain literally could not accept the size of it. So, he ended up looking down for most of the walk, glancing up sparingly to make sure of his path. It took him almost exactly two days to reach The Obelisk.
And now he was here. Sitting against it.
"Well let's take a proper look, shall we?" He got up, using The Obelisk for support. As he was rising, he pushed his right hand against it, and, suddenly, his hand sank into it! A rectangular chunk of the obelisk almost exactly the size of his hand depressed about two inches into the jet black wall. He simply gave it a confused look until he heard a great grinding noise, and then he jumped back as quickly as he could. He stared, slack jawed, as a great gate was being lowered. It seemed to lower as if by magic, it required no chains or pulleys like the gate at the king's castle. Marcus seemed to know right away that there was no way he would be able to discern how it worked.
The gate met the ground with barely a whisper of shifting sand. Marcus stared for two minutes before deciding there was no point in *not* going in. He took what were surely the most important steps of his life and entered The Obelisk.
At first it was dark. Then one by one lights started to come to life all around him. They were strange lights. They held a stable glow. The did not flicker and dance like a candle flame, and these lights came in every color of the rainbow! Even stranger, they were all perfect squares.
He walked to the wall straight in front of him to get a closer look, and saw that each glowing square was actually raised slightly out of the wall. He put his hand closer to a green one and felt no heat coming from it, so he touched it with his finger. It was slightly warm, but no where near hot like a lantern. He tapped the strange light a few times and suddenly it depressed just like the wall outside.
The wall! It was closing behind him, much faster than it had opened. He panicked, trying to get back out before it closed, but it was too late; Marcus was trapped in The Obelisk.
Before he could ruminate on his fate, something else began happening. More and more of those strange square lights came on, but now the were turning on and off and in short half-second intervals, almost like they were winking at him. A hum began to fill the air. He looked around wildly. Marcus was filled with a sense of dread as the inside of The Obelisk came alive around him.
By now the hum had turned into a full on vibration. Marcus thought he must have angered God for touching His Obelisk and now He was trying to shake him out. He began to pray and cry at the same time. The vibrations continued and increased steadily.
All of a sudden, Marcus was aware of a new sensation. He felt heavier than he had ever felt in his life. The pressure on him increased and increased until he was forced to a knee, then forced to lie face down on the floor. The pressure increased until it was almost unbearable- then, with no warning, the pressure was gone.
...
People in the capital still talk about him from time to time. The new generations don't believe their grandparents. They didn't believe in their crazy story about Obelisks that shoot fire from their behinds. Why do old people make things like that up? Didn't they think the world was interesting enough? People could fly like birds for goodness sake! Still it's better to be polite and listen, they are from a different time after all. | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | The sand in the winds had not worn the words from the ancient stone.
---
"For the crime of spreading subversive notions, you were sentenced to a simulated existence in the city from which you have come so far, which has been generated and populated entirely by your own mind. You have lived 612 simulated lifetimes, the end of each followed immediately by the beginning of another, and would have continued to do so without end until you reached this obelisk of your own accord, an event which marks the end of your sentence. At the present time 27 years have passed in the real world since you were placed into deep sleep and your simulation begun.
The War continues, and you will be eligible for draft upon reawakening.
You may reawaken and return to Service by placing your hand on this engraving.
To begin another simulated lifetime, simply turn back the way you came."
---
Long moments passed as I read and re-read the words.
A crushing sense of deja vu overwhelmed me as I turned away. | Water for life. All that is necessary for my people is water. Water sustains, water creates. That is all we need and all we have. Water for life. Water is life.
I don't remember the last time I laughed. The crying stopped a long time ago. I lost faith in this damned exodus many cycles ago. I remember how they begged me to stay. Family, friends, society. I wish I listened. She wanted to go. That wretched angel she wanted to go and I wanted her. I wanted to love. I wanted to believe.
She died 6th.
And then the rest did. It was long and drawn out. You die slowly out here. They wanted water and we didn't have enough. I never had enough. That black headstone keeps calling. Beckoning out of the corner of my eye, watching, seeing, waiting. Waiting for as long as we all could remember.
I don't care what it is anymore. There's no salvation for me. No redemption. Even if it is manifest divinity it wouldn’t help me. Only morbid curiosity keeps my legs working as I search my life to find another reason. It won't matter for long. No water.
Then I found it. Written in every language, as plain as day. I laughed and wept. I read it over and over. I wanted to live. I wanted to scream it from mountains and whisper it in every ear. I realize where I am. I will never share it and this obelisk will be my obelisk. Even if I had water I have no equipment to get back. I despise my upcoming death. I would do anything to prolong it even in this empty abyss. I take solace in the fact in knowing death is imminent. If I could fight for another ounce of breath I would go through endless pain and that scares me. I don't want this burden of bliss and euphoria.
Then my salvation became only a world of fire and brimstone. Out of the bottom of the obelisk dropped a basin and a tap. Always a basinful. Only a basin. Always a basin. Only a basin. | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | The sand in the winds had not worn the words from the ancient stone.
---
"For the crime of spreading subversive notions, you were sentenced to a simulated existence in the city from which you have come so far, which has been generated and populated entirely by your own mind. You have lived 612 simulated lifetimes, the end of each followed immediately by the beginning of another, and would have continued to do so without end until you reached this obelisk of your own accord, an event which marks the end of your sentence. At the present time 27 years have passed in the real world since you were placed into deep sleep and your simulation begun.
The War continues, and you will be eligible for draft upon reawakening.
You may reawaken and return to Service by placing your hand on this engraving.
To begin another simulated lifetime, simply turn back the way you came."
---
Long moments passed as I read and re-read the words.
A crushing sense of deja vu overwhelmed me as I turned away. | Here I sit now at the base of this Rahs-forsaken obelisk, the fulfillment of a fools errand we were sent upon an indeterminate amount of time ago. Time, bah, a concept, and not one which this great black tower seems to have any respect for. For that is what it is now, I’m sure of it. I, Shantan, the last of our party and by far the poorest equipped to survive out here, reached this behemoth this morn, and touched it with my own hands. Now I sit here, fulfilling my duty to our state, using my profession to record what I can about the obelisk before the desert finishes its job and claims me too.
The first thing I noticed is that the obelisk is small. Some trick of the light must draw its stature up to the proportions we admire from back home, for our trek of many months has only yielded a slab of rock smaller than some of the buildings back in Gol. What a cruel joke I’ve found here set in stone, luring us out to our demise.
The very same trick of the light that seems to draw this simple tower up into the great obelisk worshipped by those on high Roth also seems at play down here at it’s base. As I first walked around it, it appeared to move with me. The edges and angles never felt entirely true, although it clearly reached up above me. The whole thing seems constantly in motion, staring up at it too long leaves me dizzy. It feels as if this great rock is alive somewhat, shifting itself, watching me. Even now as I lean against it, I swear I can feel it shift behind me.
This far out on the rim of the world the days are long, as has long been known by our scholars. The sun bears down on me and the desert around far longer than it ever did in our great cities. I feel as if I’m being slow roasted like some leg of beast in the kitchens under the palace, and yet when I touch the tower it is as cold as the peak of Roth. The black slabs that undoubtedly comprise it must be filled with a dark magic all their own, for even after hours, days, years in this beating sun, the obelisk warms not at all.
I said that I know of this obelisk now as a tower, for that is what it is. I look up and I can see, before the terminus of the spire, a large cut section, seemingly designed as a viewing platform for those within. I spent some time looking for a door or stairs set into the rock, but the looking left me only with a sickening feeling I could not shake, and so I sat to write this. I expect nobody to find it, most like these pages will be whipped away from my long dead corpse, shredded by the sands that claimed my companions. Night seems to be coming, or some semblance of it, and so now I will rest.
A long night full of terrors. How I managed any rest at all I could not say, for an intense feeling of foreboding accompanied night fall. Still, find sleep I did, and with it came horrific visions and dreams. When morning came I awoke dripping in sweat, and not from the heat. I spent some time examining the pictures carved into the black rock walls this morning. Each wall is covered, from left to right, in slight variations of a similar story. Each panel is roughly a hand in height, and all share two similar features, a mountain on the left and a tower on the right. These panels are all the same length, which makes little sense when I gaze up at the pinnacle of this obelisk and see it tapers to a point shortly after the large windows. All of the panels I observed featured little groups of figures starting at the mountain and making their way over to the tower. As they went, some of their number stayed along the way. Some trick of the light played at the figures, making them writhe as if in pain. Shortly thereafter I had another dizzy spell, and began to write again, hoping to make some sense of it all.
It is nearly night again now, and so I use the last of todays light to document my afternoon. Again I brood on the hopelessness of these writings, but I use them as much to think through my findings as anything. I managed to find no door this afternoon, but I noted the all 4 faces of the tower had similar variations of the same story. The figures were different on each side, but all still writhed in their pain, even those bathed in the shadow of the great tower. I figure that whatever magic enchants this tower into staying cool also cause the apparent motion of the characters. Finally, I also noted that no figure ever reaches the tower. Admittedly, I can’t see very far up the tower, but the 30 or so panels I can make out on each face have no figure even remotely close to the tower.
Perhaps tonight I will rest better.
I think now I understand how I will meet my end. It is near, but not so near that it will go undocumented. I write this now from the top of the tower. I found the door this morning. I had searched around the tower again, checking to see if any figures I had missed reached the tower. It was then I noticed a new panel. I know it is new, because it was on the side I had come to last yesterday. The panels on this side seemed shorter than their counterparts on other faces, and so I examined closer. Sure enough, one figure had reached the tower, and had touched it.
It was then something took hold of me. I stepped back and looked up at the peak of the tower above. I put my hand out on the tower again, and I pushed. A seam appeared in the panels in front of me, black dust flowing as the seam became a crack. A soft clink of stone on stone came sounding out, and the door popped open towards me. I grabbed my things and stepped inside.
Ahead of me lay a stairwell, reaching up into the tower above. The door slid shut behind me, and for a moment I was alone in darkness. Suddenly the whole interior was filled with light. I could see, clear as day, all of the walls around me. The same pattern of panels filled the walls in here, and yet they were different from those outside. well, all but one of them. All of these panels had at least a single figure touching the tower, but there was more. Some foul horrid beast languished behind the tower here. Everything about it tore at my knowledge of our world, the very existence of it was torture. It was then I screamed, and blacked out.
I can’t be sure how much later I awoke, but when I did so I had a clear head and felt fresher than I had in months. I began to make my way up the stairs. The beast existed in all of the panels, yet now it seemed not so threatening. I was at peace. I reached the peak of the tower. I expected to see nothing but desert. I hoped to lay eyes on our fair state once more. Instead I was greeted by everything all at once. I saw the streets and houses of our cities. I saw the brothels and bars and docks of Gol. I saw the priests chanting high on Roth. I saw the King and his maid fornicating in his chambers. I saw other states too, other civilisations in other times all rising and falling. I saw the creep of this great desert and the wars fought in all our times. And I saw more than that. I saw this whole great world we live on, flat and wide and fierce, from its creation to its end. Now I sit here, waiting, for I saw my end too. | |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it. | Day 162, Midday:
It's just me now.
We started off as a group of 20 young, motivated, excited hikers. However, those of us who didn't turn back in the first few days of the journey changed. Youthful joviality became irritability. Excitement because disinterest. Eagerness became pessimism. Perhaps it was a loss of interest in the journey, perhaps they missed their everyday life back at home, perhaps they were frazzled by the sweltering heat of the desert - but they all changed. They became a burden to me, a waste of precious, precious resources. I'm not saying I was happy when they dropped dead, but I didn't do more than blink an eye when the group dwindled down from 20 to 1. Because I...I didn't change.
It's day 162 and I'm still as excited as I was when I first left home. I still walked with a pep in my step, or at least a bit of pep. Sure, I'm not as strong as I was when I first embarked; I'm much skinnier, my knees tell me to stop, I'm malnourished. Sometimes I just fall due to exhaustion. But my spirit is still completely in it. I'm going to reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 168, Morning:
The obelisk is getting bigger. At least, I think it is. Maybe I'm going crazy. I'm low on food, dehydrated, I haven't spoken to another human in, what, 4, 5 days? I can't even remember when Harold died. I feel my body getting weaker minute by minute. But as the obelisk appears bigger, my motivation grows. I'm going to reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 168, Evening:
The obelisk is definitely getting bigger. A couple more days and I'll be there - no doubt. I got this. I'm going to reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 173, Evening:
I'm down to one last jug of water. I'm eating anything I can find now - scorpions, cacti, whatever I can salvage off of the bodies of men who have dropped before me. I've fallen to my hands and knees. I never thought I would be reduced to crawling. The obelisk appears larger and larger with every inch I move, but my spirit is dying. I miss the crew. I miss my home. I miss my family, my friends, my dog, I even miss my old job. I can't turn back now.
It's just me now.
I'm not going to reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 174, Midday:
It's much cooler today...maybe...maybe I can continue on. The obelisk looks even bigger. Maybe I'll reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 174, Evening:
I can't believe it. Here it is.
The sand has turned to a polished, black stone. Intricate pathways lead me to a massive white obelisk that towered over me. Ancient messages are scribed on the side of the obelisk; I can only imagine what they mean. I start to examine them, only to rea-
Oh God, a fountain! I don't even care that the liquid coming out is a little bit brown, I need something.
It may taste like fake chocolate, but I'm just going to drink as much as I can. It wouldn't matter if this was the dirtiest water I've ever seen - anything would be refreshing about now.
I want to go over and look at the obelisk and admire its beauty, but I'm about to faint from exhaustion...I've reached the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 175, Morning:
I couldn't sleep. I'm too excited. I'm the first one ever to make it here. I need to decode those messages. I could be humanity's last hope, a Savior, a God. All of the world's secrets could be contained on that obelisk.
Finally, something I recognize. Amidst the strands of hieroglyphs is a few strings of numbers. It's my only lead right now, let's see where it goes.
2 5 19 21 18 5 20 15 4 18 9 14 11 25 15 21 18 15 22 1 12 20 9 14 5
I take another sip from the fountain and get to work.
=============================================
Day 175, Midday:
I don't know how I missed this before...each number corresponds to a letter.
2...B. 5...E. The first word is Be!
S...U...R...E...T...O...Be sure to what?
I rush through the remaining letters so quickly I don't even comprehend what I've written. I can feel my heartbeat. My palms are sweaty. I get to see something no one else has ever read before. The ancient message of my ancestors is in my hands. I have to share this with the world. The message is
BESURETODRINKYOUROVALTINE
Son of a bitch.
| Day 2202,
My winked hand touched it. It is not a tower, it is more than that. A ten thousands meters wide black obsidian structure rises through the clouds, its height is immeasurable.
I sketch the pattern of the wall into the worn notebook that my father has begun the first pages when they began the journey. Somehow the pattern of the wall repeated itself, event the scratches repeated. It seems artificial and unreal at the same time.
As I pass the other side of the tower, I noticed a sketchy lines, about 50 meters high. I could not read it. I decide to move a little further away from the tower.
Still cannot figure out what it is, a little further back.
10 km away from the tower.
The lines says:
map_01.aoe8
created by xxPr0digyxx
edited: some grammar errors | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | Part 1 of 2
It wasn't supposed to go down like this. It was supposed to be a big payday for all. Charlie didn't trust Gino. Gino didn't trust Charlie, but both of them trusted Maggie. She was their inside man--or woman as it was. She assured them there'd be plenty for all involved. It was the holidays and the safe was full. What they hadn't counted on was a good old dose of Murphy's Law. Or maybe they did.
"How much longer?" Gino asked. Charlie checked his watch.
"Three minutes." Charlie mumbled, opening his revolver for the fifth time to make sure it was loaded.
"Let's do it clean and by the numbers." Gino instructed. "When the spike strip takes out the front tires . . ."
"I hit the driver's door and bust the window." Charlie finished. "You . . ."
"Hit the passenger door while Murphy . . ." Gino and Charlie looked to their driver.
"While I drive the car." Murphy supplied.
"No!" Charlie and Gino bellowed in protest. "You hit the van doors." Gino supplied. Charlie will get the keys from the driver and take him out while I take mine out. We open the van doors, incapacitate the guard in the back, load the bags of cash in our trunk. Then rush off to our meet to wait for Maggie."
"Yeah. I meant I take the doors." Murphy corrected. "I'm just . . . I'm just nervous. I'll get it right."
"You better." Gino warned, using his pistol barrel like an index finger to make his point.
Murphy was nervous when the van pulled up. Charlie and Gino were out the doors before it arrived. The spike strip worked perfectly, taking out the front tires then the back. Charlie and Gino hit the side doors with steel rounds to shatter the glass. They shouted instructions to the men inside. They complied and the two thieves pistol whipped the guards into unconsciousness. Murphy was standing at the back doors with his shot gun trained on the doors like he was supposed to. Charlie unlocked them with the driver's keys. The guard inside was brought out and knocked out. The money was taken. The three men got away clean and thirty seconds under time. They were three blocks away before they heard the first of the sirens. Murphy kept it cool. He did the speed limit. Drove with his arm out the window. They were just three guys out for a drive. They made the meet up on time and went inside to wait. It would take Maggie a couple of days to shake suspicion and meet up with them. They just had to be cool till then.
It was Gino who suggested they change venue. They chose an empty house across the street and down the block. If Maggie screwed up, at least they'd see the cops coming and know.
"How do you know Maggie?" Gino asked on the second day after the theft. Murphy was fiddling with the gun they'd given him. He only had one bullet in it. Charlie and Gino insisted. Murphy fidgeted to much and it made them nervous.
"She's my cousin." He said. "We're all the family each other has."
"Why'd she bring you in on this?" Charlie asked.
"Why'd she bring you in on it?" Murphy asked back.
"I've known Maggie since college." Charlie replied. "We dated for a while. She was smart and clever. We used to write code together in our computer science class. She was genius. Her solutions to the problems given were always elegant and efficient. Hell, that's why I agreed to do this job with her. She planned it out. If she planned it, it'd go smooth. She's that kind of girl."
"Ha. Ha." Gino laughed. "That's exactly it. I knew her from high school. She used to sell cigarettes and vodka to all the under classmen. Despite all the snitching, she managed to stay off the principal's radar."
"How?" Murphy asked, warming up to the conversation. He got up to check on the water he was boiling for their tea.
"She worked in the office as a helper. She found an unassigned locker and used it to store all her contraband. When they finally moved in on her senior year, they discovered that other locker after tossing them all. They found her contraband but couldn't tie it to anyone. Yeah. She's clever." Gino confirmed. "Probably smarter than all of us." He looked at the other two men. Gino didn't really like Charlie or Murphy. He made no secret of it, but all this talk about Maggie had him nervous. He wasn't lying. She was clever--too clever.
Charlie had come to the same conclusion after listening to Gino's tale. Like Gino, he began to watch the other two. Murphy was just what they thought him to be. He was a bumbling idiot. There was no way to pretend that well. So they turned their attention to each other.
"Fuck. Damn." Murphy called, burning his hand on the pot then catching his pot holder on fire from the burner. He beat the towel against the counter till the flames went out.
"Why you?" Charlie asked of Gino. His gun was cocked beneath the table and pointed at Gino. Gino had his piece hidden beneath his coat and pointed at Charlie. If something went down, they were ready for it.
Murphy waved a hand before his face to shoo away a fly then dropped his tea bags in the water. He opened up the empty cabinets looking for some cups. There were none.
"Me? I kept her secrets when we were in high school. I never ratted her out even when the faculty came at me hard. Loyalty. She brought me on because I was loyal." He told the man.
"What about you?" Gino asked of Charlie.
"We dated. I never let anyone screw with her when we were in college. Not even after we'd broken up. I suppose loyalty is why she brought me on as well." They both looked at Murphy and both their faces reflected the same confusion. Murphy wasn't what you'd call gifted or mental agile. He could follow simple directions, but that was it. He seemed like a bad fit.
| Jim walked out of his car and into a large warehouse style building. He checked his watch and realized he was three minutes late. Great. His friend who convinced him he HAD to learn how to shoot a gun was the one who set this whole thing up. However, he had warned that this teacher was hardcore and expected people on time. He took a deep breath, then walked into the open space.
A burly voice right behind him said, "You're late." Jim was startled, and tried to slap the instructor. He learned the hard way that this man was also trained in hand to hand combat. After regurgitating his breakfast into a nearby garbage can, they began the lesson.
The instructor then went into great detail about types of guns, ammo, and how they work. Jim wasn't interested, so instead his eyes wandered around the warehouse. His gaze fell upon an old table, riddled with ammo, guns, and worn targets. The instructor continued rambling about keeping safety on and how to keep firm grip.
"JIM!!!" The instructor bellowed. "I didn't have three coffees so you could look at a freaking table!" Jim apologized, and the instructor continued his spiel. Jim tried to keep his focus, but something was irritating him. A buzz around him. Then, without notice, a fly landed on his nose. Now, normally Jim would ignore flys and go about his day, but this fly was extra obnoxious. Jim tried to hit the fly on his face to no avail, but simply slapping his pasty white face.
The instructor, hyped up on three coffees, jumped at the sound, and nearly shot off the gun. "JIM!!!!" the instructor yelled , "I've just about had it with you!" Jim once again apologized with the most sincerity he could muster. But Jim wasn't looking at the viewfinder the instructor spoke about when he resumed his speech. Jim was watching the fly. His eyes followed it as it gracefully landed on the table. "I've got you now" he naively thought to himself.
But, alas, this was not to be.
Because as Jim leaped for the insect, the instructor, filled with both rage and caffeine, aimed at Jim, and killed him, instantly.
And, as Jim's limp body fell to the ground, the fly, the thing that provoked Jim to have him be killed, flew out of his reach, away to get someone else killed another day... | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | The fly landed on the table, its feet immediately coated in the dense grease that seemed to permeate every inch of the sordid little cafe in downtown Istanbul. The current user of the table looked at it in irritation, pausing his almost constant mopping of his sweaty armpits to fling a stray hand in the fly's direction. The fly darted away in a lazy figure of eight and the man watched as small droplets of his sweat followed it towards the back of the man in front. The droplets hit the dirty vest of the man in front, blending with the yellow stains and going unnoticed. The man finished his beer in silence, wiping his face on the vest and then pulling himself to stand and stumbling drunkenly towards the toilet. He winced at the smell of the sweaty guy at the table behind him and was irritated to find that the smell did not leave him as he walked away.
Standing at the sink in the small stinking bathroom he washed his tired face and looked deep into his own weary eyes. Green irises flecked with gold that had once seen such happiness in what now seemed like a previous life. Pulling his vest over his head he rinsed it in the sink's tepid waters. Using it to wipe his face, he again rinsed it to wipe of the dirty smear that the day had left him. He stepped out of the toilet, standing in the small corridor that ran from the small bar to the open back door. Enjoying the fresh coolness of the air drafting passed, he paused to hang his vest over the twisted rails of the rear balcony. He sniffed at the air, fresher out here, but only just. The heavy smells of spices still permeated the surrounding area, as with all of the city. At first this had enticed him to come further, deeper into the city. A lure that pulled him into the den of depravity in which he was now locked. There, again the subtly sweet smell of opium drifted around him and he sighed, counting the hours until he got paid and the prize would be his to enjoy. He reached down to pick up his vest and saw it floating away in the wind. 'No matter' he thought to himself with a weary sigh, 'Tomorrow I will buy a new one'.
The small boy danced around the room, looking into the eyes of all of the old men surrounding him. One of them would take him home tonight, but there would be enough time to worry about that later. He danced in one of his sister's old dresses, as was the custom in the seedy halls and rooms that he performed in nightly. A large white piece of fabric blew passed the window, the reflection of the lamp's light catching it and momentarily lighting up the room. The light caught the eye of one of the flightier men in the room and he stood, pulling out his cigarette case. Moving towards the door he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the incense brazier hanging from a bracket on a wall. He inhaled the sweet cloying smell of his cigarette, not regretting the decision to add more opium than usual to his blend. He looked out at the maze of alleyways that stretched out below him and moved to sit on the doorstep of the nondescript building that he had just left. A small boy of barely 9 or 10 walked over to him, pulling up his robe to expose himself lewdly. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, looking for a tip for the boy. He didn't see the large wooden bat swung by the other boy until it was just half an inch from his face. The boy with the bat darted forward to grab the man's wallet, whilst the other took his opportunity to grab the opium laced cigarette before they both ran. The man slowly coughed up his teeth one by one, suddenly regretting his choice to leave home that night.
The two boys ran like the wind through alleys and over rooftops until they slowed to reach their destination. The first came forward, on his knees in the little attic space in which they had made their home and presented the money to his father, proudly smiling at his achievement. The other held back, aware of the cloying smell of opium that still lingered on his person. A noise at the entrance made all three look up in shock. The landlord stood above them in the doorway, eyeing the wallet with a knowing eye. "You can have a third" the father started to offer, "but no more". The landlord smiled as he pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it towards the father's forehead. "I can assure you" the landlord said with a wry smile as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, "I can have far more". | Jim walked out of his car and into a large warehouse style building. He checked his watch and realized he was three minutes late. Great. His friend who convinced him he HAD to learn how to shoot a gun was the one who set this whole thing up. However, he had warned that this teacher was hardcore and expected people on time. He took a deep breath, then walked into the open space.
A burly voice right behind him said, "You're late." Jim was startled, and tried to slap the instructor. He learned the hard way that this man was also trained in hand to hand combat. After regurgitating his breakfast into a nearby garbage can, they began the lesson.
The instructor then went into great detail about types of guns, ammo, and how they work. Jim wasn't interested, so instead his eyes wandered around the warehouse. His gaze fell upon an old table, riddled with ammo, guns, and worn targets. The instructor continued rambling about keeping safety on and how to keep firm grip.
"JIM!!!" The instructor bellowed. "I didn't have three coffees so you could look at a freaking table!" Jim apologized, and the instructor continued his spiel. Jim tried to keep his focus, but something was irritating him. A buzz around him. Then, without notice, a fly landed on his nose. Now, normally Jim would ignore flys and go about his day, but this fly was extra obnoxious. Jim tried to hit the fly on his face to no avail, but simply slapping his pasty white face.
The instructor, hyped up on three coffees, jumped at the sound, and nearly shot off the gun. "JIM!!!!" the instructor yelled , "I've just about had it with you!" Jim once again apologized with the most sincerity he could muster. But Jim wasn't looking at the viewfinder the instructor spoke about when he resumed his speech. Jim was watching the fly. His eyes followed it as it gracefully landed on the table. "I've got you now" he naively thought to himself.
But, alas, this was not to be.
Because as Jim leaped for the insect, the instructor, filled with both rage and caffeine, aimed at Jim, and killed him, instantly.
And, as Jim's limp body fell to the ground, the fly, the thing that provoked Jim to have him be killed, flew out of his reach, away to get someone else killed another day... | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | Jim walked out of his car and into a large warehouse style building. He checked his watch and realized he was three minutes late. Great. His friend who convinced him he HAD to learn how to shoot a gun was the one who set this whole thing up. However, he had warned that this teacher was hardcore and expected people on time. He took a deep breath, then walked into the open space.
A burly voice right behind him said, "You're late." Jim was startled, and tried to slap the instructor. He learned the hard way that this man was also trained in hand to hand combat. After regurgitating his breakfast into a nearby garbage can, they began the lesson.
The instructor then went into great detail about types of guns, ammo, and how they work. Jim wasn't interested, so instead his eyes wandered around the warehouse. His gaze fell upon an old table, riddled with ammo, guns, and worn targets. The instructor continued rambling about keeping safety on and how to keep firm grip.
"JIM!!!" The instructor bellowed. "I didn't have three coffees so you could look at a freaking table!" Jim apologized, and the instructor continued his spiel. Jim tried to keep his focus, but something was irritating him. A buzz around him. Then, without notice, a fly landed on his nose. Now, normally Jim would ignore flys and go about his day, but this fly was extra obnoxious. Jim tried to hit the fly on his face to no avail, but simply slapping his pasty white face.
The instructor, hyped up on three coffees, jumped at the sound, and nearly shot off the gun. "JIM!!!!" the instructor yelled , "I've just about had it with you!" Jim once again apologized with the most sincerity he could muster. But Jim wasn't looking at the viewfinder the instructor spoke about when he resumed his speech. Jim was watching the fly. His eyes followed it as it gracefully landed on the table. "I've got you now" he naively thought to himself.
But, alas, this was not to be.
Because as Jim leaped for the insect, the instructor, filled with both rage and caffeine, aimed at Jim, and killed him, instantly.
And, as Jim's limp body fell to the ground, the fly, the thing that provoked Jim to have him be killed, flew out of his reach, away to get someone else killed another day... | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | I sat down, just after taking my pizza out of the oven. As I placed it on the table across from my wife, who continually whined and complained about how I was wasting my potential, a fly landed on the table.
"Don't you dare." I said to the fly. My wife's tone escalated and her face became more red. But all I could focus on was the fly as it inched closer to my pizza.
"I'm warning you, stop." My wife began to lose it, she started throwing things, calling me names. The fly was now centimeters from my pizza. I couldn't stand it any longer!
"I'm going to KILL you!" I yelled as I slammed my hand down on the fly. Satisfied, I began to laugh intensely. As I raised my head, I heard my wife scream at the top of her lungs:
"Not if I kill you FIRST!" as she plunged a knife into my chest. As I lay on the ground bleeding out, my wife continually stabbing my chest, I watched in awe as another fly landed directly on my pizza. | Jim walked out of his car and into a large warehouse style building. He checked his watch and realized he was three minutes late. Great. His friend who convinced him he HAD to learn how to shoot a gun was the one who set this whole thing up. However, he had warned that this teacher was hardcore and expected people on time. He took a deep breath, then walked into the open space.
A burly voice right behind him said, "You're late." Jim was startled, and tried to slap the instructor. He learned the hard way that this man was also trained in hand to hand combat. After regurgitating his breakfast into a nearby garbage can, they began the lesson.
The instructor then went into great detail about types of guns, ammo, and how they work. Jim wasn't interested, so instead his eyes wandered around the warehouse. His gaze fell upon an old table, riddled with ammo, guns, and worn targets. The instructor continued rambling about keeping safety on and how to keep firm grip.
"JIM!!!" The instructor bellowed. "I didn't have three coffees so you could look at a freaking table!" Jim apologized, and the instructor continued his spiel. Jim tried to keep his focus, but something was irritating him. A buzz around him. Then, without notice, a fly landed on his nose. Now, normally Jim would ignore flys and go about his day, but this fly was extra obnoxious. Jim tried to hit the fly on his face to no avail, but simply slapping his pasty white face.
The instructor, hyped up on three coffees, jumped at the sound, and nearly shot off the gun. "JIM!!!!" the instructor yelled , "I've just about had it with you!" Jim once again apologized with the most sincerity he could muster. But Jim wasn't looking at the viewfinder the instructor spoke about when he resumed his speech. Jim was watching the fly. His eyes followed it as it gracefully landed on the table. "I've got you now" he naively thought to himself.
But, alas, this was not to be.
Because as Jim leaped for the insect, the instructor, filled with both rage and caffeine, aimed at Jim, and killed him, instantly.
And, as Jim's limp body fell to the ground, the fly, the thing that provoked Jim to have him be killed, flew out of his reach, away to get someone else killed another day... | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | Jim walked out of his car and into a large warehouse style building. He checked his watch and realized he was three minutes late. Great. His friend who convinced him he HAD to learn how to shoot a gun was the one who set this whole thing up. However, he had warned that this teacher was hardcore and expected people on time. He took a deep breath, then walked into the open space.
A burly voice right behind him said, "You're late." Jim was startled, and tried to slap the instructor. He learned the hard way that this man was also trained in hand to hand combat. After regurgitating his breakfast into a nearby garbage can, they began the lesson.
The instructor then went into great detail about types of guns, ammo, and how they work. Jim wasn't interested, so instead his eyes wandered around the warehouse. His gaze fell upon an old table, riddled with ammo, guns, and worn targets. The instructor continued rambling about keeping safety on and how to keep firm grip.
"JIM!!!" The instructor bellowed. "I didn't have three coffees so you could look at a freaking table!" Jim apologized, and the instructor continued his spiel. Jim tried to keep his focus, but something was irritating him. A buzz around him. Then, without notice, a fly landed on his nose. Now, normally Jim would ignore flys and go about his day, but this fly was extra obnoxious. Jim tried to hit the fly on his face to no avail, but simply slapping his pasty white face.
The instructor, hyped up on three coffees, jumped at the sound, and nearly shot off the gun. "JIM!!!!" the instructor yelled , "I've just about had it with you!" Jim once again apologized with the most sincerity he could muster. But Jim wasn't looking at the viewfinder the instructor spoke about when he resumed his speech. Jim was watching the fly. His eyes followed it as it gracefully landed on the table. "I've got you now" he naively thought to himself.
But, alas, this was not to be.
Because as Jim leaped for the insect, the instructor, filled with both rage and caffeine, aimed at Jim, and killed him, instantly.
And, as Jim's limp body fell to the ground, the fly, the thing that provoked Jim to have him be killed, flew out of his reach, away to get someone else killed another day... | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | The fly landed on the table, its feet immediately coated in the dense grease that seemed to permeate every inch of the sordid little cafe in downtown Istanbul. The current user of the table looked at it in irritation, pausing his almost constant mopping of his sweaty armpits to fling a stray hand in the fly's direction. The fly darted away in a lazy figure of eight and the man watched as small droplets of his sweat followed it towards the back of the man in front. The droplets hit the dirty vest of the man in front, blending with the yellow stains and going unnoticed. The man finished his beer in silence, wiping his face on the vest and then pulling himself to stand and stumbling drunkenly towards the toilet. He winced at the smell of the sweaty guy at the table behind him and was irritated to find that the smell did not leave him as he walked away.
Standing at the sink in the small stinking bathroom he washed his tired face and looked deep into his own weary eyes. Green irises flecked with gold that had once seen such happiness in what now seemed like a previous life. Pulling his vest over his head he rinsed it in the sink's tepid waters. Using it to wipe his face, he again rinsed it to wipe of the dirty smear that the day had left him. He stepped out of the toilet, standing in the small corridor that ran from the small bar to the open back door. Enjoying the fresh coolness of the air drafting passed, he paused to hang his vest over the twisted rails of the rear balcony. He sniffed at the air, fresher out here, but only just. The heavy smells of spices still permeated the surrounding area, as with all of the city. At first this had enticed him to come further, deeper into the city. A lure that pulled him into the den of depravity in which he was now locked. There, again the subtly sweet smell of opium drifted around him and he sighed, counting the hours until he got paid and the prize would be his to enjoy. He reached down to pick up his vest and saw it floating away in the wind. 'No matter' he thought to himself with a weary sigh, 'Tomorrow I will buy a new one'.
The small boy danced around the room, looking into the eyes of all of the old men surrounding him. One of them would take him home tonight, but there would be enough time to worry about that later. He danced in one of his sister's old dresses, as was the custom in the seedy halls and rooms that he performed in nightly. A large white piece of fabric blew passed the window, the reflection of the lamp's light catching it and momentarily lighting up the room. The light caught the eye of one of the flightier men in the room and he stood, pulling out his cigarette case. Moving towards the door he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the incense brazier hanging from a bracket on a wall. He inhaled the sweet cloying smell of his cigarette, not regretting the decision to add more opium than usual to his blend. He looked out at the maze of alleyways that stretched out below him and moved to sit on the doorstep of the nondescript building that he had just left. A small boy of barely 9 or 10 walked over to him, pulling up his robe to expose himself lewdly. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, looking for a tip for the boy. He didn't see the large wooden bat swung by the other boy until it was just half an inch from his face. The boy with the bat darted forward to grab the man's wallet, whilst the other took his opportunity to grab the opium laced cigarette before they both ran. The man slowly coughed up his teeth one by one, suddenly regretting his choice to leave home that night.
The two boys ran like the wind through alleys and over rooftops until they slowed to reach their destination. The first came forward, on his knees in the little attic space in which they had made their home and presented the money to his father, proudly smiling at his achievement. The other held back, aware of the cloying smell of opium that still lingered on his person. A noise at the entrance made all three look up in shock. The landlord stood above them in the doorway, eyeing the wallet with a knowing eye. "You can have a third" the father started to offer, "but no more". The landlord smiled as he pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it towards the father's forehead. "I can assure you" the landlord said with a wry smile as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, "I can have far more". | His entire body was still except for his right hand which slowly opened. He had visualized the death of this fly for the entirety of his meal; planned it. The greasy morsel of hamburger over which the fly now prayed did not fall off the dish by chance.
But now, at the hour of its death, J what felt he would later come to describe as a sense of forgiveness. This pest which had all but ruined J's appetite with the whining breath of its wings on his cheekbone, and the shit-feet tracks it left on the coleslaw J no longer considered fit for human consumption, (the coleslaw J had been looking forward to all morning. All week in fact—J had been looking forward to the coleslaw as much as the burger it came with, and almost as much as the paycheck he needed to buy tonight's bottle of Popov and next week's supply of Top Ramen with.
Forgiveness. It was new to J. He had heard of it, but never had much use for it. No one who wronged him had deserved it, and no one he'd wronged ever offered a taste. But now, his hunger—if not his thirst—satiated, and his mind calmed by the meditative process of deliberately planning the death of the fly, J came to an understanding. That fly hadn't meant to annoy him; to ruin his first decent meal in a week. There could be no satisfaction in revenging an offence that existed only in his mind.
J belched and pardoned himself to the fly, left his tray on the table for the cashier to take care of because “Fuck him, go get a GED” and headed back toward his own miserable office.
In the bright sunshine, J thought about his own act of magnanimity as he fought his way through the anonymous throngs of people on the crowded city sidewalk.
“This must be what God feels like,” he said to himself, slowly turning his head to the right.
He made eye contact with a driver who was anxiously tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. J smiled. The driver flipped him off and honked the horn. J jumped. A lady passing on his left laughed. The warmth drained from J's day. He checked her with his hip.
Her spine bent slowly as she tried to maintain her balance then snapped suddenly as it struck the oncoming car. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Her entire body was still, except her right hand, which slowly opened. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | His entire body was still except for his right hand which slowly opened. He had visualized the death of this fly for the entirety of his meal; planned it. The greasy morsel of hamburger over which the fly now prayed did not fall off the dish by chance.
But now, at the hour of its death, J what felt he would later come to describe as a sense of forgiveness. This pest which had all but ruined J's appetite with the whining breath of its wings on his cheekbone, and the shit-feet tracks it left on the coleslaw J no longer considered fit for human consumption, (the coleslaw J had been looking forward to all morning. All week in fact—J had been looking forward to the coleslaw as much as the burger it came with, and almost as much as the paycheck he needed to buy tonight's bottle of Popov and next week's supply of Top Ramen with.
Forgiveness. It was new to J. He had heard of it, but never had much use for it. No one who wronged him had deserved it, and no one he'd wronged ever offered a taste. But now, his hunger—if not his thirst—satiated, and his mind calmed by the meditative process of deliberately planning the death of the fly, J came to an understanding. That fly hadn't meant to annoy him; to ruin his first decent meal in a week. There could be no satisfaction in revenging an offence that existed only in his mind.
J belched and pardoned himself to the fly, left his tray on the table for the cashier to take care of because “Fuck him, go get a GED” and headed back toward his own miserable office.
In the bright sunshine, J thought about his own act of magnanimity as he fought his way through the anonymous throngs of people on the crowded city sidewalk.
“This must be what God feels like,” he said to himself, slowly turning his head to the right.
He made eye contact with a driver who was anxiously tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. J smiled. The driver flipped him off and honked the horn. J jumped. A lady passing on his left laughed. The warmth drained from J's day. He checked her with his hip.
Her spine bent slowly as she tried to maintain her balance then snapped suddenly as it struck the oncoming car. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Her entire body was still, except her right hand, which slowly opened. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | I sat down, just after taking my pizza out of the oven. As I placed it on the table across from my wife, who continually whined and complained about how I was wasting my potential, a fly landed on the table.
"Don't you dare." I said to the fly. My wife's tone escalated and her face became more red. But all I could focus on was the fly as it inched closer to my pizza.
"I'm warning you, stop." My wife began to lose it, she started throwing things, calling me names. The fly was now centimeters from my pizza. I couldn't stand it any longer!
"I'm going to KILL you!" I yelled as I slammed my hand down on the fly. Satisfied, I began to laugh intensely. As I raised my head, I heard my wife scream at the top of her lungs:
"Not if I kill you FIRST!" as she plunged a knife into my chest. As I lay on the ground bleeding out, my wife continually stabbing my chest, I watched in awe as another fly landed directly on my pizza. | His entire body was still except for his right hand which slowly opened. He had visualized the death of this fly for the entirety of his meal; planned it. The greasy morsel of hamburger over which the fly now prayed did not fall off the dish by chance.
But now, at the hour of its death, J what felt he would later come to describe as a sense of forgiveness. This pest which had all but ruined J's appetite with the whining breath of its wings on his cheekbone, and the shit-feet tracks it left on the coleslaw J no longer considered fit for human consumption, (the coleslaw J had been looking forward to all morning. All week in fact—J had been looking forward to the coleslaw as much as the burger it came with, and almost as much as the paycheck he needed to buy tonight's bottle of Popov and next week's supply of Top Ramen with.
Forgiveness. It was new to J. He had heard of it, but never had much use for it. No one who wronged him had deserved it, and no one he'd wronged ever offered a taste. But now, his hunger—if not his thirst—satiated, and his mind calmed by the meditative process of deliberately planning the death of the fly, J came to an understanding. That fly hadn't meant to annoy him; to ruin his first decent meal in a week. There could be no satisfaction in revenging an offence that existed only in his mind.
J belched and pardoned himself to the fly, left his tray on the table for the cashier to take care of because “Fuck him, go get a GED” and headed back toward his own miserable office.
In the bright sunshine, J thought about his own act of magnanimity as he fought his way through the anonymous throngs of people on the crowded city sidewalk.
“This must be what God feels like,” he said to himself, slowly turning his head to the right.
He made eye contact with a driver who was anxiously tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. J smiled. The driver flipped him off and honked the horn. J jumped. A lady passing on his left laughed. The warmth drained from J's day. He checked her with his hip.
Her spine bent slowly as she tried to maintain her balance then snapped suddenly as it struck the oncoming car. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Her entire body was still, except her right hand, which slowly opened. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | His entire body was still except for his right hand which slowly opened. He had visualized the death of this fly for the entirety of his meal; planned it. The greasy morsel of hamburger over which the fly now prayed did not fall off the dish by chance.
But now, at the hour of its death, J what felt he would later come to describe as a sense of forgiveness. This pest which had all but ruined J's appetite with the whining breath of its wings on his cheekbone, and the shit-feet tracks it left on the coleslaw J no longer considered fit for human consumption, (the coleslaw J had been looking forward to all morning. All week in fact—J had been looking forward to the coleslaw as much as the burger it came with, and almost as much as the paycheck he needed to buy tonight's bottle of Popov and next week's supply of Top Ramen with.
Forgiveness. It was new to J. He had heard of it, but never had much use for it. No one who wronged him had deserved it, and no one he'd wronged ever offered a taste. But now, his hunger—if not his thirst—satiated, and his mind calmed by the meditative process of deliberately planning the death of the fly, J came to an understanding. That fly hadn't meant to annoy him; to ruin his first decent meal in a week. There could be no satisfaction in revenging an offence that existed only in his mind.
J belched and pardoned himself to the fly, left his tray on the table for the cashier to take care of because “Fuck him, go get a GED” and headed back toward his own miserable office.
In the bright sunshine, J thought about his own act of magnanimity as he fought his way through the anonymous throngs of people on the crowded city sidewalk.
“This must be what God feels like,” he said to himself, slowly turning his head to the right.
He made eye contact with a driver who was anxiously tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. J smiled. The driver flipped him off and honked the horn. J jumped. A lady passing on his left laughed. The warmth drained from J's day. He checked her with his hip.
Her spine bent slowly as she tried to maintain her balance then snapped suddenly as it struck the oncoming car. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Her entire body was still, except her right hand, which slowly opened. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | The fly landed on the table, its feet immediately coated in the dense grease that seemed to permeate every inch of the sordid little cafe in downtown Istanbul. The current user of the table looked at it in irritation, pausing his almost constant mopping of his sweaty armpits to fling a stray hand in the fly's direction. The fly darted away in a lazy figure of eight and the man watched as small droplets of his sweat followed it towards the back of the man in front. The droplets hit the dirty vest of the man in front, blending with the yellow stains and going unnoticed. The man finished his beer in silence, wiping his face on the vest and then pulling himself to stand and stumbling drunkenly towards the toilet. He winced at the smell of the sweaty guy at the table behind him and was irritated to find that the smell did not leave him as he walked away.
Standing at the sink in the small stinking bathroom he washed his tired face and looked deep into his own weary eyes. Green irises flecked with gold that had once seen such happiness in what now seemed like a previous life. Pulling his vest over his head he rinsed it in the sink's tepid waters. Using it to wipe his face, he again rinsed it to wipe of the dirty smear that the day had left him. He stepped out of the toilet, standing in the small corridor that ran from the small bar to the open back door. Enjoying the fresh coolness of the air drafting passed, he paused to hang his vest over the twisted rails of the rear balcony. He sniffed at the air, fresher out here, but only just. The heavy smells of spices still permeated the surrounding area, as with all of the city. At first this had enticed him to come further, deeper into the city. A lure that pulled him into the den of depravity in which he was now locked. There, again the subtly sweet smell of opium drifted around him and he sighed, counting the hours until he got paid and the prize would be his to enjoy. He reached down to pick up his vest and saw it floating away in the wind. 'No matter' he thought to himself with a weary sigh, 'Tomorrow I will buy a new one'.
The small boy danced around the room, looking into the eyes of all of the old men surrounding him. One of them would take him home tonight, but there would be enough time to worry about that later. He danced in one of his sister's old dresses, as was the custom in the seedy halls and rooms that he performed in nightly. A large white piece of fabric blew passed the window, the reflection of the lamp's light catching it and momentarily lighting up the room. The light caught the eye of one of the flightier men in the room and he stood, pulling out his cigarette case. Moving towards the door he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the incense brazier hanging from a bracket on a wall. He inhaled the sweet cloying smell of his cigarette, not regretting the decision to add more opium than usual to his blend. He looked out at the maze of alleyways that stretched out below him and moved to sit on the doorstep of the nondescript building that he had just left. A small boy of barely 9 or 10 walked over to him, pulling up his robe to expose himself lewdly. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, looking for a tip for the boy. He didn't see the large wooden bat swung by the other boy until it was just half an inch from his face. The boy with the bat darted forward to grab the man's wallet, whilst the other took his opportunity to grab the opium laced cigarette before they both ran. The man slowly coughed up his teeth one by one, suddenly regretting his choice to leave home that night.
The two boys ran like the wind through alleys and over rooftops until they slowed to reach their destination. The first came forward, on his knees in the little attic space in which they had made their home and presented the money to his father, proudly smiling at his achievement. The other held back, aware of the cloying smell of opium that still lingered on his person. A noise at the entrance made all three look up in shock. The landlord stood above them in the doorway, eyeing the wallet with a knowing eye. "You can have a third" the father started to offer, "but no more". The landlord smiled as he pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it towards the father's forehead. "I can assure you" the landlord said with a wry smile as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, "I can have far more". | My target was sitting across the table from me at a seedy bar in south side Chicago.
We stared into each other's eyes.
He didn't know my purpose.
He averted his gaze for just a moment to address a disturbance; a fly landing on our table.
I took the chance to draw my pistol and blow his god damn brains out.
Now, to collect my contract.
The End
Did I do this right? | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | My target was sitting across the table from me at a seedy bar in south side Chicago.
We stared into each other's eyes.
He didn't know my purpose.
He averted his gaze for just a moment to address a disturbance; a fly landing on our table.
I took the chance to draw my pistol and blow his god damn brains out.
Now, to collect my contract.
The End
Did I do this right? | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | I sat down, just after taking my pizza out of the oven. As I placed it on the table across from my wife, who continually whined and complained about how I was wasting my potential, a fly landed on the table.
"Don't you dare." I said to the fly. My wife's tone escalated and her face became more red. But all I could focus on was the fly as it inched closer to my pizza.
"I'm warning you, stop." My wife began to lose it, she started throwing things, calling me names. The fly was now centimeters from my pizza. I couldn't stand it any longer!
"I'm going to KILL you!" I yelled as I slammed my hand down on the fly. Satisfied, I began to laugh intensely. As I raised my head, I heard my wife scream at the top of her lungs:
"Not if I kill you FIRST!" as she plunged a knife into my chest. As I lay on the ground bleeding out, my wife continually stabbing my chest, I watched in awe as another fly landed directly on my pizza. | My target was sitting across the table from me at a seedy bar in south side Chicago.
We stared into each other's eyes.
He didn't know my purpose.
He averted his gaze for just a moment to address a disturbance; a fly landing on our table.
I took the chance to draw my pistol and blow his god damn brains out.
Now, to collect my contract.
The End
Did I do this right? | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | My target was sitting across the table from me at a seedy bar in south side Chicago.
We stared into each other's eyes.
He didn't know my purpose.
He averted his gaze for just a moment to address a disturbance; a fly landing on our table.
I took the chance to draw my pistol and blow his god damn brains out.
Now, to collect my contract.
The End
Did I do this right? | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | The fly landed on the table, its feet immediately coated in the dense grease that seemed to permeate every inch of the sordid little cafe in downtown Istanbul. The current user of the table looked at it in irritation, pausing his almost constant mopping of his sweaty armpits to fling a stray hand in the fly's direction. The fly darted away in a lazy figure of eight and the man watched as small droplets of his sweat followed it towards the back of the man in front. The droplets hit the dirty vest of the man in front, blending with the yellow stains and going unnoticed. The man finished his beer in silence, wiping his face on the vest and then pulling himself to stand and stumbling drunkenly towards the toilet. He winced at the smell of the sweaty guy at the table behind him and was irritated to find that the smell did not leave him as he walked away.
Standing at the sink in the small stinking bathroom he washed his tired face and looked deep into his own weary eyes. Green irises flecked with gold that had once seen such happiness in what now seemed like a previous life. Pulling his vest over his head he rinsed it in the sink's tepid waters. Using it to wipe his face, he again rinsed it to wipe of the dirty smear that the day had left him. He stepped out of the toilet, standing in the small corridor that ran from the small bar to the open back door. Enjoying the fresh coolness of the air drafting passed, he paused to hang his vest over the twisted rails of the rear balcony. He sniffed at the air, fresher out here, but only just. The heavy smells of spices still permeated the surrounding area, as with all of the city. At first this had enticed him to come further, deeper into the city. A lure that pulled him into the den of depravity in which he was now locked. There, again the subtly sweet smell of opium drifted around him and he sighed, counting the hours until he got paid and the prize would be his to enjoy. He reached down to pick up his vest and saw it floating away in the wind. 'No matter' he thought to himself with a weary sigh, 'Tomorrow I will buy a new one'.
The small boy danced around the room, looking into the eyes of all of the old men surrounding him. One of them would take him home tonight, but there would be enough time to worry about that later. He danced in one of his sister's old dresses, as was the custom in the seedy halls and rooms that he performed in nightly. A large white piece of fabric blew passed the window, the reflection of the lamp's light catching it and momentarily lighting up the room. The light caught the eye of one of the flightier men in the room and he stood, pulling out his cigarette case. Moving towards the door he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the incense brazier hanging from a bracket on a wall. He inhaled the sweet cloying smell of his cigarette, not regretting the decision to add more opium than usual to his blend. He looked out at the maze of alleyways that stretched out below him and moved to sit on the doorstep of the nondescript building that he had just left. A small boy of barely 9 or 10 walked over to him, pulling up his robe to expose himself lewdly. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, looking for a tip for the boy. He didn't see the large wooden bat swung by the other boy until it was just half an inch from his face. The boy with the bat darted forward to grab the man's wallet, whilst the other took his opportunity to grab the opium laced cigarette before they both ran. The man slowly coughed up his teeth one by one, suddenly regretting his choice to leave home that night.
The two boys ran like the wind through alleys and over rooftops until they slowed to reach their destination. The first came forward, on his knees in the little attic space in which they had made their home and presented the money to his father, proudly smiling at his achievement. The other held back, aware of the cloying smell of opium that still lingered on his person. A noise at the entrance made all three look up in shock. The landlord stood above them in the doorway, eyeing the wallet with a knowing eye. "You can have a third" the father started to offer, "but no more". The landlord smiled as he pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it towards the father's forehead. "I can assure you" the landlord said with a wry smile as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, "I can have far more". | Secret agent mode activated!
My target: the nasty fly that just landed on my table at Wendy's.
My mission: kill the small, winged monster before it touches my burger.
I quickly look around for some sort of weapon to dispatch the beast, but It seems the most deadly thing around is, in fact, my trusty sneaker. In a flash of lubricated coordination, my shoe rests in my in my hand, poised for action.
I slowly raise my weapon. I know I only have one shot at this. It is getting too close to my burger, I must act!
*BAM* my shoe hits the table with the force of 1000 men! In mere moments an unbelievable and life changing set of events occurs.
My aim is true, but the edge of my sneaker clips the side of my spoon! Like a catapult from the depths of hell, my spoon is sent flying through the air! It is too late to act now-- my only choice is to observe where it will land.
I watch as my Frosty-eating device crashes to the ground. It lands in a very high traffic area... but maybe I'll get lucky...
Nope. Mere seconds after landing, I gaze in horror as young woman slips on the spoon, throwing an entire trey of food into the air! Pandemonium ensues. Fries, ketchup, meat patties, chicken nuggets-- they are all, as if in slow motion, scattering in every possible direction.
I jump to my feet, and rush to her aid! "Mam, are you okay??" I ask in the most innocent tone possible. "Yes I'm fine. Mostly just upset about my food, really. Quite embarrassing."
In my distracted state, I fail to notice a very large, very angry, and very ketchup-covered man slowly walking towards the scene of the incident.
He is reaching inside his jacket, and I catch a glimpse of a gun.
My mind begins to race. Could they have found me? After all these years?
In a blur, my fist collides with his face. The poor guy never had a chance. I hear screaming all around me as I watch him crumble beneath my feet.
I have to run, I must get out of here!
Even though I've been inactive for many years, I have kept my body in top condition. My legs are like two separate cheetahs sprinting at full speed. I hear the squealing of tires in the background. It must be big guy's back up.
Why are they chasing me? Surely they don't know my past? But there is no way anyone could be that mad about getting ketchuped right? Either way, I have to escape.
I round the corner only to find myself at a dead end. My body twists like I'm doing an intricate dance move in an attempt to escape the alleyway, but I'm not quick enough. In front of me stands 6 armed assassins.
"How did you know it was me? After all these years, what gave it away?" I say.
The goon in the middle answers. "It all started with the slick and rapid way you took off your shoe. The second clue, and the one that gave you away: No one can kill a fly that efficiently. No one but you that is. We have been searching for you for years now and I never thought we would find you in a Wendy's of all places."
I guess this is the end, but I'm not going down without a fight. I quickly grab a nearby trashcan lid and huck it at the fat goobers with the guns.
The lid bounces of two heads, knocking them out cold.
I jump of the wall to my right and land a Showtime kick on biggest bad guy.
3 down, 3 to go.
In a single motion, I sweep the leg of the next closest goon, and use him as a body shield for the hail of bullets aimed at my heart.
Pain shoots through my leg, I fall to the ground. I've been hit.
"Say goodbye." I hear a voice as rough as a cheese grater say.
I look up at the barrel of his gun and hear a loud bang.
I wake up. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | Secret agent mode activated!
My target: the nasty fly that just landed on my table at Wendy's.
My mission: kill the small, winged monster before it touches my burger.
I quickly look around for some sort of weapon to dispatch the beast, but It seems the most deadly thing around is, in fact, my trusty sneaker. In a flash of lubricated coordination, my shoe rests in my in my hand, poised for action.
I slowly raise my weapon. I know I only have one shot at this. It is getting too close to my burger, I must act!
*BAM* my shoe hits the table with the force of 1000 men! In mere moments an unbelievable and life changing set of events occurs.
My aim is true, but the edge of my sneaker clips the side of my spoon! Like a catapult from the depths of hell, my spoon is sent flying through the air! It is too late to act now-- my only choice is to observe where it will land.
I watch as my Frosty-eating device crashes to the ground. It lands in a very high traffic area... but maybe I'll get lucky...
Nope. Mere seconds after landing, I gaze in horror as young woman slips on the spoon, throwing an entire trey of food into the air! Pandemonium ensues. Fries, ketchup, meat patties, chicken nuggets-- they are all, as if in slow motion, scattering in every possible direction.
I jump to my feet, and rush to her aid! "Mam, are you okay??" I ask in the most innocent tone possible. "Yes I'm fine. Mostly just upset about my food, really. Quite embarrassing."
In my distracted state, I fail to notice a very large, very angry, and very ketchup-covered man slowly walking towards the scene of the incident.
He is reaching inside his jacket, and I catch a glimpse of a gun.
My mind begins to race. Could they have found me? After all these years?
In a blur, my fist collides with his face. The poor guy never had a chance. I hear screaming all around me as I watch him crumble beneath my feet.
I have to run, I must get out of here!
Even though I've been inactive for many years, I have kept my body in top condition. My legs are like two separate cheetahs sprinting at full speed. I hear the squealing of tires in the background. It must be big guy's back up.
Why are they chasing me? Surely they don't know my past? But there is no way anyone could be that mad about getting ketchuped right? Either way, I have to escape.
I round the corner only to find myself at a dead end. My body twists like I'm doing an intricate dance move in an attempt to escape the alleyway, but I'm not quick enough. In front of me stands 6 armed assassins.
"How did you know it was me? After all these years, what gave it away?" I say.
The goon in the middle answers. "It all started with the slick and rapid way you took off your shoe. The second clue, and the one that gave you away: No one can kill a fly that efficiently. No one but you that is. We have been searching for you for years now and I never thought we would find you in a Wendy's of all places."
I guess this is the end, but I'm not going down without a fight. I quickly grab a nearby trashcan lid and huck it at the fat goobers with the guns.
The lid bounces of two heads, knocking them out cold.
I jump of the wall to my right and land a Showtime kick on biggest bad guy.
3 down, 3 to go.
In a single motion, I sweep the leg of the next closest goon, and use him as a body shield for the hail of bullets aimed at my heart.
Pain shoots through my leg, I fall to the ground. I've been hit.
"Say goodbye." I hear a voice as rough as a cheese grater say.
I look up at the barrel of his gun and hear a loud bang.
I wake up. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | Secret agent mode activated!
My target: the nasty fly that just landed on my table at Wendy's.
My mission: kill the small, winged monster before it touches my burger.
I quickly look around for some sort of weapon to dispatch the beast, but It seems the most deadly thing around is, in fact, my trusty sneaker. In a flash of lubricated coordination, my shoe rests in my in my hand, poised for action.
I slowly raise my weapon. I know I only have one shot at this. It is getting too close to my burger, I must act!
*BAM* my shoe hits the table with the force of 1000 men! In mere moments an unbelievable and life changing set of events occurs.
My aim is true, but the edge of my sneaker clips the side of my spoon! Like a catapult from the depths of hell, my spoon is sent flying through the air! It is too late to act now-- my only choice is to observe where it will land.
I watch as my Frosty-eating device crashes to the ground. It lands in a very high traffic area... but maybe I'll get lucky...
Nope. Mere seconds after landing, I gaze in horror as young woman slips on the spoon, throwing an entire trey of food into the air! Pandemonium ensues. Fries, ketchup, meat patties, chicken nuggets-- they are all, as if in slow motion, scattering in every possible direction.
I jump to my feet, and rush to her aid! "Mam, are you okay??" I ask in the most innocent tone possible. "Yes I'm fine. Mostly just upset about my food, really. Quite embarrassing."
In my distracted state, I fail to notice a very large, very angry, and very ketchup-covered man slowly walking towards the scene of the incident.
He is reaching inside his jacket, and I catch a glimpse of a gun.
My mind begins to race. Could they have found me? After all these years?
In a blur, my fist collides with his face. The poor guy never had a chance. I hear screaming all around me as I watch him crumble beneath my feet.
I have to run, I must get out of here!
Even though I've been inactive for many years, I have kept my body in top condition. My legs are like two separate cheetahs sprinting at full speed. I hear the squealing of tires in the background. It must be big guy's back up.
Why are they chasing me? Surely they don't know my past? But there is no way anyone could be that mad about getting ketchuped right? Either way, I have to escape.
I round the corner only to find myself at a dead end. My body twists like I'm doing an intricate dance move in an attempt to escape the alleyway, but I'm not quick enough. In front of me stands 6 armed assassins.
"How did you know it was me? After all these years, what gave it away?" I say.
The goon in the middle answers. "It all started with the slick and rapid way you took off your shoe. The second clue, and the one that gave you away: No one can kill a fly that efficiently. No one but you that is. We have been searching for you for years now and I never thought we would find you in a Wendy's of all places."
I guess this is the end, but I'm not going down without a fight. I quickly grab a nearby trashcan lid and huck it at the fat goobers with the guns.
The lid bounces of two heads, knocking them out cold.
I jump of the wall to my right and land a Showtime kick on biggest bad guy.
3 down, 3 to go.
In a single motion, I sweep the leg of the next closest goon, and use him as a body shield for the hail of bullets aimed at my heart.
Pain shoots through my leg, I fall to the ground. I've been hit.
"Say goodbye." I hear a voice as rough as a cheese grater say.
I look up at the barrel of his gun and hear a loud bang.
I wake up. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | The fly landed on the table, its feet immediately coated in the dense grease that seemed to permeate every inch of the sordid little cafe in downtown Istanbul. The current user of the table looked at it in irritation, pausing his almost constant mopping of his sweaty armpits to fling a stray hand in the fly's direction. The fly darted away in a lazy figure of eight and the man watched as small droplets of his sweat followed it towards the back of the man in front. The droplets hit the dirty vest of the man in front, blending with the yellow stains and going unnoticed. The man finished his beer in silence, wiping his face on the vest and then pulling himself to stand and stumbling drunkenly towards the toilet. He winced at the smell of the sweaty guy at the table behind him and was irritated to find that the smell did not leave him as he walked away.
Standing at the sink in the small stinking bathroom he washed his tired face and looked deep into his own weary eyes. Green irises flecked with gold that had once seen such happiness in what now seemed like a previous life. Pulling his vest over his head he rinsed it in the sink's tepid waters. Using it to wipe his face, he again rinsed it to wipe of the dirty smear that the day had left him. He stepped out of the toilet, standing in the small corridor that ran from the small bar to the open back door. Enjoying the fresh coolness of the air drafting passed, he paused to hang his vest over the twisted rails of the rear balcony. He sniffed at the air, fresher out here, but only just. The heavy smells of spices still permeated the surrounding area, as with all of the city. At first this had enticed him to come further, deeper into the city. A lure that pulled him into the den of depravity in which he was now locked. There, again the subtly sweet smell of opium drifted around him and he sighed, counting the hours until he got paid and the prize would be his to enjoy. He reached down to pick up his vest and saw it floating away in the wind. 'No matter' he thought to himself with a weary sigh, 'Tomorrow I will buy a new one'.
The small boy danced around the room, looking into the eyes of all of the old men surrounding him. One of them would take him home tonight, but there would be enough time to worry about that later. He danced in one of his sister's old dresses, as was the custom in the seedy halls and rooms that he performed in nightly. A large white piece of fabric blew passed the window, the reflection of the lamp's light catching it and momentarily lighting up the room. The light caught the eye of one of the flightier men in the room and he stood, pulling out his cigarette case. Moving towards the door he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the incense brazier hanging from a bracket on a wall. He inhaled the sweet cloying smell of his cigarette, not regretting the decision to add more opium than usual to his blend. He looked out at the maze of alleyways that stretched out below him and moved to sit on the doorstep of the nondescript building that he had just left. A small boy of barely 9 or 10 walked over to him, pulling up his robe to expose himself lewdly. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, looking for a tip for the boy. He didn't see the large wooden bat swung by the other boy until it was just half an inch from his face. The boy with the bat darted forward to grab the man's wallet, whilst the other took his opportunity to grab the opium laced cigarette before they both ran. The man slowly coughed up his teeth one by one, suddenly regretting his choice to leave home that night.
The two boys ran like the wind through alleys and over rooftops until they slowed to reach their destination. The first came forward, on his knees in the little attic space in which they had made their home and presented the money to his father, proudly smiling at his achievement. The other held back, aware of the cloying smell of opium that still lingered on his person. A noise at the entrance made all three look up in shock. The landlord stood above them in the doorway, eyeing the wallet with a knowing eye. "You can have a third" the father started to offer, "but no more". The landlord smiled as he pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it towards the father's forehead. "I can assure you" the landlord said with a wry smile as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, "I can have far more". | I was out of ideas.
"Trains? A princess? Another take on Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer?" I slammed my head on my desk as my mind drew blanks. I wrote children's books for a living, if you had the audacity to call it a living. I was barely scraping by. My only successful book was an 8 pager about a fly who fell in love with a frog, and that only got me through a few months. Flies. I hate em. All they do is buzz around and spread germs and annoyance.
"Speak of the devil," I thought as a familiar buzzing filled my office. I finished rolling up todays paper right as landed on my desk.
"Die fucker!" I shouted triumphantly as I raised my arm into the air. But then I stopped. My arm slowly lowered to my side again. I let the news paper fall to the floor.
"Death," I said to myself . "A death. A murder. A murderer. Yes! YES! I got it!" My fingers began tapping away at my dusty keyboard, my ideas spilling onto the screen. "Who gives a damn about children's books? I'm going to write a novel."
And I typed away letting the buzzing of the fly fill me with the rage of my murderer. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | I was out of ideas.
"Trains? A princess? Another take on Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer?" I slammed my head on my desk as my mind drew blanks. I wrote children's books for a living, if you had the audacity to call it a living. I was barely scraping by. My only successful book was an 8 pager about a fly who fell in love with a frog, and that only got me through a few months. Flies. I hate em. All they do is buzz around and spread germs and annoyance.
"Speak of the devil," I thought as a familiar buzzing filled my office. I finished rolling up todays paper right as landed on my desk.
"Die fucker!" I shouted triumphantly as I raised my arm into the air. But then I stopped. My arm slowly lowered to my side again. I let the news paper fall to the floor.
"Death," I said to myself . "A death. A murder. A murderer. Yes! YES! I got it!" My fingers began tapping away at my dusty keyboard, my ideas spilling onto the screen. "Who gives a damn about children's books? I'm going to write a novel."
And I typed away letting the buzzing of the fly fill me with the rage of my murderer. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | I was out of ideas.
"Trains? A princess? Another take on Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer?" I slammed my head on my desk as my mind drew blanks. I wrote children's books for a living, if you had the audacity to call it a living. I was barely scraping by. My only successful book was an 8 pager about a fly who fell in love with a frog, and that only got me through a few months. Flies. I hate em. All they do is buzz around and spread germs and annoyance.
"Speak of the devil," I thought as a familiar buzzing filled my office. I finished rolling up todays paper right as landed on my desk.
"Die fucker!" I shouted triumphantly as I raised my arm into the air. But then I stopped. My arm slowly lowered to my side again. I let the news paper fall to the floor.
"Death," I said to myself . "A death. A murder. A murderer. Yes! YES! I got it!" My fingers began tapping away at my dusty keyboard, my ideas spilling onto the screen. "Who gives a damn about children's books? I'm going to write a novel."
And I typed away letting the buzzing of the fly fill me with the rage of my murderer. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | The fly landed on the table, its feet immediately coated in the dense grease that seemed to permeate every inch of the sordid little cafe in downtown Istanbul. The current user of the table looked at it in irritation, pausing his almost constant mopping of his sweaty armpits to fling a stray hand in the fly's direction. The fly darted away in a lazy figure of eight and the man watched as small droplets of his sweat followed it towards the back of the man in front. The droplets hit the dirty vest of the man in front, blending with the yellow stains and going unnoticed. The man finished his beer in silence, wiping his face on the vest and then pulling himself to stand and stumbling drunkenly towards the toilet. He winced at the smell of the sweaty guy at the table behind him and was irritated to find that the smell did not leave him as he walked away.
Standing at the sink in the small stinking bathroom he washed his tired face and looked deep into his own weary eyes. Green irises flecked with gold that had once seen such happiness in what now seemed like a previous life. Pulling his vest over his head he rinsed it in the sink's tepid waters. Using it to wipe his face, he again rinsed it to wipe of the dirty smear that the day had left him. He stepped out of the toilet, standing in the small corridor that ran from the small bar to the open back door. Enjoying the fresh coolness of the air drafting passed, he paused to hang his vest over the twisted rails of the rear balcony. He sniffed at the air, fresher out here, but only just. The heavy smells of spices still permeated the surrounding area, as with all of the city. At first this had enticed him to come further, deeper into the city. A lure that pulled him into the den of depravity in which he was now locked. There, again the subtly sweet smell of opium drifted around him and he sighed, counting the hours until he got paid and the prize would be his to enjoy. He reached down to pick up his vest and saw it floating away in the wind. 'No matter' he thought to himself with a weary sigh, 'Tomorrow I will buy a new one'.
The small boy danced around the room, looking into the eyes of all of the old men surrounding him. One of them would take him home tonight, but there would be enough time to worry about that later. He danced in one of his sister's old dresses, as was the custom in the seedy halls and rooms that he performed in nightly. A large white piece of fabric blew passed the window, the reflection of the lamp's light catching it and momentarily lighting up the room. The light caught the eye of one of the flightier men in the room and he stood, pulling out his cigarette case. Moving towards the door he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the incense brazier hanging from a bracket on a wall. He inhaled the sweet cloying smell of his cigarette, not regretting the decision to add more opium than usual to his blend. He looked out at the maze of alleyways that stretched out below him and moved to sit on the doorstep of the nondescript building that he had just left. A small boy of barely 9 or 10 walked over to him, pulling up his robe to expose himself lewdly. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, looking for a tip for the boy. He didn't see the large wooden bat swung by the other boy until it was just half an inch from his face. The boy with the bat darted forward to grab the man's wallet, whilst the other took his opportunity to grab the opium laced cigarette before they both ran. The man slowly coughed up his teeth one by one, suddenly regretting his choice to leave home that night.
The two boys ran like the wind through alleys and over rooftops until they slowed to reach their destination. The first came forward, on his knees in the little attic space in which they had made their home and presented the money to his father, proudly smiling at his achievement. The other held back, aware of the cloying smell of opium that still lingered on his person. A noise at the entrance made all three look up in shock. The landlord stood above them in the doorway, eyeing the wallet with a knowing eye. "You can have a third" the father started to offer, "but no more". The landlord smiled as he pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it towards the father's forehead. "I can assure you" the landlord said with a wry smile as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, "I can have far more". | Must find food.
See table.
See bread.
Land on table.
Walk to bread.
Eat bread.
Big crash.
Table shake.
Bread crushed.
Loud shout.
More shout.
Table flip.
Fly to wall.
See room.
Man fight woman.
See shiny.
Man throw shiny.
Shiny hit woman.
Woman fall.
Man run.
Must find food.
| |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | Must find food.
See table.
See bread.
Land on table.
Walk to bread.
Eat bread.
Big crash.
Table shake.
Bread crushed.
Loud shout.
More shout.
Table flip.
Fly to wall.
See room.
Man fight woman.
See shiny.
Man throw shiny.
Shiny hit woman.
Woman fall.
Man run.
Must find food.
| |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | The fly landed on the table, its feet immediately coated in the dense grease that seemed to permeate every inch of the sordid little cafe in downtown Istanbul. The current user of the table looked at it in irritation, pausing his almost constant mopping of his sweaty armpits to fling a stray hand in the fly's direction. The fly darted away in a lazy figure of eight and the man watched as small droplets of his sweat followed it towards the back of the man in front. The droplets hit the dirty vest of the man in front, blending with the yellow stains and going unnoticed. The man finished his beer in silence, wiping his face on the vest and then pulling himself to stand and stumbling drunkenly towards the toilet. He winced at the smell of the sweaty guy at the table behind him and was irritated to find that the smell did not leave him as he walked away.
Standing at the sink in the small stinking bathroom he washed his tired face and looked deep into his own weary eyes. Green irises flecked with gold that had once seen such happiness in what now seemed like a previous life. Pulling his vest over his head he rinsed it in the sink's tepid waters. Using it to wipe his face, he again rinsed it to wipe of the dirty smear that the day had left him. He stepped out of the toilet, standing in the small corridor that ran from the small bar to the open back door. Enjoying the fresh coolness of the air drafting passed, he paused to hang his vest over the twisted rails of the rear balcony. He sniffed at the air, fresher out here, but only just. The heavy smells of spices still permeated the surrounding area, as with all of the city. At first this had enticed him to come further, deeper into the city. A lure that pulled him into the den of depravity in which he was now locked. There, again the subtly sweet smell of opium drifted around him and he sighed, counting the hours until he got paid and the prize would be his to enjoy. He reached down to pick up his vest and saw it floating away in the wind. 'No matter' he thought to himself with a weary sigh, 'Tomorrow I will buy a new one'.
The small boy danced around the room, looking into the eyes of all of the old men surrounding him. One of them would take him home tonight, but there would be enough time to worry about that later. He danced in one of his sister's old dresses, as was the custom in the seedy halls and rooms that he performed in nightly. A large white piece of fabric blew passed the window, the reflection of the lamp's light catching it and momentarily lighting up the room. The light caught the eye of one of the flightier men in the room and he stood, pulling out his cigarette case. Moving towards the door he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the incense brazier hanging from a bracket on a wall. He inhaled the sweet cloying smell of his cigarette, not regretting the decision to add more opium than usual to his blend. He looked out at the maze of alleyways that stretched out below him and moved to sit on the doorstep of the nondescript building that he had just left. A small boy of barely 9 or 10 walked over to him, pulling up his robe to expose himself lewdly. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, looking for a tip for the boy. He didn't see the large wooden bat swung by the other boy until it was just half an inch from his face. The boy with the bat darted forward to grab the man's wallet, whilst the other took his opportunity to grab the opium laced cigarette before they both ran. The man slowly coughed up his teeth one by one, suddenly regretting his choice to leave home that night.
The two boys ran like the wind through alleys and over rooftops until they slowed to reach their destination. The first came forward, on his knees in the little attic space in which they had made their home and presented the money to his father, proudly smiling at his achievement. The other held back, aware of the cloying smell of opium that still lingered on his person. A noise at the entrance made all three look up in shock. The landlord stood above them in the doorway, eyeing the wallet with a knowing eye. "You can have a third" the father started to offer, "but no more". The landlord smiled as he pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it towards the father's forehead. "I can assure you" the landlord said with a wry smile as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, "I can have far more". | The fly landed down.
I killed it with one quick smack.
I will face no charge. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | The fly landed down.
I killed it with one quick smack.
I will face no charge. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | The fly landed on the table, its feet immediately coated in the dense grease that seemed to permeate every inch of the sordid little cafe in downtown Istanbul. The current user of the table looked at it in irritation, pausing his almost constant mopping of his sweaty armpits to fling a stray hand in the fly's direction. The fly darted away in a lazy figure of eight and the man watched as small droplets of his sweat followed it towards the back of the man in front. The droplets hit the dirty vest of the man in front, blending with the yellow stains and going unnoticed. The man finished his beer in silence, wiping his face on the vest and then pulling himself to stand and stumbling drunkenly towards the toilet. He winced at the smell of the sweaty guy at the table behind him and was irritated to find that the smell did not leave him as he walked away.
Standing at the sink in the small stinking bathroom he washed his tired face and looked deep into his own weary eyes. Green irises flecked with gold that had once seen such happiness in what now seemed like a previous life. Pulling his vest over his head he rinsed it in the sink's tepid waters. Using it to wipe his face, he again rinsed it to wipe of the dirty smear that the day had left him. He stepped out of the toilet, standing in the small corridor that ran from the small bar to the open back door. Enjoying the fresh coolness of the air drafting passed, he paused to hang his vest over the twisted rails of the rear balcony. He sniffed at the air, fresher out here, but only just. The heavy smells of spices still permeated the surrounding area, as with all of the city. At first this had enticed him to come further, deeper into the city. A lure that pulled him into the den of depravity in which he was now locked. There, again the subtly sweet smell of opium drifted around him and he sighed, counting the hours until he got paid and the prize would be his to enjoy. He reached down to pick up his vest and saw it floating away in the wind. 'No matter' he thought to himself with a weary sigh, 'Tomorrow I will buy a new one'.
The small boy danced around the room, looking into the eyes of all of the old men surrounding him. One of them would take him home tonight, but there would be enough time to worry about that later. He danced in one of his sister's old dresses, as was the custom in the seedy halls and rooms that he performed in nightly. A large white piece of fabric blew passed the window, the reflection of the lamp's light catching it and momentarily lighting up the room. The light caught the eye of one of the flightier men in the room and he stood, pulling out his cigarette case. Moving towards the door he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the incense brazier hanging from a bracket on a wall. He inhaled the sweet cloying smell of his cigarette, not regretting the decision to add more opium than usual to his blend. He looked out at the maze of alleyways that stretched out below him and moved to sit on the doorstep of the nondescript building that he had just left. A small boy of barely 9 or 10 walked over to him, pulling up his robe to expose himself lewdly. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, looking for a tip for the boy. He didn't see the large wooden bat swung by the other boy until it was just half an inch from his face. The boy with the bat darted forward to grab the man's wallet, whilst the other took his opportunity to grab the opium laced cigarette before they both ran. The man slowly coughed up his teeth one by one, suddenly regretting his choice to leave home that night.
The two boys ran like the wind through alleys and over rooftops until they slowed to reach their destination. The first came forward, on his knees in the little attic space in which they had made their home and presented the money to his father, proudly smiling at his achievement. The other held back, aware of the cloying smell of opium that still lingered on his person. A noise at the entrance made all three look up in shock. The landlord stood above them in the doorway, eyeing the wallet with a knowing eye. "You can have a third" the father started to offer, "but no more". The landlord smiled as he pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it towards the father's forehead. "I can assure you" the landlord said with a wry smile as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, "I can have far more". | A fly lands on a cup of wine.
Person tries to swat the fly.
Hits glass instead.
Glass shatters as it hits the floor.
Person A begins to clean up.
Person B carelessly walks through the broken glass, crushing the larger pieces.
Person A calls out person B.
Person B tells off person A.
Person A is pissed at B's arrogance.
Person A gets up and confronts B.
B begins to yell.
A yells back.
B throws a punch.
A throws another.
B grabs a bottle and breaks it.
B begins to advance towards A in a threatening manner.
A grabs a steak knife and stabs B in the stomach, defending himself from the broken bottle.
Meanwhile, across the restaurant, a fly lands on a glass of wine. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | A fly lands on a cup of wine.
Person tries to swat the fly.
Hits glass instead.
Glass shatters as it hits the floor.
Person A begins to clean up.
Person B carelessly walks through the broken glass, crushing the larger pieces.
Person A calls out person B.
Person B tells off person A.
Person A is pissed at B's arrogance.
Person A gets up and confronts B.
B begins to yell.
A yells back.
B throws a punch.
A throws another.
B grabs a bottle and breaks it.
B begins to advance towards A in a threatening manner.
A grabs a steak knife and stabs B in the stomach, defending himself from the broken bottle.
Meanwhile, across the restaurant, a fly lands on a glass of wine. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | The fly landed on the table, its feet immediately coated in the dense grease that seemed to permeate every inch of the sordid little cafe in downtown Istanbul. The current user of the table looked at it in irritation, pausing his almost constant mopping of his sweaty armpits to fling a stray hand in the fly's direction. The fly darted away in a lazy figure of eight and the man watched as small droplets of his sweat followed it towards the back of the man in front. The droplets hit the dirty vest of the man in front, blending with the yellow stains and going unnoticed. The man finished his beer in silence, wiping his face on the vest and then pulling himself to stand and stumbling drunkenly towards the toilet. He winced at the smell of the sweaty guy at the table behind him and was irritated to find that the smell did not leave him as he walked away.
Standing at the sink in the small stinking bathroom he washed his tired face and looked deep into his own weary eyes. Green irises flecked with gold that had once seen such happiness in what now seemed like a previous life. Pulling his vest over his head he rinsed it in the sink's tepid waters. Using it to wipe his face, he again rinsed it to wipe of the dirty smear that the day had left him. He stepped out of the toilet, standing in the small corridor that ran from the small bar to the open back door. Enjoying the fresh coolness of the air drafting passed, he paused to hang his vest over the twisted rails of the rear balcony. He sniffed at the air, fresher out here, but only just. The heavy smells of spices still permeated the surrounding area, as with all of the city. At first this had enticed him to come further, deeper into the city. A lure that pulled him into the den of depravity in which he was now locked. There, again the subtly sweet smell of opium drifted around him and he sighed, counting the hours until he got paid and the prize would be his to enjoy. He reached down to pick up his vest and saw it floating away in the wind. 'No matter' he thought to himself with a weary sigh, 'Tomorrow I will buy a new one'.
The small boy danced around the room, looking into the eyes of all of the old men surrounding him. One of them would take him home tonight, but there would be enough time to worry about that later. He danced in one of his sister's old dresses, as was the custom in the seedy halls and rooms that he performed in nightly. A large white piece of fabric blew passed the window, the reflection of the lamp's light catching it and momentarily lighting up the room. The light caught the eye of one of the flightier men in the room and he stood, pulling out his cigarette case. Moving towards the door he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the incense brazier hanging from a bracket on a wall. He inhaled the sweet cloying smell of his cigarette, not regretting the decision to add more opium than usual to his blend. He looked out at the maze of alleyways that stretched out below him and moved to sit on the doorstep of the nondescript building that he had just left. A small boy of barely 9 or 10 walked over to him, pulling up his robe to expose himself lewdly. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, looking for a tip for the boy. He didn't see the large wooden bat swung by the other boy until it was just half an inch from his face. The boy with the bat darted forward to grab the man's wallet, whilst the other took his opportunity to grab the opium laced cigarette before they both ran. The man slowly coughed up his teeth one by one, suddenly regretting his choice to leave home that night.
The two boys ran like the wind through alleys and over rooftops until they slowed to reach their destination. The first came forward, on his knees in the little attic space in which they had made their home and presented the money to his father, proudly smiling at his achievement. The other held back, aware of the cloying smell of opium that still lingered on his person. A noise at the entrance made all three look up in shock. The landlord stood above them in the doorway, eyeing the wallet with a knowing eye. "You can have a third" the father started to offer, "but no more". The landlord smiled as he pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it towards the father's forehead. "I can assure you" the landlord said with a wry smile as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, "I can have far more". | A fly landed on my kitchen table. I tried waving it off but the bugger kept coming back. I decided that enough was enough. I got into my car and drove off to the store.
Only to find that there was a bleeding traffic jam right in the heart of town. Bloody roadworks. Pay my dues just to get treated like trash. And what does trash attract? Flies. I needed to get to the store.
After what seemed like an eternity, I reached the place. Only to find it was closed. ON A F***ING TUESDAY!!! The only other place would be right across town. Flies are getting all across town too. Can see them buzzing about everywhere!
Fortunately the alternative route I took was a lot less occupied by slow moving traffic, and I got there fast enough. I entered the store and prowled the hallways, seeking the one thing I could use to get some peace. Why couldn't they label these bloody aisles?! Finally finding the spray I headed back to the cashier to see one of the biggest lines I've ever seen. I couldn't be bothered to find another place, so I got in line behind a mother and her infant.
The power promptly went out, and it got hot. Intolerably so. And the baby started crying. It was so annoying. It was like the sound of a fly buzzing. It grew louder, more incessant. I couldn't take it anymore! I killed the stupid fly, spraying it until the can ran out and the buzzing stopped. or was it wailing.......crying?
Oh no..... What have I done.....
~Feedback much appreciated! | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | A fly landed on my kitchen table. I tried waving it off but the bugger kept coming back. I decided that enough was enough. I got into my car and drove off to the store.
Only to find that there was a bleeding traffic jam right in the heart of town. Bloody roadworks. Pay my dues just to get treated like trash. And what does trash attract? Flies. I needed to get to the store.
After what seemed like an eternity, I reached the place. Only to find it was closed. ON A F***ING TUESDAY!!! The only other place would be right across town. Flies are getting all across town too. Can see them buzzing about everywhere!
Fortunately the alternative route I took was a lot less occupied by slow moving traffic, and I got there fast enough. I entered the store and prowled the hallways, seeking the one thing I could use to get some peace. Why couldn't they label these bloody aisles?! Finally finding the spray I headed back to the cashier to see one of the biggest lines I've ever seen. I couldn't be bothered to find another place, so I got in line behind a mother and her infant.
The power promptly went out, and it got hot. Intolerably so. And the baby started crying. It was so annoying. It was like the sound of a fly buzzing. It grew louder, more incessant. I couldn't take it anymore! I killed the stupid fly, spraying it until the can ran out and the buzzing stopped. or was it wailing.......crying?
Oh no..... What have I done.....
~Feedback much appreciated! | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | "Somebody put a sheet over 'im! So what's the story, Jerry?" the chief asked as he rubbed his hands together and pushed down his tuft of hair.
"Well, it seems like this poor sucker was lured in hear by that fruit over there and ended up getting stuck on this glued-up paper. He must have starved to death over a few days. You can see where he actually chewed through two of his legs in an effort to get out. Terrible way to go." Jerry tried to sound as professional as he could but he was only a couple of days on the job and had never seen anything this terrible. His stomach churned.
"Damn, do we have an ID?" the Chief asked without really wanting to know the answer. Even after all this time, putting a name to the stiff made it harder. God knows he's probably got a wife and a few thousand kids.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. Whoever did this really wanted to make the guy suffer though. The way the paper was placed, this was premeditated." Jerry's stomach churned away.
"Looks like some sick bastard's getting his jollies killing innocent flies. Canvas the area, especially that light over there, it looks like it might know something. I'll head back to the precinct with the stiff and get the autopsy underway... And Jerry, be careful out there, you could be ne-"
WHACK
"Damn flies, how do they keep getting in here?" Tom thought to himself as he cleaned up the triple homicide as best he could. "Oh well, I'll just have to get more fly paper on my way home from work" he said as he finished his breakfast, oblivious to the 21,000 children who would never see their fathers again. | A fly lands on a table, prompting the man, who planned to kill all flies, to smash it. 24 days later, he was brought before the Fly Tribunal to defend himself against the charges of first degree murder. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | I sat down, just after taking my pizza out of the oven. As I placed it on the table across from my wife, who continually whined and complained about how I was wasting my potential, a fly landed on the table.
"Don't you dare." I said to the fly. My wife's tone escalated and her face became more red. But all I could focus on was the fly as it inched closer to my pizza.
"I'm warning you, stop." My wife began to lose it, she started throwing things, calling me names. The fly was now centimeters from my pizza. I couldn't stand it any longer!
"I'm going to KILL you!" I yelled as I slammed my hand down on the fly. Satisfied, I began to laugh intensely. As I raised my head, I heard my wife scream at the top of her lungs:
"Not if I kill you FIRST!" as she plunged a knife into my chest. As I lay on the ground bleeding out, my wife continually stabbing my chest, I watched in awe as another fly landed directly on my pizza. | The party was coming to an end, it was midday and most of the family members had gone home. It was his 21st birthday. Jonathan sat in his lawn chair, tipsy and swatting Flys away from the last of his birthday cake. Frustrated, he grabbed another beer, angry at his parents for forcing on him a birthday party outside in their backyard. He told them he wanted to go out with friends, but they guilt tripped him into staying home as they already invited family. Only three years ago had he found out he was adopted, learning his biological parents gave him up for adoption when he was born. They were both 16, he had found out, he pitied them. He understood the decision they made, providing both him and them a better chance at life. He had not yet met them, and wasn't given an opportunity to. He thought they didn't want to meet him and he couldn't understand why. He took another sip of his beer as he stared at the cake. The Flys had all but covered the cake. He slowly rose from his seat, deciding to just throw the yellow frosted treat away, no one would want a cake covered in flies. He walked from the backyard across the stone path towards the garbage cans, normally he'd leave them for his parents to take care of but he wanted to be rid of it. As he passed the garage and approached the side of the house he heard a soft spoken conversation coming from the kitchen window. He was going to continue walking until he heard someone say "Jons birth mother". He froze in place, kneeling so he couldn't be seen. He caught drifts of the conversation, which he realized was between his adoptive parents. A few things he could make out were "We can't let them talk to him", "If he wants to meet them he can, but we aren't going to push that option", and "They have no right, we will continue to not tell him what they are trying to do". Jons heart raced, had they been somehow keeping his biological parents from contacting him? The bottom of the cake slipped in his hands, he moved quickly to catch it but missed. A knife was in the cake he had not noticed before, perhaps he had more to drink than he thought. The edge of the knife caught his finger, only slightly cutting it. He became angry from the pain. Why was he the one cleaning up his party, why were they lying to him, why couldn't his birthday party go the way he wanted It to? All the bad things he had experienced in the last few years swirled in his head, he hated them for lying. He was drunk, angry and holding a knife from a cake he never wanted. He wasn't in his right mind, but in his head he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to kill the people who had been lying to him and kept him away from his birth parents. He crept around to the side door knife in hand. His slipped through the doorway and into the hall. As he approached the kitchen doorway he could still hear them arguing. "The money is his as of today, so we could do something about it still, like we planned". Jon stumbled around the table, they realized he was there. "You lied to me" he screamed in anger. There was no pause, no waiting, he charged at his father first. There was a loud bang followed by a crash, Jonathans father stood over him holding a pistol. Jon lay still , listening but unable to move, dying. He heard them talk, his father spoke quickly, "Now I don't have to plan it, he must have heard us talking... He came at me with a knife, clearly drunk...". His mother chimed in, "I feel awful about this... But we need that money for ourselves, his real parents only wanted to find him when they found out...". "His uncle willed him all of that money, and we wouldn't have ever seen a dime of it" his father said softly. Jon gasped as he took his last breath, wishing he hadn't gone to thrown out that cake. Maybe he would have had a fighting chance. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | It started with a fly landing on a table.I had grabed it and watched it squirm. At the age of seven I marvelled at how easily I could kill this small insect. Slowly squeezing I felt each twitch and smiled when it was a pulp.
The next experiment was a kitten. The cat in the shed had a litter. Holding one in my hand I watched it mew and squirm. I felt powerful as I tightened my grip. It mewed desperately, and choked. Feeling it dying throes was euphoric, and then it was dead in my hand. I dropped it to the ground and smiled as I looked down at the other two.
Through the years I experimented working my way through creatures, and different ways of killing. So many ways to kill burning, impaling, ripping, beating, stabbing, but my favorite was choking. Feeling life slowly leave a body, feeling each twitch, feeling the pulse slow in your hand. It was euphoric.
My parents knew some what, but who wants to think thier child a monster?
At the age of 13 my mother swelled and then there was a mewling baby. 'My sister'a annoying thing. Needy and loud a very irritating combination.
I stood over its bed staring at it many nights. I thought about that fly, then the many creatures after, and wondered if killing her would be as simple.I wondered what it would feel like to hold this new annoying things potential in my hands and snuff it out.I had these thoughts until I found her neck in my hands. She couldn't cry now! Her life was mine! I was God! I could feel the twitchs and laughed! Suddenly it was ripped from my hands and I was on the ground my Mother was screaming, and clutching the thing to her chest. Its throat was crushed, it gasped like a fish until it was dead.
I only regret not being able to feel those last twitches my Mother got that honor. She didnt take it to well later when I asked her what they had felt like.
(Ive never done this before btw first prompt ive written for.) | The party was coming to an end, it was midday and most of the family members had gone home. It was his 21st birthday. Jonathan sat in his lawn chair, tipsy and swatting Flys away from the last of his birthday cake. Frustrated, he grabbed another beer, angry at his parents for forcing on him a birthday party outside in their backyard. He told them he wanted to go out with friends, but they guilt tripped him into staying home as they already invited family. Only three years ago had he found out he was adopted, learning his biological parents gave him up for adoption when he was born. They were both 16, he had found out, he pitied them. He understood the decision they made, providing both him and them a better chance at life. He had not yet met them, and wasn't given an opportunity to. He thought they didn't want to meet him and he couldn't understand why. He took another sip of his beer as he stared at the cake. The Flys had all but covered the cake. He slowly rose from his seat, deciding to just throw the yellow frosted treat away, no one would want a cake covered in flies. He walked from the backyard across the stone path towards the garbage cans, normally he'd leave them for his parents to take care of but he wanted to be rid of it. As he passed the garage and approached the side of the house he heard a soft spoken conversation coming from the kitchen window. He was going to continue walking until he heard someone say "Jons birth mother". He froze in place, kneeling so he couldn't be seen. He caught drifts of the conversation, which he realized was between his adoptive parents. A few things he could make out were "We can't let them talk to him", "If he wants to meet them he can, but we aren't going to push that option", and "They have no right, we will continue to not tell him what they are trying to do". Jons heart raced, had they been somehow keeping his biological parents from contacting him? The bottom of the cake slipped in his hands, he moved quickly to catch it but missed. A knife was in the cake he had not noticed before, perhaps he had more to drink than he thought. The edge of the knife caught his finger, only slightly cutting it. He became angry from the pain. Why was he the one cleaning up his party, why were they lying to him, why couldn't his birthday party go the way he wanted It to? All the bad things he had experienced in the last few years swirled in his head, he hated them for lying. He was drunk, angry and holding a knife from a cake he never wanted. He wasn't in his right mind, but in his head he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to kill the people who had been lying to him and kept him away from his birth parents. He crept around to the side door knife in hand. His slipped through the doorway and into the hall. As he approached the kitchen doorway he could still hear them arguing. "The money is his as of today, so we could do something about it still, like we planned". Jon stumbled around the table, they realized he was there. "You lied to me" he screamed in anger. There was no pause, no waiting, he charged at his father first. There was a loud bang followed by a crash, Jonathans father stood over him holding a pistol. Jon lay still , listening but unable to move, dying. He heard them talk, his father spoke quickly, "Now I don't have to plan it, he must have heard us talking... He came at me with a knife, clearly drunk...". His mother chimed in, "I feel awful about this... But we need that money for ourselves, his real parents only wanted to find him when they found out...". "His uncle willed him all of that money, and we wouldn't have ever seen a dime of it" his father said softly. Jon gasped as he took his last breath, wishing he hadn't gone to thrown out that cake. Maybe he would have had a fighting chance. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | The party was coming to an end, it was midday and most of the family members had gone home. It was his 21st birthday. Jonathan sat in his lawn chair, tipsy and swatting Flys away from the last of his birthday cake. Frustrated, he grabbed another beer, angry at his parents for forcing on him a birthday party outside in their backyard. He told them he wanted to go out with friends, but they guilt tripped him into staying home as they already invited family. Only three years ago had he found out he was adopted, learning his biological parents gave him up for adoption when he was born. They were both 16, he had found out, he pitied them. He understood the decision they made, providing both him and them a better chance at life. He had not yet met them, and wasn't given an opportunity to. He thought they didn't want to meet him and he couldn't understand why. He took another sip of his beer as he stared at the cake. The Flys had all but covered the cake. He slowly rose from his seat, deciding to just throw the yellow frosted treat away, no one would want a cake covered in flies. He walked from the backyard across the stone path towards the garbage cans, normally he'd leave them for his parents to take care of but he wanted to be rid of it. As he passed the garage and approached the side of the house he heard a soft spoken conversation coming from the kitchen window. He was going to continue walking until he heard someone say "Jons birth mother". He froze in place, kneeling so he couldn't be seen. He caught drifts of the conversation, which he realized was between his adoptive parents. A few things he could make out were "We can't let them talk to him", "If he wants to meet them he can, but we aren't going to push that option", and "They have no right, we will continue to not tell him what they are trying to do". Jons heart raced, had they been somehow keeping his biological parents from contacting him? The bottom of the cake slipped in his hands, he moved quickly to catch it but missed. A knife was in the cake he had not noticed before, perhaps he had more to drink than he thought. The edge of the knife caught his finger, only slightly cutting it. He became angry from the pain. Why was he the one cleaning up his party, why were they lying to him, why couldn't his birthday party go the way he wanted It to? All the bad things he had experienced in the last few years swirled in his head, he hated them for lying. He was drunk, angry and holding a knife from a cake he never wanted. He wasn't in his right mind, but in his head he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to kill the people who had been lying to him and kept him away from his birth parents. He crept around to the side door knife in hand. His slipped through the doorway and into the hall. As he approached the kitchen doorway he could still hear them arguing. "The money is his as of today, so we could do something about it still, like we planned". Jon stumbled around the table, they realized he was there. "You lied to me" he screamed in anger. There was no pause, no waiting, he charged at his father first. There was a loud bang followed by a crash, Jonathans father stood over him holding a pistol. Jon lay still , listening but unable to move, dying. He heard them talk, his father spoke quickly, "Now I don't have to plan it, he must have heard us talking... He came at me with a knife, clearly drunk...". His mother chimed in, "I feel awful about this... But we need that money for ourselves, his real parents only wanted to find him when they found out...". "His uncle willed him all of that money, and we wouldn't have ever seen a dime of it" his father said softly. Jon gasped as he took his last breath, wishing he hadn't gone to thrown out that cake. Maybe he would have had a fighting chance. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | I sat down, just after taking my pizza out of the oven. As I placed it on the table across from my wife, who continually whined and complained about how I was wasting my potential, a fly landed on the table.
"Don't you dare." I said to the fly. My wife's tone escalated and her face became more red. But all I could focus on was the fly as it inched closer to my pizza.
"I'm warning you, stop." My wife began to lose it, she started throwing things, calling me names. The fly was now centimeters from my pizza. I couldn't stand it any longer!
"I'm going to KILL you!" I yelled as I slammed my hand down on the fly. Satisfied, I began to laugh intensely. As I raised my head, I heard my wife scream at the top of her lungs:
"Not if I kill you FIRST!" as she plunged a knife into my chest. As I lay on the ground bleeding out, my wife continually stabbing my chest, I watched in awe as another fly landed directly on my pizza. | A fly, having been born only a few days before, landed atop a table in it's search for food. It had been darting around the kitchen, when it caught the scent of the sugar next to the teapot. Walking carefully along the table's edge, the fly slowly approached the sugar. It arrived at the sugar bowl and began to eat the flavorful crystals. Unfortunately for the fly, it was not the only occupant of the kitchen at that time, and its meal was loudly interrupted when the rolled-up magazine crashed down upon the sugar bowl. As the sugar fell to the floor like a miniature snowstorm, the fly quickly made its escape out the open window.
"What was that?" Donnie's mother called out when she heard the smash of the bowl. She rushed into the room, and upon seeing the floor carpeted in sugar, became furious. This was the third time this month that Donnie had broken, dropped, or smashed something in the house, and on top of the IRS and her husband's drinking problem, she was getting fed up.
"To your room." The words came out softly, but with years of pent up frustration behind them; she remained calm only through her strained effort.
"But mom, there was a fly, and—"
"Now."
With frustration, Donnie marched up the stairs to his room, slamming the door as hard as a nine year old could. Pouting, he sat on his bed and folded his arms, waiting for his mother to come up the stairs and punish him. Just then, he heard the front door open, and his father came loudly into the house, swearing as he stubbed his toe while trying to remove his coat.
"Aw shit, Martha, a little help please? Can't get this blasted coat off," he said as he continued his drunken attempt at removing his coat, his speech slurred.
"God dammit, John, I told you to stop drinking so much after work. Did you find out when they're having that AA meeting?"
John finally managed to take his coat off, hanging it on the rack before turning to his boots. He didn't answer, so she continued.
"You need to go upstairs and have a talk with your son. He's been out of control lately, and I just can't deal with it right now. The IRS has been on our asses for weeks, and with you coming home drunk every other day, I—I feel like I'm drowning, John."
"Just stop it, Martha," John shouted as he quickly stood up, his eyes filled with anger. "Every day, I come home to your shit, and every day all I have to look forward to is the bar. I'm fuckin' tired of it."
"Now John, don't you start with me," she replied, pointing at him, her other hand on her hip. "You're always drunk off your ass, you don't spend enough time with your son—you have a problem, and you need to do something about it." With every 'you,' her finger thumped his chest as the tone of her voice grew more and more frantic. "I—I feel like I'm losing you, John, and it's scaring me."
John's face darkened as he began to think. His eyes shifted from drunken anger to true malevolence as he began to reply.
"You want me to do something about it? Alright. I'll fuckin' do something about it." As he spoke, he grabbed his coat off the rack and began to put it back on. Without another word, and while ignoring the shouts from his wife, he marched out the front door and got back into his car. As he drove off, Martha remained standing for a moment, her hand still sitting on her hip, before she finally broke down and began to cry. Her body rattling as she softly sobbed, Donnie came down the stairs and stood next to her.
"Where's dad going?" he asked as he looked out the open door.
Martha calmed down, wiping the tears from her face as she turned to her son. "I don't know, dear," she said as she embraced him in a hug, still sitting on the floor, holding back more tears.
 
It wasn't until early the next morning that John returned home. The sun had just barely begun to peek through the curtains when he pulled into the driveway. As he got out of his car, he reached into the backseat and grabbed a bag. It was small, around the size of a lunchbox, and he didn't hold onto it for very long before opening it and removing what was inside. Walking up to the front door, he knew that his family was awake; it was a school day, so Martha would be in the kitchen making Donnie breakfast, while Donnie waited in the living room watching television. He opened the door and stepped inside.
Martha immediately rushed to the door, and upon seeing John in the hall, began to scream at him. Before, she had contained her emotions, but now, all her rage poured forth at the man standing in front of her. He stared silently at her for a moment, before slowly raising his arm and pointing the gun at her. Her screams cut off, she tried to plead with him, but she was too slow; his finger was already squeezing the trigger, and the gun went off. Martha collapsed to the floor once again, her chest stained with blood and her life quickly fading.
Donnie ran into the hall in time to see his father, standing over his mother, as he turned the gun on himself. He could only stare as the gun went off once more, and his father, too, collapsed to the floor. Donnie began to bawl as he stood, frozen. A breeze came through the door, and through his sobs he heard the buzzing of a fly as it came inside and flew into the kitchen. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | A fly, having been born only a few days before, landed atop a table in it's search for food. It had been darting around the kitchen, when it caught the scent of the sugar next to the teapot. Walking carefully along the table's edge, the fly slowly approached the sugar. It arrived at the sugar bowl and began to eat the flavorful crystals. Unfortunately for the fly, it was not the only occupant of the kitchen at that time, and its meal was loudly interrupted when the rolled-up magazine crashed down upon the sugar bowl. As the sugar fell to the floor like a miniature snowstorm, the fly quickly made its escape out the open window.
"What was that?" Donnie's mother called out when she heard the smash of the bowl. She rushed into the room, and upon seeing the floor carpeted in sugar, became furious. This was the third time this month that Donnie had broken, dropped, or smashed something in the house, and on top of the IRS and her husband's drinking problem, she was getting fed up.
"To your room." The words came out softly, but with years of pent up frustration behind them; she remained calm only through her strained effort.
"But mom, there was a fly, and—"
"Now."
With frustration, Donnie marched up the stairs to his room, slamming the door as hard as a nine year old could. Pouting, he sat on his bed and folded his arms, waiting for his mother to come up the stairs and punish him. Just then, he heard the front door open, and his father came loudly into the house, swearing as he stubbed his toe while trying to remove his coat.
"Aw shit, Martha, a little help please? Can't get this blasted coat off," he said as he continued his drunken attempt at removing his coat, his speech slurred.
"God dammit, John, I told you to stop drinking so much after work. Did you find out when they're having that AA meeting?"
John finally managed to take his coat off, hanging it on the rack before turning to his boots. He didn't answer, so she continued.
"You need to go upstairs and have a talk with your son. He's been out of control lately, and I just can't deal with it right now. The IRS has been on our asses for weeks, and with you coming home drunk every other day, I—I feel like I'm drowning, John."
"Just stop it, Martha," John shouted as he quickly stood up, his eyes filled with anger. "Every day, I come home to your shit, and every day all I have to look forward to is the bar. I'm fuckin' tired of it."
"Now John, don't you start with me," she replied, pointing at him, her other hand on her hip. "You're always drunk off your ass, you don't spend enough time with your son—you have a problem, and you need to do something about it." With every 'you,' her finger thumped his chest as the tone of her voice grew more and more frantic. "I—I feel like I'm losing you, John, and it's scaring me."
John's face darkened as he began to think. His eyes shifted from drunken anger to true malevolence as he began to reply.
"You want me to do something about it? Alright. I'll fuckin' do something about it." As he spoke, he grabbed his coat off the rack and began to put it back on. Without another word, and while ignoring the shouts from his wife, he marched out the front door and got back into his car. As he drove off, Martha remained standing for a moment, her hand still sitting on her hip, before she finally broke down and began to cry. Her body rattling as she softly sobbed, Donnie came down the stairs and stood next to her.
"Where's dad going?" he asked as he looked out the open door.
Martha calmed down, wiping the tears from her face as she turned to her son. "I don't know, dear," she said as she embraced him in a hug, still sitting on the floor, holding back more tears.
 
It wasn't until early the next morning that John returned home. The sun had just barely begun to peek through the curtains when he pulled into the driveway. As he got out of his car, he reached into the backseat and grabbed a bag. It was small, around the size of a lunchbox, and he didn't hold onto it for very long before opening it and removing what was inside. Walking up to the front door, he knew that his family was awake; it was a school day, so Martha would be in the kitchen making Donnie breakfast, while Donnie waited in the living room watching television. He opened the door and stepped inside.
Martha immediately rushed to the door, and upon seeing John in the hall, began to scream at him. Before, she had contained her emotions, but now, all her rage poured forth at the man standing in front of her. He stared silently at her for a moment, before slowly raising his arm and pointing the gun at her. Her screams cut off, she tried to plead with him, but she was too slow; his finger was already squeezing the trigger, and the gun went off. Martha collapsed to the floor once again, her chest stained with blood and her life quickly fading.
Donnie ran into the hall in time to see his father, standing over his mother, as he turned the gun on himself. He could only stare as the gun went off once more, and his father, too, collapsed to the floor. Donnie began to bawl as he stood, frozen. A breeze came through the door, and through his sobs he heard the buzzing of a fly as it came inside and flew into the kitchen. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | I sat down, just after taking my pizza out of the oven. As I placed it on the table across from my wife, who continually whined and complained about how I was wasting my potential, a fly landed on the table.
"Don't you dare." I said to the fly. My wife's tone escalated and her face became more red. But all I could focus on was the fly as it inched closer to my pizza.
"I'm warning you, stop." My wife began to lose it, she started throwing things, calling me names. The fly was now centimeters from my pizza. I couldn't stand it any longer!
"I'm going to KILL you!" I yelled as I slammed my hand down on the fly. Satisfied, I began to laugh intensely. As I raised my head, I heard my wife scream at the top of her lungs:
"Not if I kill you FIRST!" as she plunged a knife into my chest. As I lay on the ground bleeding out, my wife continually stabbing my chest, I watched in awe as another fly landed directly on my pizza. | Part 1 of 2
It wasn't supposed to go down like this. It was supposed to be a big payday for all. Charlie didn't trust Gino. Gino didn't trust Charlie, but both of them trusted Maggie. She was their inside man--or woman as it was. She assured them there'd be plenty for all involved. It was the holidays and the safe was full. What they hadn't counted on was a good old dose of Murphy's Law. Or maybe they did.
"How much longer?" Gino asked. Charlie checked his watch.
"Three minutes." Charlie mumbled, opening his revolver for the fifth time to make sure it was loaded.
"Let's do it clean and by the numbers." Gino instructed. "When the spike strip takes out the front tires . . ."
"I hit the driver's door and bust the window." Charlie finished. "You . . ."
"Hit the passenger door while Murphy . . ." Gino and Charlie looked to their driver.
"While I drive the car." Murphy supplied.
"No!" Charlie and Gino bellowed in protest. "You hit the van doors." Gino supplied. Charlie will get the keys from the driver and take him out while I take mine out. We open the van doors, incapacitate the guard in the back, load the bags of cash in our trunk. Then rush off to our meet to wait for Maggie."
"Yeah. I meant I take the doors." Murphy corrected. "I'm just . . . I'm just nervous. I'll get it right."
"You better." Gino warned, using his pistol barrel like an index finger to make his point.
Murphy was nervous when the van pulled up. Charlie and Gino were out the doors before it arrived. The spike strip worked perfectly, taking out the front tires then the back. Charlie and Gino hit the side doors with steel rounds to shatter the glass. They shouted instructions to the men inside. They complied and the two thieves pistol whipped the guards into unconsciousness. Murphy was standing at the back doors with his shot gun trained on the doors like he was supposed to. Charlie unlocked them with the driver's keys. The guard inside was brought out and knocked out. The money was taken. The three men got away clean and thirty seconds under time. They were three blocks away before they heard the first of the sirens. Murphy kept it cool. He did the speed limit. Drove with his arm out the window. They were just three guys out for a drive. They made the meet up on time and went inside to wait. It would take Maggie a couple of days to shake suspicion and meet up with them. They just had to be cool till then.
It was Gino who suggested they change venue. They chose an empty house across the street and down the block. If Maggie screwed up, at least they'd see the cops coming and know.
"How do you know Maggie?" Gino asked on the second day after the theft. Murphy was fiddling with the gun they'd given him. He only had one bullet in it. Charlie and Gino insisted. Murphy fidgeted to much and it made them nervous.
"She's my cousin." He said. "We're all the family each other has."
"Why'd she bring you in on this?" Charlie asked.
"Why'd she bring you in on it?" Murphy asked back.
"I've known Maggie since college." Charlie replied. "We dated for a while. She was smart and clever. We used to write code together in our computer science class. She was genius. Her solutions to the problems given were always elegant and efficient. Hell, that's why I agreed to do this job with her. She planned it out. If she planned it, it'd go smooth. She's that kind of girl."
"Ha. Ha." Gino laughed. "That's exactly it. I knew her from high school. She used to sell cigarettes and vodka to all the under classmen. Despite all the snitching, she managed to stay off the principal's radar."
"How?" Murphy asked, warming up to the conversation. He got up to check on the water he was boiling for their tea.
"She worked in the office as a helper. She found an unassigned locker and used it to store all her contraband. When they finally moved in on her senior year, they discovered that other locker after tossing them all. They found her contraband but couldn't tie it to anyone. Yeah. She's clever." Gino confirmed. "Probably smarter than all of us." He looked at the other two men. Gino didn't really like Charlie or Murphy. He made no secret of it, but all this talk about Maggie had him nervous. He wasn't lying. She was clever--too clever.
Charlie had come to the same conclusion after listening to Gino's tale. Like Gino, he began to watch the other two. Murphy was just what they thought him to be. He was a bumbling idiot. There was no way to pretend that well. So they turned their attention to each other.
"Fuck. Damn." Murphy called, burning his hand on the pot then catching his pot holder on fire from the burner. He beat the towel against the counter till the flames went out.
"Why you?" Charlie asked of Gino. His gun was cocked beneath the table and pointed at Gino. Gino had his piece hidden beneath his coat and pointed at Charlie. If something went down, they were ready for it.
Murphy waved a hand before his face to shoo away a fly then dropped his tea bags in the water. He opened up the empty cabinets looking for some cups. There were none.
"Me? I kept her secrets when we were in high school. I never ratted her out even when the faculty came at me hard. Loyalty. She brought me on because I was loyal." He told the man.
"What about you?" Gino asked of Charlie.
"We dated. I never let anyone screw with her when we were in college. Not even after we'd broken up. I suppose loyalty is why she brought me on as well." They both looked at Murphy and both their faces reflected the same confusion. Murphy wasn't what you'd call gifted or mental agile. He could follow simple directions, but that was it. He seemed like a bad fit.
| |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | Part 1 of 2
It wasn't supposed to go down like this. It was supposed to be a big payday for all. Charlie didn't trust Gino. Gino didn't trust Charlie, but both of them trusted Maggie. She was their inside man--or woman as it was. She assured them there'd be plenty for all involved. It was the holidays and the safe was full. What they hadn't counted on was a good old dose of Murphy's Law. Or maybe they did.
"How much longer?" Gino asked. Charlie checked his watch.
"Three minutes." Charlie mumbled, opening his revolver for the fifth time to make sure it was loaded.
"Let's do it clean and by the numbers." Gino instructed. "When the spike strip takes out the front tires . . ."
"I hit the driver's door and bust the window." Charlie finished. "You . . ."
"Hit the passenger door while Murphy . . ." Gino and Charlie looked to their driver.
"While I drive the car." Murphy supplied.
"No!" Charlie and Gino bellowed in protest. "You hit the van doors." Gino supplied. Charlie will get the keys from the driver and take him out while I take mine out. We open the van doors, incapacitate the guard in the back, load the bags of cash in our trunk. Then rush off to our meet to wait for Maggie."
"Yeah. I meant I take the doors." Murphy corrected. "I'm just . . . I'm just nervous. I'll get it right."
"You better." Gino warned, using his pistol barrel like an index finger to make his point.
Murphy was nervous when the van pulled up. Charlie and Gino were out the doors before it arrived. The spike strip worked perfectly, taking out the front tires then the back. Charlie and Gino hit the side doors with steel rounds to shatter the glass. They shouted instructions to the men inside. They complied and the two thieves pistol whipped the guards into unconsciousness. Murphy was standing at the back doors with his shot gun trained on the doors like he was supposed to. Charlie unlocked them with the driver's keys. The guard inside was brought out and knocked out. The money was taken. The three men got away clean and thirty seconds under time. They were three blocks away before they heard the first of the sirens. Murphy kept it cool. He did the speed limit. Drove with his arm out the window. They were just three guys out for a drive. They made the meet up on time and went inside to wait. It would take Maggie a couple of days to shake suspicion and meet up with them. They just had to be cool till then.
It was Gino who suggested they change venue. They chose an empty house across the street and down the block. If Maggie screwed up, at least they'd see the cops coming and know.
"How do you know Maggie?" Gino asked on the second day after the theft. Murphy was fiddling with the gun they'd given him. He only had one bullet in it. Charlie and Gino insisted. Murphy fidgeted to much and it made them nervous.
"She's my cousin." He said. "We're all the family each other has."
"Why'd she bring you in on this?" Charlie asked.
"Why'd she bring you in on it?" Murphy asked back.
"I've known Maggie since college." Charlie replied. "We dated for a while. She was smart and clever. We used to write code together in our computer science class. She was genius. Her solutions to the problems given were always elegant and efficient. Hell, that's why I agreed to do this job with her. She planned it out. If she planned it, it'd go smooth. She's that kind of girl."
"Ha. Ha." Gino laughed. "That's exactly it. I knew her from high school. She used to sell cigarettes and vodka to all the under classmen. Despite all the snitching, she managed to stay off the principal's radar."
"How?" Murphy asked, warming up to the conversation. He got up to check on the water he was boiling for their tea.
"She worked in the office as a helper. She found an unassigned locker and used it to store all her contraband. When they finally moved in on her senior year, they discovered that other locker after tossing them all. They found her contraband but couldn't tie it to anyone. Yeah. She's clever." Gino confirmed. "Probably smarter than all of us." He looked at the other two men. Gino didn't really like Charlie or Murphy. He made no secret of it, but all this talk about Maggie had him nervous. He wasn't lying. She was clever--too clever.
Charlie had come to the same conclusion after listening to Gino's tale. Like Gino, he began to watch the other two. Murphy was just what they thought him to be. He was a bumbling idiot. There was no way to pretend that well. So they turned their attention to each other.
"Fuck. Damn." Murphy called, burning his hand on the pot then catching his pot holder on fire from the burner. He beat the towel against the counter till the flames went out.
"Why you?" Charlie asked of Gino. His gun was cocked beneath the table and pointed at Gino. Gino had his piece hidden beneath his coat and pointed at Charlie. If something went down, they were ready for it.
Murphy waved a hand before his face to shoo away a fly then dropped his tea bags in the water. He opened up the empty cabinets looking for some cups. There were none.
"Me? I kept her secrets when we were in high school. I never ratted her out even when the faculty came at me hard. Loyalty. She brought me on because I was loyal." He told the man.
"What about you?" Gino asked of Charlie.
"We dated. I never let anyone screw with her when we were in college. Not even after we'd broken up. I suppose loyalty is why she brought me on as well." They both looked at Murphy and both their faces reflected the same confusion. Murphy wasn't what you'd call gifted or mental agile. He could follow simple directions, but that was it. He seemed like a bad fit.
| |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | It started with a fly landing on a table.I had grabed it and watched it squirm. At the age of seven I marvelled at how easily I could kill this small insect. Slowly squeezing I felt each twitch and smiled when it was a pulp.
The next experiment was a kitten. The cat in the shed had a litter. Holding one in my hand I watched it mew and squirm. I felt powerful as I tightened my grip. It mewed desperately, and choked. Feeling it dying throes was euphoric, and then it was dead in my hand. I dropped it to the ground and smiled as I looked down at the other two.
Through the years I experimented working my way through creatures, and different ways of killing. So many ways to kill burning, impaling, ripping, beating, stabbing, but my favorite was choking. Feeling life slowly leave a body, feeling each twitch, feeling the pulse slow in your hand. It was euphoric.
My parents knew some what, but who wants to think thier child a monster?
At the age of 13 my mother swelled and then there was a mewling baby. 'My sister'a annoying thing. Needy and loud a very irritating combination.
I stood over its bed staring at it many nights. I thought about that fly, then the many creatures after, and wondered if killing her would be as simple.I wondered what it would feel like to hold this new annoying things potential in my hands and snuff it out.I had these thoughts until I found her neck in my hands. She couldn't cry now! Her life was mine! I was God! I could feel the twitchs and laughed! Suddenly it was ripped from my hands and I was on the ground my Mother was screaming, and clutching the thing to her chest. Its throat was crushed, it gasped like a fish until it was dead.
I only regret not being able to feel those last twitches my Mother got that honor. She didnt take it to well later when I asked her what they had felt like.
(Ive never done this before btw first prompt ive written for.) | Sitting outside on a bench, a woman reading a book on her e-reader clicked the button to read the next page. A buzzing sound distracted her and she looked up in annoyance. She saw the fly land on the table and the woman scowled, and waved her hand in front of the fly to shoo it away.
The fly didn't move.
She flicked the fly with her finger, and hit a pebble off the table instead while the fly flew away.
The pebble hit the windshield of a Prius, distracting the driver from paying attention to the traffic. The driver honked, angry that a pebble dared to land on his windshield. The sound of the honking car startled the woman from her book, and saw the driver looking at her, both scowling.
She saw the passenger window roll down, and she raised an eyebrow at the young douche-looking man.
"Did you just throw a rock at my windshield? It came from your direction!"
"Well, sorry! I was trying to shoo away a fly. Just like you, so shoo," she said, flicking her finger like she had to the pebble.
His face turned purple, "Why you little bi--"
"Don't call me a bitch!" she cut him off, "You're the one who's afraid of dinging his precious car!"
He jumped out of his car and took his gun out in an instant, "Bitches never cut me off."
He pulled the trigger before she could respond to the threat. Screams went up around the scene as the driver emptied the shell out of the chamber, put it back in his holster and got back in the car, ignoring the commotion going on around him.
It was too bad that bitch had to take the fall-out of his temper after catching his wife cheating on him. *That bitch.* | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | Bzzzzt
“You little bastard!” My fury knew no bounds at this point. My coffee had grown cold long ago and my computer screen still stood blank, staring at me, taunting me, and practically screaming a list of all my failures.
It was going to be my next big novel but I had nothing. Not a character, not a single plot idea or even a god damned title. I had made my lucky break five years ago. Finally had my big novel! It sold well and everyone loved me. I had book tours, talk shows, even Hollywood dabbled in the idea of a major motion picture, eventually passing for yet another piece of young adult garbage. Greedy pricks. I had been on top of the world.
My prime had long since abandoned me. Five years! Not so much as a glimmer of an idea. Not thought, or an interesting tid bit, nothing at all! I was cursed. I know it, I could feel it in every fiber of my being.
Bzzzzt
This FUCKING fly! Here to laugh at my misery. Snicker at me defeat, around and around the room, buzzing his little jokes, probably going to fly back to his little fly friends and have a nice long laugh. Laugh at the failure! Well not for long, oh no! I gripped the newspaper, my palms warm and sweaty, my gaze following the little devil spawn zipping from one end of the room to another.
My chance! The little fool landed right on the table in front of me. Patience. Slowly. You have him now!
SWACK
Yes! YES! Haha the bastard is finished! Never will he see the light of….
Bzzzzt
No… It cannot be… NO! How is this possible? My vision went red and black as I tore through my study, flipped over my desk, smashed the computer with my heel over and over again. My thoughts were a bubbling cauldron of hate.
My eyes darted around the room. There, on the window! My nemesis rested on the glass pane. I will still get him. He will DIE!
Just then my eyes caught movement from the street beyond my window. There sat a man and a woman at the door step from the house across the street. They were laughing. They walked into the door and disappeared. How dare they? Had they seen me? Were they mocking me? Gone inside to make more jokes at my mistakes? No. No more. No more failures.
My feet carried me swiftly to the kitchen. I tore open drawers and cabinets sifting through everything until I found the perfect tool. The large glistening knife fit perfectly in my grip. I smiled deeply and laughed quietly to myself. Those people would not be laughing at me anymore. Oh no! They would not laugh another day! I will not be a failure. Never again.
| Sitting outside on a bench, a woman reading a book on her e-reader clicked the button to read the next page. A buzzing sound distracted her and she looked up in annoyance. She saw the fly land on the table and the woman scowled, and waved her hand in front of the fly to shoo it away.
The fly didn't move.
She flicked the fly with her finger, and hit a pebble off the table instead while the fly flew away.
The pebble hit the windshield of a Prius, distracting the driver from paying attention to the traffic. The driver honked, angry that a pebble dared to land on his windshield. The sound of the honking car startled the woman from her book, and saw the driver looking at her, both scowling.
She saw the passenger window roll down, and she raised an eyebrow at the young douche-looking man.
"Did you just throw a rock at my windshield? It came from your direction!"
"Well, sorry! I was trying to shoo away a fly. Just like you, so shoo," she said, flicking her finger like she had to the pebble.
His face turned purple, "Why you little bi--"
"Don't call me a bitch!" she cut him off, "You're the one who's afraid of dinging his precious car!"
He jumped out of his car and took his gun out in an instant, "Bitches never cut me off."
He pulled the trigger before she could respond to the threat. Screams went up around the scene as the driver emptied the shell out of the chamber, put it back in his holster and got back in the car, ignoring the commotion going on around him.
It was too bad that bitch had to take the fall-out of his temper after catching his wife cheating on him. *That bitch.* | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | Sitting outside on a bench, a woman reading a book on her e-reader clicked the button to read the next page. A buzzing sound distracted her and she looked up in annoyance. She saw the fly land on the table and the woman scowled, and waved her hand in front of the fly to shoo it away.
The fly didn't move.
She flicked the fly with her finger, and hit a pebble off the table instead while the fly flew away.
The pebble hit the windshield of a Prius, distracting the driver from paying attention to the traffic. The driver honked, angry that a pebble dared to land on his windshield. The sound of the honking car startled the woman from her book, and saw the driver looking at her, both scowling.
She saw the passenger window roll down, and she raised an eyebrow at the young douche-looking man.
"Did you just throw a rock at my windshield? It came from your direction!"
"Well, sorry! I was trying to shoo away a fly. Just like you, so shoo," she said, flicking her finger like she had to the pebble.
His face turned purple, "Why you little bi--"
"Don't call me a bitch!" she cut him off, "You're the one who's afraid of dinging his precious car!"
He jumped out of his car and took his gun out in an instant, "Bitches never cut me off."
He pulled the trigger before she could respond to the threat. Screams went up around the scene as the driver emptied the shell out of the chamber, put it back in his holster and got back in the car, ignoring the commotion going on around him.
It was too bad that bitch had to take the fall-out of his temper after catching his wife cheating on him. *That bitch.* | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | John and Karen are laughing. Everything is going well. They've just moved in to their new apartment, and their relationship has never been better. Unfortunately, their privacy is quickly violated by the dastardly invasion of a common house fly, which lands on the table behind John. Karen, who was never fond of things with more than two legs, yelps, causing John to investigate.
On the rooftop across the street, Mike peered through his binoculars with interest. Did Karen just yell at John? He had performed a background check on John to make sure he wouldn't hurt Karen, and he seemed amiable enough. Yet Karen did seem distressed at him right now. Had he offended her?
Back in the apartment, the fly was causing quite a scene. Karen was in a state of panic, and would not stop yelling at John to get the fly. John, a bit too quick of a thinker, lunged at the fly with the conveniently placed flyswatter on the kitchen table. Unfortunately, the fly had chosen to place itself directly between Karen and John. Karen recoiled, as both the fly and the flyswatter seemed to be heading right for her.
Mike is in shock. He has dropped his binoculars and his hand has been removed from his pants. Did he really just see John try to HIT his Karen? There was no way this was happening. He left the side of the building and paced around for a bit to cool his rage.
John continues his search for the fly. He makes a few swipes towards the fridge, careful not to scare Karen again with a swing in her direction. The fly settles on the mantelpiece, almost daring John to hit him. Again, John acts too quickly for his own good and fails to evaluate the consequences of
his actions. John swings, and it's a direct hit on the fly! However, it's also a direct hit on a jar sitting on the mantelpiece. It reads, 'Grandma'.
On the rooftop, Mike has regained some of his composure. He settles down with his binoculars to try and interpret the scene again. This time, he no longer sees an angry John. No, he sees something even worse.
Karen is crying. The last thing she had to remeber her grandmother, now shattered into a billion pieces. John immediately starts trying to comfort her.
Mike cannot believe John would do this! He seemed so nice, way better than Jason or Kevin. Oh well. It looks like John will have to go as well. Maybe this time Karen will finally recognize how great he is, or, more likely, find another person to share her life with. But she'll figure Mike out eventually.
He'll have to wait a few days, catch him when he's on the way to work. If he doesn't make it look like an accident, Karen might think something is up. It would be easy enough. Mike always had a plan in case it came to this. The roadways were always slippery in the winter. A little nudge, and he'd fall off the bridge to his death. With the construction going on that had removed the guardrails, it would be easier than swatting a fly.
***
This is my first post in this sub, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think! | Sitting outside on a bench, a woman reading a book on her e-reader clicked the button to read the next page. A buzzing sound distracted her and she looked up in annoyance. She saw the fly land on the table and the woman scowled, and waved her hand in front of the fly to shoo it away.
The fly didn't move.
She flicked the fly with her finger, and hit a pebble off the table instead while the fly flew away.
The pebble hit the windshield of a Prius, distracting the driver from paying attention to the traffic. The driver honked, angry that a pebble dared to land on his windshield. The sound of the honking car startled the woman from her book, and saw the driver looking at her, both scowling.
She saw the passenger window roll down, and she raised an eyebrow at the young douche-looking man.
"Did you just throw a rock at my windshield? It came from your direction!"
"Well, sorry! I was trying to shoo away a fly. Just like you, so shoo," she said, flicking her finger like she had to the pebble.
His face turned purple, "Why you little bi--"
"Don't call me a bitch!" she cut him off, "You're the one who's afraid of dinging his precious car!"
He jumped out of his car and took his gun out in an instant, "Bitches never cut me off."
He pulled the trigger before she could respond to the threat. Screams went up around the scene as the driver emptied the shell out of the chamber, put it back in his holster and got back in the car, ignoring the commotion going on around him.
It was too bad that bitch had to take the fall-out of his temper after catching his wife cheating on him. *That bitch.* | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | I sat down, just after taking my pizza out of the oven. As I placed it on the table across from my wife, who continually whined and complained about how I was wasting my potential, a fly landed on the table.
"Don't you dare." I said to the fly. My wife's tone escalated and her face became more red. But all I could focus on was the fly as it inched closer to my pizza.
"I'm warning you, stop." My wife began to lose it, she started throwing things, calling me names. The fly was now centimeters from my pizza. I couldn't stand it any longer!
"I'm going to KILL you!" I yelled as I slammed my hand down on the fly. Satisfied, I began to laugh intensely. As I raised my head, I heard my wife scream at the top of her lungs:
"Not if I kill you FIRST!" as she plunged a knife into my chest. As I lay on the ground bleeding out, my wife continually stabbing my chest, I watched in awe as another fly landed directly on my pizza. | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | It started with a fly landing on a table.I had grabed it and watched it squirm. At the age of seven I marvelled at how easily I could kill this small insect. Slowly squeezing I felt each twitch and smiled when it was a pulp.
The next experiment was a kitten. The cat in the shed had a litter. Holding one in my hand I watched it mew and squirm. I felt powerful as I tightened my grip. It mewed desperately, and choked. Feeling it dying throes was euphoric, and then it was dead in my hand. I dropped it to the ground and smiled as I looked down at the other two.
Through the years I experimented working my way through creatures, and different ways of killing. So many ways to kill burning, impaling, ripping, beating, stabbing, but my favorite was choking. Feeling life slowly leave a body, feeling each twitch, feeling the pulse slow in your hand. It was euphoric.
My parents knew some what, but who wants to think thier child a monster?
At the age of 13 my mother swelled and then there was a mewling baby. 'My sister'a annoying thing. Needy and loud a very irritating combination.
I stood over its bed staring at it many nights. I thought about that fly, then the many creatures after, and wondered if killing her would be as simple.I wondered what it would feel like to hold this new annoying things potential in my hands and snuff it out.I had these thoughts until I found her neck in my hands. She couldn't cry now! Her life was mine! I was God! I could feel the twitchs and laughed! Suddenly it was ripped from my hands and I was on the ground my Mother was screaming, and clutching the thing to her chest. Its throat was crushed, it gasped like a fish until it was dead.
I only regret not being able to feel those last twitches my Mother got that honor. She didnt take it to well later when I asked her what they had felt like.
(Ive never done this before btw first prompt ive written for.) | |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | John and Karen are laughing. Everything is going well. They've just moved in to their new apartment, and their relationship has never been better. Unfortunately, their privacy is quickly violated by the dastardly invasion of a common house fly, which lands on the table behind John. Karen, who was never fond of things with more than two legs, yelps, causing John to investigate.
On the rooftop across the street, Mike peered through his binoculars with interest. Did Karen just yell at John? He had performed a background check on John to make sure he wouldn't hurt Karen, and he seemed amiable enough. Yet Karen did seem distressed at him right now. Had he offended her?
Back in the apartment, the fly was causing quite a scene. Karen was in a state of panic, and would not stop yelling at John to get the fly. John, a bit too quick of a thinker, lunged at the fly with the conveniently placed flyswatter on the kitchen table. Unfortunately, the fly had chosen to place itself directly between Karen and John. Karen recoiled, as both the fly and the flyswatter seemed to be heading right for her.
Mike is in shock. He has dropped his binoculars and his hand has been removed from his pants. Did he really just see John try to HIT his Karen? There was no way this was happening. He left the side of the building and paced around for a bit to cool his rage.
John continues his search for the fly. He makes a few swipes towards the fridge, careful not to scare Karen again with a swing in her direction. The fly settles on the mantelpiece, almost daring John to hit him. Again, John acts too quickly for his own good and fails to evaluate the consequences of
his actions. John swings, and it's a direct hit on the fly! However, it's also a direct hit on a jar sitting on the mantelpiece. It reads, 'Grandma'.
On the rooftop, Mike has regained some of his composure. He settles down with his binoculars to try and interpret the scene again. This time, he no longer sees an angry John. No, he sees something even worse.
Karen is crying. The last thing she had to remeber her grandmother, now shattered into a billion pieces. John immediately starts trying to comfort her.
Mike cannot believe John would do this! He seemed so nice, way better than Jason or Kevin. Oh well. It looks like John will have to go as well. Maybe this time Karen will finally recognize how great he is, or, more likely, find another person to share her life with. But she'll figure Mike out eventually.
He'll have to wait a few days, catch him when he's on the way to work. If he doesn't make it look like an accident, Karen might think something is up. It would be easy enough. Mike always had a plan in case it came to this. The roadways were always slippery in the winter. A little nudge, and he'd fall off the bridge to his death. With the construction going on that had removed the guardrails, it would be easier than swatting a fly.
***
This is my first post in this sub, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think! | Bzzzzt
“You little bastard!” My fury knew no bounds at this point. My coffee had grown cold long ago and my computer screen still stood blank, staring at me, taunting me, and practically screaming a list of all my failures.
It was going to be my next big novel but I had nothing. Not a character, not a single plot idea or even a god damned title. I had made my lucky break five years ago. Finally had my big novel! It sold well and everyone loved me. I had book tours, talk shows, even Hollywood dabbled in the idea of a major motion picture, eventually passing for yet another piece of young adult garbage. Greedy pricks. I had been on top of the world.
My prime had long since abandoned me. Five years! Not so much as a glimmer of an idea. Not thought, or an interesting tid bit, nothing at all! I was cursed. I know it, I could feel it in every fiber of my being.
Bzzzzt
This FUCKING fly! Here to laugh at my misery. Snicker at me defeat, around and around the room, buzzing his little jokes, probably going to fly back to his little fly friends and have a nice long laugh. Laugh at the failure! Well not for long, oh no! I gripped the newspaper, my palms warm and sweaty, my gaze following the little devil spawn zipping from one end of the room to another.
My chance! The little fool landed right on the table in front of me. Patience. Slowly. You have him now!
SWACK
Yes! YES! Haha the bastard is finished! Never will he see the light of….
Bzzzzt
No… It cannot be… NO! How is this possible? My vision went red and black as I tore through my study, flipped over my desk, smashed the computer with my heel over and over again. My thoughts were a bubbling cauldron of hate.
My eyes darted around the room. There, on the window! My nemesis rested on the glass pane. I will still get him. He will DIE!
Just then my eyes caught movement from the street beyond my window. There sat a man and a woman at the door step from the house across the street. They were laughing. They walked into the door and disappeared. How dare they? Had they seen me? Were they mocking me? Gone inside to make more jokes at my mistakes? No. No more. No more failures.
My feet carried me swiftly to the kitchen. I tore open drawers and cabinets sifting through everything until I found the perfect tool. The large glistening knife fit perfectly in my grip. I smiled deeply and laughed quietly to myself. Those people would not be laughing at me anymore. Oh no! They would not laugh another day! I will not be a failure. Never again.
| |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | Zzz
A fly
A flight
A table
A piece of toast
Butter
A jump
A taste
A swat
The man
An anger
An argument
A slap
A scream
A car screech
A tear
A phone call
Another man
A passion
A regret
A remorse
A promise
A kiss goodbye
A rest
Silence
A car door
The man
A grunt
An empty bottle
Evidence
Rage
A gun
A click
Blood.
Silence
Zzz
A fly
| "So, do we have an understanding?"
Turning his gaze down to think about the offer, Jon noticed a small fly landed on the table. He quickly waved his hand, trying to keep it away from the spaghetti.
At once the man across from him jumped out of his chair, pulling out the gun resting by his hip. "Excuse me, boy? Was I not generous enough for ya?"
As Slim George's black pistol pointed across the checkered table, men on both sides stepped back to draw their guns out. Still a bit lost as to how, but recognizing the agreement was getting four different kinds of fucked up, Jon shook his hands and tried to stammer out an explanation.
"No no that's not it... you see... there wasn't... a fly..."
"Not gonna fly? I'll show you what's not gonna fly, cocksucker." Slim George pulled the trigger, snapping back Jon's head to a spurt of red.
Suddenly the alley behind the small Italian restaurant rebounded with gunshots as men on both sides fired. The alley became bright as day, loud as a lightning storm, and bloodier than a Greek poem. As the bodies slumped over in the wet pools, the only sound that could be heard was a small buzzing.
And as it saw the carnage below, the fly rejoiced and continued it's unholy quest. | |
Edit: This is the frist prompt I've put up and I'm glad to see a lot of creative stories. I'm definitely going to do this again. | [WP] The world as you know it has been destroyed by nukes. You've lived in a well stocked bunker for 2 years. Food is extremely low and you've decided to see the world before you starve to death. Describe it. | [OT] Not sure if profanity is allowed - relatively new, please advise.
A prank.
A goddamn fucking prank.
They told me - everyone told me to get to the shelter and to get in and lock the door. They say that they couldn't reach me once I was in.
I was about to starve to death in there. My *mom* was in on it. My mom. She says, "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again."
Whose fault is *that*?
And the first stupid face I saw was a crazy homeless person who'd been living at the entrance to my bunker for the past two years. He says I was an experiment.
I'm going back to my bunker. | The last can. I've eaten the contents of the others. Hell, I licked them clean. This was the last one. Every jar of preserved fruit I savored, every grain of rice I chased from the edges of my bowl, and not a single pea went to waste.
For two years I've rationed my food carefully, I cooked with as much recycled water as possible to extend the food supply. I could feel my intestines begin to shrivel for want of solid food. I haven't opened a new waste receptacle in months. All for nothing, as I was holding the last mystery can in my hand.
"End of the line for me, I guess," I said to nobody in particular. Since the bombs started falling I've been completely alone in this tiny hole, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.
The radio has been silent for months; there's nobody left to talk to. It tore me apart to hear the last transmissions of people keeling over with hunger or thirst. The worst part was listening to the screams of people who had ventured outside only to return and die of radiation poisoning. They had no morphine, nothing to ease the pain, and there was no way I could help them.
I had plenty of water; I invested in a 'still before the bombs fell to complete this weekend-getaway/survivalist's money pit, and I stocked hundreds of gallons of water beforehand. I just never expected to be down here this long.
I gathered my go bag with a shotgun, 100 shells, a change of clothes, 3 pairs of socks, a sleeping bag and pad, a tarp, two knives, two gallons of water, a mess kit, and one can of food. I laced up my boots and stared at the door for a couple of hours, shotgun in my lap and backpack by my side. I fell asleep at one point, only to wake up to a pair of cold, wet pants.
I took a shower for the first time in months. I avoided them because I did not like watching myself waste away. I was a skinny guy before all this happened, and the past 2 years did not go well for me. I cleaned that brown and red goo off of me, dried off and suited up again. After staring at that door for another couple of hours, I took a deep breath and started up the ladder.
My muscles were not what they used to be, and I struggled against atrophy and rust, but with one final effort I felt it move. My exhaustion was replaced by frenzied determination as I shifted the wheel one inch at a time until it would not move any more.
With all of my remaining strength I pushed up, and I was greeted by a faint glow from outside. I smelled the fresh air from outside, and I nearly stopped when I felt a cool breeze on my face!
I clambered up the hole and onto the rocky ground that surrounded my shelter. I was to busy breathing that fresh air to care about radiation. My weak eyes struggled to see objects more than a few feet in front of me, so I sat down on a rock until the world became clear, and lit a cigarette.
My first smoke in two years. The buzz, the head rush, the euphoria! The smoke filled my lungs and the nicotine raced into my bloodstream. As the cigarette burned down and my head cleared, I began to see the world around me.
Twilight was coming up behind, between the mountains. Soon the sun would break through and light up the land below me. The hills and farms of the Shenandoah valley were empty and overgrown. The trees around me were beginning to green; the first sign of spring! Above me the sky became a lighter blue and I heard birds chirping in the woods around me. Overhead, a hawk circled in search of food.
I clumsily stood and breathed it all in. I did not care to open my geiger counter and check the area, I did not care If I would be dead tomorrow; I overcame all the obstacles and survived to make it to that moment.
I took my last can of food in my hand and got to work on it with the can opener, looking out to the promising valley below. Finally it opened; I tossed the lid and took a spoonful.
Beef and vegetable Chunky. Everything was going to be all right. |
Edit: This is the frist prompt I've put up and I'm glad to see a lot of creative stories. I'm definitely going to do this again. | [WP] The world as you know it has been destroyed by nukes. You've lived in a well stocked bunker for 2 years. Food is extremely low and you've decided to see the world before you starve to death. Describe it. | The world is a desolate place now. Four hundred and seventy one days ago, the first nuclear bomb was launched. I know we shot the first one into the sky. The wars had been going on for years and we were losing life after life trying to bring home a victory.
The worst was yet to come. Recounting World War Two, we were the only ones with missiles capable of completely eradicating cities of life. Unfortunately for us, we forgot how other countries had developed these capabilities as well. Our political leaders came to the conclusion that our enemies would disappear into the shadows once we decided to hurl these missiles towards them was the polar opposite of what would happen next. The world was sent into darkness. Explosions lit up the sky, parallel to a second sun in the sky. No one could see the first sun though. Clouds filed the air as if all of the molecules in the world had transformed from a clear color to a harsh grey. Life on earth was at an end.
Today is day 472 of living in bunker 27. Our government moved small groups of people into the bunkers, just in case that worst would happen. We all knew the worst would happen. No one wanted to admit it, but we all knew the consequences of firing those creations from hell into the air. Luckily for me, I was one of the few that won the lottery to make in into the bunker. I love that we were the ones that started the bombing, the ones that knew that we should move into the bunkers because the world was about to be leveled like a dilapidated apartment complex.
I remember watching a couple during the drawing of the names; I watched the young wife’s name being displayed on the large monitor in front of the crowd. She fell down on to her knees and began to pray to a god that did not seem to exist right now, but what else could she do? Everyone was looking for comfort in any way possible, considering the next few days could be their last. She felt blessed by a supernatural being, the same that brought this destruction to us. The next name was mine. Before my name was called, I remember hearing through the announcements that this would be the final drawing. A total of twenty five survivors would be chosen and due to time restrictions, adjustments could not be made and spots could not be given to others. Those that were chosen were moved to the bunkers immediately to guarantee their survival. I remember watching that same woman that had been called prior to my name being called; she was still on the ground. Her husband had joined her and I saw tears running down both of their faces as this was their last goodbye. Knowing that when those heavy, steel doors closed, they would never see each other again.
I am one of the few that made it through the night of bombings, and explosions, and widespread death throughout the world. Thinking back, all of this could be avoided; however, there were some that were too stubborn to admit their mistakes. Political leaders set with ideas that they believed beneficial for the rest of the world, but turned out not to be so beneficial after all. The idea that other countries could be so wicked led to the bombings of innocent lives, truly trying to make a difference in their own communities. We couldn’t believe them when they said they were focusing on nuclear energy rather than trying to destroy us. It is truly a shame that this beautiful earth has been destroyed.
The worst has yet to come for us in the bunker. Food is beginning to run out, clothes are tattered. I miss the world that we used to live in. There is panic as many are beginning to just count down the days until they die. I know we all are going to die soon as food was only going to be stocked for a short period of time. At least they cared about us. Sending us into the bunker to wait for our deaths. I would have rather disappeared from this earth quickly rather than lose a pound of weight per day until I weigh the same as the small sack of food we have left.
I miss the world that I lived in, and I am going to go explore it once more. The others in the bunker believe that I am going on a suicide mission. I believe that to be true as well. However, staying inside the bunker is a suicide mission in itself. Some believe that food will be restocked; however, I know otherwise. Food has not been restocked before, why will that change when we truly are on our last legs? We have needed supplies before and nothing has come. I have told everyone my plan is to depart the bunker at noon, it is currently nine in the morning.
The time has come for me to depart into the world. The other survivors consider me a fool. I am not bothered by their words. There are a few that pray for me to survive more than a day in the harsh radiation. As I move towards the steel doors, I prepare to see a world that I have not seen in many days. I recount the gorgeous scenery that I had once known rather than the cold grays and blacks that surround me. I anticipate seeing what the world has in store.
The light is blinding as I move out of safety and into the wild. No one but me knows what is out here. I’m moving slow, I do not want to miss a single object. There is not much color here. There is light, a blinding white light piercing the earth from the faraway sun. There is not much built anymore. I look out on to the horizon. What I used to see was every color on the color wheel. I could see magenta buildings, and rose red rooftops, and the blue sky above. Now there is grey and black. The monstrous skyscrapers appear as if they are seeping into the ground. They are not the magnificent structures that man had been able to assemble in months. Now they appear as if they themselves have been through a war, a brutal war that has left them cold and tired. There is no life here.
I walk the streets that I used to walk every day. They are not streets anymore, but broken bits of granite. I remember walking past people of every class and age. I recount meeting those that had made it all in the world and those that had lost all of their worldly possessions. It is truly horrifying to think that every person that I have met has disappeared, simply vanished into thin air like a magic trick gone wrong. It is like the magician had removed those people and forgotten how to bring them back.
I feel parched and have only been out for roughly an hour. I take it that this is not a good sign of my health. I feel extremely weak and exhausted by the simplest of tasks. My body feels gray, like the world surrounding me. I am mortified by the world around me but have little to do with it. I feel as if I am an audience member to a horrific show. I cannot do anything but watch and let the memory of the show slip away. I do not bother looking any longer. The walls of the bunker, my prison, have led me to an even larger prison, the prison of the world. The gray walls and the harsh blacks leave me with no emotion. Sure, the sun is shining, but that does not help the depression caused by the desolate world.
I assume the radiation is beginning to affect me. I am beginning to feel extremely tired. Maybe it is not the radiation. Maybe my exhaustion is cause by the lack of emotion in the place that I am in. I do not know what to think. All that I can think is that at least I have experienced the world rather than stay inside and wait for my death.
I’ve decided to take a nap. I am going to go to sleep and dream of the world that I have experienced prior to the world being painted by a god filled with depression. The grays and blacks will soon be replaced by the vibrant colors in my dreams. I know that I will not be able to survive the night in this place with the large amounts of radiation; however, I will pass with the memories of a beautiful world, rather than one filled with gray and black.
| Two long, cold and lonely years.
Two long years of living underground. Pale itchy skin.
Two years of doing things I never thought possible.
I couldn't take it anymore. I had to risk venturing outside. I needed something else. Some other form of nutrition.
My entire family was now gone.
I simply cannot handle one more bite of human flesh.
|
[WP] You are a member of a sentient, non space-faring species on a far away planet. One day, a human made satellite is put into your planet's orbit. | We had studied the stars for generations. One day we noticed a shooting star that never fell, wrapping around and around our planet everynight. The wise men heralded it as the beginning of a new age. How right they'd been.
When it landed we gathered around it. These sleek black lines and smooth surfaces could only have come from god.
One emerged, it's body was white, on two legs, with one black eye staring out at us. It symboled our symbol for peace. It knew our language, our customs. We welcomed them with curiosity and awe.
First they cured our illnesses and studied us. They studied the planet, what we eat, what else lives.
They taught us how to process our resources into materials, introduced us to money. We then had to pay for medical services and the magical goods they brought.
We willingly sold our water, processed our nature and sold it. They put it on their ships and brought their magic back.
Our environment began to degrade and we decided to organize an ambush. It was slaughter, our people stood no chance. From that day everything changed.
Now I sit here in this camp looking at hatrid at the one eyed creatures. One day we will have our revenge. | “Sir. Sir,” yelled Oaraki.
Hanpu sighed and looked up from the paperwork he was reading. “What is it?”
Oaraki rested against the doorway, panting. “Something came from space. We picked it up with our telescopes.”
Hanpu took his glasses off his primary eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Oaraki put a set of pictures down on Hanpu’s desk. “One of the graduate students examined pictures we took last month.” He tapped a small dot. “She found this.”
Hanpu put his glasses back on to look at the pictures. “Have you verified what it is?”
“We figured out its orbit and trained out telescopes on its path,” Oaraki said. “With our more powerful ‘scopes we picked up its shape.”
Hanpu shuffled the photos. “Did the Kovicks launch a satellite before us?”
“No, sir. We have no information that says they did, but we ‘d be fools to think that they didn’t see this as well.”
Hanpu took his glasses off again and leaned back in his chair. He stroked his mandibles with his upper set of arms and crossed his lower set over his abdomen. “No one else has the technology to do this?”
Oaraki shook his head. “No. The Chorminanstri are a decade behind us and the Kovicks.”
Hanpu’s side eyes darted around the room as his primary eyes focused on Oaraki. “Are you saying that this is of extraterrestrial origin?”
Oaraki nodded. “It is of a design that we have never seen before. It is of a size and shape that is currently beyond our technology.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“Just us and the graduate student.”
Hanpu nodded. “We need to keep this quiet. As few people that know this the better. We can assume the Kovicks have seen it. Maybe even the Chorminanstri. Contact the Defense Department. Get General Frattelon. Tell him everything we know so far. Maybe we can reverse engineer this somehow.”
Oaraki nodded. “What about the graduate student?”
“Find her. Find her now. Make sure she hasn’t said anything.” Hanpu threw his upper hands into the air. “Who am I kidding? She probably has been blabbing this to all her girlfriends.”
“So what do I do?”
“Call Frattelon. Get that graduate student back here. Frattelon will start us down the right path.”
“What happens if people in the public find out?” said Oaraki.
“The Kovicks will use this information if we don’t. Letting the public know is secondary.” Hanpu began to get more agitated. “The public doesn’t understand the things we know. If they knew about this they’d freak out. We can’t let this get out. We have to use it to our advantage.”
Oaraki nodded and turned to leave.
“Oaraki?” said Hanpu. “This could make our careers. Do exactly as I say. We can’t let this get ahead of us.”
Oaraki nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
| |
[WP] Zombie apocalypse! Some one discovers that Zombie meat isn't actually infectious when cooked and is also DAMNED tasty. | The only thing we hadn’t run out of was zombies. Fuckers just kept on coming. We cleared them out; they’d come back the next season. We moved somewhere else; they’d find us a short time later. We tried growing food; they’d trample the defenses and ruin our crops.
We’d come to our wits end. Food became scarcer to find. Our group had pretty much given up on scavenging ruins. It wasn’t worth the effort to find one or two cans of food.
Members of our group began to drift away over the months. Some thought they could do better striking out on our own. Others didn’t agree with our policies. A couple of people just wandered off into the night never to be seen again.
Three years after the initial outbreak we were down to just five members. Winter seemed to have set in early this year. Frost coated almost everything. The leaves crunched underfoot.
We came out of the forest and into a clearing. Sitting in the middle, surrounded by trenches lined with sharpened stakes and barbed wire fence, was a large farmhouse. Towards the back of the grounds stood a large barn with a corral. Smoke trailed out of the farmhouse chimney.
“Do you think we should contact them?” said Mabel.
“The lights are on. It doesn’t look too dangerous,” said Jason.
“Doesn’t have to look dangerous to be dangerous,” I said.
“We see you. The five of you come out into the open,” yelled someone from inside the compound.
Our group hesitated. Something rustled behind us. A shotgun racked. “Hands up. No sudden movements. Start marching,” said a man.
We marched to the front gate where a man and a woman met us. The woman kept her gun trained on us as the second man patted us down and searched our bags. “They’re clean. “
They led us through the gates and into the compound. “Are you hungry?” asked the woman.
I looked at the rest of the group. Every one of them looked so gaunt and frail. “Yes. We could use a meal.”
She motioned for us to follow. “We need to keep on our toes. This could be a trap. They’ve got the upper hand in all of this,” whispered Jason.
The woman motioned for us to sit down at a long picnic table. “My name’s Hilary. You’ve already met Stan and Evan. There are twelve of us.” Stan came out and set out bowls of food. “Please eat. It’s fresh stew. Made this morning.”
We sat down around the table. I looked at the stew. Chunks of meat, potatoes, carrots and onions floated in the broth. It smelled delicious. “How many of you are there?” I said.
“Twelve total. We’re stretched pretty thin but make it work. We are always looking for more people to join our group. We’ve been following you for the past couple of weeks,” said Hilary.
“Weeks?” said Jason.
Hilary sat down at the head of the table and began to eat some stew. “We have two scouts. We wanted to make sure you would be valuable assets to our little community.
No one in our group was eating the stew. It looked so good. I decided to make a show of good faith. I took a bite of some of the stew.
It tasted so good.
I began to eat faster and faster. I was so hungry. The vegetables were cooked just right. The meat was tender and fell apart. I almost licked the bowl clean. “This is so good. What is the meat? I can’t quite place it,” I said.
“How can you just give away food like this?” said Jason.
“We have a nearly limitless supply of meat. It comes from the forest. The vegetables we grow ourselves,” Hilary said.
“Is it venison?” I said.
Stan came around and refilled our bowls. “Not deer. Something a little more unsavory.”
Mabel’s eyes opened wide. “Is it people?”
Hilary laughed. “No. No, it’s not.” She cleared her throat. “It’s zombie. We got desperate for food so one of us tried it. You have to cook it until it’s well done. Kills the virus I guess. We’ve all been eating it for over eight months and haven’t a single infection.”
I looked down at my bowl with the bits of meat floating in it. I didn’t know what to say. I heard the others gagging. Jason threw up.
We had already eaten it. It tasted so good. Hilary and her group seemed so friendly. I’d like to stay here and settle down. If that meant eating zombie meat to survive so be it. I took another bite of stew and looked around at my new home.
| They heard them already scratching the glass, doing whatever they could to break in. They knew that it was the last moments we would be spending together, there were too many of them, they could never make it out together.
Every second that passes by they hear the glass break a little more, as they growl at us, ready to dig into our human flesh.
"John, what are you doing?" his wife Mary asked
"When they break in, ill distract them, you run, don't stop until your safe. Find somewhere and take care of yourself."
The glass was about to crack and tears were in both of their eyes.
CRACK
They're in, and they're going after John. Mary ran out completely unscathed but decides to turn around, in the corner there is a little fire. They don't know who started it, but the zombies have left John and are going towards it. John, still wanting to be the badass hero to his wife, starts hitting the zombies into the fire, which is rapidly growing.
"WAIT BABE!" John exlcaims "Do you smell that? It kind of smells... good."
Mary says "Oh God, are you serious?" as she runs back to him and the pile of burning corpses.
Unlike anything Mary has seen before, her husband starts gnawing in on this zombies arm. With "infected" meat still in his mouth and chewing, he says shes gotta try some.
She is concerned that he will turn into one of them, so she waited for him to keep eating, after nothing really happened, she decides to join him.
"This is the best thing we've had since shit hit the fan" they agreed
As more zombies keep coming towards this burning pile of bodies, the couple kept throwing them on.
Just when these zombies thought they were the ones going cannibalistic, they soon realized, they were wrong.
Edit: fixed one of the first few sentences, had "we" instead of "they"
Edit 2: "take care of yourself"
| |
[WP] Zombie apocalypse! Some one discovers that Zombie meat isn't actually infectious when cooked and is also DAMNED tasty. | The only thing we hadn’t run out of was zombies. Fuckers just kept on coming. We cleared them out; they’d come back the next season. We moved somewhere else; they’d find us a short time later. We tried growing food; they’d trample the defenses and ruin our crops.
We’d come to our wits end. Food became scarcer to find. Our group had pretty much given up on scavenging ruins. It wasn’t worth the effort to find one or two cans of food.
Members of our group began to drift away over the months. Some thought they could do better striking out on our own. Others didn’t agree with our policies. A couple of people just wandered off into the night never to be seen again.
Three years after the initial outbreak we were down to just five members. Winter seemed to have set in early this year. Frost coated almost everything. The leaves crunched underfoot.
We came out of the forest and into a clearing. Sitting in the middle, surrounded by trenches lined with sharpened stakes and barbed wire fence, was a large farmhouse. Towards the back of the grounds stood a large barn with a corral. Smoke trailed out of the farmhouse chimney.
“Do you think we should contact them?” said Mabel.
“The lights are on. It doesn’t look too dangerous,” said Jason.
“Doesn’t have to look dangerous to be dangerous,” I said.
“We see you. The five of you come out into the open,” yelled someone from inside the compound.
Our group hesitated. Something rustled behind us. A shotgun racked. “Hands up. No sudden movements. Start marching,” said a man.
We marched to the front gate where a man and a woman met us. The woman kept her gun trained on us as the second man patted us down and searched our bags. “They’re clean. “
They led us through the gates and into the compound. “Are you hungry?” asked the woman.
I looked at the rest of the group. Every one of them looked so gaunt and frail. “Yes. We could use a meal.”
She motioned for us to follow. “We need to keep on our toes. This could be a trap. They’ve got the upper hand in all of this,” whispered Jason.
The woman motioned for us to sit down at a long picnic table. “My name’s Hilary. You’ve already met Stan and Evan. There are twelve of us.” Stan came out and set out bowls of food. “Please eat. It’s fresh stew. Made this morning.”
We sat down around the table. I looked at the stew. Chunks of meat, potatoes, carrots and onions floated in the broth. It smelled delicious. “How many of you are there?” I said.
“Twelve total. We’re stretched pretty thin but make it work. We are always looking for more people to join our group. We’ve been following you for the past couple of weeks,” said Hilary.
“Weeks?” said Jason.
Hilary sat down at the head of the table and began to eat some stew. “We have two scouts. We wanted to make sure you would be valuable assets to our little community.
No one in our group was eating the stew. It looked so good. I decided to make a show of good faith. I took a bite of some of the stew.
It tasted so good.
I began to eat faster and faster. I was so hungry. The vegetables were cooked just right. The meat was tender and fell apart. I almost licked the bowl clean. “This is so good. What is the meat? I can’t quite place it,” I said.
“How can you just give away food like this?” said Jason.
“We have a nearly limitless supply of meat. It comes from the forest. The vegetables we grow ourselves,” Hilary said.
“Is it venison?” I said.
Stan came around and refilled our bowls. “Not deer. Something a little more unsavory.”
Mabel’s eyes opened wide. “Is it people?”
Hilary laughed. “No. No, it’s not.” She cleared her throat. “It’s zombie. We got desperate for food so one of us tried it. You have to cook it until it’s well done. Kills the virus I guess. We’ve all been eating it for over eight months and haven’t a single infection.”
I looked down at my bowl with the bits of meat floating in it. I didn’t know what to say. I heard the others gagging. Jason threw up.
We had already eaten it. It tasted so good. Hilary and her group seemed so friendly. I’d like to stay here and settle down. If that meant eating zombie meat to survive so be it. I took another bite of stew and looked around at my new home.
| "Strange." Joseph had said aloud to himself, staring at the roaring fire in front of him.
It was the dead of night. The sky was like a sea of black and blue, sprinkled with the white foam of stars. Light illuminated the ground from the sickly yellow moon way above. A blazing flame ran and swayed on a long, dried piece of rotting wood. Red and orange twisted and turned in their hot, passionate dance.
A man sat on a cold stone before the inferno. One hand steadied a thin, yellow notepad on his leg as it held an old, ink-filled pen. The other one held a long, iron stick. Rusty as it was, its end was chipped and pointed, sharp enough to pierce through flesh and bone if one desired.
And Joseph had desired. A sickly green head was impaled at the end. The face on it had shown a look of madness, driven on by a demented hunger. The skin peeled and turned black once the hot flames kissed the zombie's flesh. The man continued to stare at the head with a blank stare, his hand moving to jot down a few scribbles.
[Trial of 1/4. New Year has passed. Food supply running low. Fruit has gone rotten. Water has not been found since 1/2. Suspected drought.]
He drew the metal rod away from the fire. The end glowed a bright orange as the head was smoking. An odd, delightful musk came from the zombie, resembling that of roasted pork with plenty of greasy fat. Filling enough for any starving man, if prepare correctly.
[Beginning taste trial of green meat.]
He jotted down while placing his mouth on the head, biting off the ear. Dried blood turned to liquid as his spit and slobber made contact. His teeth grounded the skin to mush as he continued to chew, slowly in order to take in the flavor. His belly and throat filled with warm as he took a swallow.
[More than adequate. Similar to canned meat, but fresher. More satisfying.]
His eyes lit up with the sweat, savory taste of meat, the first he's had since the early winter. For nearly an hour, he just sat there, throwing his notebook aside and just gnawing at the head. Scraps of hair and skin fell to the ground as he satisfied his hunger, blood staining his face.
With a quiet belch, he got up and stomped out the fire. He picked up his notebook and stowed it away. Picking up the metal stick, he jabbed at the limbs of the corpse nearby. Cutting off a hand and two feet, he neatly tucked the spoils away in his sack, already filled with an empty canteen and cans of dried fruits and vegetables. His feet, covered by an torn-up shoe, dragged him through the cold, hard dirt of the earth below.
"Requires more analysis. Cannibalism seems offensive to group. Should keep secret. Continue to test for contamination. Keep group healthy. Must make additions to list. Now require matches and clean knives."
| |
[WP] Someone offers a toast at a dinner. The toast has a different meaning for every person at the table. | "May life bring you everything you so richly deserve." | "Welcome home.
My wife, returning after 3 weeks in hospital after complications during child birth.
Matt, my son, joining us for the first time.
Keith, my father, forced out of my life by my teenage mothers parents. I'm so glad to have reconnected again and have you here today to share this moment.
David, my brother, returning from your final tour of Iraq, with pride I ask you to sit on the mantel and forever watch over my family.
I love you all" | |
[WP] Someone offers a toast at a dinner. The toast has a different meaning for every person at the table. | "Guys, toast is ready!"
*-and I hope they like this new farmer's market bread. Leon is always such a picky eater!*
*Oh goodness, I really shouldn't be having carbs right now...*
*Euggh, it looks burned. Gross. Suppose I still have to eat some to be polite.*
*Aw, it's a bit burned like Nona used to make when I was little. I miss her.*
*Oh thank God! I am SO hungry!*
*Mrreeeooow?* | "To Life!" toasts Milton Bradley IV
"Indeed, to Life," echoes Nooyi Indra, majority stakeholder of PepsiCo, parent of Quaker Oats Cereal.
"To life..." says the third person at the table, John, still reeling from the stage 4 cancer diagnosis he received earlier in the week. | |
[WP] Anything you write in this magical phone comes true, but it has autocorrect. What do you wish for, and what do you end up getting instead? | I almost walked straight past it, but curiosity got the better of me and I picked up the discarded Motorola Razr off the ground. I mean, who even uses Motorolas anymore?
I looked around the park, trying to find it's owner - but I was all alone. I shrugged and started to play with the phone - strange that a discarded mobile had full battery, but it seemed the thing was broken. It was stuck on a blank message, with the recipient set to "TRYME".
*This must be some sort of prank phone.* I thought to myself. Well if it's a prank phone, I may as well troll the number I guess. I racked my brain for a while, and then my fingers started to press on the metallic keys:
**I am so horny.**
"Haha I am *hilarious*" I thought to myself, but before I could press send, the message autocorrected itself before disappearing:
**I am so hungry.**
Goddamn autocorrect. Well, whatever the other person would still be confused as hell regardless, so I suppose it still counted as a successful troll text. All of a sudden my stomach growled. *That's strange.* Maybe it was just a coincidence? Either way, I was really hankering for some food, RIGHT NOW. I sat down on the nearest park bench and contemplated whether I should walk to the nearest McDonald's or just to run the rest of the way home and raid my fridge.
I weighed my options as I fidgeted with the phone. Hmm... maybe...*just maybe*... I flick the mobile's lid open and I write another text:
**I would love to have some curry chicken.**
Again, the phone autocorrected the message before disappearing from the screen. *Oh no. I've made a huge mistake.* Hands shaking, I look up from the phone. All around me, they appeared out of thin air. Throughout the whole park - one by one, I was surrounded.
By small, chattering, Indian children.
| I wish for Pringles, yet to my horror I get pregnant | |
[WP] Anything you write in this magical phone comes true, but it has autocorrect. What do you wish for, and what do you end up getting instead? | So there I was, ducking a hot grill... | I wish for Pringles, yet to my horror I get pregnant | |
[WP] Your entire life has actually been a dream. | [WP] Your entire life has actually been a dream. You wake up in a hospital bed and have been told you were in a coma for X years. You have no idea who the people are around you. | I look around to find myself pondering the beauty of the world. I was atop Black Mountain gazing off into a sunset that melted the valley around it. From this elevation I thought I might be able to stretch my eyes as much to see the city of Phoenix. A beautiful life I was living in a beautiful world with the most beautiful person by my side.
To this day I'm still unclear as to how I had gotten so lucky. I gripped her hand as tightly as I could and gazed into the eyes that showed me the true beauty of one's soul. A flicker of those sky blue eyes reminded me of the one phrase she had said when we had first met. A phrase that has reverberated throughout my skull since. A phrase used so skillfully that swept my heart from pieces and completed the puzzle of love. When I was in my darkest moment my chin had been lifted up by my blue-eyed angel, and she told me, "Why be in dismay? There is such a beautiful life ahead you have to live." That was all it was, it was as simple as a flick of a switch. My life had been turned around.
As the sun dipped beyond the mountains as we climbed back into the mud-stained jeep. We sang with joy to the radio as the streetlights started to fade back into view. We were both young and wild, craving to set our minds free of worry and doubt of the past. The future was nothing but great things to come. We had planned to travel all throughout the four corner states. With our curiosity and bizarre dreams leading the way it seemed like it was to be a safe haven from the troubles of life. Oh what an adventure it would be! I glanced over to see her sticking her out the window and shouting lyrics to some band I will never know. I knew there was only a few more miles left until I reached her home. We spent our hearts out on those last few miles reminding each other of all the good times to come. The constant pull of her heart kept that smile on my face all day. I stepped out from the jeep and onto the hard driveway and held her in my arms. I brushed the blonde hair from her face as I fell into a trance. In her eyes I could read the trust, honesty, and respect she felt for me as she could do the same from mine. As our lips touched, memories of 2am rooftop conversations and dancing in Target parking lots fluttered throughout my mind. We said goodbye and as she walked away I was love stricken by the beauty of her soul. I knew that tomorrow was part of the wonderful future, with her by my side.
The beams of sunshine found their way through the window and right onto my eyes. I awoke with a smile on my face, eager to start another day of life. I went through the early hours of the morning habitually. Basic hygiene maintenance, her favorite cologne, selecting my most comfortable sweatpants and shirt had been completed. I opened the door to a rush of refreshing spring air. The birds were singing their songs as the thin branches they sat on quivered in the wind. Once again I stepped into my jeep ready for another adventure.
She was already in the driveway when I arrived. We flashed each other smiles and giggled a little bit as she climbed into the jeep. I put my trusty vehicle into drive and my foot hovered over the gas pedal. I glanced down at my leg to find it shaking uncontrollably. I received a very concerned "are you okay" from the passenger seat. My whole body had begun shivering. Frantically glancing around I was unable to focus on one point of my surroundings. My heart rate and breathing were increasing rapidly as if I had just finished the mile in 7th grade. My vision was now blurred and all I could hear in my ears was a helpless cry out to first responders. My vision was now fading, my hearing was impaired as well. I blinked so rapidly all I could see was blurry figures standing around me. Thank goodness, the first responders were here. During this moment I believed I was losing and gaining consciousness every so often. I slowly regained fuzzy vision when I noticed these were not first responders at all.
My neck ached with cramps, I was unable to move it. I glanced around the room and to my confusion I found multiple doctors and nurses cheering and clapping. The most elderly of the staff leaned closer to me and whispered, "It has been five years, welcome back." The words echoed throughout my mind as I spiraled into confusion. Out of the corner of my eye I was able to see a window where an elderly couple had embraced and were in tears. I wondered if my angel had come to visit me while I was in recovery. Something wasn't right. This was too much. A rush of pain flowed into my head and my vision had faded again. I lost consciousness with extreme confusion and dismay on my mind.
I had awaken once again. Only this time there were no blinding lights and cheering hospital staff members. It was a hospital room. A simplest of ones in fact, a small television hung from the wall in front of me, a window that had a spectacular view of an unknown ocean. A table to the left of myself had various clipboards and pill bottles occupying what little space it provided. I glanced at my arm and noticed an IV in my right elbow. My eyes followed the tube until they laid on the IV drip. It was a unwelcoming feeling to have foreign liquids be forced into my bloodstream. My thoughts were interrupted when the door swung open over to the far left of the room. I was unable to see who had entered the room, but I had heard them pick up a clipboard so I assumed it was hospital staff.
"Unbelievable," said the female voice, "You have been in a coma for five years." The words rattled through my entire body. I was very unsettled by this but couldn't bring myself to say anything so I let the silence hang for a moment.
"Once you began to wake up we contacted the only relatives known, your parents," she continued.
"That can't be," I croaked as I mustered all my energy to speak. "My girlfriend was with me when I went into the coma."
"I know the morphine may have a slight effect for a little while but it will fade away soon," the nurse suggested comfortingly. "The car crash you were in was very brutal. I saw it on the news!"
I had felt like someone had shot me and I needed to throw up. This can't be. I had built a whole life and prosperous future with the only person that gave me true happiness. I couldn't even imagine what this misinformed nurse was going on about. There was no possible way I was dreaming. All the memories felt too real.
"I am very surprised you don't have a girlfriend Mr..." she said as she flipped threw the pages searching for a name. The pages stopped abruptly and the woman's footsteps came closer to me. I was now able to see her face for the first time.
"Well my name is Caitlin, I'll be one of your nurses while you are in recovery," she said. I looked up into this woman's blue eyes and there was almost something comforting about them. She looked to be relatively the same age as me. Her long blonde hair dangled over her eyes in an almost familiar way. It immediately reminded me of the comforting feeling I had received while I was in the coma. My mind was rushing. I struggled to process the fact that all that had happened in the coma was just some sort of dream. It was just gone, like a flick of a switch. A tear streamed down my face as I suddenly just felt the need to let my emotions out. The nurse instantly gave a look of sympathy to me. She could tell they were not tears of joy of waking up to a new life. They were tears of longing and sorrow.
"Well you know what I always tell patients like this," she started. "I always remind the people that come into this building thinking that they have lost something only one thing." I was able to look up at the nurse briefly to show I was paying attention, despite feeling that my world was crumbling around me. I felt depression creeping into my heart, ready to take it away at first chance. I focused back onto the sky blue eyes of the nurse.
"Why be in dismay? There is such a beautiful life ahead you have to live." | I suppose this is a part two of a [WP] that I did a few weeks ago. Which can be found here.
http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2psq2f/wp_for_years_a_room_in_your_house_has_been_locked/
Bright white light filled her vision and suddenly she was lying on her back on a bed of some sorts. She flung her hand in front of her face as if she could shut off the lights by willing it, all of a sudden the dark of the basement seemed more comforting than this blinding assault. A lady in a nurse outfit stood in the doorway with her hands over her mouth, her eyebrows arched in surprise. Quickly recovering, the nurse turned to someone out of sight and spoke in a calm yet determined voice.
"Kelly, go get doctor Heevy, Alexandra is awake."
Doctor Heevy came in shortly after nurse called to inspect Alex himself, quickly running her through awareness tests and basically catching her up to speed with what happened which in turn helped jog her memories before the coma. There was an assault, she fought back. That was all Alex could recall that felt like her own memories as opposed to tidbits of someone else's life that the good doctor was simply telling her about.
While the Dr. Heevy was doing his routine Alex took the time to take a look down at herself. Her arms were stick thin, her cheekbones seemed to threaten to rip open her skin, she couldn't feel any excess fat on her body. Alex looked up after the cursory look at herself and found that the only mirror in the room was positioned so that she could catch a chunk of her own reflection in it. The person who stared back at her was a stranger.
She knew instinctively that being in a coma for an extended period of time would result in some weight loss, but the muscle degradation was something else entirely. Alex knew she wasn't fat before the coma, the absence of loose skin affirmed that much, but now she looked like a skeleton had put on a wig of wavy brown hair instead of a human being. Bony fingers found her own face as she traced a scar that ran in a sickeningly jagged line across her throat and her eyes found another going from her temple and curling upward into her hair line.
"I look like shit," Alex croaked. "I hope Jaren didn't see me like this."
The doctor shifted in his seat, his eyes flickered to the side and he wet his lips obviously a bit uncomfortable. She could see it in his eyes and his body posture, Heevy leaned slightly away from her, his back straight and his eyes never really meeting hers. Something was wrong here, why would Heevy be so uncomfortable after his very professional "welcome back to the land of not being in a coma" bit.
And then she blanked. Who was Jaren and why would she care if he saw her in this state.
He must have been my boyfriend she concluded after a moment of thought.
Something was still amiss however and the good doctor seemed to have enough of the answers to let Alex back into the loop, therefore it was up to her to pry those answers out of him.
"Doctor." She said sternly.
Heevy stopped fidgeting as his focus snapped to Alex's gaunt face.
"Look at me and tell me exactly what happened."
As their eyes made contact Alex felt a head rush and time seemed to slow down. Before her eyes scenes that made no sense were playing out.
-----------------------------------------------
"Kelly. Kelly! What's the situation with the patient?" A male voice inquired coming from what seemed to be Alex's mouth.
Kelly gave a squeak of surprise and turned around to face Alex then turned back forwards when Alex joined her on the other side of the gurney next to another nurse. The wheels of the medical gurney rattled down a sterile white hall. Alex could see herself looking at a nurse, Kelly, from an angle that didn't quite make sense, she knew Kelly was of equal height to herself.
"Sorry doctor Heevy, please don't sneak up on me like that, you know how jumpy I get!"
"The patient Kelly?"
"Oh right. White Female, 21 years old, intense blunt force trauma to the head, one large laceration located on the throat, and one gunshot wound to her left scapula. No exit on that gunshot wound, but it'll have to wait till we get this poor girls throat fixed."
Alex, or rather doctor Heevy nodded as he, Kelly, and a few other nurses jogged toward the ICU.
"Poor girl," Kelly said, frowning at the body. "The escaped convicts broke into her house during their family New Years party and held everyone for hostage when they realized they couldn't shake the police. I just don't understand how the raid went so far south so fast. Apparently the paramedics on scene threw up there was so much gore."
Kelly shook her head again.
"Poor thing is gonna wake up without a family."
------------------------------------------------
Heevy shook his head and cast his eyes down again and sighed.
"Alex what you need now is food and relaxation, I can't have you jumping head first into trying to remember what happened prior to your year long coma."
Eyes wide after what she had just seen, Alex nodded and murmured something positive and laid back down on her bed. Doctor Heevy seemed to take this as a sign of obedience and left the room with a slightly twisted mouth, as if he had just tasted something incredibly bad, leaving Alex alone with her thoughts.
|
[WP] Introduce yourself to me and make me extremely frightened of you, but only with your last sentence. | She entered the cafe with confidence, her blonde hair was tied up in a no - nonsense bun that didn't help her battle with bitchy resting face syndrome. She scanned the room and met my gaze, I nodded in hopeful recognition, her demeanour didn't change, not a hint of emotion as she walked towards me. I stood up to welcome her, she took her seat without acknowledgement, leaving me standing alone and awkward, typical.
I sat. She stared. She glanced at her phone.
"Hi, nice to meet you" I smiled as politely as I could. "I'm glad you came, it's been wonderful getting to know you"
She looked disinterested, I'm bombing badly.
"So.." I cleared my throat "I, umm, well obviously I'm Tim, this is one of my favourite coffee houses, I thought it'd be a nice place to meet"
She nodded and looked around. Maybe she was as nervous as I am, I couldn't hold that against her.
"Hi Tim, it's nice to finally meet you, too. It's your favourite place, so you don't live far from here?"
I relaxed a little.
"Not too far, it's a lovely neighbourhood, very safe and family orientated"
Oh shit, why did I say that. "I mean, it's just a friendly place, I feel comfortable here"
She smiled, I could feel the awkwardness rise from my stomach and show on my face.
"Tim" She's finally relaxing too. "What do you usually order?"
"I really enjoy their salads, I'm quite specific about how I like them and the staff here are very accommodating to my nuances".. Oh man, i'm ridiculous.
"Great, well I think I'll have a salad too then. Do you like to read?" She's asking question, this is going much smoother.
"I do, I'm a big Stephen King fan". She glances at her phone again.
"Tim, I'd like you to do me a favour, can you do that for me?"
This is interesting, her demeanour has changed, she isn't rigid anymore, she's relaxing.
"What is it Sally?"
"Tim, can we do this another time? I'm sorry I've just had something come up, but it's not to do with you, okay"
Sally stood up. I scowled, this is very rude, very rude indeed.
Sally smile as the police swooped in "It was nice to meet you, Tim"
This Bitch. How dare she, after everything I've done for her. Flowers on her doorstep, phone calls, text messages, I've done nothing but bend over backwards for her. protected her from creeps. This bitch.
"Fuck you, Sally, I've seen who you really are and I loved you anyway, the cameras don't lie, I'll be seeing you".
| I'm not your real mom. | |
[WP] Introduce yourself to me and make me extremely frightened of you, but only with your last sentence. | Hey! Thanks thanks the wind really kicked up, this is gonna take months to re-organize everything! I have been meaning to get a new briefcase.
oh...man why did you have to read that...this happened to my last neighbor | I'm not your real mom. | |
[WP] Introduce yourself to me and make me extremely frightened of you, but only with your last sentence. | Here's two aspirin and a cup of water. We had a lot of fun last night. Anyways I should get going and you should probably get some plan b or soemthing. | I'm not your real mom. | |
[WP] Introduce yourself to me and make me extremely frightened of you, but only with your last sentence. | (I've just knocked on your door, and you've opened it for me)
Hello there! My name is [REDACTED]. I just moved in next door, and I wanted - oh, you saw the moving trucks? Yeah, sorry about those! I had a lot of things to move in here - they must have been coming in all week, haha.
Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself and get to know some people in the neighborhood. This is a lovely place, isn't it? So much greener than where I used to live. I've always wanted to stay in a place like this, you know - a much better place to raise a family.
Yeah, I'm married - no kids yet, but in a place like this, who knows, right? My wife's still out of town, she'll be moving in a couple of days from now. Are you - oh, I'd love to meet your husband some time!
Anyway, I should be getting back now - still got some more moving to do, you know how it is. I still really want to see more of this neighborhood, though...it's just so much nicer than where I used to live.
...Where did I used to live? Hrm...well, I suppose you might call it a sketchier part of town. You know, a bit past the CBD, the...yeah, the projects, I guess. Well, either way I've just had a reversal of fortunes, and now I don't have to stay in that mess anymore.
...Did I get a promotion or something? Um. Well, not exactly. To be honest, a lot of my income there didn't exactly come from what you would call gainful employment. Oh no, none of *that* - no need for the shocked look! I was a landowner. I rented out apartments and - I mean, I guess the word slumlord is *technically* accurate, but I'm not sure it's the most *complimentary* term.
Oh no, don't worry, it's not prying at all. I'm pretty open about all this. You see, I just changed my attitude towards my resources, you know? Less wasteful spending, more making my properties work for me. I realized that there were a lot of loopholes that money was flowing out of, and that it'd be relatively simple for me to fix them. After that, I'd be getting a huge wad of cash, and saving so much on maintenance and upkeep. Win-win, you feel?
So yeah, I burned the building down for the insurance money. Anyway, I really should get going - nice to meet you!
(I stroll away down the driveway) | I'm not your real mom. | |
[WP] Introduce yourself to me and make me extremely frightened of you, but only with your last sentence. | You probably don’t remember me but we met a few weeks ago. You were working at the time. You were wearing those little black shorts. You know the ones. You always wear them at the start of the week, right after you've done your washing. When you smiled at me over the counter and asked me how I was I could tell you were a really genuine person.
By the way do you mind if I ask, who was Jacob? I saw him on your Facebook. Was that your boyfriend? I actually ran into him the other day.
Huh? No, I'm not friends with him.
Anyway, you’re walking home from work now right? I'm walking the same way, want to walk together? | I'm not your real mom. | |
[WP] Introduce yourself to me and make me extremely frightened of you, but only with your last sentence. | Here's two aspirin and a cup of water. We had a lot of fun last night. Anyways I should get going and you should probably get some plan b or soemthing. | Hi, I'm your new next door neighbour. I made you some cookies to welcome you to the neighbourhood. I also came round to ask if they told you about the person who lived here last. No? Ohhh... Okay. No one really knows what happened. He just went missing one day. Maybe if he'd been a law abiding guy, he'd still be here. Everyone was saying he was a dealer. Oh well. Blood makes roses grow better anyway. | |
[WP] Introduce yourself to me and make me extremely frightened of you, but only with your last sentence. | Here's two aspirin and a cup of water. We had a lot of fun last night. Anyways I should get going and you should probably get some plan b or soemthing. | hi, i'm crash. your friend, mr. daniel, told me that you might be able to help me with something, so i thought i'd swing by and introduce myself.
no,no. no need to get up. the rest of your family is sleeping peacefully, so let's not wake them. | |
[WP] Introduce yourself to me and make me extremely frightened of you, but only with your last sentence. | You probably don’t remember me but we met a few weeks ago. You were working at the time. You were wearing those little black shorts. You know the ones. You always wear them at the start of the week, right after you've done your washing. When you smiled at me over the counter and asked me how I was I could tell you were a really genuine person.
By the way do you mind if I ask, who was Jacob? I saw him on your Facebook. Was that your boyfriend? I actually ran into him the other day.
Huh? No, I'm not friends with him.
Anyway, you’re walking home from work now right? I'm walking the same way, want to walk together? | She entered the cafe with confidence, her blonde hair was tied up in a no - nonsense bun that didn't help her battle with bitchy resting face syndrome. She scanned the room and met my gaze, I nodded in hopeful recognition, her demeanour didn't change, not a hint of emotion as she walked towards me. I stood up to welcome her, she took her seat without acknowledgement, leaving me standing alone and awkward, typical.
I sat. She stared. She glanced at her phone.
"Hi, nice to meet you" I smiled as politely as I could. "I'm glad you came, it's been wonderful getting to know you"
She looked disinterested, I'm bombing badly.
"So.." I cleared my throat "I, umm, well obviously I'm Tim, this is one of my favourite coffee houses, I thought it'd be a nice place to meet"
She nodded and looked around. Maybe she was as nervous as I am, I couldn't hold that against her.
"Hi Tim, it's nice to finally meet you, too. It's your favourite place, so you don't live far from here?"
I relaxed a little.
"Not too far, it's a lovely neighbourhood, very safe and family orientated"
Oh shit, why did I say that. "I mean, it's just a friendly place, I feel comfortable here"
She smiled, I could feel the awkwardness rise from my stomach and show on my face.
"Tim" She's finally relaxing too. "What do you usually order?"
"I really enjoy their salads, I'm quite specific about how I like them and the staff here are very accommodating to my nuances".. Oh man, i'm ridiculous.
"Great, well I think I'll have a salad too then. Do you like to read?" She's asking question, this is going much smoother.
"I do, I'm a big Stephen King fan". She glances at her phone again.
"Tim, I'd like you to do me a favour, can you do that for me?"
This is interesting, her demeanour has changed, she isn't rigid anymore, she's relaxing.
"What is it Sally?"
"Tim, can we do this another time? I'm sorry I've just had something come up, but it's not to do with you, okay"
Sally stood up. I scowled, this is very rude, very rude indeed.
Sally smile as the police swooped in "It was nice to meet you, Tim"
This Bitch. How dare she, after everything I've done for her. Flowers on her doorstep, phone calls, text messages, I've done nothing but bend over backwards for her. protected her from creeps. This bitch.
"Fuck you, Sally, I've seen who you really are and I loved you anyway, the cameras don't lie, I'll be seeing you".
| |
[WP] Introduce yourself to me and make me extremely frightened of you, but only with your last sentence. | You probably don’t remember me but we met a few weeks ago. You were working at the time. You were wearing those little black shorts. You know the ones. You always wear them at the start of the week, right after you've done your washing. When you smiled at me over the counter and asked me how I was I could tell you were a really genuine person.
By the way do you mind if I ask, who was Jacob? I saw him on your Facebook. Was that your boyfriend? I actually ran into him the other day.
Huh? No, I'm not friends with him.
Anyway, you’re walking home from work now right? I'm walking the same way, want to walk together? | (I've just knocked on your door, and you've opened it for me)
Hello there! My name is [REDACTED]. I just moved in next door, and I wanted - oh, you saw the moving trucks? Yeah, sorry about those! I had a lot of things to move in here - they must have been coming in all week, haha.
Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself and get to know some people in the neighborhood. This is a lovely place, isn't it? So much greener than where I used to live. I've always wanted to stay in a place like this, you know - a much better place to raise a family.
Yeah, I'm married - no kids yet, but in a place like this, who knows, right? My wife's still out of town, she'll be moving in a couple of days from now. Are you - oh, I'd love to meet your husband some time!
Anyway, I should be getting back now - still got some more moving to do, you know how it is. I still really want to see more of this neighborhood, though...it's just so much nicer than where I used to live.
...Where did I used to live? Hrm...well, I suppose you might call it a sketchier part of town. You know, a bit past the CBD, the...yeah, the projects, I guess. Well, either way I've just had a reversal of fortunes, and now I don't have to stay in that mess anymore.
...Did I get a promotion or something? Um. Well, not exactly. To be honest, a lot of my income there didn't exactly come from what you would call gainful employment. Oh no, none of *that* - no need for the shocked look! I was a landowner. I rented out apartments and - I mean, I guess the word slumlord is *technically* accurate, but I'm not sure it's the most *complimentary* term.
Oh no, don't worry, it's not prying at all. I'm pretty open about all this. You see, I just changed my attitude towards my resources, you know? Less wasteful spending, more making my properties work for me. I realized that there were a lot of loopholes that money was flowing out of, and that it'd be relatively simple for me to fix them. After that, I'd be getting a huge wad of cash, and saving so much on maintenance and upkeep. Win-win, you feel?
So yeah, I burned the building down for the insurance money. Anyway, I really should get going - nice to meet you!
(I stroll away down the driveway) | |
Here's a couple to get you thinking, feel free to use these, or make your own.
* Is one famous or important person worth more than thousands of unimportant people?
* What would you do for a billion dollars?
* Death penalty, or other controversial topic.
* At what point is it okay to kill, steal, etc.?
Explore all the ins and outs of these topics, don't stick with your opinion, look from others. | [WP] Pick a moral conundrum, and weave it into a story that will give me something to think about. | One thing they should mention in the pamphlet is that if you lack a sense of smell, war is a perfect place for you. Otherwise, unless you enjoy a cocktail of corpses, vomit, feces and rats strewn around like kites, you would best stay home.
It was late April, and the spring shows had arrived in full force. I was stationed in a small town named Ypres, which appropriately enough was small enough that you would assume nothing of significance would occur. Being of Belgian blood which immigrated to Canada, the outbreak of war brought me back to this now desecrated cemetery of bodies.
The rains and artillery made it such that we couldn't move anywhere with ease. Our offensives, as were the Germans, were wholly and completely futile. My position near the front as a post guard, I had the luxury of having an umbrella, camouflaged by mud and twigs.
An unusually strong artillery from the Germans came one day, and alerts were on high. No sign of the German advance, but a brutal pounding on our trenches made for difficult work. Hours and hours the shells rained down upon us, filling our brown graveyards with debris.
Then, it just stopped. It all happened at once. A pure and serene silence, like the silence before the storm. A storm which you are on a skipper with a hole in the back that you haven't noticed, and the sails are torn. You are without food and supplies and nothing can save you.
A gigantic wave of frenzied Germans advanced on our position. I went running as I heard their whistle. "ADVANCE, 100 YARDS!"
The mud sloshed against my boots as I trudged towards my commanding officer. Only when I found the shell of a man I once called 'sir' riddled with shrapnel did I search for the leftover of my company.
A sewer of fresh blood and shit everywhere littered the side of the trenches. My mind numbed as the Germans kept advancing. Their shots ringing out, coming closer and closer to my position.
I had no rifle. I only had my side arm and a knife. There was no one around. My platoon and what appeared to be company had fallen back.
I was alone.
I hid in a cubbyhole where we had kept some of our hay in a room for resting, to keep it dry and found a rifle. I fixed the bayonet.
Then I waited. For them to come.
Covering my spot with the hay, I took shallow breaths. Each one more ragged than the one before. A nightmare among the living, a cold and bitter feeling went soaring through my body.
Then I saw the first one. A German soldier. Old, wrinkled face with the kaiser helmet, rifle in hand, tired and worn to the bone. He was a veteran. I could barely see it until he took off his helmet. His eyes were sad, dull cow eyes numbed from the war. Then I heard a sound.
"Papa?"
A young boy, no more than 18 years of age, not old enough to have felt the warmth of a woman walked in. The resemblance was striking.
I didn't understand what conversation they had, but in a haste, I shuffled too much trying to reach for my knife. The conversation stopped. My heart pounded.
I saw them through the hay, both peering over to where I was hiding. The father began walking over with his rifle in hand.
I had to make a decision.
Quickly spraying the man with hay, I charged head on with the bayonet fixed rifle, launching it straight into the center of the man's chest. His son screamed.
I pulled my revolver and pointed it at the son, who hurriedly had raised his arms, quickly stealing a glance at his father.
The old man was dying. I had managed to place the blade directly into the center of the heart, a lucky jab.
The father, trying to look up at his son, croaked something softly to which the son's only reply was, "Papa?"
In a split second, I made another decision. I had to kill the boy in order to live another day. The bullet that exited the gun entered the boy's head from his left eye. By the time he fell to the floor, the father's eyes connected with mine.
The hatred, the fear and the sadness in his eyes struck me like a rifle round. His eyes seemed to say that I would meet him in hell soon, if not today. Even with his last breath, he kept his eyes on mine.
Live to fight another day, to kill a child and father together. |
Sunlight burned orange through the gun-smoke. Arrick coughed into his fist, winced at the blood that spattered his hand and rolled onto his back. Around him the wreck he had made lay still, like some twisted masterpiece; an eternal moment seared into his memory. Men and women lay scattered about, rent into inhuman shapes by the many hands of death. Using the wall for support he dragged himself upright, and staggered for the door. The click of a cocking hammer stopped him short.
“Don’t you fucking move stranger.” The voice was cracked with grief. Hearing it sent a razor of regret lancing through Arrick’s chest.
“Calm, honey-“
“I ain’t your fucking honey, you hear?” Behind him he heard the stifling of a sob. “Turn around and look at me you sonofabitch.” Arrick closed his eyes and held his guilt at bay a moment longer. Then he turned. A young woman; a whore if he had to guess, stood opposite him. Tears streaked her face, and blood streaked her hands, her dress was torn, and in her shaking hand, she held a six-shooter.
“I just want you to know why-“
“Shut your fucking mouth!” She screamed over him, and her free hand came flying up to join its counterpart and wrapped around the butt of the gun. The barrel palsied in the air before him, and with a heavy heart he realised that he would not die here. “I want you to know something, stranger. I want you to see my face when I shoot you dead. I want you to say the names of them you killed.” Her expression flickered between rage and grief, and Arrick could see the madness seeping in as she gazed at the carnage around them. She steeled herself, and met his eyes once more;
“Jody and Michael.” She whispered the names softly, “Brett, James, and Al.” With every name she spoke her voice gained a little more steel and her hands steadied. “Sasha and Ed. Agnes and Lily, and Kyle, and Freda, and Bob.” He stood still and waited till she was done. “Look me in my eye you sonofabitch and say the names!”
He took a step forward and stared into the storm within her eyes. “No.” He said simply. She screamed in wordless grief when his hand caught the barrel of the revolver. He wrenched the gun upwards and three shots blasted into the roof. His fist crashed into her temple and knocked her sprawling into a table. He pulled his own gun free and ended her pleading with a single bullet.
As he stumbled through the blood and the dust, out of the wreck he had made of the town and down the trail to home, he felt like weeping, but could bring no tears to wash away the shame of what he had done.
He arrived at home a broken man; a wordless, staring shell of a man. He fell to his knees beside the graveside; one hand traced the lines of her name, while the other was locked white-knuckle tight around the handle of his gun.
“I found her, honey.” He whispered through his tears, “I made them pay for what they had done. All of them, I gave no mercy.” He choked on his words as they tumbled out; “But they had her so fucked up she didn’t even recognise me. She cursed me for what I’d done to the monsters who stole her from me. From us.” He curled up foetal atop the grave of his wife. “She called me stranger… And I couldn’t stop myself.”
When he awoke the sun was rising, and from horizon to horizon all he could see was the desolation that was his world now. The ground was all ash, and dust, and blood. The sky was a veil of filthy, yellowed clouds. Only the sun shone bright in the wasteland, but its light did not touch him. All the light had gone from his life. He stared down, unblinking, at the gun he held in his bloody hand, and saw his only escape. He raised it to his temple and the creak of the trigger before the shot was the last thing he ever heard.
Sunlight burned orange through the gun-smoke.
|
Here's a couple to get you thinking, feel free to use these, or make your own.
* Is one famous or important person worth more than thousands of unimportant people?
* What would you do for a billion dollars?
* Death penalty, or other controversial topic.
* At what point is it okay to kill, steal, etc.?
Explore all the ins and outs of these topics, don't stick with your opinion, look from others. | [WP] Pick a moral conundrum, and weave it into a story that will give me something to think about. | I always had thought that the “devil and angel on the shoulder-thing” was silly. But perhaps I had never had a moral quandary strong enough to make me understand.
Until tonight.
I started innocently enough.
“No one would even know.”
That was the opening salvo of the devil. And he was right. How could anyone possibly know? Who *could* know?
“*You* would know.”
Fucking god-damned fucking angel. Of course, he is the one to pick that argument. Who uses that line, except smug little self-righteous bastards. I mean, shit. If no one but me knew, then what harm could it do? Right?
“Exactly.” Said the devil.
“But it isn’t fair.” The angel reminded me.
“Hey, I got news for you honey.” Said the devil. “Life ain’t fair. Maybe you ought to bring that one up with your boss, you know. And, while we wait another two-thousand years for an answer, our boy here can get things done.”
I started to sweat. First, just my forehead, but then my hands as well. My best friend, Bill, sat next to me, totally oblivious to my internal monologue. Totally uncaring. Totally trusting.
“And guess what? There is a reason he trusts you -- because you act in a trustworthy manner.” The angel was right on point. I mean, the way you earn friendship and trust is not by betraying trust. Right?
“But he *will. never. know*. Did you forget about that part?”
Shit. Devil was right, too. In purely utilitarian terms, if Bill never knew, then he couldn’t re-assess his opinion of me.
The devil was winning. I could feel my eyes starting to twitch.
“Wait!” Cried the angel. “Just...wait. What about the golden rule. Do you want your trust betrayed? How do you want to be treated.”
“Yeah!” Agreed the devil. “How *do* you want to be treated? How about being treated as a winner? And you know how you get to be treated as a winner? You win. Don’t you want to win?”
I *did* want to win.
“And it would be so easy. All you need to do is to just...look down. Just for a second.”
Christ. It *would* be easy.
“Yeah. So easy. To betray your friendship. To betray your love for eachother. To betray--”
I looked.
I saw Bill’s point of view on the bottom half of the TV. He was rounding the corner to the room I was in. I ducked behind a wall, and took aim. Bill ran into the room. I put the cross-hairs on his head and...
It was over. The devil had won. I betrayed my friend.
But I had won too. And it felt good.
Next to me, Bill snorted, gave me a shove, and then opened a beer while he waited to respawn. “Fucking screen-watcher.”
|
Sunlight burned orange through the gun-smoke. Arrick coughed into his fist, winced at the blood that spattered his hand and rolled onto his back. Around him the wreck he had made lay still, like some twisted masterpiece; an eternal moment seared into his memory. Men and women lay scattered about, rent into inhuman shapes by the many hands of death. Using the wall for support he dragged himself upright, and staggered for the door. The click of a cocking hammer stopped him short.
“Don’t you fucking move stranger.” The voice was cracked with grief. Hearing it sent a razor of regret lancing through Arrick’s chest.
“Calm, honey-“
“I ain’t your fucking honey, you hear?” Behind him he heard the stifling of a sob. “Turn around and look at me you sonofabitch.” Arrick closed his eyes and held his guilt at bay a moment longer. Then he turned. A young woman; a whore if he had to guess, stood opposite him. Tears streaked her face, and blood streaked her hands, her dress was torn, and in her shaking hand, she held a six-shooter.
“I just want you to know why-“
“Shut your fucking mouth!” She screamed over him, and her free hand came flying up to join its counterpart and wrapped around the butt of the gun. The barrel palsied in the air before him, and with a heavy heart he realised that he would not die here. “I want you to know something, stranger. I want you to see my face when I shoot you dead. I want you to say the names of them you killed.” Her expression flickered between rage and grief, and Arrick could see the madness seeping in as she gazed at the carnage around them. She steeled herself, and met his eyes once more;
“Jody and Michael.” She whispered the names softly, “Brett, James, and Al.” With every name she spoke her voice gained a little more steel and her hands steadied. “Sasha and Ed. Agnes and Lily, and Kyle, and Freda, and Bob.” He stood still and waited till she was done. “Look me in my eye you sonofabitch and say the names!”
He took a step forward and stared into the storm within her eyes. “No.” He said simply. She screamed in wordless grief when his hand caught the barrel of the revolver. He wrenched the gun upwards and three shots blasted into the roof. His fist crashed into her temple and knocked her sprawling into a table. He pulled his own gun free and ended her pleading with a single bullet.
As he stumbled through the blood and the dust, out of the wreck he had made of the town and down the trail to home, he felt like weeping, but could bring no tears to wash away the shame of what he had done.
He arrived at home a broken man; a wordless, staring shell of a man. He fell to his knees beside the graveside; one hand traced the lines of her name, while the other was locked white-knuckle tight around the handle of his gun.
“I found her, honey.” He whispered through his tears, “I made them pay for what they had done. All of them, I gave no mercy.” He choked on his words as they tumbled out; “But they had her so fucked up she didn’t even recognise me. She cursed me for what I’d done to the monsters who stole her from me. From us.” He curled up foetal atop the grave of his wife. “She called me stranger… And I couldn’t stop myself.”
When he awoke the sun was rising, and from horizon to horizon all he could see was the desolation that was his world now. The ground was all ash, and dust, and blood. The sky was a veil of filthy, yellowed clouds. Only the sun shone bright in the wasteland, but its light did not touch him. All the light had gone from his life. He stared down, unblinking, at the gun he held in his bloody hand, and saw his only escape. He raised it to his temple and the creak of the trigger before the shot was the last thing he ever heard.
Sunlight burned orange through the gun-smoke.
|
Here's a couple to get you thinking, feel free to use these, or make your own.
* Is one famous or important person worth more than thousands of unimportant people?
* What would you do for a billion dollars?
* Death penalty, or other controversial topic.
* At what point is it okay to kill, steal, etc.?
Explore all the ins and outs of these topics, don't stick with your opinion, look from others. | [WP] Pick a moral conundrum, and weave it into a story that will give me something to think about. | I always had thought that the “devil and angel on the shoulder-thing” was silly. But perhaps I had never had a moral quandary strong enough to make me understand.
Until tonight.
I started innocently enough.
“No one would even know.”
That was the opening salvo of the devil. And he was right. How could anyone possibly know? Who *could* know?
“*You* would know.”
Fucking god-damned fucking angel. Of course, he is the one to pick that argument. Who uses that line, except smug little self-righteous bastards. I mean, shit. If no one but me knew, then what harm could it do? Right?
“Exactly.” Said the devil.
“But it isn’t fair.” The angel reminded me.
“Hey, I got news for you honey.” Said the devil. “Life ain’t fair. Maybe you ought to bring that one up with your boss, you know. And, while we wait another two-thousand years for an answer, our boy here can get things done.”
I started to sweat. First, just my forehead, but then my hands as well. My best friend, Bill, sat next to me, totally oblivious to my internal monologue. Totally uncaring. Totally trusting.
“And guess what? There is a reason he trusts you -- because you act in a trustworthy manner.” The angel was right on point. I mean, the way you earn friendship and trust is not by betraying trust. Right?
“But he *will. never. know*. Did you forget about that part?”
Shit. Devil was right, too. In purely utilitarian terms, if Bill never knew, then he couldn’t re-assess his opinion of me.
The devil was winning. I could feel my eyes starting to twitch.
“Wait!” Cried the angel. “Just...wait. What about the golden rule. Do you want your trust betrayed? How do you want to be treated.”
“Yeah!” Agreed the devil. “How *do* you want to be treated? How about being treated as a winner? And you know how you get to be treated as a winner? You win. Don’t you want to win?”
I *did* want to win.
“And it would be so easy. All you need to do is to just...look down. Just for a second.”
Christ. It *would* be easy.
“Yeah. So easy. To betray your friendship. To betray your love for eachother. To betray--”
I looked.
I saw Bill’s point of view on the bottom half of the TV. He was rounding the corner to the room I was in. I ducked behind a wall, and took aim. Bill ran into the room. I put the cross-hairs on his head and...
It was over. The devil had won. I betrayed my friend.
But I had won too. And it felt good.
Next to me, Bill snorted, gave me a shove, and then opened a beer while he waited to respawn. “Fucking screen-watcher.”
| My girlfriend's name is Mary Jane, as her parents became older and grew into their respectability, they tried to claim she was named after the character from the Spiderman comics or after an Irish grandmother on her mother's side. Anything really, other than Ma and Pa being stoners who thought it was a good idea at the time.
Mary Jane embraces her name, she thinks her parents are amusing with their upstanding citizenship. Not in a malicious way, their is nothing about Mary Jane that is nasty, she just smiles at her folks and carries on trying to convert them to whatever cause she's championing this week. Because that's what my girl is all about, she's like an elite amateur activist, she gets behind a cause and devotes her whole ideal to it.
I had actually met Mary Jane through her activism; during fresher's week she was distributing leaflets for organ donation. I had no clue what she was handing out, I just thought she looked endearing with her tee shirt and a pony tail bobbing from the back of her head. It wasn't until I had gotten back to my dorm and was looking at her phone number on the flyer that I saw what was typed on in it in a garish font, "Live life, then give life."
I felt queasy just looking at it, I thought at the time I should just lose Mary Jane's number, surely if this was the sort of thing she supported than pretty girl or not she wasn't the girl for me. Still, there was something about her, some intangible quality, despite her parent's poor judgement around the time of her conception and birth, she was (is) articulate, funny and enthusiastic about her misguided beliefs.
When my Dad rang after Sunday Service we talked at length, he advised me to talk to the Good Lord but warned me of Satan's uses of temptresses in the hearts of righteous people. We came up with a plan, our own type of activism, Dad got the prayer group involved and we worked out our scheme, "Save Mary Jane". We are going to show her how the devil is working through her misguided altruism, we're made in God's image and if he wanted us whole it would happen in the blink of an eye. Organ donation is just Satan playing on our fears, using science to break the will of the prayerful.
Join me brothers and sisters, #savemaryjane let's stop the evil of organ donation in it's tracks!
...........................................................
(Author disclaimer: this is the views of my character, not me. You can't take them with you!) |
Here's a couple to get you thinking, feel free to use these, or make your own.
* Is one famous or important person worth more than thousands of unimportant people?
* What would you do for a billion dollars?
* Death penalty, or other controversial topic.
* At what point is it okay to kill, steal, etc.?
Explore all the ins and outs of these topics, don't stick with your opinion, look from others. | [WP] Pick a moral conundrum, and weave it into a story that will give me something to think about. | One thing they should mention in the pamphlet is that if you lack a sense of smell, war is a perfect place for you. Otherwise, unless you enjoy a cocktail of corpses, vomit, feces and rats strewn around like kites, you would best stay home.
It was late April, and the spring shows had arrived in full force. I was stationed in a small town named Ypres, which appropriately enough was small enough that you would assume nothing of significance would occur. Being of Belgian blood which immigrated to Canada, the outbreak of war brought me back to this now desecrated cemetery of bodies.
The rains and artillery made it such that we couldn't move anywhere with ease. Our offensives, as were the Germans, were wholly and completely futile. My position near the front as a post guard, I had the luxury of having an umbrella, camouflaged by mud and twigs.
An unusually strong artillery from the Germans came one day, and alerts were on high. No sign of the German advance, but a brutal pounding on our trenches made for difficult work. Hours and hours the shells rained down upon us, filling our brown graveyards with debris.
Then, it just stopped. It all happened at once. A pure and serene silence, like the silence before the storm. A storm which you are on a skipper with a hole in the back that you haven't noticed, and the sails are torn. You are without food and supplies and nothing can save you.
A gigantic wave of frenzied Germans advanced on our position. I went running as I heard their whistle. "ADVANCE, 100 YARDS!"
The mud sloshed against my boots as I trudged towards my commanding officer. Only when I found the shell of a man I once called 'sir' riddled with shrapnel did I search for the leftover of my company.
A sewer of fresh blood and shit everywhere littered the side of the trenches. My mind numbed as the Germans kept advancing. Their shots ringing out, coming closer and closer to my position.
I had no rifle. I only had my side arm and a knife. There was no one around. My platoon and what appeared to be company had fallen back.
I was alone.
I hid in a cubbyhole where we had kept some of our hay in a room for resting, to keep it dry and found a rifle. I fixed the bayonet.
Then I waited. For them to come.
Covering my spot with the hay, I took shallow breaths. Each one more ragged than the one before. A nightmare among the living, a cold and bitter feeling went soaring through my body.
Then I saw the first one. A German soldier. Old, wrinkled face with the kaiser helmet, rifle in hand, tired and worn to the bone. He was a veteran. I could barely see it until he took off his helmet. His eyes were sad, dull cow eyes numbed from the war. Then I heard a sound.
"Papa?"
A young boy, no more than 18 years of age, not old enough to have felt the warmth of a woman walked in. The resemblance was striking.
I didn't understand what conversation they had, but in a haste, I shuffled too much trying to reach for my knife. The conversation stopped. My heart pounded.
I saw them through the hay, both peering over to where I was hiding. The father began walking over with his rifle in hand.
I had to make a decision.
Quickly spraying the man with hay, I charged head on with the bayonet fixed rifle, launching it straight into the center of the man's chest. His son screamed.
I pulled my revolver and pointed it at the son, who hurriedly had raised his arms, quickly stealing a glance at his father.
The old man was dying. I had managed to place the blade directly into the center of the heart, a lucky jab.
The father, trying to look up at his son, croaked something softly to which the son's only reply was, "Papa?"
In a split second, I made another decision. I had to kill the boy in order to live another day. The bullet that exited the gun entered the boy's head from his left eye. By the time he fell to the floor, the father's eyes connected with mine.
The hatred, the fear and the sadness in his eyes struck me like a rifle round. His eyes seemed to say that I would meet him in hell soon, if not today. Even with his last breath, he kept his eyes on mine.
Live to fight another day, to kill a child and father together. | There was a boy, Alston. Not a boy, in age respect, but a boy deep down, because aren't we all?
23 years old, an aspiring novelist but the kind that daydreamed all the time, instead of doing. To become one of the greats in his passion, he will be, he thought to himself. Most would daydream on perhaps what one could write and the stories he could tell. But no, the glory of being famous what was he most desired.
Shallow of him isn't it? Oh but is it? You see, Alston was a virgin. Never dated a girl, never kissed. Social anxiety - he blamed. He had a hard time socializing, even with his own gender. He didn't know what to talk about, he was too self aware, and self-centered.
In the absence of love in his life, he confused true love and sex. And so he was motivated in his dreams, to be a glorified writer so women would flocked to him in the masses. Fame and money attracted woman of superficiality, but Alston convinced himself that at least one woman would love him over time, truly for who he was. Though initially she would be interested only in his wealth, they would grow together. So was he shallow to seek love through such superficial means?
The devil appeared before Alston one day, offered him a choice many men would not refuse. To kill someone, anyone, in order to have the rest of your life spent with the woman of your dreams. It was a very easy choice for Alston. It was a perfect escape for him from his predicament: the only way for Alston to not spend the rest of his life alone, and to die devoid of love.
A man before Alston appeared, hooded, and tied to a chair. A glock in Alston hands, he aimed at the man in the chair and fired. The devil told him to take the hood off the man.
It was his father. For a moment, he seemed to choke. Only a moment. Then Alston said:
"Where's my woman?"
|
Here's a couple to get you thinking, feel free to use these, or make your own.
* Is one famous or important person worth more than thousands of unimportant people?
* What would you do for a billion dollars?
* Death penalty, or other controversial topic.
* At what point is it okay to kill, steal, etc.?
Explore all the ins and outs of these topics, don't stick with your opinion, look from others. | [WP] Pick a moral conundrum, and weave it into a story that will give me something to think about. | I always had thought that the “devil and angel on the shoulder-thing” was silly. But perhaps I had never had a moral quandary strong enough to make me understand.
Until tonight.
I started innocently enough.
“No one would even know.”
That was the opening salvo of the devil. And he was right. How could anyone possibly know? Who *could* know?
“*You* would know.”
Fucking god-damned fucking angel. Of course, he is the one to pick that argument. Who uses that line, except smug little self-righteous bastards. I mean, shit. If no one but me knew, then what harm could it do? Right?
“Exactly.” Said the devil.
“But it isn’t fair.” The angel reminded me.
“Hey, I got news for you honey.” Said the devil. “Life ain’t fair. Maybe you ought to bring that one up with your boss, you know. And, while we wait another two-thousand years for an answer, our boy here can get things done.”
I started to sweat. First, just my forehead, but then my hands as well. My best friend, Bill, sat next to me, totally oblivious to my internal monologue. Totally uncaring. Totally trusting.
“And guess what? There is a reason he trusts you -- because you act in a trustworthy manner.” The angel was right on point. I mean, the way you earn friendship and trust is not by betraying trust. Right?
“But he *will. never. know*. Did you forget about that part?”
Shit. Devil was right, too. In purely utilitarian terms, if Bill never knew, then he couldn’t re-assess his opinion of me.
The devil was winning. I could feel my eyes starting to twitch.
“Wait!” Cried the angel. “Just...wait. What about the golden rule. Do you want your trust betrayed? How do you want to be treated.”
“Yeah!” Agreed the devil. “How *do* you want to be treated? How about being treated as a winner? And you know how you get to be treated as a winner? You win. Don’t you want to win?”
I *did* want to win.
“And it would be so easy. All you need to do is to just...look down. Just for a second.”
Christ. It *would* be easy.
“Yeah. So easy. To betray your friendship. To betray your love for eachother. To betray--”
I looked.
I saw Bill’s point of view on the bottom half of the TV. He was rounding the corner to the room I was in. I ducked behind a wall, and took aim. Bill ran into the room. I put the cross-hairs on his head and...
It was over. The devil had won. I betrayed my friend.
But I had won too. And it felt good.
Next to me, Bill snorted, gave me a shove, and then opened a beer while he waited to respawn. “Fucking screen-watcher.”
| There was a boy, Alston. Not a boy, in age respect, but a boy deep down, because aren't we all?
23 years old, an aspiring novelist but the kind that daydreamed all the time, instead of doing. To become one of the greats in his passion, he will be, he thought to himself. Most would daydream on perhaps what one could write and the stories he could tell. But no, the glory of being famous what was he most desired.
Shallow of him isn't it? Oh but is it? You see, Alston was a virgin. Never dated a girl, never kissed. Social anxiety - he blamed. He had a hard time socializing, even with his own gender. He didn't know what to talk about, he was too self aware, and self-centered.
In the absence of love in his life, he confused true love and sex. And so he was motivated in his dreams, to be a glorified writer so women would flocked to him in the masses. Fame and money attracted woman of superficiality, but Alston convinced himself that at least one woman would love him over time, truly for who he was. Though initially she would be interested only in his wealth, they would grow together. So was he shallow to seek love through such superficial means?
The devil appeared before Alston one day, offered him a choice many men would not refuse. To kill someone, anyone, in order to have the rest of your life spent with the woman of your dreams. It was a very easy choice for Alston. It was a perfect escape for him from his predicament: the only way for Alston to not spend the rest of his life alone, and to die devoid of love.
A man before Alston appeared, hooded, and tied to a chair. A glock in Alston hands, he aimed at the man in the chair and fired. The devil told him to take the hood off the man.
It was his father. For a moment, he seemed to choke. Only a moment. Then Alston said:
"Where's my woman?"
|
[WP] You are an alien commander briefing your troops on the human enemy and their seemingly magical abilities to sense your kind, an alien race with no sense of sight. | "We engage in two hours. I won't kid you, this is the easiest alien race we ever encountered. " commander stomped his foot. "Our weapons are only slightly better, but we found one huge weakness on these creatures, you see they have something similar to our sonar sense- instead they look for solar deflection, they call it sight"
The room drowned in laughter, someone in the middle yelled out "they are like our pets" . Commander stomped foot , "you are correct, that is their extra sense, and how they know where to shoot their weapons" commander. "We have abducted a few of them years ago and after numerous tests, it is clear that at night their primary sense is down, and they are practically defenceless."
"We will land in the night at their army bases, and disable them. By morning humans will not have armies, and will quickly surrender."
Two hours after the speech, to utter amazement of soldiers all over US, alien spacecraft landed in the middle of their bases and real life aliens have stumbled out of them. To utter alien amazement, they were quickly surrounded and disarmed, their equipment detected some kind of artificial light. | Hrothgorians, this cycle, we face an enemy unlike any other. Countless worlds have fallen before us. Many without any retaliation. This battle is different. Somehow, these "humans" are aware of us.
Despite centuries of perfecting our combat skins, they sense us. How exactly, is beyond even our best thinkers. Our skins hide everything, pheromones, electromagnetic and thermal radiation, designed to be completely silent, and absorb even the sound waves other species produce. Even the mental emissions that screwed us on prtiss.
These humans are a fresh challenge. They don't use energy based weaponry, they use chemical explosions to propel matter forth at high velocities. I hear the scoffing, and you are damned fools. They can project a single pellet of matter at well above the speed of sound, and strike accurately from a distance that is equal to three of our beorn class warships.
We have one advantage though. Whatever tech they use to sense us, it is mounted on the top of the creatures, and also happens to be the area that ensures the quickest kill. The device they use is also not omnidirectional. Thier pheremone sensing organ is on the same side as whatever the hell they use to detect us. Look for that and attack from the opposite side. | |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | *Almost there…*
I open the door to the bathroom
*GOD DAMNIT!*
There was someone already using a bathroom stall...
*Oh well he will understand…*
As I take a seat in the only other stall I hear the man really pushing.
*Just get it done and over with…*
I hear the door open and someone is on their cell phone talking loudly.
*I hate it when people talk on their cell phones. I’m trying to concentrate here…*
I hear my stall buddy sneeze.
*Bless you.*
….”Thank you?”
| James went with Shaun to Geno’s for lunch as per usual, more uncomfortable than normal. Shaun noticed quickly and blurted:
“Alright what the hell is with you man?”
“Nothing” leaked out of James’ mouth.
“C’mon I want to eat comfortably here.”
“Fine fine. Uh, well, you know those random thoughts you get? The ones where you’re like, where the fuck did that come from?” James said with a quiver.
“Nah not really man. I mean, at least I don’t think so.”
“Like, I have bad thoughts sometimes, just random images, like punching a person in the face. It just feels like they’re not mine, not my thoughts.”
“…Yeah I never think of stuff like that, the most ‘random’ thing I think of is a new topping for nachos.”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s not all the time” James stammered to end the conversation.
Once at home James sat on his futon that doubled as an oversized thong.
When the TV clicked on it immediately showed the classic yellow police tape.
“Reports are saying 5 are dead. It is unclear whether this is related to the other string of murders that have occurred in the last month”
*Stupid fucks*
“What the hell is wrong with me?” James said aloud
The TV chimes in again with “It appears one of the dead is a child. Truly gruesome.”
*Less kids the better I always say*
“What the fuck!” James threw the remote and turned off the TV in one simultaneous motion.
Night always seemed to be the worst for James, where the thoughts really flooded in. Sleep was always limited. Dreams, foggy nightmares of torture. It had been for as long as he could remember, an unwavering feeling of evil within him. Doctors said he was “Schizoid,” not the full blown thing, since beyond the thoughts he functioned just fine. He felt so strongly they weren’t his, but feared for years he would act on them. Meds never helped; it was either be a zombie or have unfortunate thoughts.
He closed his eyes tightly as a futile attempt to ward off the thoughts.
*This fucker is dead*
Charlie grabbed his temples in vain.
*One two three four I’m knocking at your door*
He heard a pounding on his door. This had never happened, but James figured that the thoughts were bound to line up with real life at some point. Either way, is was 2am, he wasn’t getting out of bed.
*Come on you little bitch*
The door knob wiggled mockingly.
*You’re making me impatient*
The pounding switched to thuds
*Alright pal, here I come*
A disheveled man burst through the door brandishing a butcher knife.
*Nice studio*
With that James felt the knife enter his being. Consciousness quickly faded. As he left the world it all dawned on him. He shared thoughts with this man. Intentional or no, this man was ending James’ part of the equation. To this man, James thoughts of goodness were likely just as unwanted. The man would become complete unrelenting evil in mere minutes.
James tried to get a glimpse of the man before he passed on, just to know who had plagued him all these years. When he turned and looked up he saw the man watching him, smiling. Not a word was spoken. No proclamation of evil before the murder. James turned away from the bastard. The thoughts had stopped at this point, whether it was because the man wasn’t thinking or James was just dying. That aspect was nice at least.
Before James let out his final breath, James decided to turn back one last time to look at his anti-kindred spirit. James saw the man’s smile falter a little bit, the face reacting before the onset of a thought.
*Goodbye, old friend.*
| |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | Hi dear reddit community,
this is my first attempt at writing and to get experience and critics I decided to give a shot at these word prompts. Would appreciate every little bit of critique even if it is all bad .
Ps: Sorry for my bad englisch , since it isnt my first language.
Mind:"I want to kill you "
"Huh, what did he say"
I thought to myself.
I look around the classroom but everything is normal.
Mr patterson is still reading from the textbook with his incredibly sleep intoxicating voice.
"Shit,not again" I thought to myself.
My hearts is racing and my pulse is beating quickly while my face is turning pale.
This is the third time , I heard voices out of nowhere.
"It's ok , It's ok just a little sleep deprivation. Everything is alright . My mind will be back to normal after I sleep a little
bit. "
But in the end I couldn't fool myself. I knew this was more than a little lack of sleep.
The voice was just too real and with a different voice no less.
I raised my hand and said :" Ehm Mr Patterson, I'm not feeling very good. Can I go Home ?. "
"Huh Yeah,Yeah but dont forget to report to the nurse".
"Thanks" and with that I stormed out of school heading home.
It all began several days ago when I enrolled into my new High school.
At first I didnt even really notice it and thought it would go away after a while , but as time went by this strange voice grew louder and more frequent.
I searched through the Internet and books to find a solution but I couldnt find anything.
I grew tense and my stress level kept piling up.
"What am I supposed to do.This cant be normal right .
At least earlier this voice wasn't so strange but lately it has become darker and more malicious".
I grew frantic. Fear crept through my body like a tidal wave.
"What is happening to me " "Am i sick ,am i going to die. NOO I DONT WANT TO DIE." I screamed:""SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME".
Suddenly my mum rushed in : "Alex are you ok , you were screaming ?!" mom asked with a concerned voice.
I snapped out of it and replied "I am ok mom jus a bad dream . Dont worry!!". I tried to ease her worries.
"Are you sure ?""Yeah , if you dont mind ,I want to go back to sleep again . Rough day at school."
"Well ok , but if something is worrying you you can always talk to me. "
"Thank you.". Finally my mom left and closed the door.
"No good , gotta calm down, cant worry my family about this. They have enough stress as it is. And panickin won't solve anything." After a little bit of thinking I decided to go to sleep.
Mind:"If you want to know the answers to your problem, come to the school!!".
I immediately woke up and opened my eyes. It was midnight . Lights were out everywhere ,and silence ruled the streets.
"That voice again . But is it speaking to me ?"
Mind: "If you want to know the answers to your problem come to school!!".
"To school? But why ? Is it a trap? And what does my problem have to do anything with school".
Thinking such thoughts i contemplated whether i should go to school or not.
But in the end I decided to go. It never was a choice really. I knew if i want this voice to go away i had to take action.
And right know listening to the voice is the only thing i could do.
"I should bring along a weapon. Better safe then sorry."
With a knife in hand i took off to school.
1 o clock .
I stood before the school enterance hesistating to go in. Basking under the light of the stars the building emminated a creepy aura.
I knew uncounciously I was just imagining this feeling but at that moment it felt more real than anything else.
"Maybe I schould go back". Doubt began to grow in my heart.
"Come to room 101" .
In an instant all my doubts flew away . "That voice again. better go in" - I rushed inside the scool.
I stood before the room 101 with my hand on the door handle.
"Something is very off". I had a bad premonition.
Nevertheless my curiosity took the better off me and I went in.
As I took in the scene before my eyes my face grew ashen. My mind went blank.
"Wh Wh- What" I took two steps back until I stumbled under my two feet and fell with my butt on the ground.
"Wahhhhhh" I screamed .
Before my eyes a horryfying scene was displayed ,what only can be found in the most sadistic psycho movies.
Mr Pattersons corpse was lying on the floor comepletly multilated and shredded.
The organs oozed from its body while blood was flowing everwhere around the classroom.
" Finally I thought you would never come. Now stop looking like an idiot and help me get rid of the corpse."
I regained my senses and looked at the person before the corpse. With blood everywhere on his body he talked to me like it was just a normal occurence.
"M- Mathew?! d-d-d did you do this. "
"Duh . Didnt know you for a guy to ask stupid questions. Now stop gaping and help me with this corpse."
I was shocked. Of everything I expected ,this is defenitely more worse than anything. Trying to clear my head i shook myself. There has to be a reason for this.
"Why did you do this?"
Mathew smiled and answered:"To get your obedience. You are now a murderer . I planted enough crucial evidence to trace this murder to you. So if you dont want to end up in jail for the rest of your life you better obey me. "
Murder ? Evidence? Me? My mind was in turmoil. Is this really Mathew. The quiet kid in class . the kid who everone ignored? Trying to clear my mind I kept askin questions?
"BB-ut why me?"
"What ? You don't know? Because we are Brain Buddies. I can hear your thoughts and you can hear mine. Just needs a little bit of practice. And a very useful thing to have for my goal."
Brain Buddies? What is he talking about. With all things happening and he speaking of new things , my brain was too overwhelmed to process everything. But one question kept popping up .what does he mean with his goal ?
"What do you mean with goal ? And what goal is so important that you would commit murder?"
A malicious grin spread around Mathews mouth"To conquer the world." | James went with Shaun to Geno’s for lunch as per usual, more uncomfortable than normal. Shaun noticed quickly and blurted:
“Alright what the hell is with you man?”
“Nothing” leaked out of James’ mouth.
“C’mon I want to eat comfortably here.”
“Fine fine. Uh, well, you know those random thoughts you get? The ones where you’re like, where the fuck did that come from?” James said with a quiver.
“Nah not really man. I mean, at least I don’t think so.”
“Like, I have bad thoughts sometimes, just random images, like punching a person in the face. It just feels like they’re not mine, not my thoughts.”
“…Yeah I never think of stuff like that, the most ‘random’ thing I think of is a new topping for nachos.”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s not all the time” James stammered to end the conversation.
Once at home James sat on his futon that doubled as an oversized thong.
When the TV clicked on it immediately showed the classic yellow police tape.
“Reports are saying 5 are dead. It is unclear whether this is related to the other string of murders that have occurred in the last month”
*Stupid fucks*
“What the hell is wrong with me?” James said aloud
The TV chimes in again with “It appears one of the dead is a child. Truly gruesome.”
*Less kids the better I always say*
“What the fuck!” James threw the remote and turned off the TV in one simultaneous motion.
Night always seemed to be the worst for James, where the thoughts really flooded in. Sleep was always limited. Dreams, foggy nightmares of torture. It had been for as long as he could remember, an unwavering feeling of evil within him. Doctors said he was “Schizoid,” not the full blown thing, since beyond the thoughts he functioned just fine. He felt so strongly they weren’t his, but feared for years he would act on them. Meds never helped; it was either be a zombie or have unfortunate thoughts.
He closed his eyes tightly as a futile attempt to ward off the thoughts.
*This fucker is dead*
Charlie grabbed his temples in vain.
*One two three four I’m knocking at your door*
He heard a pounding on his door. This had never happened, but James figured that the thoughts were bound to line up with real life at some point. Either way, is was 2am, he wasn’t getting out of bed.
*Come on you little bitch*
The door knob wiggled mockingly.
*You’re making me impatient*
The pounding switched to thuds
*Alright pal, here I come*
A disheveled man burst through the door brandishing a butcher knife.
*Nice studio*
With that James felt the knife enter his being. Consciousness quickly faded. As he left the world it all dawned on him. He shared thoughts with this man. Intentional or no, this man was ending James’ part of the equation. To this man, James thoughts of goodness were likely just as unwanted. The man would become complete unrelenting evil in mere minutes.
James tried to get a glimpse of the man before he passed on, just to know who had plagued him all these years. When he turned and looked up he saw the man watching him, smiling. Not a word was spoken. No proclamation of evil before the murder. James turned away from the bastard. The thoughts had stopped at this point, whether it was because the man wasn’t thinking or James was just dying. That aspect was nice at least.
Before James let out his final breath, James decided to turn back one last time to look at his anti-kindred spirit. James saw the man’s smile falter a little bit, the face reacting before the onset of a thought.
*Goodbye, old friend.*
| |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | In my mind's eye, I saw her face. Her green, almond eyes, and her aquiline nose. Her braided, brunette hair. Her thinly, elegant lips. She wore a green, baggy college sweatshirt, with the words "NOTRE DAME" plastered in white. She held her pajama'd legs close to her heart as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror of her room. Her tear-stained cheeks spoke more words than her thoughts could process.
I never met her. And I loved her.
I remember when I turned 13. It was a Tuesday. Definitely a Tuesday. My parents didn't get me anything that year, except for their leftover tacos from Taco Tuesdays at O'Houlihan's Pub. But the greatest gift didn't come with a side of pico de gallo. It came from my new brain buddy.
Some people believe that, when our bodies begin the process of puberty, our minds' powers expand beyond the limits and understandings of science. Others simply write it off as "a surge in schizophrenic episodes." April was real. April is real.
On that birthday, she was the only one who listened. She could hear every thought that echoed through my body. She felt my pain, my laughter, my rage, and I felt her sadness. We were afraid we were going crazy, but we took solace in knowing that the craziest people in the world never felt alone.
We would talk with our thoughts. *I need inspiration to get myself out of bed,* I would frequently think. Moments later, she always thought right back: *I'll inspire you, if you inspire me.* We were our biggest cheerleaders when we were down. Our biggest supporters when the weight of the world was too heavy. We were connected.
I've always wanted to meet April, ever since she showed me a picture of herself in high school. She would stare intently at a photo, and paint for me breathtaking portraits. Every now and then, the image would distort. Her nose would grow, her teeth would become crooked. So I would help. I would take the image in her mind's eye, and show her what I saw: a beautiful woman, inside and out.
I never met April. And I loved her.
*I still do.*
It's been ten years since our first conversation. We've grown up, gone to college, found adult jobs. We talk daily, though, sometimes, she'd ask if I could "compartmentalize" a little more. Lines drawn in the sand. Acceptable, even encouraged.
Sometimes we'd fight. Loud thoughts hurt just as much as loud screams. But we always made up, because we knew each other inside and out. And, for what it's worth, we embraced each other, when we could barely embrace ourselves.
For all intents and purposes, we were soulmates. But I never imagined that, on a rainy Tuesday, in a small town outside Kansas City, in a small coffee shop off Main and Cedar, I would find her in front of me, ordering a macchiato and a cookie. We came to the same realization at the same time: *You.*
I asked her if she wanted to sit, to talk for a few minutes. Instead, we sat in silence, and stared. Minutes felt like hours. She left quietly, with a murmur of "I have to go." I watched her leave, the woman of my dreams.
She was inconsolable when she got home. I tried telling her, *We weren't ready. Maybe if we planned a meeting, so we can actually meet each other...*
But she drowned me out in her depression.
I never met April. And I loved her.
*I still do.* | James went with Shaun to Geno’s for lunch as per usual, more uncomfortable than normal. Shaun noticed quickly and blurted:
“Alright what the hell is with you man?”
“Nothing” leaked out of James’ mouth.
“C’mon I want to eat comfortably here.”
“Fine fine. Uh, well, you know those random thoughts you get? The ones where you’re like, where the fuck did that come from?” James said with a quiver.
“Nah not really man. I mean, at least I don’t think so.”
“Like, I have bad thoughts sometimes, just random images, like punching a person in the face. It just feels like they’re not mine, not my thoughts.”
“…Yeah I never think of stuff like that, the most ‘random’ thing I think of is a new topping for nachos.”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s not all the time” James stammered to end the conversation.
Once at home James sat on his futon that doubled as an oversized thong.
When the TV clicked on it immediately showed the classic yellow police tape.
“Reports are saying 5 are dead. It is unclear whether this is related to the other string of murders that have occurred in the last month”
*Stupid fucks*
“What the hell is wrong with me?” James said aloud
The TV chimes in again with “It appears one of the dead is a child. Truly gruesome.”
*Less kids the better I always say*
“What the fuck!” James threw the remote and turned off the TV in one simultaneous motion.
Night always seemed to be the worst for James, where the thoughts really flooded in. Sleep was always limited. Dreams, foggy nightmares of torture. It had been for as long as he could remember, an unwavering feeling of evil within him. Doctors said he was “Schizoid,” not the full blown thing, since beyond the thoughts he functioned just fine. He felt so strongly they weren’t his, but feared for years he would act on them. Meds never helped; it was either be a zombie or have unfortunate thoughts.
He closed his eyes tightly as a futile attempt to ward off the thoughts.
*This fucker is dead*
Charlie grabbed his temples in vain.
*One two three four I’m knocking at your door*
He heard a pounding on his door. This had never happened, but James figured that the thoughts were bound to line up with real life at some point. Either way, is was 2am, he wasn’t getting out of bed.
*Come on you little bitch*
The door knob wiggled mockingly.
*You’re making me impatient*
The pounding switched to thuds
*Alright pal, here I come*
A disheveled man burst through the door brandishing a butcher knife.
*Nice studio*
With that James felt the knife enter his being. Consciousness quickly faded. As he left the world it all dawned on him. He shared thoughts with this man. Intentional or no, this man was ending James’ part of the equation. To this man, James thoughts of goodness were likely just as unwanted. The man would become complete unrelenting evil in mere minutes.
James tried to get a glimpse of the man before he passed on, just to know who had plagued him all these years. When he turned and looked up he saw the man watching him, smiling. Not a word was spoken. No proclamation of evil before the murder. James turned away from the bastard. The thoughts had stopped at this point, whether it was because the man wasn’t thinking or James was just dying. That aspect was nice at least.
Before James let out his final breath, James decided to turn back one last time to look at his anti-kindred spirit. James saw the man’s smile falter a little bit, the face reacting before the onset of a thought.
*Goodbye, old friend.*
| |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | You know those thoughts that randomly pop into your head,completely unrelated to what you where thinking.I always thought that's just how the brain works.Losing your train of thought and hoping on to a new one is normal.
Well it is normal apparently,just not in the way I thought it was.
One day I was just at the supermarket getting some food,looking at some avocados.I had a craving for them.
Suddenly I thought,while holding an avocado,that I too could buy some avocados.I was stunned by that thought.Just as I was telling myself it was just a brain fart,I turned left to see a stunned man staring at me.
Then another thought
*that's was so creepy, the way he twitched as if he heard me.*
Now hearing that was creepy.
He turned with his whole body and stared at me still holding that damn avocado.It be funny if it weren't so...so...so, a coincidence I told myself.
Yes,all just a big coincidence,we can't possibly be hearing each others minds,right?
In my head almost as if in anothers voice I heard
*Are we like brain buddies or...something?*
It just escaped me, I repeated it quietly under my breath.
>*brain buddies*
.
>**Did you just say brain buddies**.
He dropped the avocado as he yelled it.Before glaring with an open mouth.
*I must be dreaming.It was just surreal.
And on top of that I dropped my avocado,which is annoying since I picked the best one.*
*He did pick the best one.I want that one too.Maybe he won't want it now that's it's been on the floor so long.*
>**No I still want it,stay away from my avocado and get out of my head**
.
>Oh yeah,what if I just take your precious avocado,haaa?
.
>You wouldn't dare
*Who does this guy think he is I would love to bash hi....It is quite interesting though how we can hear each others thoughts,but it seems only a part.I wonder how many thought were actually mine,Are the other people with brain buddies,are...*
*It is quite interesting.I hope he gets lost in thought and forgets about the avocado.*
>I ain't forgetting about the avacado,It's mine.
.
>Does it have your name on it?
.
>Why you little...
Well this went on a little too long,to cut it short that was the day I got banned from the local supermarket.Man they had the best avocados there.
Oh and also the brain buddies thing.
| James went with Shaun to Geno’s for lunch as per usual, more uncomfortable than normal. Shaun noticed quickly and blurted:
“Alright what the hell is with you man?”
“Nothing” leaked out of James’ mouth.
“C’mon I want to eat comfortably here.”
“Fine fine. Uh, well, you know those random thoughts you get? The ones where you’re like, where the fuck did that come from?” James said with a quiver.
“Nah not really man. I mean, at least I don’t think so.”
“Like, I have bad thoughts sometimes, just random images, like punching a person in the face. It just feels like they’re not mine, not my thoughts.”
“…Yeah I never think of stuff like that, the most ‘random’ thing I think of is a new topping for nachos.”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s not all the time” James stammered to end the conversation.
Once at home James sat on his futon that doubled as an oversized thong.
When the TV clicked on it immediately showed the classic yellow police tape.
“Reports are saying 5 are dead. It is unclear whether this is related to the other string of murders that have occurred in the last month”
*Stupid fucks*
“What the hell is wrong with me?” James said aloud
The TV chimes in again with “It appears one of the dead is a child. Truly gruesome.”
*Less kids the better I always say*
“What the fuck!” James threw the remote and turned off the TV in one simultaneous motion.
Night always seemed to be the worst for James, where the thoughts really flooded in. Sleep was always limited. Dreams, foggy nightmares of torture. It had been for as long as he could remember, an unwavering feeling of evil within him. Doctors said he was “Schizoid,” not the full blown thing, since beyond the thoughts he functioned just fine. He felt so strongly they weren’t his, but feared for years he would act on them. Meds never helped; it was either be a zombie or have unfortunate thoughts.
He closed his eyes tightly as a futile attempt to ward off the thoughts.
*This fucker is dead*
Charlie grabbed his temples in vain.
*One two three four I’m knocking at your door*
He heard a pounding on his door. This had never happened, but James figured that the thoughts were bound to line up with real life at some point. Either way, is was 2am, he wasn’t getting out of bed.
*Come on you little bitch*
The door knob wiggled mockingly.
*You’re making me impatient*
The pounding switched to thuds
*Alright pal, here I come*
A disheveled man burst through the door brandishing a butcher knife.
*Nice studio*
With that James felt the knife enter his being. Consciousness quickly faded. As he left the world it all dawned on him. He shared thoughts with this man. Intentional or no, this man was ending James’ part of the equation. To this man, James thoughts of goodness were likely just as unwanted. The man would become complete unrelenting evil in mere minutes.
James tried to get a glimpse of the man before he passed on, just to know who had plagued him all these years. When he turned and looked up he saw the man watching him, smiling. Not a word was spoken. No proclamation of evil before the murder. James turned away from the bastard. The thoughts had stopped at this point, whether it was because the man wasn’t thinking or James was just dying. That aspect was nice at least.
Before James let out his final breath, James decided to turn back one last time to look at his anti-kindred spirit. James saw the man’s smile falter a little bit, the face reacting before the onset of a thought.
*Goodbye, old friend.*
| |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | I feel like I don’t always know myself. I mean, I guess that’s not uncommon - many people don’t feel comfortable in their own skin. Normally, I do feel comfortable, but my recent breakup made the subconscious voices louder in my head and I was a little off lately. Who doesn’t occasionally think “why did I do that?” or “hmmm, I never thought about it like that but it seems perfectly obvious” or even the more practical “why did I come into this room?” And then there are the more bizarre thoughts we all have like “if I just suddenly took a few steps forward, I could jump off this building and nothing would stop my fall but the pavement below.” They say when you have those thoughts, it means you’re mentally healthy because you have the rational mind to understand the consequences of that kind of action and it keeps you in check. I don’t know if I buy that. Those dark thoughts are, after all, dark and foreboding, and I’m generally an upbeat kind of guy. And besides, they had gated the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower long ago, so really, it was just a passing thought.
I got a bit of a chill at these thoughts, so I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stepped back from the ledge.
“The view is a bit unnerving, isn’t it?” a voice behind me said. Its owner’s hand touched my shoulder stopping me from backing up farther. I nearly stepped on his toes.
“Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was behind me.” He nodded casually with a *no worries* look on his face. “I don’t know,” I continued, “I kind of like heights. When I’m on the ground I feel… contained. Up here, I’m free. I can see everything, look over it all, and I enjoy how everything flows.” I took my hand out of my pocket and waved it over the view to emphasize my point.
“You’re a braver man than I. This is as close as I get.” He paused then took a step back to demonstrate his opinion. I smiled.
“I’m Sam,” he extended his hand.
*He looks like a Sam*, I thought as I shook his hand. “Ethan,” I offered. “Nice to meet you.”
Sam was one of those guys you just instantly liked. He had a friendly face, looked you in the eye, and the conversation was always easy, effortless. I felt like I’d known him for years. “You too,” he smiled back. “You here on holiday, I take it?”
“Yeah, I flew in from Los Angeles two days ago.” Sam looked around, a little puzzled. “Oh, I came alone. Long story.” I shook my head, expecting to leave it at that, but I was compelled to explain. Sam was easy to talk to. I shrugged. “I was engaged to be married. Three days ago was the wedding, but… Things happen. Anyway, we’re not together anymore and I couldn’t let the honeymoon tickets go to waste. I sold one and kept the other, so here I am.”
“Sorry to hear that, mate,” he clapped me on the shoulder. “Look, if you’re not busy, how about you join me and the misuses for lunch?”
“Oh I couldn’t intrude,” I began but was cut off by someone else approaching.
“What do you think, Sam?” A beautiful woman skipped up to Sam and wrapped one arm around his waist. “Lovely, I say, but I can’t shake the thought from my head that if these gate things weren’t here, I could step forward and just toss myself off!” She swept her free arm wide to demonstrate, and nearly hit me.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” she clapped her hand over her mouth, apologetically. “I honestly didn’t see you there.” And then she frowned. “You must think I’m mad. I don’t *really* want to toss myself off the tower. I just have these weird thoughts all the time. They say it’s alright to have them, because it means you’re aware of actions and consequences.”
“Laura, this is Ethan. He’s on holiday and I’ve invited him to lunch with us.”
“Wonderful!” Laura smiled and shook my hand vigorously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Then her tone changed and she frowned. “Oh, on holiday alone? Did someone...? I mean…” and she was fumbling awkwardly. Was it that obvious I had come alone? Maybe my wife was just around the corner for all Laura knew.
“No, no,” I said. “It’s okay. I mean, yes, someone did, but it’s okay. Shall we?” I pointed to the elevator.
I sat down with my fresh frites and quickly burned my fingers. Laura gasped with me and empathicly stuck her fingers in her mouth as if trying to sooth mine. I resisted the urge to mirror that action and resorted to cooling them on my cold drink. We lunched on the benches at the base of the tower and chatted about nothing really. Laura was chatty but I liked talking to Sam. It was almost an attraction and I had to shake it out of my head more than once. Laura clung to him like he was going to get away if she didn’t. I couldn’t shake the thought of her empathic gesture and the way she mirrored my dark thought about jumping from the tower. And then there was this strange attraction to Sam.
I focused my thoughts on the back of my neck. *Let’s see if I can make myself itch*. I thought of leaves brushing the back of my neck. Nope. Not itchy. I thought of bugs crawling around there. A little tingly at this thought. Then I imagined the bug biting down hard.
Laura reached up and slapped the back of her neck. “Ouch!”
“You alright?” Sam asked. Laura nodded. Sam continued to talk but I wasn’t listening.
*The back of my leg*, I thought. *A bug is climbing on the back of my leg*. Laura reached down and scratched the back of her leg.
*Okay, this is really weird,* I thought. *My chest. I’m going to grab my breast, now*. I smiled to myself. This was a little twisted but I was getting lost in the fun of it. Laura slowly reached her hand up to her chest, then stopped suddenly.
She looked up from her frites and stared me in the eye. Her voice, yes it was most definitely her voice echoing loudly in my head: “Don’t you dare, Ethan! And quit eyeballing my husband.” | James went with Shaun to Geno’s for lunch as per usual, more uncomfortable than normal. Shaun noticed quickly and blurted:
“Alright what the hell is with you man?”
“Nothing” leaked out of James’ mouth.
“C’mon I want to eat comfortably here.”
“Fine fine. Uh, well, you know those random thoughts you get? The ones where you’re like, where the fuck did that come from?” James said with a quiver.
“Nah not really man. I mean, at least I don’t think so.”
“Like, I have bad thoughts sometimes, just random images, like punching a person in the face. It just feels like they’re not mine, not my thoughts.”
“…Yeah I never think of stuff like that, the most ‘random’ thing I think of is a new topping for nachos.”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s not all the time” James stammered to end the conversation.
Once at home James sat on his futon that doubled as an oversized thong.
When the TV clicked on it immediately showed the classic yellow police tape.
“Reports are saying 5 are dead. It is unclear whether this is related to the other string of murders that have occurred in the last month”
*Stupid fucks*
“What the hell is wrong with me?” James said aloud
The TV chimes in again with “It appears one of the dead is a child. Truly gruesome.”
*Less kids the better I always say*
“What the fuck!” James threw the remote and turned off the TV in one simultaneous motion.
Night always seemed to be the worst for James, where the thoughts really flooded in. Sleep was always limited. Dreams, foggy nightmares of torture. It had been for as long as he could remember, an unwavering feeling of evil within him. Doctors said he was “Schizoid,” not the full blown thing, since beyond the thoughts he functioned just fine. He felt so strongly they weren’t his, but feared for years he would act on them. Meds never helped; it was either be a zombie or have unfortunate thoughts.
He closed his eyes tightly as a futile attempt to ward off the thoughts.
*This fucker is dead*
Charlie grabbed his temples in vain.
*One two three four I’m knocking at your door*
He heard a pounding on his door. This had never happened, but James figured that the thoughts were bound to line up with real life at some point. Either way, is was 2am, he wasn’t getting out of bed.
*Come on you little bitch*
The door knob wiggled mockingly.
*You’re making me impatient*
The pounding switched to thuds
*Alright pal, here I come*
A disheveled man burst through the door brandishing a butcher knife.
*Nice studio*
With that James felt the knife enter his being. Consciousness quickly faded. As he left the world it all dawned on him. He shared thoughts with this man. Intentional or no, this man was ending James’ part of the equation. To this man, James thoughts of goodness were likely just as unwanted. The man would become complete unrelenting evil in mere minutes.
James tried to get a glimpse of the man before he passed on, just to know who had plagued him all these years. When he turned and looked up he saw the man watching him, smiling. Not a word was spoken. No proclamation of evil before the murder. James turned away from the bastard. The thoughts had stopped at this point, whether it was because the man wasn’t thinking or James was just dying. That aspect was nice at least.
Before James let out his final breath, James decided to turn back one last time to look at his anti-kindred spirit. James saw the man’s smile falter a little bit, the face reacting before the onset of a thought.
*Goodbye, old friend.*
| |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | In my mind's eye, I saw her face. Her green, almond eyes, and her aquiline nose. Her braided, brunette hair. Her thinly, elegant lips. She wore a green, baggy college sweatshirt, with the words "NOTRE DAME" plastered in white. She held her pajama'd legs close to her heart as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror of her room. Her tear-stained cheeks spoke more words than her thoughts could process.
I never met her. And I loved her.
I remember when I turned 13. It was a Tuesday. Definitely a Tuesday. My parents didn't get me anything that year, except for their leftover tacos from Taco Tuesdays at O'Houlihan's Pub. But the greatest gift didn't come with a side of pico de gallo. It came from my new brain buddy.
Some people believe that, when our bodies begin the process of puberty, our minds' powers expand beyond the limits and understandings of science. Others simply write it off as "a surge in schizophrenic episodes." April was real. April is real.
On that birthday, she was the only one who listened. She could hear every thought that echoed through my body. She felt my pain, my laughter, my rage, and I felt her sadness. We were afraid we were going crazy, but we took solace in knowing that the craziest people in the world never felt alone.
We would talk with our thoughts. *I need inspiration to get myself out of bed,* I would frequently think. Moments later, she always thought right back: *I'll inspire you, if you inspire me.* We were our biggest cheerleaders when we were down. Our biggest supporters when the weight of the world was too heavy. We were connected.
I've always wanted to meet April, ever since she showed me a picture of herself in high school. She would stare intently at a photo, and paint for me breathtaking portraits. Every now and then, the image would distort. Her nose would grow, her teeth would become crooked. So I would help. I would take the image in her mind's eye, and show her what I saw: a beautiful woman, inside and out.
I never met April. And I loved her.
*I still do.*
It's been ten years since our first conversation. We've grown up, gone to college, found adult jobs. We talk daily, though, sometimes, she'd ask if I could "compartmentalize" a little more. Lines drawn in the sand. Acceptable, even encouraged.
Sometimes we'd fight. Loud thoughts hurt just as much as loud screams. But we always made up, because we knew each other inside and out. And, for what it's worth, we embraced each other, when we could barely embrace ourselves.
For all intents and purposes, we were soulmates. But I never imagined that, on a rainy Tuesday, in a small town outside Kansas City, in a small coffee shop off Main and Cedar, I would find her in front of me, ordering a macchiato and a cookie. We came to the same realization at the same time: *You.*
I asked her if she wanted to sit, to talk for a few minutes. Instead, we sat in silence, and stared. Minutes felt like hours. She left quietly, with a murmur of "I have to go." I watched her leave, the woman of my dreams.
She was inconsolable when she got home. I tried telling her, *We weren't ready. Maybe if we planned a meeting, so we can actually meet each other...*
But she drowned me out in her depression.
I never met April. And I loved her.
*I still do.* | *Almost there…*
I open the door to the bathroom
*GOD DAMNIT!*
There was someone already using a bathroom stall...
*Oh well he will understand…*
As I take a seat in the only other stall I hear the man really pushing.
*Just get it done and over with…*
I hear the door open and someone is on their cell phone talking loudly.
*I hate it when people talk on their cell phones. I’m trying to concentrate here…*
I hear my stall buddy sneeze.
*Bless you.*
….”Thank you?”
| |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | You know those thoughts that randomly pop into your head,completely unrelated to what you where thinking.I always thought that's just how the brain works.Losing your train of thought and hoping on to a new one is normal.
Well it is normal apparently,just not in the way I thought it was.
One day I was just at the supermarket getting some food,looking at some avocados.I had a craving for them.
Suddenly I thought,while holding an avocado,that I too could buy some avocados.I was stunned by that thought.Just as I was telling myself it was just a brain fart,I turned left to see a stunned man staring at me.
Then another thought
*that's was so creepy, the way he twitched as if he heard me.*
Now hearing that was creepy.
He turned with his whole body and stared at me still holding that damn avocado.It be funny if it weren't so...so...so, a coincidence I told myself.
Yes,all just a big coincidence,we can't possibly be hearing each others minds,right?
In my head almost as if in anothers voice I heard
*Are we like brain buddies or...something?*
It just escaped me, I repeated it quietly under my breath.
>*brain buddies*
.
>**Did you just say brain buddies**.
He dropped the avocado as he yelled it.Before glaring with an open mouth.
*I must be dreaming.It was just surreal.
And on top of that I dropped my avocado,which is annoying since I picked the best one.*
*He did pick the best one.I want that one too.Maybe he won't want it now that's it's been on the floor so long.*
>**No I still want it,stay away from my avocado and get out of my head**
.
>Oh yeah,what if I just take your precious avocado,haaa?
.
>You wouldn't dare
*Who does this guy think he is I would love to bash hi....It is quite interesting though how we can hear each others thoughts,but it seems only a part.I wonder how many thought were actually mine,Are the other people with brain buddies,are...*
*It is quite interesting.I hope he gets lost in thought and forgets about the avocado.*
>I ain't forgetting about the avacado,It's mine.
.
>Does it have your name on it?
.
>Why you little...
Well this went on a little too long,to cut it short that was the day I got banned from the local supermarket.Man they had the best avocados there.
Oh and also the brain buddies thing.
| *Almost there…*
I open the door to the bathroom
*GOD DAMNIT!*
There was someone already using a bathroom stall...
*Oh well he will understand…*
As I take a seat in the only other stall I hear the man really pushing.
*Just get it done and over with…*
I hear the door open and someone is on their cell phone talking loudly.
*I hate it when people talk on their cell phones. I’m trying to concentrate here…*
I hear my stall buddy sneeze.
*Bless you.*
….”Thank you?”
| |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | I feel like I don’t always know myself. I mean, I guess that’s not uncommon - many people don’t feel comfortable in their own skin. Normally, I do feel comfortable, but my recent breakup made the subconscious voices louder in my head and I was a little off lately. Who doesn’t occasionally think “why did I do that?” or “hmmm, I never thought about it like that but it seems perfectly obvious” or even the more practical “why did I come into this room?” And then there are the more bizarre thoughts we all have like “if I just suddenly took a few steps forward, I could jump off this building and nothing would stop my fall but the pavement below.” They say when you have those thoughts, it means you’re mentally healthy because you have the rational mind to understand the consequences of that kind of action and it keeps you in check. I don’t know if I buy that. Those dark thoughts are, after all, dark and foreboding, and I’m generally an upbeat kind of guy. And besides, they had gated the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower long ago, so really, it was just a passing thought.
I got a bit of a chill at these thoughts, so I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stepped back from the ledge.
“The view is a bit unnerving, isn’t it?” a voice behind me said. Its owner’s hand touched my shoulder stopping me from backing up farther. I nearly stepped on his toes.
“Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was behind me.” He nodded casually with a *no worries* look on his face. “I don’t know,” I continued, “I kind of like heights. When I’m on the ground I feel… contained. Up here, I’m free. I can see everything, look over it all, and I enjoy how everything flows.” I took my hand out of my pocket and waved it over the view to emphasize my point.
“You’re a braver man than I. This is as close as I get.” He paused then took a step back to demonstrate his opinion. I smiled.
“I’m Sam,” he extended his hand.
*He looks like a Sam*, I thought as I shook his hand. “Ethan,” I offered. “Nice to meet you.”
Sam was one of those guys you just instantly liked. He had a friendly face, looked you in the eye, and the conversation was always easy, effortless. I felt like I’d known him for years. “You too,” he smiled back. “You here on holiday, I take it?”
“Yeah, I flew in from Los Angeles two days ago.” Sam looked around, a little puzzled. “Oh, I came alone. Long story.” I shook my head, expecting to leave it at that, but I was compelled to explain. Sam was easy to talk to. I shrugged. “I was engaged to be married. Three days ago was the wedding, but… Things happen. Anyway, we’re not together anymore and I couldn’t let the honeymoon tickets go to waste. I sold one and kept the other, so here I am.”
“Sorry to hear that, mate,” he clapped me on the shoulder. “Look, if you’re not busy, how about you join me and the misuses for lunch?”
“Oh I couldn’t intrude,” I began but was cut off by someone else approaching.
“What do you think, Sam?” A beautiful woman skipped up to Sam and wrapped one arm around his waist. “Lovely, I say, but I can’t shake the thought from my head that if these gate things weren’t here, I could step forward and just toss myself off!” She swept her free arm wide to demonstrate, and nearly hit me.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” she clapped her hand over her mouth, apologetically. “I honestly didn’t see you there.” And then she frowned. “You must think I’m mad. I don’t *really* want to toss myself off the tower. I just have these weird thoughts all the time. They say it’s alright to have them, because it means you’re aware of actions and consequences.”
“Laura, this is Ethan. He’s on holiday and I’ve invited him to lunch with us.”
“Wonderful!” Laura smiled and shook my hand vigorously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Then her tone changed and she frowned. “Oh, on holiday alone? Did someone...? I mean…” and she was fumbling awkwardly. Was it that obvious I had come alone? Maybe my wife was just around the corner for all Laura knew.
“No, no,” I said. “It’s okay. I mean, yes, someone did, but it’s okay. Shall we?” I pointed to the elevator.
I sat down with my fresh frites and quickly burned my fingers. Laura gasped with me and empathicly stuck her fingers in her mouth as if trying to sooth mine. I resisted the urge to mirror that action and resorted to cooling them on my cold drink. We lunched on the benches at the base of the tower and chatted about nothing really. Laura was chatty but I liked talking to Sam. It was almost an attraction and I had to shake it out of my head more than once. Laura clung to him like he was going to get away if she didn’t. I couldn’t shake the thought of her empathic gesture and the way she mirrored my dark thought about jumping from the tower. And then there was this strange attraction to Sam.
I focused my thoughts on the back of my neck. *Let’s see if I can make myself itch*. I thought of leaves brushing the back of my neck. Nope. Not itchy. I thought of bugs crawling around there. A little tingly at this thought. Then I imagined the bug biting down hard.
Laura reached up and slapped the back of her neck. “Ouch!”
“You alright?” Sam asked. Laura nodded. Sam continued to talk but I wasn’t listening.
*The back of my leg*, I thought. *A bug is climbing on the back of my leg*. Laura reached down and scratched the back of her leg.
*Okay, this is really weird,* I thought. *My chest. I’m going to grab my breast, now*. I smiled to myself. This was a little twisted but I was getting lost in the fun of it. Laura slowly reached her hand up to her chest, then stopped suddenly.
She looked up from her frites and stared me in the eye. Her voice, yes it was most definitely her voice echoing loudly in my head: “Don’t you dare, Ethan! And quit eyeballing my husband.” | *Almost there…*
I open the door to the bathroom
*GOD DAMNIT!*
There was someone already using a bathroom stall...
*Oh well he will understand…*
As I take a seat in the only other stall I hear the man really pushing.
*Just get it done and over with…*
I hear the door open and someone is on their cell phone talking loudly.
*I hate it when people talk on their cell phones. I’m trying to concentrate here…*
I hear my stall buddy sneeze.
*Bless you.*
….”Thank you?”
| |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | You know those thoughts that randomly pop into your head,completely unrelated to what you where thinking.I always thought that's just how the brain works.Losing your train of thought and hoping on to a new one is normal.
Well it is normal apparently,just not in the way I thought it was.
One day I was just at the supermarket getting some food,looking at some avocados.I had a craving for them.
Suddenly I thought,while holding an avocado,that I too could buy some avocados.I was stunned by that thought.Just as I was telling myself it was just a brain fart,I turned left to see a stunned man staring at me.
Then another thought
*that's was so creepy, the way he twitched as if he heard me.*
Now hearing that was creepy.
He turned with his whole body and stared at me still holding that damn avocado.It be funny if it weren't so...so...so, a coincidence I told myself.
Yes,all just a big coincidence,we can't possibly be hearing each others minds,right?
In my head almost as if in anothers voice I heard
*Are we like brain buddies or...something?*
It just escaped me, I repeated it quietly under my breath.
>*brain buddies*
.
>**Did you just say brain buddies**.
He dropped the avocado as he yelled it.Before glaring with an open mouth.
*I must be dreaming.It was just surreal.
And on top of that I dropped my avocado,which is annoying since I picked the best one.*
*He did pick the best one.I want that one too.Maybe he won't want it now that's it's been on the floor so long.*
>**No I still want it,stay away from my avocado and get out of my head**
.
>Oh yeah,what if I just take your precious avocado,haaa?
.
>You wouldn't dare
*Who does this guy think he is I would love to bash hi....It is quite interesting though how we can hear each others thoughts,but it seems only a part.I wonder how many thought were actually mine,Are the other people with brain buddies,are...*
*It is quite interesting.I hope he gets lost in thought and forgets about the avocado.*
>I ain't forgetting about the avacado,It's mine.
.
>Does it have your name on it?
.
>Why you little...
Well this went on a little too long,to cut it short that was the day I got banned from the local supermarket.Man they had the best avocados there.
Oh and also the brain buddies thing.
| Hi dear reddit community,
this is my first attempt at writing and to get experience and critics I decided to give a shot at these word prompts. Would appreciate every little bit of critique even if it is all bad .
Ps: Sorry for my bad englisch , since it isnt my first language.
Mind:"I want to kill you "
"Huh, what did he say"
I thought to myself.
I look around the classroom but everything is normal.
Mr patterson is still reading from the textbook with his incredibly sleep intoxicating voice.
"Shit,not again" I thought to myself.
My hearts is racing and my pulse is beating quickly while my face is turning pale.
This is the third time , I heard voices out of nowhere.
"It's ok , It's ok just a little sleep deprivation. Everything is alright . My mind will be back to normal after I sleep a little
bit. "
But in the end I couldn't fool myself. I knew this was more than a little lack of sleep.
The voice was just too real and with a different voice no less.
I raised my hand and said :" Ehm Mr Patterson, I'm not feeling very good. Can I go Home ?. "
"Huh Yeah,Yeah but dont forget to report to the nurse".
"Thanks" and with that I stormed out of school heading home.
It all began several days ago when I enrolled into my new High school.
At first I didnt even really notice it and thought it would go away after a while , but as time went by this strange voice grew louder and more frequent.
I searched through the Internet and books to find a solution but I couldnt find anything.
I grew tense and my stress level kept piling up.
"What am I supposed to do.This cant be normal right .
At least earlier this voice wasn't so strange but lately it has become darker and more malicious".
I grew frantic. Fear crept through my body like a tidal wave.
"What is happening to me " "Am i sick ,am i going to die. NOO I DONT WANT TO DIE." I screamed:""SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME".
Suddenly my mum rushed in : "Alex are you ok , you were screaming ?!" mom asked with a concerned voice.
I snapped out of it and replied "I am ok mom jus a bad dream . Dont worry!!". I tried to ease her worries.
"Are you sure ?""Yeah , if you dont mind ,I want to go back to sleep again . Rough day at school."
"Well ok , but if something is worrying you you can always talk to me. "
"Thank you.". Finally my mom left and closed the door.
"No good , gotta calm down, cant worry my family about this. They have enough stress as it is. And panickin won't solve anything." After a little bit of thinking I decided to go to sleep.
Mind:"If you want to know the answers to your problem, come to the school!!".
I immediately woke up and opened my eyes. It was midnight . Lights were out everywhere ,and silence ruled the streets.
"That voice again . But is it speaking to me ?"
Mind: "If you want to know the answers to your problem come to school!!".
"To school? But why ? Is it a trap? And what does my problem have to do anything with school".
Thinking such thoughts i contemplated whether i should go to school or not.
But in the end I decided to go. It never was a choice really. I knew if i want this voice to go away i had to take action.
And right know listening to the voice is the only thing i could do.
"I should bring along a weapon. Better safe then sorry."
With a knife in hand i took off to school.
1 o clock .
I stood before the school enterance hesistating to go in. Basking under the light of the stars the building emminated a creepy aura.
I knew uncounciously I was just imagining this feeling but at that moment it felt more real than anything else.
"Maybe I schould go back". Doubt began to grow in my heart.
"Come to room 101" .
In an instant all my doubts flew away . "That voice again. better go in" - I rushed inside the scool.
I stood before the room 101 with my hand on the door handle.
"Something is very off". I had a bad premonition.
Nevertheless my curiosity took the better off me and I went in.
As I took in the scene before my eyes my face grew ashen. My mind went blank.
"Wh Wh- What" I took two steps back until I stumbled under my two feet and fell with my butt on the ground.
"Wahhhhhh" I screamed .
Before my eyes a horryfying scene was displayed ,what only can be found in the most sadistic psycho movies.
Mr Pattersons corpse was lying on the floor comepletly multilated and shredded.
The organs oozed from its body while blood was flowing everwhere around the classroom.
" Finally I thought you would never come. Now stop looking like an idiot and help me get rid of the corpse."
I regained my senses and looked at the person before the corpse. With blood everywhere on his body he talked to me like it was just a normal occurence.
"M- Mathew?! d-d-d did you do this. "
"Duh . Didnt know you for a guy to ask stupid questions. Now stop gaping and help me with this corpse."
I was shocked. Of everything I expected ,this is defenitely more worse than anything. Trying to clear my head i shook myself. There has to be a reason for this.
"Why did you do this?"
Mathew smiled and answered:"To get your obedience. You are now a murderer . I planted enough crucial evidence to trace this murder to you. So if you dont want to end up in jail for the rest of your life you better obey me. "
Murder ? Evidence? Me? My mind was in turmoil. Is this really Mathew. The quiet kid in class . the kid who everone ignored? Trying to clear my mind I kept askin questions?
"BB-ut why me?"
"What ? You don't know? Because we are Brain Buddies. I can hear your thoughts and you can hear mine. Just needs a little bit of practice. And a very useful thing to have for my goal."
Brain Buddies? What is he talking about. With all things happening and he speaking of new things , my brain was too overwhelmed to process everything. But one question kept popping up .what does he mean with his goal ?
"What do you mean with goal ? And what goal is so important that you would commit murder?"
A malicious grin spread around Mathews mouth"To conquer the world." | |
[WP]Everyone on earth has a "brain buddy", half the time you hear their thoughts, and half the time they hear your thoughts. Nobody has ever realised this or met their brain buddy, until you find yours accidentally. | I feel like I don’t always know myself. I mean, I guess that’s not uncommon - many people don’t feel comfortable in their own skin. Normally, I do feel comfortable, but my recent breakup made the subconscious voices louder in my head and I was a little off lately. Who doesn’t occasionally think “why did I do that?” or “hmmm, I never thought about it like that but it seems perfectly obvious” or even the more practical “why did I come into this room?” And then there are the more bizarre thoughts we all have like “if I just suddenly took a few steps forward, I could jump off this building and nothing would stop my fall but the pavement below.” They say when you have those thoughts, it means you’re mentally healthy because you have the rational mind to understand the consequences of that kind of action and it keeps you in check. I don’t know if I buy that. Those dark thoughts are, after all, dark and foreboding, and I’m generally an upbeat kind of guy. And besides, they had gated the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower long ago, so really, it was just a passing thought.
I got a bit of a chill at these thoughts, so I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stepped back from the ledge.
“The view is a bit unnerving, isn’t it?” a voice behind me said. Its owner’s hand touched my shoulder stopping me from backing up farther. I nearly stepped on his toes.
“Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was behind me.” He nodded casually with a *no worries* look on his face. “I don’t know,” I continued, “I kind of like heights. When I’m on the ground I feel… contained. Up here, I’m free. I can see everything, look over it all, and I enjoy how everything flows.” I took my hand out of my pocket and waved it over the view to emphasize my point.
“You’re a braver man than I. This is as close as I get.” He paused then took a step back to demonstrate his opinion. I smiled.
“I’m Sam,” he extended his hand.
*He looks like a Sam*, I thought as I shook his hand. “Ethan,” I offered. “Nice to meet you.”
Sam was one of those guys you just instantly liked. He had a friendly face, looked you in the eye, and the conversation was always easy, effortless. I felt like I’d known him for years. “You too,” he smiled back. “You here on holiday, I take it?”
“Yeah, I flew in from Los Angeles two days ago.” Sam looked around, a little puzzled. “Oh, I came alone. Long story.” I shook my head, expecting to leave it at that, but I was compelled to explain. Sam was easy to talk to. I shrugged. “I was engaged to be married. Three days ago was the wedding, but… Things happen. Anyway, we’re not together anymore and I couldn’t let the honeymoon tickets go to waste. I sold one and kept the other, so here I am.”
“Sorry to hear that, mate,” he clapped me on the shoulder. “Look, if you’re not busy, how about you join me and the misuses for lunch?”
“Oh I couldn’t intrude,” I began but was cut off by someone else approaching.
“What do you think, Sam?” A beautiful woman skipped up to Sam and wrapped one arm around his waist. “Lovely, I say, but I can’t shake the thought from my head that if these gate things weren’t here, I could step forward and just toss myself off!” She swept her free arm wide to demonstrate, and nearly hit me.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” she clapped her hand over her mouth, apologetically. “I honestly didn’t see you there.” And then she frowned. “You must think I’m mad. I don’t *really* want to toss myself off the tower. I just have these weird thoughts all the time. They say it’s alright to have them, because it means you’re aware of actions and consequences.”
“Laura, this is Ethan. He’s on holiday and I’ve invited him to lunch with us.”
“Wonderful!” Laura smiled and shook my hand vigorously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Then her tone changed and she frowned. “Oh, on holiday alone? Did someone...? I mean…” and she was fumbling awkwardly. Was it that obvious I had come alone? Maybe my wife was just around the corner for all Laura knew.
“No, no,” I said. “It’s okay. I mean, yes, someone did, but it’s okay. Shall we?” I pointed to the elevator.
I sat down with my fresh frites and quickly burned my fingers. Laura gasped with me and empathicly stuck her fingers in her mouth as if trying to sooth mine. I resisted the urge to mirror that action and resorted to cooling them on my cold drink. We lunched on the benches at the base of the tower and chatted about nothing really. Laura was chatty but I liked talking to Sam. It was almost an attraction and I had to shake it out of my head more than once. Laura clung to him like he was going to get away if she didn’t. I couldn’t shake the thought of her empathic gesture and the way she mirrored my dark thought about jumping from the tower. And then there was this strange attraction to Sam.
I focused my thoughts on the back of my neck. *Let’s see if I can make myself itch*. I thought of leaves brushing the back of my neck. Nope. Not itchy. I thought of bugs crawling around there. A little tingly at this thought. Then I imagined the bug biting down hard.
Laura reached up and slapped the back of her neck. “Ouch!”
“You alright?” Sam asked. Laura nodded. Sam continued to talk but I wasn’t listening.
*The back of my leg*, I thought. *A bug is climbing on the back of my leg*. Laura reached down and scratched the back of her leg.
*Okay, this is really weird,* I thought. *My chest. I’m going to grab my breast, now*. I smiled to myself. This was a little twisted but I was getting lost in the fun of it. Laura slowly reached her hand up to her chest, then stopped suddenly.
She looked up from her frites and stared me in the eye. Her voice, yes it was most definitely her voice echoing loudly in my head: “Don’t you dare, Ethan! And quit eyeballing my husband.” | Clarify this a bit: If half the time you hear them, and half the time they hear you, surely both know where each other lives? Except maybe if the other person thinks in different language.
And if it was in different language, how nobody realizes this? o.O |
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