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[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The Dragon
The young man entered the dragons cave. It was a long haul up the hill and his father's sword weighed heavily upon him as did the ancient Dragon Shield. The shield was made of a single scale of an ancient dragon and the only substance capable of deflecting the dragons fiery breath. The cave was not dark for clinging to the wall thousands of microscopic plants sent forth an eerie blue light. The young man was fearful but resolute in his purpose. Should he succeed in his quest to kill the dragon great power would be his as well as fame and fortune.
He heard a rustling noise and turned to the right. It was a dark alcove and the light from the cave did not penetrate the darkness. He brought his shield around to face it and peeked around the edge. His sword gripped tightly in his hand hovered an inch above the ground and the flash of reflected light and gave away the shaking fear that gripped him.
Slowly, two enormous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The young man could see the iris of each focus upon him.
"So," rumbled a deep cavernous voice from the darkness, "a brave knight summons the courage to challenge me! Know this, I am not easily vanquished and you are but a young lad. Mind you, I appreciate your courage but I discount your intelligence. Whosoever challenges me is a fool and dies by it! However, should you be victorious it will not be as you imagine."
"I may not be strong but I have courage and I will slay you!" Said the young man. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
"Indeed, for that is truer than you know – Then battle it shall be!" Said the Dragon as orange yellow and crimson flame spread across the top of the cave.
The young man sheltered behind the shield as the flames rolled past him. There was a smell of ash and age in the hot flame but he did not lose faith. No, indeed he advanced into the flame pressing his shield ahead and dragging his sword behind him.
The dragons foot stamp down directly in front of his shield and small rocks ricocheted off the walls. The young man did not waver in his purpose. The flame had stopped which allowed him to bring forth his sword and thrust it into the chest of the Dragon before him.
Hot blood spilled from the wound completely covering the young man. The shield and his sword melted in the liquid without a hint of heat. It was a crashing noise as the Dragon fell then there was nothing left but darkness and silence. The young man also fell unconscious to the floor the cave barely aware that his body fell on an enormous stack of gold coins.
The young man awoke feeling a new strength throughout his body. He had rarely felt this good before bit did sometimes after intense physical exercise. The cave was no longer dark. He could see it clearly although the colors tended more towards the red end of the spectrum. Below him and far back into the darkened cave he could see mound after mound of precious gold.
"I am now the richest man in the land!" He thought. Raising his head he shouted, "I am the richest man in the land!"
Something wasn't right. His voice was too deep it reverberated too long off the walls of the cave. His throat burned ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, the cave was illuminated as he saw a long stream of flame before him.
He looked down and saw the melted remains of his sword and shield but they were now tiny. He got up and tried to walk but his back would not allow him to stand erect so he crawled. Moments later he stood outside the cave. Water from a nearby spring pooled a short distance from the entrance. His throat was dry so he went to get a drink. As he looked into the still water the face of a mighty Dragon looked back.
An acid tear sizzled on a rock as the dragon took to the sky driven by hunger.
"Indeed," he thought, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | When I think of home, I think of my red rose bush decadently sitting at the edge of my front lawn. The little aged and weathered garden gnome eternally watching over my small patch of earth. The crow that perches on top of my blue tin mailbox each day, whispering his secrets into the box whenever he wishes.
I also think about the neighbor, Katherine. Her beautiful blonde hair that runs like silk down her neck, and her long slender body that shone every morning as she walked her raggedy brown Scotty dog. She always waved back. She always peered into my house looking for me, wondering where I was, not knowing I was staring back. I wished she stopped by and said hello, and to my surprise she did one day. She caught me while I was in bed. Her yellow sun dress waved in the air and her blonde hair danced in my own living room. It pained me to see her smile turn into a look of shock. A pain rose from my shivered spine as she turned to meet my face. I had to cry as I did it, she had found my secret just like the crow. Wrapped up in a tarp stained in red sitting at my kitchen table awaiting breakfast.
Poor Katherine. She had always waved back.
When I think of home I think of my rose bush, the secretive crow, and my blue tin mailbox. I don't think of the white walls that keep me in. I think of Katherine. Poor Katherine. She still waves from time to time, always trying to peer in to see what I'm doing.
I guess curiosity killed the Kat.
| We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | He had been in therapy for years, but he couldn't shake the habit. It was habitual...no shrink, no drug has ever really helped. Some had quelled the feeling, but nothing could completely kill it. That said, he kept up with the therapy because the court ordered him to, so he walked into the door of yet another new psychiatrists office.
Did that make it six? No, seven. Maybe seven over the past few years, he struggled to remember at this point. It was like asking someone how many times they took a piss last Thursday.
He sat down on the psychiatrists couch.
"So tell me about the latest incident".
He shrugged. Talking about it still made him embarrassed. "I was the supermarket and the urge hit me. I could help myself" he said sheepishly.
"We all have urges sometimes, but what is the attraction to masturbating outside?"
This was a new doctor, so he had to retread old ground with him sometimes.
"Some times, you just need to beat around the bush". | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was useless.
Three years since the accident, and I finally was able to crank out a C+ on an 8th grade general knowledge test. Then came the flood of words, branded into my mind from copious misuse. It was all bullshit. They meant absolutely nothing. I could even watch the way Dr. Vaughn's mouth moved, and know which meaningless phrase was about to be spat upon me.
"You're making real progress here, Fink." he drawled. I could tell his heart wasn't in this any more than mine. Fucking "real progress." It was as if he KNEW I was getting nowhere, but wanted to reaffirm me so I wouldn't give up on myself. Any hope I had for recovery was long gone.
"Yeah, yeah." I muttered as he wheeled me back to my room. Even if I could learn to learn again, I sure as hell wouldn't walk. Well, not for a long time anyways. It's hard to walk after you are run over by a dozing bus driver. Really fucking hard.
The worst part was feeling the same. I could read. I could write. I could speak like an adult. When the accident happened, I was in grad school. Two more months and I would be employed, ready to start my life. But no. Of course not. My fate was sealed from the start of it all. My head is as good as a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom. I can't retain information. It took me three years, and what do I have to show for it? A god damn smiley face sticker next to a C+ with "you're making real progress." Yeah.
The worst part was my family. During holidays I could come home. My mom would cry on the drive over, makeup caked on her face like lavender mud. My dad hardly made eye contact with me anymore. I knew they didn't mean to be disappointed, but I could tell that they were. Their trophy son turned mush-brain, or at least the equivalent of that, condemned to a hospital bed with bi-annual promises to be sent home soon "for good."
"You need any help son?" Dr. Vaughn asked.
"I got it, I got it." I grunt as I pull myself into my bed from the wheelchair.
I zoned out while Dr. Vaughn read some chart to me and chattered about meaningless enzymes and tissue and the works. I knew what I was going to do. I had been planning this for weeks. Dr. Vaughn eventually shut his mouth and left my room. Well, time to write the note, I guess.
"Mom, Dad, and to any whom it may concern,
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of this bullshit and the bills, and for trying to comfort me during these three terrible years. I'm sorry I am not the son that I used to be. I'm sorry I am not smart like used to be. I am so sorry that for all the good you were able to bring into my life, this is how it is going to end."
I paused. My hand trembled as I wrote. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the notepad. Strangely, though, there were no tears at all. Probably because I knew this was what had to be done. I removed the vial from the drawer. It's funny how such a small amount of liquid can make someone's heart seize. I continued writing.
"I know the doctors have been doing their best to get me back to my old self. I know they believe they can reverse a "good chunk" of the brain damage. I know you have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to make me normal again, but I have given up. I think you have given up too. I know you still pay for the therapy, and the operations, but you guys gave up long before I did. I don't blame you. I just don't want to live like this anymore."
With that, I tossed back the vial. I hope that nurse knew what she was talking about. I couldn't afford for this to not work. My vision began to blur. I picked up the pen, and scrawled the rest of my note.
"I'm sorry, and I love you so much. I really don't blame you for anything. I cannot be fixed, and I have no hope of being fixed.
You can't fix stupid." | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | “Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.” | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | *Berlin, 1921.*
*Tears are streaming down my face again as I place the roses on Gunther's grave. He was my best friend. It had been 5 years since his death on the Western Front, 5 years since I lost all faith in modern medicine. He caught a shot in the chest from the Tommies, and I carried him limping to the medics' tent. They told me that it was likely not fatal, that if they could just remove the bullet and seal the wound in time he could return home to his wife and children.*
*But did a stitch in time save?*
*Nein.* | I arrived at L5 today. It’s a fascinating place, this torus. Even after so many years of seeing pictures of it, it still blows me away that something of this scale could be so stable. I’m not staying long though. As impressive as this place is, I have my eyes on something bigger. But don’t mind me. I want the moon. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | When I think of home, I think of my red rose bush decadently sitting at the edge of my front lawn. The little aged and weathered garden gnome eternally watching over my small patch of earth. The crow that perches on top of my blue tin mailbox each day, whispering his secrets into the box whenever he wishes.
I also think about the neighbor, Katherine. Her beautiful blonde hair that runs like silk down her neck, and her long slender body that shone every morning as she walked her raggedy brown Scotty dog. She always waved back. She always peered into my house looking for me, wondering where I was, not knowing I was staring back. I wished she stopped by and said hello, and to my surprise she did one day. She caught me while I was in bed. Her yellow sun dress waved in the air and her blonde hair danced in my own living room. It pained me to see her smile turn into a look of shock. A pain rose from my shivered spine as she turned to meet my face. I had to cry as I did it, she had found my secret just like the crow. Wrapped up in a tarp stained in red sitting at my kitchen table awaiting breakfast.
Poor Katherine. She had always waved back.
When I think of home I think of my rose bush, the secretive crow, and my blue tin mailbox. I don't think of the white walls that keep me in. I think of Katherine. Poor Katherine. She still waves from time to time, always trying to peer in to see what I'm doing.
I guess curiosity killed the Kat.
| I arrived at L5 today. It’s a fascinating place, this torus. Even after so many years of seeing pictures of it, it still blows me away that something of this scale could be so stable. I’m not staying long though. As impressive as this place is, I have my eyes on something bigger. But don’t mind me. I want the moon. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | *Berlin, 1921.*
*Tears are streaming down my face again as I place the roses on Gunther's grave. He was my best friend. It had been 5 years since his death on the Western Front, 5 years since I lost all faith in modern medicine. He caught a shot in the chest from the Tommies, and I carried him limping to the medics' tent. They told me that it was likely not fatal, that if they could just remove the bullet and seal the wound in time he could return home to his wife and children.*
*But did a stitch in time save?*
*Nein.* | Name the antagonist You.
So now, in order to stop the evil You, our protagonist must sacrifice himself/herself. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | *Berlin, 1921.*
*Tears are streaming down my face again as I place the roses on Gunther's grave. He was my best friend. It had been 5 years since his death on the Western Front, 5 years since I lost all faith in modern medicine. He caught a shot in the chest from the Tommies, and I carried him limping to the medics' tent. They told me that it was likely not fatal, that if they could just remove the bullet and seal the wound in time he could return home to his wife and children.*
*But did a stitch in time save?*
*Nein.* | My favorite painter has always been Van Gogh. Ever since I first discovered the world of painting, his work has been like a beacon, guiding me to where I need to go. Which is why my best friend, Emily, texted me yesterday morning and said "OMG Mal, I was at this shop down town and they have the MOST PERFECT replica of a Van Go painting!" I sighed a little as I texted back. She knows how to spell it, but she figures if it sounds right, who cares? "When are we going? :)" "Pick you up in 10!"
I stood outside my dorm building, waiting. But when I saw Emily's car coming, I was shocked to see that it was more than her.
"Uh, hi, Carl..." I said apprehensively. Carl is a guy who lives on the floor of Emily's dorm, halfway across campus. He's had a crush on her since Freshman orientation. And it just so happens that Emily is the nicest person in the world. Literally, she's never once been mean or impolite to *anyone.* So, every single time Carl asks if he can tag along, he's tagging along. No questions asked. The problem is, Carl is... less than normal. In fact, he's so abnormal, he's just plain creepy. I've lost count of how many times he's been caught doing weird things in weird places. But I love Emily, and I know she would be up all night, riddled with guilt, if we told him not to go. So I stayed quiet.
We got to the shop, a small hole-in-the-wall type place, in less than 10 minutes. There wasn't much in the way of outdoor decorations, just a sign that said "Art - Antiques - Ambiance". We walked in, and Emily took me straight to the painting we were looking for. She was right, it was perfect. It had been done by a local artist, and it was beautiful. The only problem was the price tag.
"Oh, Em, I wish you had told me how much it costs."
She scoffed a little bit. "Come on, let's go find someone. This place haggles." I followed her, feeling slightly more hopeful, but not much.
Just as we were walking away, Carl laughed a little. "That one looks like boobs," he said, still laughing his weird laugh. Emily looked back, smiled politely, and kept walking. The painting he had been looking at was of flowers. That's it. Flowers. I shuddered a bit at just how weird Carl is.
We found the shop keep, an elderly man with a cane probably a bit too old to still own a shop, and asked him about the Van Gogh replica. He asked us to lead him to it, which we obliged. Emily made polite conversation as we slowly walked across the shop. I just looked at the carpet, a checker pattern of gray and bright yellow. But I looked up when I heard Emily gasp disgustedly.
Carl was still standing there, in front of his boob flowers. With his dick out. Yanking it. He was actually yanking it to a picture of flowers. He looked over when he heard Emily's gasp. And when he did, he came. All over the flowers. All over my Van Gogh. We all stood there in silence for a moment, except for Carl's labored breath, until the shop keep began... growling. You know, that noise some people make when they're really *really* angry? That, except much more throaty. It was terrifying, really.
He screamed at us to get out of his store. He picked up his cane and charged at Carl, who just ran from the store. I was speechless, but Emily began apologising profusely, which did no good whatsoever. The old man physically pushed us from the store. We stood there for a moment, a bit stunned, before the man opened the door again and threw the two paintings at us. The boob flowers, and my Van Gogh. "TAKE YOUR FILTHY SPUNK WITH YA, AND NEVER COME BACK!"
So that's the story of how my best friend's creepy friend got me a free painting. Easy cum, easy Gogh. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | *Berlin, 1921.*
*Tears are streaming down my face again as I place the roses on Gunther's grave. He was my best friend. It had been 5 years since his death on the Western Front, 5 years since I lost all faith in modern medicine. He caught a shot in the chest from the Tommies, and I carried him limping to the medics' tent. They told me that it was likely not fatal, that if they could just remove the bullet and seal the wound in time he could return home to his wife and children.*
*But did a stitch in time save?*
*Nein.* | Something was discovered a couple months ago: salt pulled from the waters of the challenger deep, when distilled, had incredible healing properties. If taken with any poison, the toxin would be neutralized; if rubbed on a wound, it would close by itself in minutes. At the same time, the water removed from the salt was an incredibly potent fuel; it was now as contested as crude oil was before the discovery. So, while the amazing supersalt was overlooked as "another made-up miracle drug," despite the massive amount of testing, the freshwater was being fought over by world powers. A certain oil company had invested in a fleet that now controlled the waters over the trench, and other forces who wanted to enter had to dive deep to escape their patrols.
So when I, a scientist, went in a submersible to enter the trench – for observation purposes – we didn't go deep enough before entering the area. I had almost expected it to happen; I've always had bad luck. Their soldiers found me and I was immediately brought to a bleak room, where the real-life equivalent of Judge Dredd gave me my sentence for trespassing: death (man, this company sure didn't want any intrusions...). I was then locked in another room with a cup of dark liquid – they were trying to execute me Hunger Games-style.
I then realized their mistake: they didn't force-feed me the drink, but left me to suffer with it. I pulled out the vial of supersalt I had in my pocket (I had managed to convince them a was a strange good-luck charm my sister gave me). So, I went over to the cup, and, knowing that it couldn't hurt me, took all of it with a grain of salt. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | When I think of home, I think of my red rose bush decadently sitting at the edge of my front lawn. The little aged and weathered garden gnome eternally watching over my small patch of earth. The crow that perches on top of my blue tin mailbox each day, whispering his secrets into the box whenever he wishes.
I also think about the neighbor, Katherine. Her beautiful blonde hair that runs like silk down her neck, and her long slender body that shone every morning as she walked her raggedy brown Scotty dog. She always waved back. She always peered into my house looking for me, wondering where I was, not knowing I was staring back. I wished she stopped by and said hello, and to my surprise she did one day. She caught me while I was in bed. Her yellow sun dress waved in the air and her blonde hair danced in my own living room. It pained me to see her smile turn into a look of shock. A pain rose from my shivered spine as she turned to meet my face. I had to cry as I did it, she had found my secret just like the crow. Wrapped up in a tarp stained in red sitting at my kitchen table awaiting breakfast.
Poor Katherine. She had always waved back.
When I think of home I think of my rose bush, the secretive crow, and my blue tin mailbox. I don't think of the white walls that keep me in. I think of Katherine. Poor Katherine. She still waves from time to time, always trying to peer in to see what I'm doing.
I guess curiosity killed the Kat.
| It never made sense why Alice never played with her cat. She did acknowledge him, sort of. A little girl with long brown hair always wearing green dresses made entirely of silk she had everything a child her age could want. Although her parents came from a long line of old money, they always made sure Alice had her chores in which she cared for all of her animals. She had a small dog named Simon and even a Pony called Marie that rested with her family’s other Horses in the stables. She loved her pets. She fed them, took care of them, even showed them off to her friends at school. But for some reason, though, she seemed to be afraid of her cat. He was brown and spotty, almost like a tiger. He loved to play with the other animals ever since her parents brought him home from their house on the beach. None of the animals seemed to want to play with such an overexcited cat, chasing imaginary mice all over the yard. One evening he even broke her mother’s favorite vase while chasing said imaginary friends. This cat, you could say, was not very popular. He didn’t even have a name. Day after day he kept to himself watching Alice play with the others from the window wondering why he had no friends.
One day Alice was taking her mid afternoon nap while all of a sudden, the horses stared to get a little frisky in the barn and made a lot of noise that woke her up suddenly. Even her Pony, Marie, became roweled. She heard her dog bark and wondered what was going on.
“Stop it!” she yelled at her animals.
“What’s going on here?” she uttered.
As she looked around the stable, she saw something weaving around in the hay.
“A mouse! A Mouse!” she screamed.
“Cat! Cat! Where are you? Come and get this mouse!” she yelled some more.
The cat was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was not feeling welcome. Who knows where he wondered off?
“Perhaps another family?” she thought.
Suddenly the mouse was not alone. He had another much bigger mouse with him. The bigger mouse charged at Alice. Scared and frozen, Alice stood in shock as the big vermin headed in her direction, faster and faster.
“Cat!” she screamed and then fell to the floor unconscious.
As Alice awoke in her bed, she realized it was just a dream. Her cat sitting by her bed licking his paws clean.
“Oh, Cat! How I’ve missed you!” she said picking him up and squeezing him tight.
“I guess I don’t know what I’ve got until it’s gone.”
| |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | It never made sense why Alice never played with her cat. She did acknowledge him, sort of. A little girl with long brown hair always wearing green dresses made entirely of silk she had everything a child her age could want. Although her parents came from a long line of old money, they always made sure Alice had her chores in which she cared for all of her animals. She had a small dog named Simon and even a Pony called Marie that rested with her family’s other Horses in the stables. She loved her pets. She fed them, took care of them, even showed them off to her friends at school. But for some reason, though, she seemed to be afraid of her cat. He was brown and spotty, almost like a tiger. He loved to play with the other animals ever since her parents brought him home from their house on the beach. None of the animals seemed to want to play with such an overexcited cat, chasing imaginary mice all over the yard. One evening he even broke her mother’s favorite vase while chasing said imaginary friends. This cat, you could say, was not very popular. He didn’t even have a name. Day after day he kept to himself watching Alice play with the others from the window wondering why he had no friends.
One day Alice was taking her mid afternoon nap while all of a sudden, the horses stared to get a little frisky in the barn and made a lot of noise that woke her up suddenly. Even her Pony, Marie, became roweled. She heard her dog bark and wondered what was going on.
“Stop it!” she yelled at her animals.
“What’s going on here?” she uttered.
As she looked around the stable, she saw something weaving around in the hay.
“A mouse! A Mouse!” she screamed.
“Cat! Cat! Where are you? Come and get this mouse!” she yelled some more.
The cat was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was not feeling welcome. Who knows where he wondered off?
“Perhaps another family?” she thought.
Suddenly the mouse was not alone. He had another much bigger mouse with him. The bigger mouse charged at Alice. Scared and frozen, Alice stood in shock as the big vermin headed in her direction, faster and faster.
“Cat!” she screamed and then fell to the floor unconscious.
As Alice awoke in her bed, she realized it was just a dream. Her cat sitting by her bed licking his paws clean.
“Oh, Cat! How I’ve missed you!” she said picking him up and squeezing him tight.
“I guess I don’t know what I’ve got until it’s gone.”
| |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | He had been in therapy for years, but he couldn't shake the habit. It was habitual...no shrink, no drug has ever really helped. Some had quelled the feeling, but nothing could completely kill it. That said, he kept up with the therapy because the court ordered him to, so he walked into the door of yet another new psychiatrists office.
Did that make it six? No, seven. Maybe seven over the past few years, he struggled to remember at this point. It was like asking someone how many times they took a piss last Thursday.
He sat down on the psychiatrists couch.
"So tell me about the latest incident".
He shrugged. Talking about it still made him embarrassed. "I was the supermarket and the urge hit me. I could help myself" he said sheepishly.
"We all have urges sometimes, but what is the attraction to masturbating outside?"
This was a new doctor, so he had to retread old ground with him sometimes.
"Some times, you just need to beat around the bush". | It never made sense why Alice never played with her cat. She did acknowledge him, sort of. A little girl with long brown hair always wearing green dresses made entirely of silk she had everything a child her age could want. Although her parents came from a long line of old money, they always made sure Alice had her chores in which she cared for all of her animals. She had a small dog named Simon and even a Pony called Marie that rested with her family’s other Horses in the stables. She loved her pets. She fed them, took care of them, even showed them off to her friends at school. But for some reason, though, she seemed to be afraid of her cat. He was brown and spotty, almost like a tiger. He loved to play with the other animals ever since her parents brought him home from their house on the beach. None of the animals seemed to want to play with such an overexcited cat, chasing imaginary mice all over the yard. One evening he even broke her mother’s favorite vase while chasing said imaginary friends. This cat, you could say, was not very popular. He didn’t even have a name. Day after day he kept to himself watching Alice play with the others from the window wondering why he had no friends.
One day Alice was taking her mid afternoon nap while all of a sudden, the horses stared to get a little frisky in the barn and made a lot of noise that woke her up suddenly. Even her Pony, Marie, became roweled. She heard her dog bark and wondered what was going on.
“Stop it!” she yelled at her animals.
“What’s going on here?” she uttered.
As she looked around the stable, she saw something weaving around in the hay.
“A mouse! A Mouse!” she screamed.
“Cat! Cat! Where are you? Come and get this mouse!” she yelled some more.
The cat was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was not feeling welcome. Who knows where he wondered off?
“Perhaps another family?” she thought.
Suddenly the mouse was not alone. He had another much bigger mouse with him. The bigger mouse charged at Alice. Scared and frozen, Alice stood in shock as the big vermin headed in her direction, faster and faster.
“Cat!” she screamed and then fell to the floor unconscious.
As Alice awoke in her bed, she realized it was just a dream. Her cat sitting by her bed licking his paws clean.
“Oh, Cat! How I’ve missed you!” she said picking him up and squeezing him tight.
“I guess I don’t know what I’ve got until it’s gone.”
| |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | It never made sense why Alice never played with her cat. She did acknowledge him, sort of. A little girl with long brown hair always wearing green dresses made entirely of silk she had everything a child her age could want. Although her parents came from a long line of old money, they always made sure Alice had her chores in which she cared for all of her animals. She had a small dog named Simon and even a Pony called Marie that rested with her family’s other Horses in the stables. She loved her pets. She fed them, took care of them, even showed them off to her friends at school. But for some reason, though, she seemed to be afraid of her cat. He was brown and spotty, almost like a tiger. He loved to play with the other animals ever since her parents brought him home from their house on the beach. None of the animals seemed to want to play with such an overexcited cat, chasing imaginary mice all over the yard. One evening he even broke her mother’s favorite vase while chasing said imaginary friends. This cat, you could say, was not very popular. He didn’t even have a name. Day after day he kept to himself watching Alice play with the others from the window wondering why he had no friends.
One day Alice was taking her mid afternoon nap while all of a sudden, the horses stared to get a little frisky in the barn and made a lot of noise that woke her up suddenly. Even her Pony, Marie, became roweled. She heard her dog bark and wondered what was going on.
“Stop it!” she yelled at her animals.
“What’s going on here?” she uttered.
As she looked around the stable, she saw something weaving around in the hay.
“A mouse! A Mouse!” she screamed.
“Cat! Cat! Where are you? Come and get this mouse!” she yelled some more.
The cat was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was not feeling welcome. Who knows where he wondered off?
“Perhaps another family?” she thought.
Suddenly the mouse was not alone. He had another much bigger mouse with him. The bigger mouse charged at Alice. Scared and frozen, Alice stood in shock as the big vermin headed in her direction, faster and faster.
“Cat!” she screamed and then fell to the floor unconscious.
As Alice awoke in her bed, she realized it was just a dream. Her cat sitting by her bed licking his paws clean.
“Oh, Cat! How I’ve missed you!” she said picking him up and squeezing him tight.
“I guess I don’t know what I’ve got until it’s gone.”
| |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | When I think of home, I think of my red rose bush decadently sitting at the edge of my front lawn. The little aged and weathered garden gnome eternally watching over my small patch of earth. The crow that perches on top of my blue tin mailbox each day, whispering his secrets into the box whenever he wishes.
I also think about the neighbor, Katherine. Her beautiful blonde hair that runs like silk down her neck, and her long slender body that shone every morning as she walked her raggedy brown Scotty dog. She always waved back. She always peered into my house looking for me, wondering where I was, not knowing I was staring back. I wished she stopped by and said hello, and to my surprise she did one day. She caught me while I was in bed. Her yellow sun dress waved in the air and her blonde hair danced in my own living room. It pained me to see her smile turn into a look of shock. A pain rose from my shivered spine as she turned to meet my face. I had to cry as I did it, she had found my secret just like the crow. Wrapped up in a tarp stained in red sitting at my kitchen table awaiting breakfast.
Poor Katherine. She had always waved back.
When I think of home I think of my rose bush, the secretive crow, and my blue tin mailbox. I don't think of the white walls that keep me in. I think of Katherine. Poor Katherine. She still waves from time to time, always trying to peer in to see what I'm doing.
I guess curiosity killed the Kat.
| A shock of pain jolted through my head as the car door slammed behind me. I let out a growl as it dissipated to the dull throb as it had been all morning. The depressing convenience store in front of me had been a safe-haven after late nights of drinking- normally nights spent alone. I've come to realize the employees here know me better than any of my friends.
I went to push open the door and slammed into it full force, just to bring another wave of pain to the back of my skull. Through squinted eyes, I look at the door to see in red, capital letters, "PULL." I heeded to the sun-faded suggestion and pulled the door open to have a wave of air-conditioning berrate my face- refreshing.
I stumble towards the coffee machine, itching to drink every last drop I could fit into a cup. As I was about to pull the lever to release the caffeinated goodness, I saw a light flash:
"NOT FRESH IF LIGHT IS BLINKING!"
But it was too late. I needed the coffee. A stale hazelnut scent filled the air and my mouth watered as I brought the cup to my nose.
I shuffled towards the register and set it on the counter in front of the young woman working. *"She must be new,"* I thought as I read "Janet" on her name tag.
She looked at me and smiled, "Do you have your loyalty card?"
I groggily dug into my back pocket only to realize I forgot my wallet. At home. I looked up to her and gave a disappointed smile, "I forgot my wallet at home... Sorry."
Her face lit up, "Oh, well if you know the phone number linked to it, I can look you up!" I rattled off my number as she punched it in. She smiled and looked at me and gave an energetic smile, "Sir, you have enough store credit to get this coffee free!"
I nodded and accepted. For a moment I thought I would have to go without my morning coffee.
But I guess there's credit where it's due. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | A shock of pain jolted through my head as the car door slammed behind me. I let out a growl as it dissipated to the dull throb as it had been all morning. The depressing convenience store in front of me had been a safe-haven after late nights of drinking- normally nights spent alone. I've come to realize the employees here know me better than any of my friends.
I went to push open the door and slammed into it full force, just to bring another wave of pain to the back of my skull. Through squinted eyes, I look at the door to see in red, capital letters, "PULL." I heeded to the sun-faded suggestion and pulled the door open to have a wave of air-conditioning berrate my face- refreshing.
I stumble towards the coffee machine, itching to drink every last drop I could fit into a cup. As I was about to pull the lever to release the caffeinated goodness, I saw a light flash:
"NOT FRESH IF LIGHT IS BLINKING!"
But it was too late. I needed the coffee. A stale hazelnut scent filled the air and my mouth watered as I brought the cup to my nose.
I shuffled towards the register and set it on the counter in front of the young woman working. *"She must be new,"* I thought as I read "Janet" on her name tag.
She looked at me and smiled, "Do you have your loyalty card?"
I groggily dug into my back pocket only to realize I forgot my wallet. At home. I looked up to her and gave a disappointed smile, "I forgot my wallet at home... Sorry."
Her face lit up, "Oh, well if you know the phone number linked to it, I can look you up!" I rattled off my number as she punched it in. She smiled and looked at me and gave an energetic smile, "Sir, you have enough store credit to get this coffee free!"
I nodded and accepted. For a moment I thought I would have to go without my morning coffee.
But I guess there's credit where it's due. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | He had been in therapy for years, but he couldn't shake the habit. It was habitual...no shrink, no drug has ever really helped. Some had quelled the feeling, but nothing could completely kill it. That said, he kept up with the therapy because the court ordered him to, so he walked into the door of yet another new psychiatrists office.
Did that make it six? No, seven. Maybe seven over the past few years, he struggled to remember at this point. It was like asking someone how many times they took a piss last Thursday.
He sat down on the psychiatrists couch.
"So tell me about the latest incident".
He shrugged. Talking about it still made him embarrassed. "I was the supermarket and the urge hit me. I could help myself" he said sheepishly.
"We all have urges sometimes, but what is the attraction to masturbating outside?"
This was a new doctor, so he had to retread old ground with him sometimes.
"Some times, you just need to beat around the bush". | A shock of pain jolted through my head as the car door slammed behind me. I let out a growl as it dissipated to the dull throb as it had been all morning. The depressing convenience store in front of me had been a safe-haven after late nights of drinking- normally nights spent alone. I've come to realize the employees here know me better than any of my friends.
I went to push open the door and slammed into it full force, just to bring another wave of pain to the back of my skull. Through squinted eyes, I look at the door to see in red, capital letters, "PULL." I heeded to the sun-faded suggestion and pulled the door open to have a wave of air-conditioning berrate my face- refreshing.
I stumble towards the coffee machine, itching to drink every last drop I could fit into a cup. As I was about to pull the lever to release the caffeinated goodness, I saw a light flash:
"NOT FRESH IF LIGHT IS BLINKING!"
But it was too late. I needed the coffee. A stale hazelnut scent filled the air and my mouth watered as I brought the cup to my nose.
I shuffled towards the register and set it on the counter in front of the young woman working. *"She must be new,"* I thought as I read "Janet" on her name tag.
She looked at me and smiled, "Do you have your loyalty card?"
I groggily dug into my back pocket only to realize I forgot my wallet. At home. I looked up to her and gave a disappointed smile, "I forgot my wallet at home... Sorry."
Her face lit up, "Oh, well if you know the phone number linked to it, I can look you up!" I rattled off my number as she punched it in. She smiled and looked at me and gave an energetic smile, "Sir, you have enough store credit to get this coffee free!"
I nodded and accepted. For a moment I thought I would have to go without my morning coffee.
But I guess there's credit where it's due. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | A shock of pain jolted through my head as the car door slammed behind me. I let out a growl as it dissipated to the dull throb as it had been all morning. The depressing convenience store in front of me had been a safe-haven after late nights of drinking- normally nights spent alone. I've come to realize the employees here know me better than any of my friends.
I went to push open the door and slammed into it full force, just to bring another wave of pain to the back of my skull. Through squinted eyes, I look at the door to see in red, capital letters, "PULL." I heeded to the sun-faded suggestion and pulled the door open to have a wave of air-conditioning berrate my face- refreshing.
I stumble towards the coffee machine, itching to drink every last drop I could fit into a cup. As I was about to pull the lever to release the caffeinated goodness, I saw a light flash:
"NOT FRESH IF LIGHT IS BLINKING!"
But it was too late. I needed the coffee. A stale hazelnut scent filled the air and my mouth watered as I brought the cup to my nose.
I shuffled towards the register and set it on the counter in front of the young woman working. *"She must be new,"* I thought as I read "Janet" on her name tag.
She looked at me and smiled, "Do you have your loyalty card?"
I groggily dug into my back pocket only to realize I forgot my wallet. At home. I looked up to her and gave a disappointed smile, "I forgot my wallet at home... Sorry."
Her face lit up, "Oh, well if you know the phone number linked to it, I can look you up!" I rattled off my number as she punched it in. She smiled and looked at me and gave an energetic smile, "Sir, you have enough store credit to get this coffee free!"
I nodded and accepted. For a moment I thought I would have to go without my morning coffee.
But I guess there's credit where it's due. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | He had been in therapy for years, but he couldn't shake the habit. It was habitual...no shrink, no drug has ever really helped. Some had quelled the feeling, but nothing could completely kill it. That said, he kept up with the therapy because the court ordered him to, so he walked into the door of yet another new psychiatrists office.
Did that make it six? No, seven. Maybe seven over the past few years, he struggled to remember at this point. It was like asking someone how many times they took a piss last Thursday.
He sat down on the psychiatrists couch.
"So tell me about the latest incident".
He shrugged. Talking about it still made him embarrassed. "I was the supermarket and the urge hit me. I could help myself" he said sheepishly.
"We all have urges sometimes, but what is the attraction to masturbating outside?"
This was a new doctor, so he had to retread old ground with him sometimes.
"Some times, you just need to beat around the bush". | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | Why do some people say that baking is difficult? All you need are butter, sugar, flour, baking powder, and eggs.
Baking isn't hard.
It's a piece of cake. | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was a simple deal, or so I thought. There I was at my lowest point, homeless, broke, with a needle in my arm. The guy in leathers came to me, glowing faintly, but it could have been the drugs. I asked him to help me.
He did.
He became the voice on my shoulder. I caught breaks at every chance. Made money, got rich, enjoyed power. Then he whispered for me to kill. And I did. And I loved it. The bodies stacked up, but eventually I was caught.
The nurses in the chamber fixed the buckles on my limbs tight to the metal bed. I looked to the window where the families of my victims sat side by side with the Police who had chased me. Eager to watch the "State" bring justice. I was sure that my keeper had let me go. I'd fulfilled a bit of the devil's chaos, and now was my time to come join him.
Then I heard a quiet voice. Too quiet to make out.
Everyone left the chamber. A voice came over the loud speaker, but I didn't hear because I was straining to hear the voice. Some minutes went by, but then I heard the gas hiss into the room. At first, my breath caught, I coughed a couple times.
Suddenly I felt power. Strength. The room was a green haze. I pulled at my restraints and they came free. I smiled, suddenly sure that my job wasn't over. Smoothly I sat up on the table, and over the shrieking coming from the other side of the glass, I heard the voice. Oh so clear now.
*What does not kill you makes you stronger.* | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was useless.
Three years since the accident, and I finally was able to crank out a C+ on an 8th grade general knowledge test. Then came the flood of words, branded into my mind from copious misuse. It was all bullshit. They meant absolutely nothing. I could even watch the way Dr. Vaughn's mouth moved, and know which meaningless phrase was about to be spat upon me.
"You're making real progress here, Fink." he drawled. I could tell his heart wasn't in this any more than mine. Fucking "real progress." It was as if he KNEW I was getting nowhere, but wanted to reaffirm me so I wouldn't give up on myself. Any hope I had for recovery was long gone.
"Yeah, yeah." I muttered as he wheeled me back to my room. Even if I could learn to learn again, I sure as hell wouldn't walk. Well, not for a long time anyways. It's hard to walk after you are run over by a dozing bus driver. Really fucking hard.
The worst part was feeling the same. I could read. I could write. I could speak like an adult. When the accident happened, I was in grad school. Two more months and I would be employed, ready to start my life. But no. Of course not. My fate was sealed from the start of it all. My head is as good as a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom. I can't retain information. It took me three years, and what do I have to show for it? A god damn smiley face sticker next to a C+ with "you're making real progress." Yeah.
The worst part was my family. During holidays I could come home. My mom would cry on the drive over, makeup caked on her face like lavender mud. My dad hardly made eye contact with me anymore. I knew they didn't mean to be disappointed, but I could tell that they were. Their trophy son turned mush-brain, or at least the equivalent of that, condemned to a hospital bed with bi-annual promises to be sent home soon "for good."
"You need any help son?" Dr. Vaughn asked.
"I got it, I got it." I grunt as I pull myself into my bed from the wheelchair.
I zoned out while Dr. Vaughn read some chart to me and chattered about meaningless enzymes and tissue and the works. I knew what I was going to do. I had been planning this for weeks. Dr. Vaughn eventually shut his mouth and left my room. Well, time to write the note, I guess.
"Mom, Dad, and to any whom it may concern,
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of this bullshit and the bills, and for trying to comfort me during these three terrible years. I'm sorry I am not the son that I used to be. I'm sorry I am not smart like used to be. I am so sorry that for all the good you were able to bring into my life, this is how it is going to end."
I paused. My hand trembled as I wrote. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the notepad. Strangely, though, there were no tears at all. Probably because I knew this was what had to be done. I removed the vial from the drawer. It's funny how such a small amount of liquid can make someone's heart seize. I continued writing.
"I know the doctors have been doing their best to get me back to my old self. I know they believe they can reverse a "good chunk" of the brain damage. I know you have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to make me normal again, but I have given up. I think you have given up too. I know you still pay for the therapy, and the operations, but you guys gave up long before I did. I don't blame you. I just don't want to live like this anymore."
With that, I tossed back the vial. I hope that nurse knew what she was talking about. I couldn't afford for this to not work. My vision began to blur. I picked up the pen, and scrawled the rest of my note.
"I'm sorry, and I love you so much. I really don't blame you for anything. I cannot be fixed, and I have no hope of being fixed.
You can't fix stupid." | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | “Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.” | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | "Just take it man."
"What the hell? I don't even want her."
"She's all I got man. It's either her or the clothes off my back."
"She's not even cute. No offense man but she's kind of gross."
"Listen man, you got me my dope, and a man must pay his debts. I'm not going out and robbing people - you know that. She'll do whatever you want. Just take her out first and she'll love you."
"Fine but I might just take her to the pound. I hate dogs"
"Yep well payback is always a bitch" | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I had been watching her for days. Through the window of the dress shop downtown, while "reading" on a bench in the park, following her on her walks to work each morning. I always remained concealed; barely registering in the periphery, a shadow on the wall.
That's how it has to be. Someone that beautiful would never willingly want someone like me. Her skin is the perfect porcelain complement to her silky raven hair that cascades down past her shoulders. The smile that dances on her lips when she says good morning to the barista, the ferocity in her eyes when she is running that final mile every afternoon, that lean body compelling me to come closer. She makes me feel sub-human. She makes me feel less than.
I am not worthy.
I know where she lives. I know her studio apartment just up the street from the main downtown drag. I've been inside. I want to know her insides. I just want to know what she is like on the inside.
Sometimes I think I can read her mind. I've been with her long enough that I know which days she will order a cappuccino... I know that she'll buy the blouse on Thursday. I bet anything she'll cut her run short on Tuesday. I know her.
The first time I crept into her apartment was on a Friday. She was at work. I knew because I watched her greet her boss and co-workers with that ungodly smile that sent shivers up my spine.
She smiled at me that way once. It was the first time I saw her. I timidly walked into the coffee shop she loves so much. I wasn't expecting to meet my life's obsession that day. I approached the counter, intimidated by the variety of choices available to me. She saw the confounded look on my face and she said "My favorite is the hazelnut cappuccino. Try that, and I know you'll thank me." And she smiled. That smile. It was like something came alive in me when she smiled at me. I felt this - this stirring inside. I knew this would be something special.
I stammered out some stupid reply like, "thanks," and looked away.
Idiot.
I entered her apartment on a Friday. I used the spare key that she lovingly leaves for me underneath the welcome mat. She is very considerate that way. I think she knew I was planning on entering her apartment to look around. What I found was unbelievable.
Music. Paintings. Sculptures. Poems. She is an artist. Something I didn't know about her. I was taken aback. I read through her journals and writings, and my heart exploded with love and admiration. More than ever, I knew she was my life's goal. That soul - that beautiful soul.
Today isn't Friday. Today is Sunday. I followed her on her jog, which went a bit longer than usual, but that's okay. Today was going to be a big day, I think it would be best if she was a little tired out. The clouds were ominous. Big, dark, looming - it's like they knew what was about to happen.
Suddenly it is pouring. The rain on the pavement can barely conceal the pounding of my heart. She is running towards me. Oh no, no, no. She can't see me. This isn't part of the plan.
She runs right past me without a second look. As it should be.
I slowly follow her to her apartment. The rain turning violent. The wind so strong it nearly pushes her down. I hear a clap of thunder from the heavens.
She is inside her apartment now. I think she may hear me, just outside. She is very quiet, but the rain outside may be muffling any sounds from within.
I am clasping the key from under the mat. This is the key to my everything. I need to touch her. I need to know her insides. I slide the key into the lock.
"Hey! Who is there!?" Her body is up against the door. So is mine. We are so close. Just a few inches of wood keeps us apart.
I turn the key and push on the door, but she pushes back.
"Who's there? What do you want? I'm calling the police! I saw you following me today! I see you following me every day!"
I'm panicked. Push the door just a bit further. It's opening. Just a bit further, and now I've got my foot in the door. | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | When the plague rats came, they came in swarms. There was no escaping their beady eyes, their scratching claws. They squeeze into every home, through rafters and wine cellars, the door ajar, the window eased to let in the wind. We cannot escape. We cannot kill enough to make a dent in their numbers. There is only one option. Do not let them in. Do not let them into your homes, do not let them into your rooms, do not let them craw up the legs of your bed. Steel your doors, nail shut your windows, close the blankets around you. Sleep tight. | She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | My hands are shaking and my clothes are clinging to me from how much I am sweating. I just need one more. Just one more, and all of this will go away. I will be able to breathe again, be calm again.
I pull myself off of my couch and start frantically pulling up the cushions, looking for change. A quarter, a penny, a nickle, another quarter. I end up finding over 2 dollars.
This should be enough.
I leave my apartment and start heading towards the nearest convenience store. I start at a slow walk, and I keep getting faster and faster until I'm basically sprinting towards the store. My body can't wait any longer.
I arrive and throw the door open and make a beeline for the register. I ask for a pack of Swisher Sweets and a lighter, throw my handful of change on the counter, and walk back outside. I try opening the package, my sweaty, shaking hands slipping several times, but eventually I get it. I raise one of them to my lips, light it, and take a long, slow pull.
My eyes close.
Close, but no cigar.
| She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | "Dad, when can we go?"
"Soon Theresa, be patient. You know we have to stay until Emma's mom has performed"
"I don't want to wait for her, can't I just go now? We've been sitting here for an hour"
"You can't leave Theresa, pass the time somehow. You could go backstage and talk to Emma if you feel like it"
"Emma only talks about stupid stuff. Plus she's like half my age. She's by far the dumbest girl I've ever talked to!"
"Keep your voice down okay! Were eating dinner with Emma and her mom, and I would like you to endure, at least until Emma's mom is finished with her performance."
"Emma and her fat ugly mom isn't even eating! They've been backstage half the time we've been here! I'm not waiting another minute! Why are we doing this again?!"
"Keep your voice down Theresa! I've spent countless lunches with this woman out of pure pity for her hopeless dream. She got me the job for christs sake! I figure the least I owe her is a fucking dinner where my fully grown daughter acts like a fully grown person!"
"That job was the worst decision you ever did! I'm leaving!"
"Goddamn it Theresa! Sit your butt down! This is not over until the fat lady sings!"
| She was beautiful. The girl must have been only 17, chirpy, and her soft sensual looks excited me. I was hard as a rock when I thought about her long hair and flawless skin that night. I decided I had to go back the very next day to that little cafe who burnt their coffee and served bacon like rubber. I practiced my approach, rehearsing what I'd say until late in the night. That was good for my plan though- I knew that it would help me get her if I looked exhausted. Sure enough, my drooping eyes and worn out look helped my sob story immensely. Now, here she was at my house. She was gorgeous, so full of life. Unlike the others, she smelt fresh and sexy. I reached out to grab her arm and as my fingers touched her skin I let out a shudder of anticipation. You know what they say: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
[Uh, i hope that's enough of a different meaning for you (saying is about future 2,this is about past 2). Sorry it's a bit short, I'm half asleep] | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | At an outdoor table at the nicest café in Beverly Hills, a blonde sipped her coffee. Across the street in a van that was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, two men watched.
"Pretty little thing, huh Mickey?" said one man to the other.
"I guess."
"Her names Meadow, but you can think of her as a $200,000 paycheck, if you like."
"Suddenly she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mickey grinned.
"That's the spirit."
"You always get us the best jobs, Marc."
"I know, I know. And this one'll be easy, too."
"Oh hey- some chick just showed up on a motorcycle. She's sitting at Meadow's table. That supposed to happen?"
"Probably the reporter. Apparently Meadow's supposed to be doing some sort of interview today."
_______________________________________________________________
Deena Horrowitz, self proclaimed journalist extraordinaire, was trying very hard not to hate Meadow Jones, self proclaimed America's sweetheart. Hating the starlet would make it harder to write a sympathetic article about her, and then Deena's boss would have another talk with her about how fashion magazines don't print articles written in scathingly sarcastic tones. Deena would like to keep her job, and that meant being able to find the good in the silicon enhanced scarecrow across from her.
"...And that's how I made Steven Segall cry," Meadow finished, wrapping up a story that Deena hadn't been even remotely listening to.
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Do you want to hear about the time Mathew McCaunaghey asked me out? Or, I mean, his publicist asked my publicist if I wanted to be photographed with him at a Knick's game, which is basically the same thing."
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Haha, I know, right?!" Meadow laughed. "You know what I love about you, Dina?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are a fantasmic listener!"
"Mm-hmm."
_______________________________________________________________
Mickey drove the car in a tight squeeling U-turn so that the side door faced the café table where Meadow and Deena were sitting. In about five seconds flat, Marc had opened the side door and yanked Meadow out of her seat, pulling her inside the van, as Deena watched on in shock. Mickey floored it, and the van rocketed away.
_____________________________________________________________
Shit, thought Deena. Now she'd gone and done it. She'd lost the starlet, straight up lost her. Deena turned to glare at Meadow's security guard, sitting at the next table over. He was still calmly sipping his cappuccino, as though nothing had happened.
"Hello?!" Deena called, grabbing his attention. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
"Eh, Meadow'll be fine. Those thugs just want money, and she's got that."
"So what, someone in her family pays off the ransom, and then she gets let go?"
"Something like that."
"That'll take forever! My print deadline is tonight."
"Not my problem, kid."
Deena groaned. She left a twenty on the table for the waitress, and then got on her motorcycle, taking off after the kidnappers and leaving Meadow's useless security guard behind.
"Do me a favor and at least call the cops or something, ok?" Deena told the guard before she left.
The security guard continued to sip his cappuccino.
_______________________________________________________
"Is someone following us?" asked Mickey, spying Deena in his rearview mirror.
"It's that journalist," said Marc, taking a look for himself.
"What, is she crazy?" Mickey complained.
"Just make a couple quick turns and you'll lose her," said Meadow.
_______________________________________________________
After Deena had been tailing the kidnappers for something like twenty minutes, the car finally came to a squealing halt. Deena, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that she was totally unarmed and had no back up, nevertheless stopped her bike. Meadow might have been obnoxious, spoiled, and shallow- but she at least deserved someone to give two shits about her safety, or at least that's what Deena was telling herself. She was on something of an adrenaline high, feeling like a real hero, ready to face whatever thugs got out of the car. She glared at Micky and Marc when they stepped out.
And then Meadow stepped out as well.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Meadow.
"...Saving you?" responded Deena, her voice sounding as confused as she felt.
"I don't need saving! I'm being kidnapped! This is the best thing that's happened to my career in ages!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, is this whole thing a publicity stunt?" asked Deena, suddenly realizing why Meadow's security guard had been so blasé.
"Meadow, maybe telling a reporter about this isn't the best..."
"Oh, what the hell does it matter? You two are going to make sure she doesn't talk anyway."
"They are?" squeaked Deena, backing away.
'We are?" asked Mickey, who hadn't signed up for this.
"We are," said Marc, who knew this meant he could charge double their agreed upon fee. "C'mon Mickey, we'll just rough her up a bit," Marc lunged for Deena and grabbed her arm before she could try anything stupid. "No need to give her the full sleeper treatment."
"You don't understand," said Deena, trying to reason with them. "I'm just a journalist, I was just trying to do my job."
Meadow watched as Mickey stomped a steel toed boot down on Deena's leg. Deena screamed, and Meadow might have felt even the tiniest bit bad. That is, until Deena started screaming a string of curses at her.
"God, there's no need to be rude, Dina," Meadow said, laughing at her. "I'm just giving you your big break."
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very welcome and appreciated. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | At an outdoor table at the nicest café in Beverly Hills, a blonde sipped her coffee. Across the street in a van that was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, two men watched.
"Pretty little thing, huh Mickey?" said one man to the other.
"I guess."
"Her names Meadow, but you can think of her as a $200,000 paycheck, if you like."
"Suddenly she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mickey grinned.
"That's the spirit."
"You always get us the best jobs, Marc."
"I know, I know. And this one'll be easy, too."
"Oh hey- some chick just showed up on a motorcycle. She's sitting at Meadow's table. That supposed to happen?"
"Probably the reporter. Apparently Meadow's supposed to be doing some sort of interview today."
_______________________________________________________________
Deena Horrowitz, self proclaimed journalist extraordinaire, was trying very hard not to hate Meadow Jones, self proclaimed America's sweetheart. Hating the starlet would make it harder to write a sympathetic article about her, and then Deena's boss would have another talk with her about how fashion magazines don't print articles written in scathingly sarcastic tones. Deena would like to keep her job, and that meant being able to find the good in the silicon enhanced scarecrow across from her.
"...And that's how I made Steven Segall cry," Meadow finished, wrapping up a story that Deena hadn't been even remotely listening to.
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Do you want to hear about the time Mathew McCaunaghey asked me out? Or, I mean, his publicist asked my publicist if I wanted to be photographed with him at a Knick's game, which is basically the same thing."
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Haha, I know, right?!" Meadow laughed. "You know what I love about you, Dina?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are a fantasmic listener!"
"Mm-hmm."
_______________________________________________________________
Mickey drove the car in a tight squeeling U-turn so that the side door faced the café table where Meadow and Deena were sitting. In about five seconds flat, Marc had opened the side door and yanked Meadow out of her seat, pulling her inside the van, as Deena watched on in shock. Mickey floored it, and the van rocketed away.
_____________________________________________________________
Shit, thought Deena. Now she'd gone and done it. She'd lost the starlet, straight up lost her. Deena turned to glare at Meadow's security guard, sitting at the next table over. He was still calmly sipping his cappuccino, as though nothing had happened.
"Hello?!" Deena called, grabbing his attention. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
"Eh, Meadow'll be fine. Those thugs just want money, and she's got that."
"So what, someone in her family pays off the ransom, and then she gets let go?"
"Something like that."
"That'll take forever! My print deadline is tonight."
"Not my problem, kid."
Deena groaned. She left a twenty on the table for the waitress, and then got on her motorcycle, taking off after the kidnappers and leaving Meadow's useless security guard behind.
"Do me a favor and at least call the cops or something, ok?" Deena told the guard before she left.
The security guard continued to sip his cappuccino.
_______________________________________________________
"Is someone following us?" asked Mickey, spying Deena in his rearview mirror.
"It's that journalist," said Marc, taking a look for himself.
"What, is she crazy?" Mickey complained.
"Just make a couple quick turns and you'll lose her," said Meadow.
_______________________________________________________
After Deena had been tailing the kidnappers for something like twenty minutes, the car finally came to a squealing halt. Deena, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that she was totally unarmed and had no back up, nevertheless stopped her bike. Meadow might have been obnoxious, spoiled, and shallow- but she at least deserved someone to give two shits about her safety, or at least that's what Deena was telling herself. She was on something of an adrenaline high, feeling like a real hero, ready to face whatever thugs got out of the car. She glared at Micky and Marc when they stepped out.
And then Meadow stepped out as well.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Meadow.
"...Saving you?" responded Deena, her voice sounding as confused as she felt.
"I don't need saving! I'm being kidnapped! This is the best thing that's happened to my career in ages!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, is this whole thing a publicity stunt?" asked Deena, suddenly realizing why Meadow's security guard had been so blasé.
"Meadow, maybe telling a reporter about this isn't the best..."
"Oh, what the hell does it matter? You two are going to make sure she doesn't talk anyway."
"They are?" squeaked Deena, backing away.
'We are?" asked Mickey, who hadn't signed up for this.
"We are," said Marc, who knew this meant he could charge double their agreed upon fee. "C'mon Mickey, we'll just rough her up a bit," Marc lunged for Deena and grabbed her arm before she could try anything stupid. "No need to give her the full sleeper treatment."
"You don't understand," said Deena, trying to reason with them. "I'm just a journalist, I was just trying to do my job."
Meadow watched as Mickey stomped a steel toed boot down on Deena's leg. Deena screamed, and Meadow might have felt even the tiniest bit bad. That is, until Deena started screaming a string of curses at her.
"God, there's no need to be rude, Dina," Meadow said, laughing at her. "I'm just giving you your big break."
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very welcome and appreciated. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | He had been in therapy for years, but he couldn't shake the habit. It was habitual...no shrink, no drug has ever really helped. Some had quelled the feeling, but nothing could completely kill it. That said, he kept up with the therapy because the court ordered him to, so he walked into the door of yet another new psychiatrists office.
Did that make it six? No, seven. Maybe seven over the past few years, he struggled to remember at this point. It was like asking someone how many times they took a piss last Thursday.
He sat down on the psychiatrists couch.
"So tell me about the latest incident".
He shrugged. Talking about it still made him embarrassed. "I was the supermarket and the urge hit me. I could help myself" he said sheepishly.
"We all have urges sometimes, but what is the attraction to masturbating outside?"
This was a new doctor, so he had to retread old ground with him sometimes.
"Some times, you just need to beat around the bush". | At an outdoor table at the nicest café in Beverly Hills, a blonde sipped her coffee. Across the street in a van that was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, two men watched.
"Pretty little thing, huh Mickey?" said one man to the other.
"I guess."
"Her names Meadow, but you can think of her as a $200,000 paycheck, if you like."
"Suddenly she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mickey grinned.
"That's the spirit."
"You always get us the best jobs, Marc."
"I know, I know. And this one'll be easy, too."
"Oh hey- some chick just showed up on a motorcycle. She's sitting at Meadow's table. That supposed to happen?"
"Probably the reporter. Apparently Meadow's supposed to be doing some sort of interview today."
_______________________________________________________________
Deena Horrowitz, self proclaimed journalist extraordinaire, was trying very hard not to hate Meadow Jones, self proclaimed America's sweetheart. Hating the starlet would make it harder to write a sympathetic article about her, and then Deena's boss would have another talk with her about how fashion magazines don't print articles written in scathingly sarcastic tones. Deena would like to keep her job, and that meant being able to find the good in the silicon enhanced scarecrow across from her.
"...And that's how I made Steven Segall cry," Meadow finished, wrapping up a story that Deena hadn't been even remotely listening to.
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Do you want to hear about the time Mathew McCaunaghey asked me out? Or, I mean, his publicist asked my publicist if I wanted to be photographed with him at a Knick's game, which is basically the same thing."
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Haha, I know, right?!" Meadow laughed. "You know what I love about you, Dina?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are a fantasmic listener!"
"Mm-hmm."
_______________________________________________________________
Mickey drove the car in a tight squeeling U-turn so that the side door faced the café table where Meadow and Deena were sitting. In about five seconds flat, Marc had opened the side door and yanked Meadow out of her seat, pulling her inside the van, as Deena watched on in shock. Mickey floored it, and the van rocketed away.
_____________________________________________________________
Shit, thought Deena. Now she'd gone and done it. She'd lost the starlet, straight up lost her. Deena turned to glare at Meadow's security guard, sitting at the next table over. He was still calmly sipping his cappuccino, as though nothing had happened.
"Hello?!" Deena called, grabbing his attention. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
"Eh, Meadow'll be fine. Those thugs just want money, and she's got that."
"So what, someone in her family pays off the ransom, and then she gets let go?"
"Something like that."
"That'll take forever! My print deadline is tonight."
"Not my problem, kid."
Deena groaned. She left a twenty on the table for the waitress, and then got on her motorcycle, taking off after the kidnappers and leaving Meadow's useless security guard behind.
"Do me a favor and at least call the cops or something, ok?" Deena told the guard before she left.
The security guard continued to sip his cappuccino.
_______________________________________________________
"Is someone following us?" asked Mickey, spying Deena in his rearview mirror.
"It's that journalist," said Marc, taking a look for himself.
"What, is she crazy?" Mickey complained.
"Just make a couple quick turns and you'll lose her," said Meadow.
_______________________________________________________
After Deena had been tailing the kidnappers for something like twenty minutes, the car finally came to a squealing halt. Deena, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that she was totally unarmed and had no back up, nevertheless stopped her bike. Meadow might have been obnoxious, spoiled, and shallow- but she at least deserved someone to give two shits about her safety, or at least that's what Deena was telling herself. She was on something of an adrenaline high, feeling like a real hero, ready to face whatever thugs got out of the car. She glared at Micky and Marc when they stepped out.
And then Meadow stepped out as well.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Meadow.
"...Saving you?" responded Deena, her voice sounding as confused as she felt.
"I don't need saving! I'm being kidnapped! This is the best thing that's happened to my career in ages!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, is this whole thing a publicity stunt?" asked Deena, suddenly realizing why Meadow's security guard had been so blasé.
"Meadow, maybe telling a reporter about this isn't the best..."
"Oh, what the hell does it matter? You two are going to make sure she doesn't talk anyway."
"They are?" squeaked Deena, backing away.
'We are?" asked Mickey, who hadn't signed up for this.
"We are," said Marc, who knew this meant he could charge double their agreed upon fee. "C'mon Mickey, we'll just rough her up a bit," Marc lunged for Deena and grabbed her arm before she could try anything stupid. "No need to give her the full sleeper treatment."
"You don't understand," said Deena, trying to reason with them. "I'm just a journalist, I was just trying to do my job."
Meadow watched as Mickey stomped a steel toed boot down on Deena's leg. Deena screamed, and Meadow might have felt even the tiniest bit bad. That is, until Deena started screaming a string of curses at her.
"God, there's no need to be rude, Dina," Meadow said, laughing at her. "I'm just giving you your big break."
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very welcome and appreciated. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was useless.
Three years since the accident, and I finally was able to crank out a C+ on an 8th grade general knowledge test. Then came the flood of words, branded into my mind from copious misuse. It was all bullshit. They meant absolutely nothing. I could even watch the way Dr. Vaughn's mouth moved, and know which meaningless phrase was about to be spat upon me.
"You're making real progress here, Fink." he drawled. I could tell his heart wasn't in this any more than mine. Fucking "real progress." It was as if he KNEW I was getting nowhere, but wanted to reaffirm me so I wouldn't give up on myself. Any hope I had for recovery was long gone.
"Yeah, yeah." I muttered as he wheeled me back to my room. Even if I could learn to learn again, I sure as hell wouldn't walk. Well, not for a long time anyways. It's hard to walk after you are run over by a dozing bus driver. Really fucking hard.
The worst part was feeling the same. I could read. I could write. I could speak like an adult. When the accident happened, I was in grad school. Two more months and I would be employed, ready to start my life. But no. Of course not. My fate was sealed from the start of it all. My head is as good as a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom. I can't retain information. It took me three years, and what do I have to show for it? A god damn smiley face sticker next to a C+ with "you're making real progress." Yeah.
The worst part was my family. During holidays I could come home. My mom would cry on the drive over, makeup caked on her face like lavender mud. My dad hardly made eye contact with me anymore. I knew they didn't mean to be disappointed, but I could tell that they were. Their trophy son turned mush-brain, or at least the equivalent of that, condemned to a hospital bed with bi-annual promises to be sent home soon "for good."
"You need any help son?" Dr. Vaughn asked.
"I got it, I got it." I grunt as I pull myself into my bed from the wheelchair.
I zoned out while Dr. Vaughn read some chart to me and chattered about meaningless enzymes and tissue and the works. I knew what I was going to do. I had been planning this for weeks. Dr. Vaughn eventually shut his mouth and left my room. Well, time to write the note, I guess.
"Mom, Dad, and to any whom it may concern,
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of this bullshit and the bills, and for trying to comfort me during these three terrible years. I'm sorry I am not the son that I used to be. I'm sorry I am not smart like used to be. I am so sorry that for all the good you were able to bring into my life, this is how it is going to end."
I paused. My hand trembled as I wrote. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the notepad. Strangely, though, there were no tears at all. Probably because I knew this was what had to be done. I removed the vial from the drawer. It's funny how such a small amount of liquid can make someone's heart seize. I continued writing.
"I know the doctors have been doing their best to get me back to my old self. I know they believe they can reverse a "good chunk" of the brain damage. I know you have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to make me normal again, but I have given up. I think you have given up too. I know you still pay for the therapy, and the operations, but you guys gave up long before I did. I don't blame you. I just don't want to live like this anymore."
With that, I tossed back the vial. I hope that nurse knew what she was talking about. I couldn't afford for this to not work. My vision began to blur. I picked up the pen, and scrawled the rest of my note.
"I'm sorry, and I love you so much. I really don't blame you for anything. I cannot be fixed, and I have no hope of being fixed.
You can't fix stupid." | At an outdoor table at the nicest café in Beverly Hills, a blonde sipped her coffee. Across the street in a van that was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, two men watched.
"Pretty little thing, huh Mickey?" said one man to the other.
"I guess."
"Her names Meadow, but you can think of her as a $200,000 paycheck, if you like."
"Suddenly she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mickey grinned.
"That's the spirit."
"You always get us the best jobs, Marc."
"I know, I know. And this one'll be easy, too."
"Oh hey- some chick just showed up on a motorcycle. She's sitting at Meadow's table. That supposed to happen?"
"Probably the reporter. Apparently Meadow's supposed to be doing some sort of interview today."
_______________________________________________________________
Deena Horrowitz, self proclaimed journalist extraordinaire, was trying very hard not to hate Meadow Jones, self proclaimed America's sweetheart. Hating the starlet would make it harder to write a sympathetic article about her, and then Deena's boss would have another talk with her about how fashion magazines don't print articles written in scathingly sarcastic tones. Deena would like to keep her job, and that meant being able to find the good in the silicon enhanced scarecrow across from her.
"...And that's how I made Steven Segall cry," Meadow finished, wrapping up a story that Deena hadn't been even remotely listening to.
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Do you want to hear about the time Mathew McCaunaghey asked me out? Or, I mean, his publicist asked my publicist if I wanted to be photographed with him at a Knick's game, which is basically the same thing."
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Haha, I know, right?!" Meadow laughed. "You know what I love about you, Dina?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are a fantasmic listener!"
"Mm-hmm."
_______________________________________________________________
Mickey drove the car in a tight squeeling U-turn so that the side door faced the café table where Meadow and Deena were sitting. In about five seconds flat, Marc had opened the side door and yanked Meadow out of her seat, pulling her inside the van, as Deena watched on in shock. Mickey floored it, and the van rocketed away.
_____________________________________________________________
Shit, thought Deena. Now she'd gone and done it. She'd lost the starlet, straight up lost her. Deena turned to glare at Meadow's security guard, sitting at the next table over. He was still calmly sipping his cappuccino, as though nothing had happened.
"Hello?!" Deena called, grabbing his attention. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
"Eh, Meadow'll be fine. Those thugs just want money, and she's got that."
"So what, someone in her family pays off the ransom, and then she gets let go?"
"Something like that."
"That'll take forever! My print deadline is tonight."
"Not my problem, kid."
Deena groaned. She left a twenty on the table for the waitress, and then got on her motorcycle, taking off after the kidnappers and leaving Meadow's useless security guard behind.
"Do me a favor and at least call the cops or something, ok?" Deena told the guard before she left.
The security guard continued to sip his cappuccino.
_______________________________________________________
"Is someone following us?" asked Mickey, spying Deena in his rearview mirror.
"It's that journalist," said Marc, taking a look for himself.
"What, is she crazy?" Mickey complained.
"Just make a couple quick turns and you'll lose her," said Meadow.
_______________________________________________________
After Deena had been tailing the kidnappers for something like twenty minutes, the car finally came to a squealing halt. Deena, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that she was totally unarmed and had no back up, nevertheless stopped her bike. Meadow might have been obnoxious, spoiled, and shallow- but she at least deserved someone to give two shits about her safety, or at least that's what Deena was telling herself. She was on something of an adrenaline high, feeling like a real hero, ready to face whatever thugs got out of the car. She glared at Micky and Marc when they stepped out.
And then Meadow stepped out as well.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Meadow.
"...Saving you?" responded Deena, her voice sounding as confused as she felt.
"I don't need saving! I'm being kidnapped! This is the best thing that's happened to my career in ages!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, is this whole thing a publicity stunt?" asked Deena, suddenly realizing why Meadow's security guard had been so blasé.
"Meadow, maybe telling a reporter about this isn't the best..."
"Oh, what the hell does it matter? You two are going to make sure she doesn't talk anyway."
"They are?" squeaked Deena, backing away.
'We are?" asked Mickey, who hadn't signed up for this.
"We are," said Marc, who knew this meant he could charge double their agreed upon fee. "C'mon Mickey, we'll just rough her up a bit," Marc lunged for Deena and grabbed her arm before she could try anything stupid. "No need to give her the full sleeper treatment."
"You don't understand," said Deena, trying to reason with them. "I'm just a journalist, I was just trying to do my job."
Meadow watched as Mickey stomped a steel toed boot down on Deena's leg. Deena screamed, and Meadow might have felt even the tiniest bit bad. That is, until Deena started screaming a string of curses at her.
"God, there's no need to be rude, Dina," Meadow said, laughing at her. "I'm just giving you your big break."
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very welcome and appreciated. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | At an outdoor table at the nicest café in Beverly Hills, a blonde sipped her coffee. Across the street in a van that was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, two men watched.
"Pretty little thing, huh Mickey?" said one man to the other.
"I guess."
"Her names Meadow, but you can think of her as a $200,000 paycheck, if you like."
"Suddenly she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mickey grinned.
"That's the spirit."
"You always get us the best jobs, Marc."
"I know, I know. And this one'll be easy, too."
"Oh hey- some chick just showed up on a motorcycle. She's sitting at Meadow's table. That supposed to happen?"
"Probably the reporter. Apparently Meadow's supposed to be doing some sort of interview today."
_______________________________________________________________
Deena Horrowitz, self proclaimed journalist extraordinaire, was trying very hard not to hate Meadow Jones, self proclaimed America's sweetheart. Hating the starlet would make it harder to write a sympathetic article about her, and then Deena's boss would have another talk with her about how fashion magazines don't print articles written in scathingly sarcastic tones. Deena would like to keep her job, and that meant being able to find the good in the silicon enhanced scarecrow across from her.
"...And that's how I made Steven Segall cry," Meadow finished, wrapping up a story that Deena hadn't been even remotely listening to.
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Do you want to hear about the time Mathew McCaunaghey asked me out? Or, I mean, his publicist asked my publicist if I wanted to be photographed with him at a Knick's game, which is basically the same thing."
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Haha, I know, right?!" Meadow laughed. "You know what I love about you, Dina?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are a fantasmic listener!"
"Mm-hmm."
_______________________________________________________________
Mickey drove the car in a tight squeeling U-turn so that the side door faced the café table where Meadow and Deena were sitting. In about five seconds flat, Marc had opened the side door and yanked Meadow out of her seat, pulling her inside the van, as Deena watched on in shock. Mickey floored it, and the van rocketed away.
_____________________________________________________________
Shit, thought Deena. Now she'd gone and done it. She'd lost the starlet, straight up lost her. Deena turned to glare at Meadow's security guard, sitting at the next table over. He was still calmly sipping his cappuccino, as though nothing had happened.
"Hello?!" Deena called, grabbing his attention. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
"Eh, Meadow'll be fine. Those thugs just want money, and she's got that."
"So what, someone in her family pays off the ransom, and then she gets let go?"
"Something like that."
"That'll take forever! My print deadline is tonight."
"Not my problem, kid."
Deena groaned. She left a twenty on the table for the waitress, and then got on her motorcycle, taking off after the kidnappers and leaving Meadow's useless security guard behind.
"Do me a favor and at least call the cops or something, ok?" Deena told the guard before she left.
The security guard continued to sip his cappuccino.
_______________________________________________________
"Is someone following us?" asked Mickey, spying Deena in his rearview mirror.
"It's that journalist," said Marc, taking a look for himself.
"What, is she crazy?" Mickey complained.
"Just make a couple quick turns and you'll lose her," said Meadow.
_______________________________________________________
After Deena had been tailing the kidnappers for something like twenty minutes, the car finally came to a squealing halt. Deena, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that she was totally unarmed and had no back up, nevertheless stopped her bike. Meadow might have been obnoxious, spoiled, and shallow- but she at least deserved someone to give two shits about her safety, or at least that's what Deena was telling herself. She was on something of an adrenaline high, feeling like a real hero, ready to face whatever thugs got out of the car. She glared at Micky and Marc when they stepped out.
And then Meadow stepped out as well.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Meadow.
"...Saving you?" responded Deena, her voice sounding as confused as she felt.
"I don't need saving! I'm being kidnapped! This is the best thing that's happened to my career in ages!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, is this whole thing a publicity stunt?" asked Deena, suddenly realizing why Meadow's security guard had been so blasé.
"Meadow, maybe telling a reporter about this isn't the best..."
"Oh, what the hell does it matter? You two are going to make sure she doesn't talk anyway."
"They are?" squeaked Deena, backing away.
'We are?" asked Mickey, who hadn't signed up for this.
"We are," said Marc, who knew this meant he could charge double their agreed upon fee. "C'mon Mickey, we'll just rough her up a bit," Marc lunged for Deena and grabbed her arm before she could try anything stupid. "No need to give her the full sleeper treatment."
"You don't understand," said Deena, trying to reason with them. "I'm just a journalist, I was just trying to do my job."
Meadow watched as Mickey stomped a steel toed boot down on Deena's leg. Deena screamed, and Meadow might have felt even the tiniest bit bad. That is, until Deena started screaming a string of curses at her.
"God, there's no need to be rude, Dina," Meadow said, laughing at her. "I'm just giving you your big break."
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very welcome and appreciated. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | At an outdoor table at the nicest café in Beverly Hills, a blonde sipped her coffee. Across the street in a van that was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, two men watched.
"Pretty little thing, huh Mickey?" said one man to the other.
"I guess."
"Her names Meadow, but you can think of her as a $200,000 paycheck, if you like."
"Suddenly she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mickey grinned.
"That's the spirit."
"You always get us the best jobs, Marc."
"I know, I know. And this one'll be easy, too."
"Oh hey- some chick just showed up on a motorcycle. She's sitting at Meadow's table. That supposed to happen?"
"Probably the reporter. Apparently Meadow's supposed to be doing some sort of interview today."
_______________________________________________________________
Deena Horrowitz, self proclaimed journalist extraordinaire, was trying very hard not to hate Meadow Jones, self proclaimed America's sweetheart. Hating the starlet would make it harder to write a sympathetic article about her, and then Deena's boss would have another talk with her about how fashion magazines don't print articles written in scathingly sarcastic tones. Deena would like to keep her job, and that meant being able to find the good in the silicon enhanced scarecrow across from her.
"...And that's how I made Steven Segall cry," Meadow finished, wrapping up a story that Deena hadn't been even remotely listening to.
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Do you want to hear about the time Mathew McCaunaghey asked me out? Or, I mean, his publicist asked my publicist if I wanted to be photographed with him at a Knick's game, which is basically the same thing."
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Haha, I know, right?!" Meadow laughed. "You know what I love about you, Dina?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are a fantasmic listener!"
"Mm-hmm."
_______________________________________________________________
Mickey drove the car in a tight squeeling U-turn so that the side door faced the café table where Meadow and Deena were sitting. In about five seconds flat, Marc had opened the side door and yanked Meadow out of her seat, pulling her inside the van, as Deena watched on in shock. Mickey floored it, and the van rocketed away.
_____________________________________________________________
Shit, thought Deena. Now she'd gone and done it. She'd lost the starlet, straight up lost her. Deena turned to glare at Meadow's security guard, sitting at the next table over. He was still calmly sipping his cappuccino, as though nothing had happened.
"Hello?!" Deena called, grabbing his attention. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
"Eh, Meadow'll be fine. Those thugs just want money, and she's got that."
"So what, someone in her family pays off the ransom, and then she gets let go?"
"Something like that."
"That'll take forever! My print deadline is tonight."
"Not my problem, kid."
Deena groaned. She left a twenty on the table for the waitress, and then got on her motorcycle, taking off after the kidnappers and leaving Meadow's useless security guard behind.
"Do me a favor and at least call the cops or something, ok?" Deena told the guard before she left.
The security guard continued to sip his cappuccino.
_______________________________________________________
"Is someone following us?" asked Mickey, spying Deena in his rearview mirror.
"It's that journalist," said Marc, taking a look for himself.
"What, is she crazy?" Mickey complained.
"Just make a couple quick turns and you'll lose her," said Meadow.
_______________________________________________________
After Deena had been tailing the kidnappers for something like twenty minutes, the car finally came to a squealing halt. Deena, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that she was totally unarmed and had no back up, nevertheless stopped her bike. Meadow might have been obnoxious, spoiled, and shallow- but she at least deserved someone to give two shits about her safety, or at least that's what Deena was telling herself. She was on something of an adrenaline high, feeling like a real hero, ready to face whatever thugs got out of the car. She glared at Micky and Marc when they stepped out.
And then Meadow stepped out as well.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Meadow.
"...Saving you?" responded Deena, her voice sounding as confused as she felt.
"I don't need saving! I'm being kidnapped! This is the best thing that's happened to my career in ages!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, is this whole thing a publicity stunt?" asked Deena, suddenly realizing why Meadow's security guard had been so blasé.
"Meadow, maybe telling a reporter about this isn't the best..."
"Oh, what the hell does it matter? You two are going to make sure she doesn't talk anyway."
"They are?" squeaked Deena, backing away.
'We are?" asked Mickey, who hadn't signed up for this.
"We are," said Marc, who knew this meant he could charge double their agreed upon fee. "C'mon Mickey, we'll just rough her up a bit," Marc lunged for Deena and grabbed her arm before she could try anything stupid. "No need to give her the full sleeper treatment."
"You don't understand," said Deena, trying to reason with them. "I'm just a journalist, I was just trying to do my job."
Meadow watched as Mickey stomped a steel toed boot down on Deena's leg. Deena screamed, and Meadow might have felt even the tiniest bit bad. That is, until Deena started screaming a string of curses at her.
"God, there's no need to be rude, Dina," Meadow said, laughing at her. "I'm just giving you your big break."
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very welcome and appreciated. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | “Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.” | At an outdoor table at the nicest café in Beverly Hills, a blonde sipped her coffee. Across the street in a van that was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, two men watched.
"Pretty little thing, huh Mickey?" said one man to the other.
"I guess."
"Her names Meadow, but you can think of her as a $200,000 paycheck, if you like."
"Suddenly she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mickey grinned.
"That's the spirit."
"You always get us the best jobs, Marc."
"I know, I know. And this one'll be easy, too."
"Oh hey- some chick just showed up on a motorcycle. She's sitting at Meadow's table. That supposed to happen?"
"Probably the reporter. Apparently Meadow's supposed to be doing some sort of interview today."
_______________________________________________________________
Deena Horrowitz, self proclaimed journalist extraordinaire, was trying very hard not to hate Meadow Jones, self proclaimed America's sweetheart. Hating the starlet would make it harder to write a sympathetic article about her, and then Deena's boss would have another talk with her about how fashion magazines don't print articles written in scathingly sarcastic tones. Deena would like to keep her job, and that meant being able to find the good in the silicon enhanced scarecrow across from her.
"...And that's how I made Steven Segall cry," Meadow finished, wrapping up a story that Deena hadn't been even remotely listening to.
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Do you want to hear about the time Mathew McCaunaghey asked me out? Or, I mean, his publicist asked my publicist if I wanted to be photographed with him at a Knick's game, which is basically the same thing."
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Haha, I know, right?!" Meadow laughed. "You know what I love about you, Dina?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are a fantasmic listener!"
"Mm-hmm."
_______________________________________________________________
Mickey drove the car in a tight squeeling U-turn so that the side door faced the café table where Meadow and Deena were sitting. In about five seconds flat, Marc had opened the side door and yanked Meadow out of her seat, pulling her inside the van, as Deena watched on in shock. Mickey floored it, and the van rocketed away.
_____________________________________________________________
Shit, thought Deena. Now she'd gone and done it. She'd lost the starlet, straight up lost her. Deena turned to glare at Meadow's security guard, sitting at the next table over. He was still calmly sipping his cappuccino, as though nothing had happened.
"Hello?!" Deena called, grabbing his attention. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
"Eh, Meadow'll be fine. Those thugs just want money, and she's got that."
"So what, someone in her family pays off the ransom, and then she gets let go?"
"Something like that."
"That'll take forever! My print deadline is tonight."
"Not my problem, kid."
Deena groaned. She left a twenty on the table for the waitress, and then got on her motorcycle, taking off after the kidnappers and leaving Meadow's useless security guard behind.
"Do me a favor and at least call the cops or something, ok?" Deena told the guard before she left.
The security guard continued to sip his cappuccino.
_______________________________________________________
"Is someone following us?" asked Mickey, spying Deena in his rearview mirror.
"It's that journalist," said Marc, taking a look for himself.
"What, is she crazy?" Mickey complained.
"Just make a couple quick turns and you'll lose her," said Meadow.
_______________________________________________________
After Deena had been tailing the kidnappers for something like twenty minutes, the car finally came to a squealing halt. Deena, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that she was totally unarmed and had no back up, nevertheless stopped her bike. Meadow might have been obnoxious, spoiled, and shallow- but she at least deserved someone to give two shits about her safety, or at least that's what Deena was telling herself. She was on something of an adrenaline high, feeling like a real hero, ready to face whatever thugs got out of the car. She glared at Micky and Marc when they stepped out.
And then Meadow stepped out as well.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Meadow.
"...Saving you?" responded Deena, her voice sounding as confused as she felt.
"I don't need saving! I'm being kidnapped! This is the best thing that's happened to my career in ages!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, is this whole thing a publicity stunt?" asked Deena, suddenly realizing why Meadow's security guard had been so blasé.
"Meadow, maybe telling a reporter about this isn't the best..."
"Oh, what the hell does it matter? You two are going to make sure she doesn't talk anyway."
"They are?" squeaked Deena, backing away.
'We are?" asked Mickey, who hadn't signed up for this.
"We are," said Marc, who knew this meant he could charge double their agreed upon fee. "C'mon Mickey, we'll just rough her up a bit," Marc lunged for Deena and grabbed her arm before she could try anything stupid. "No need to give her the full sleeper treatment."
"You don't understand," said Deena, trying to reason with them. "I'm just a journalist, I was just trying to do my job."
Meadow watched as Mickey stomped a steel toed boot down on Deena's leg. Deena screamed, and Meadow might have felt even the tiniest bit bad. That is, until Deena started screaming a string of curses at her.
"God, there's no need to be rude, Dina," Meadow said, laughing at her. "I'm just giving you your big break."
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very welcome and appreciated. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | The Dragon
The young man entered the dragons cave. It was a long haul up the hill and his father's sword weighed heavily upon him as did the ancient Dragon Shield. The shield was made of a single scale of an ancient dragon and the only substance capable of deflecting the dragons fiery breath. The cave was not dark for clinging to the wall thousands of microscopic plants sent forth an eerie blue light. The young man was fearful but resolute in his purpose. Should he succeed in his quest to kill the dragon great power would be his as well as fame and fortune.
He heard a rustling noise and turned to the right. It was a dark alcove and the light from the cave did not penetrate the darkness. He brought his shield around to face it and peeked around the edge. His sword gripped tightly in his hand hovered an inch above the ground and the flash of reflected light and gave away the shaking fear that gripped him.
Slowly, two enormous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The young man could see the iris of each focus upon him.
"So," rumbled a deep cavernous voice from the darkness, "a brave knight summons the courage to challenge me! Know this, I am not easily vanquished and you are but a young lad. Mind you, I appreciate your courage but I discount your intelligence. Whosoever challenges me is a fool and dies by it! However, should you be victorious it will not be as you imagine."
"I may not be strong but I have courage and I will slay you!" Said the young man. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
"Indeed, for that is truer than you know – Then battle it shall be!" Said the Dragon as orange yellow and crimson flame spread across the top of the cave.
The young man sheltered behind the shield as the flames rolled past him. There was a smell of ash and age in the hot flame but he did not lose faith. No, indeed he advanced into the flame pressing his shield ahead and dragging his sword behind him.
The dragons foot stamp down directly in front of his shield and small rocks ricocheted off the walls. The young man did not waver in his purpose. The flame had stopped which allowed him to bring forth his sword and thrust it into the chest of the Dragon before him.
Hot blood spilled from the wound completely covering the young man. The shield and his sword melted in the liquid without a hint of heat. It was a crashing noise as the Dragon fell then there was nothing left but darkness and silence. The young man also fell unconscious to the floor the cave barely aware that his body fell on an enormous stack of gold coins.
The young man awoke feeling a new strength throughout his body. He had rarely felt this good before bit did sometimes after intense physical exercise. The cave was no longer dark. He could see it clearly although the colors tended more towards the red end of the spectrum. Below him and far back into the darkened cave he could see mound after mound of precious gold.
"I am now the richest man in the land!" He thought. Raising his head he shouted, "I am the richest man in the land!"
Something wasn't right. His voice was too deep it reverberated too long off the walls of the cave. His throat burned ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, the cave was illuminated as he saw a long stream of flame before him.
He looked down and saw the melted remains of his sword and shield but they were now tiny. He got up and tried to walk but his back would not allow him to stand erect so he crawled. Moments later he stood outside the cave. Water from a nearby spring pooled a short distance from the entrance. His throat was dry so he went to get a drink. As he looked into the still water the face of a mighty Dragon looked back.
An acid tear sizzled on a rock as the dragon took to the sky driven by hunger.
"Indeed," he thought, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | He had been in therapy for years, but he couldn't shake the habit. It was habitual...no shrink, no drug has ever really helped. Some had quelled the feeling, but nothing could completely kill it. That said, he kept up with the therapy because the court ordered him to, so he walked into the door of yet another new psychiatrists office.
Did that make it six? No, seven. Maybe seven over the past few years, he struggled to remember at this point. It was like asking someone how many times they took a piss last Thursday.
He sat down on the psychiatrists couch.
"So tell me about the latest incident".
He shrugged. Talking about it still made him embarrassed. "I was the supermarket and the urge hit me. I could help myself" he said sheepishly.
"We all have urges sometimes, but what is the attraction to masturbating outside?"
This was a new doctor, so he had to retread old ground with him sometimes.
"Some times, you just need to beat around the bush". | The Dragon
The young man entered the dragons cave. It was a long haul up the hill and his father's sword weighed heavily upon him as did the ancient Dragon Shield. The shield was made of a single scale of an ancient dragon and the only substance capable of deflecting the dragons fiery breath. The cave was not dark for clinging to the wall thousands of microscopic plants sent forth an eerie blue light. The young man was fearful but resolute in his purpose. Should he succeed in his quest to kill the dragon great power would be his as well as fame and fortune.
He heard a rustling noise and turned to the right. It was a dark alcove and the light from the cave did not penetrate the darkness. He brought his shield around to face it and peeked around the edge. His sword gripped tightly in his hand hovered an inch above the ground and the flash of reflected light and gave away the shaking fear that gripped him.
Slowly, two enormous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The young man could see the iris of each focus upon him.
"So," rumbled a deep cavernous voice from the darkness, "a brave knight summons the courage to challenge me! Know this, I am not easily vanquished and you are but a young lad. Mind you, I appreciate your courage but I discount your intelligence. Whosoever challenges me is a fool and dies by it! However, should you be victorious it will not be as you imagine."
"I may not be strong but I have courage and I will slay you!" Said the young man. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
"Indeed, for that is truer than you know – Then battle it shall be!" Said the Dragon as orange yellow and crimson flame spread across the top of the cave.
The young man sheltered behind the shield as the flames rolled past him. There was a smell of ash and age in the hot flame but he did not lose faith. No, indeed he advanced into the flame pressing his shield ahead and dragging his sword behind him.
The dragons foot stamp down directly in front of his shield and small rocks ricocheted off the walls. The young man did not waver in his purpose. The flame had stopped which allowed him to bring forth his sword and thrust it into the chest of the Dragon before him.
Hot blood spilled from the wound completely covering the young man. The shield and his sword melted in the liquid without a hint of heat. It was a crashing noise as the Dragon fell then there was nothing left but darkness and silence. The young man also fell unconscious to the floor the cave barely aware that his body fell on an enormous stack of gold coins.
The young man awoke feeling a new strength throughout his body. He had rarely felt this good before bit did sometimes after intense physical exercise. The cave was no longer dark. He could see it clearly although the colors tended more towards the red end of the spectrum. Below him and far back into the darkened cave he could see mound after mound of precious gold.
"I am now the richest man in the land!" He thought. Raising his head he shouted, "I am the richest man in the land!"
Something wasn't right. His voice was too deep it reverberated too long off the walls of the cave. His throat burned ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, the cave was illuminated as he saw a long stream of flame before him.
He looked down and saw the melted remains of his sword and shield but they were now tiny. He got up and tried to walk but his back would not allow him to stand erect so he crawled. Moments later he stood outside the cave. Water from a nearby spring pooled a short distance from the entrance. His throat was dry so he went to get a drink. As he looked into the still water the face of a mighty Dragon looked back.
An acid tear sizzled on a rock as the dragon took to the sky driven by hunger.
"Indeed," he thought, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was useless.
Three years since the accident, and I finally was able to crank out a C+ on an 8th grade general knowledge test. Then came the flood of words, branded into my mind from copious misuse. It was all bullshit. They meant absolutely nothing. I could even watch the way Dr. Vaughn's mouth moved, and know which meaningless phrase was about to be spat upon me.
"You're making real progress here, Fink." he drawled. I could tell his heart wasn't in this any more than mine. Fucking "real progress." It was as if he KNEW I was getting nowhere, but wanted to reaffirm me so I wouldn't give up on myself. Any hope I had for recovery was long gone.
"Yeah, yeah." I muttered as he wheeled me back to my room. Even if I could learn to learn again, I sure as hell wouldn't walk. Well, not for a long time anyways. It's hard to walk after you are run over by a dozing bus driver. Really fucking hard.
The worst part was feeling the same. I could read. I could write. I could speak like an adult. When the accident happened, I was in grad school. Two more months and I would be employed, ready to start my life. But no. Of course not. My fate was sealed from the start of it all. My head is as good as a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom. I can't retain information. It took me three years, and what do I have to show for it? A god damn smiley face sticker next to a C+ with "you're making real progress." Yeah.
The worst part was my family. During holidays I could come home. My mom would cry on the drive over, makeup caked on her face like lavender mud. My dad hardly made eye contact with me anymore. I knew they didn't mean to be disappointed, but I could tell that they were. Their trophy son turned mush-brain, or at least the equivalent of that, condemned to a hospital bed with bi-annual promises to be sent home soon "for good."
"You need any help son?" Dr. Vaughn asked.
"I got it, I got it." I grunt as I pull myself into my bed from the wheelchair.
I zoned out while Dr. Vaughn read some chart to me and chattered about meaningless enzymes and tissue and the works. I knew what I was going to do. I had been planning this for weeks. Dr. Vaughn eventually shut his mouth and left my room. Well, time to write the note, I guess.
"Mom, Dad, and to any whom it may concern,
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of this bullshit and the bills, and for trying to comfort me during these three terrible years. I'm sorry I am not the son that I used to be. I'm sorry I am not smart like used to be. I am so sorry that for all the good you were able to bring into my life, this is how it is going to end."
I paused. My hand trembled as I wrote. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the notepad. Strangely, though, there were no tears at all. Probably because I knew this was what had to be done. I removed the vial from the drawer. It's funny how such a small amount of liquid can make someone's heart seize. I continued writing.
"I know the doctors have been doing their best to get me back to my old self. I know they believe they can reverse a "good chunk" of the brain damage. I know you have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to make me normal again, but I have given up. I think you have given up too. I know you still pay for the therapy, and the operations, but you guys gave up long before I did. I don't blame you. I just don't want to live like this anymore."
With that, I tossed back the vial. I hope that nurse knew what she was talking about. I couldn't afford for this to not work. My vision began to blur. I picked up the pen, and scrawled the rest of my note.
"I'm sorry, and I love you so much. I really don't blame you for anything. I cannot be fixed, and I have no hope of being fixed.
You can't fix stupid." | The Dragon
The young man entered the dragons cave. It was a long haul up the hill and his father's sword weighed heavily upon him as did the ancient Dragon Shield. The shield was made of a single scale of an ancient dragon and the only substance capable of deflecting the dragons fiery breath. The cave was not dark for clinging to the wall thousands of microscopic plants sent forth an eerie blue light. The young man was fearful but resolute in his purpose. Should he succeed in his quest to kill the dragon great power would be his as well as fame and fortune.
He heard a rustling noise and turned to the right. It was a dark alcove and the light from the cave did not penetrate the darkness. He brought his shield around to face it and peeked around the edge. His sword gripped tightly in his hand hovered an inch above the ground and the flash of reflected light and gave away the shaking fear that gripped him.
Slowly, two enormous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The young man could see the iris of each focus upon him.
"So," rumbled a deep cavernous voice from the darkness, "a brave knight summons the courage to challenge me! Know this, I am not easily vanquished and you are but a young lad. Mind you, I appreciate your courage but I discount your intelligence. Whosoever challenges me is a fool and dies by it! However, should you be victorious it will not be as you imagine."
"I may not be strong but I have courage and I will slay you!" Said the young man. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
"Indeed, for that is truer than you know – Then battle it shall be!" Said the Dragon as orange yellow and crimson flame spread across the top of the cave.
The young man sheltered behind the shield as the flames rolled past him. There was a smell of ash and age in the hot flame but he did not lose faith. No, indeed he advanced into the flame pressing his shield ahead and dragging his sword behind him.
The dragons foot stamp down directly in front of his shield and small rocks ricocheted off the walls. The young man did not waver in his purpose. The flame had stopped which allowed him to bring forth his sword and thrust it into the chest of the Dragon before him.
Hot blood spilled from the wound completely covering the young man. The shield and his sword melted in the liquid without a hint of heat. It was a crashing noise as the Dragon fell then there was nothing left but darkness and silence. The young man also fell unconscious to the floor the cave barely aware that his body fell on an enormous stack of gold coins.
The young man awoke feeling a new strength throughout his body. He had rarely felt this good before bit did sometimes after intense physical exercise. The cave was no longer dark. He could see it clearly although the colors tended more towards the red end of the spectrum. Below him and far back into the darkened cave he could see mound after mound of precious gold.
"I am now the richest man in the land!" He thought. Raising his head he shouted, "I am the richest man in the land!"
Something wasn't right. His voice was too deep it reverberated too long off the walls of the cave. His throat burned ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, the cave was illuminated as he saw a long stream of flame before him.
He looked down and saw the melted remains of his sword and shield but they were now tiny. He got up and tried to walk but his back would not allow him to stand erect so he crawled. Moments later he stood outside the cave. Water from a nearby spring pooled a short distance from the entrance. His throat was dry so he went to get a drink. As he looked into the still water the face of a mighty Dragon looked back.
An acid tear sizzled on a rock as the dragon took to the sky driven by hunger.
"Indeed," he thought, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | The Dragon
The young man entered the dragons cave. It was a long haul up the hill and his father's sword weighed heavily upon him as did the ancient Dragon Shield. The shield was made of a single scale of an ancient dragon and the only substance capable of deflecting the dragons fiery breath. The cave was not dark for clinging to the wall thousands of microscopic plants sent forth an eerie blue light. The young man was fearful but resolute in his purpose. Should he succeed in his quest to kill the dragon great power would be his as well as fame and fortune.
He heard a rustling noise and turned to the right. It was a dark alcove and the light from the cave did not penetrate the darkness. He brought his shield around to face it and peeked around the edge. His sword gripped tightly in his hand hovered an inch above the ground and the flash of reflected light and gave away the shaking fear that gripped him.
Slowly, two enormous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The young man could see the iris of each focus upon him.
"So," rumbled a deep cavernous voice from the darkness, "a brave knight summons the courage to challenge me! Know this, I am not easily vanquished and you are but a young lad. Mind you, I appreciate your courage but I discount your intelligence. Whosoever challenges me is a fool and dies by it! However, should you be victorious it will not be as you imagine."
"I may not be strong but I have courage and I will slay you!" Said the young man. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
"Indeed, for that is truer than you know – Then battle it shall be!" Said the Dragon as orange yellow and crimson flame spread across the top of the cave.
The young man sheltered behind the shield as the flames rolled past him. There was a smell of ash and age in the hot flame but he did not lose faith. No, indeed he advanced into the flame pressing his shield ahead and dragging his sword behind him.
The dragons foot stamp down directly in front of his shield and small rocks ricocheted off the walls. The young man did not waver in his purpose. The flame had stopped which allowed him to bring forth his sword and thrust it into the chest of the Dragon before him.
Hot blood spilled from the wound completely covering the young man. The shield and his sword melted in the liquid without a hint of heat. It was a crashing noise as the Dragon fell then there was nothing left but darkness and silence. The young man also fell unconscious to the floor the cave barely aware that his body fell on an enormous stack of gold coins.
The young man awoke feeling a new strength throughout his body. He had rarely felt this good before bit did sometimes after intense physical exercise. The cave was no longer dark. He could see it clearly although the colors tended more towards the red end of the spectrum. Below him and far back into the darkened cave he could see mound after mound of precious gold.
"I am now the richest man in the land!" He thought. Raising his head he shouted, "I am the richest man in the land!"
Something wasn't right. His voice was too deep it reverberated too long off the walls of the cave. His throat burned ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, the cave was illuminated as he saw a long stream of flame before him.
He looked down and saw the melted remains of his sword and shield but they were now tiny. He got up and tried to walk but his back would not allow him to stand erect so he crawled. Moments later he stood outside the cave. Water from a nearby spring pooled a short distance from the entrance. His throat was dry so he went to get a drink. As he looked into the still water the face of a mighty Dragon looked back.
An acid tear sizzled on a rock as the dragon took to the sky driven by hunger.
"Indeed," he thought, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | The Dragon
The young man entered the dragons cave. It was a long haul up the hill and his father's sword weighed heavily upon him as did the ancient Dragon Shield. The shield was made of a single scale of an ancient dragon and the only substance capable of deflecting the dragons fiery breath. The cave was not dark for clinging to the wall thousands of microscopic plants sent forth an eerie blue light. The young man was fearful but resolute in his purpose. Should he succeed in his quest to kill the dragon great power would be his as well as fame and fortune.
He heard a rustling noise and turned to the right. It was a dark alcove and the light from the cave did not penetrate the darkness. He brought his shield around to face it and peeked around the edge. His sword gripped tightly in his hand hovered an inch above the ground and the flash of reflected light and gave away the shaking fear that gripped him.
Slowly, two enormous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The young man could see the iris of each focus upon him.
"So," rumbled a deep cavernous voice from the darkness, "a brave knight summons the courage to challenge me! Know this, I am not easily vanquished and you are but a young lad. Mind you, I appreciate your courage but I discount your intelligence. Whosoever challenges me is a fool and dies by it! However, should you be victorious it will not be as you imagine."
"I may not be strong but I have courage and I will slay you!" Said the young man. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
"Indeed, for that is truer than you know – Then battle it shall be!" Said the Dragon as orange yellow and crimson flame spread across the top of the cave.
The young man sheltered behind the shield as the flames rolled past him. There was a smell of ash and age in the hot flame but he did not lose faith. No, indeed he advanced into the flame pressing his shield ahead and dragging his sword behind him.
The dragons foot stamp down directly in front of his shield and small rocks ricocheted off the walls. The young man did not waver in his purpose. The flame had stopped which allowed him to bring forth his sword and thrust it into the chest of the Dragon before him.
Hot blood spilled from the wound completely covering the young man. The shield and his sword melted in the liquid without a hint of heat. It was a crashing noise as the Dragon fell then there was nothing left but darkness and silence. The young man also fell unconscious to the floor the cave barely aware that his body fell on an enormous stack of gold coins.
The young man awoke feeling a new strength throughout his body. He had rarely felt this good before bit did sometimes after intense physical exercise. The cave was no longer dark. He could see it clearly although the colors tended more towards the red end of the spectrum. Below him and far back into the darkened cave he could see mound after mound of precious gold.
"I am now the richest man in the land!" He thought. Raising his head he shouted, "I am the richest man in the land!"
Something wasn't right. His voice was too deep it reverberated too long off the walls of the cave. His throat burned ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, the cave was illuminated as he saw a long stream of flame before him.
He looked down and saw the melted remains of his sword and shield but they were now tiny. He got up and tried to walk but his back would not allow him to stand erect so he crawled. Moments later he stood outside the cave. Water from a nearby spring pooled a short distance from the entrance. His throat was dry so he went to get a drink. As he looked into the still water the face of a mighty Dragon looked back.
An acid tear sizzled on a rock as the dragon took to the sky driven by hunger.
"Indeed," he thought, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | “Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.” | The Dragon
The young man entered the dragons cave. It was a long haul up the hill and his father's sword weighed heavily upon him as did the ancient Dragon Shield. The shield was made of a single scale of an ancient dragon and the only substance capable of deflecting the dragons fiery breath. The cave was not dark for clinging to the wall thousands of microscopic plants sent forth an eerie blue light. The young man was fearful but resolute in his purpose. Should he succeed in his quest to kill the dragon great power would be his as well as fame and fortune.
He heard a rustling noise and turned to the right. It was a dark alcove and the light from the cave did not penetrate the darkness. He brought his shield around to face it and peeked around the edge. His sword gripped tightly in his hand hovered an inch above the ground and the flash of reflected light and gave away the shaking fear that gripped him.
Slowly, two enormous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The young man could see the iris of each focus upon him.
"So," rumbled a deep cavernous voice from the darkness, "a brave knight summons the courage to challenge me! Know this, I am not easily vanquished and you are but a young lad. Mind you, I appreciate your courage but I discount your intelligence. Whosoever challenges me is a fool and dies by it! However, should you be victorious it will not be as you imagine."
"I may not be strong but I have courage and I will slay you!" Said the young man. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
"Indeed, for that is truer than you know – Then battle it shall be!" Said the Dragon as orange yellow and crimson flame spread across the top of the cave.
The young man sheltered behind the shield as the flames rolled past him. There was a smell of ash and age in the hot flame but he did not lose faith. No, indeed he advanced into the flame pressing his shield ahead and dragging his sword behind him.
The dragons foot stamp down directly in front of his shield and small rocks ricocheted off the walls. The young man did not waver in his purpose. The flame had stopped which allowed him to bring forth his sword and thrust it into the chest of the Dragon before him.
Hot blood spilled from the wound completely covering the young man. The shield and his sword melted in the liquid without a hint of heat. It was a crashing noise as the Dragon fell then there was nothing left but darkness and silence. The young man also fell unconscious to the floor the cave barely aware that his body fell on an enormous stack of gold coins.
The young man awoke feeling a new strength throughout his body. He had rarely felt this good before bit did sometimes after intense physical exercise. The cave was no longer dark. He could see it clearly although the colors tended more towards the red end of the spectrum. Below him and far back into the darkened cave he could see mound after mound of precious gold.
"I am now the richest man in the land!" He thought. Raising his head he shouted, "I am the richest man in the land!"
Something wasn't right. His voice was too deep it reverberated too long off the walls of the cave. His throat burned ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, the cave was illuminated as he saw a long stream of flame before him.
He looked down and saw the melted remains of his sword and shield but they were now tiny. He got up and tried to walk but his back would not allow him to stand erect so he crawled. Moments later he stood outside the cave. Water from a nearby spring pooled a short distance from the entrance. His throat was dry so he went to get a drink. As he looked into the still water the face of a mighty Dragon looked back.
An acid tear sizzled on a rock as the dragon took to the sky driven by hunger.
"Indeed," he thought, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | He had been in therapy for years, but he couldn't shake the habit. It was habitual...no shrink, no drug has ever really helped. Some had quelled the feeling, but nothing could completely kill it. That said, he kept up with the therapy because the court ordered him to, so he walked into the door of yet another new psychiatrists office.
Did that make it six? No, seven. Maybe seven over the past few years, he struggled to remember at this point. It was like asking someone how many times they took a piss last Thursday.
He sat down on the psychiatrists couch.
"So tell me about the latest incident".
He shrugged. Talking about it still made him embarrassed. "I was the supermarket and the urge hit me. I could help myself" he said sheepishly.
"We all have urges sometimes, but what is the attraction to masturbating outside?"
This was a new doctor, so he had to retread old ground with him sometimes.
"Some times, you just need to beat around the bush". | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was useless.
Three years since the accident, and I finally was able to crank out a C+ on an 8th grade general knowledge test. Then came the flood of words, branded into my mind from copious misuse. It was all bullshit. They meant absolutely nothing. I could even watch the way Dr. Vaughn's mouth moved, and know which meaningless phrase was about to be spat upon me.
"You're making real progress here, Fink." he drawled. I could tell his heart wasn't in this any more than mine. Fucking "real progress." It was as if he KNEW I was getting nowhere, but wanted to reaffirm me so I wouldn't give up on myself. Any hope I had for recovery was long gone.
"Yeah, yeah." I muttered as he wheeled me back to my room. Even if I could learn to learn again, I sure as hell wouldn't walk. Well, not for a long time anyways. It's hard to walk after you are run over by a dozing bus driver. Really fucking hard.
The worst part was feeling the same. I could read. I could write. I could speak like an adult. When the accident happened, I was in grad school. Two more months and I would be employed, ready to start my life. But no. Of course not. My fate was sealed from the start of it all. My head is as good as a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom. I can't retain information. It took me three years, and what do I have to show for it? A god damn smiley face sticker next to a C+ with "you're making real progress." Yeah.
The worst part was my family. During holidays I could come home. My mom would cry on the drive over, makeup caked on her face like lavender mud. My dad hardly made eye contact with me anymore. I knew they didn't mean to be disappointed, but I could tell that they were. Their trophy son turned mush-brain, or at least the equivalent of that, condemned to a hospital bed with bi-annual promises to be sent home soon "for good."
"You need any help son?" Dr. Vaughn asked.
"I got it, I got it." I grunt as I pull myself into my bed from the wheelchair.
I zoned out while Dr. Vaughn read some chart to me and chattered about meaningless enzymes and tissue and the works. I knew what I was going to do. I had been planning this for weeks. Dr. Vaughn eventually shut his mouth and left my room. Well, time to write the note, I guess.
"Mom, Dad, and to any whom it may concern,
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of this bullshit and the bills, and for trying to comfort me during these three terrible years. I'm sorry I am not the son that I used to be. I'm sorry I am not smart like used to be. I am so sorry that for all the good you were able to bring into my life, this is how it is going to end."
I paused. My hand trembled as I wrote. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the notepad. Strangely, though, there were no tears at all. Probably because I knew this was what had to be done. I removed the vial from the drawer. It's funny how such a small amount of liquid can make someone's heart seize. I continued writing.
"I know the doctors have been doing their best to get me back to my old self. I know they believe they can reverse a "good chunk" of the brain damage. I know you have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to make me normal again, but I have given up. I think you have given up too. I know you still pay for the therapy, and the operations, but you guys gave up long before I did. I don't blame you. I just don't want to live like this anymore."
With that, I tossed back the vial. I hope that nurse knew what she was talking about. I couldn't afford for this to not work. My vision began to blur. I picked up the pen, and scrawled the rest of my note.
"I'm sorry, and I love you so much. I really don't blame you for anything. I cannot be fixed, and I have no hope of being fixed.
You can't fix stupid." | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | “Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.” | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | Why do some people say that baking is difficult? All you need are butter, sugar, flour, baking powder, and eggs.
Baking isn't hard.
It's a piece of cake. | "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was a simple deal, or so I thought. There I was at my lowest point, homeless, broke, with a needle in my arm. The guy in leathers came to me, glowing faintly, but it could have been the drugs. I asked him to help me.
He did.
He became the voice on my shoulder. I caught breaks at every chance. Made money, got rich, enjoyed power. Then he whispered for me to kill. And I did. And I loved it. The bodies stacked up, but eventually I was caught.
The nurses in the chamber fixed the buckles on my limbs tight to the metal bed. I looked to the window where the families of my victims sat side by side with the Police who had chased me. Eager to watch the "State" bring justice. I was sure that my keeper had let me go. I'd fulfilled a bit of the devil's chaos, and now was my time to come join him.
Then I heard a quiet voice. Too quiet to make out.
Everyone left the chamber. A voice came over the loud speaker, but I didn't hear because I was straining to hear the voice. Some minutes went by, but then I heard the gas hiss into the room. At first, my breath caught, I coughed a couple times.
Suddenly I felt power. Strength. The room was a green haze. I pulled at my restraints and they came free. I smiled, suddenly sure that my job wasn't over. Smoothly I sat up on the table, and over the shrieking coming from the other side of the glass, I heard the voice. Oh so clear now.
*What does not kill you makes you stronger.* | "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was useless.
Three years since the accident, and I finally was able to crank out a C+ on an 8th grade general knowledge test. Then came the flood of words, branded into my mind from copious misuse. It was all bullshit. They meant absolutely nothing. I could even watch the way Dr. Vaughn's mouth moved, and know which meaningless phrase was about to be spat upon me.
"You're making real progress here, Fink." he drawled. I could tell his heart wasn't in this any more than mine. Fucking "real progress." It was as if he KNEW I was getting nowhere, but wanted to reaffirm me so I wouldn't give up on myself. Any hope I had for recovery was long gone.
"Yeah, yeah." I muttered as he wheeled me back to my room. Even if I could learn to learn again, I sure as hell wouldn't walk. Well, not for a long time anyways. It's hard to walk after you are run over by a dozing bus driver. Really fucking hard.
The worst part was feeling the same. I could read. I could write. I could speak like an adult. When the accident happened, I was in grad school. Two more months and I would be employed, ready to start my life. But no. Of course not. My fate was sealed from the start of it all. My head is as good as a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom. I can't retain information. It took me three years, and what do I have to show for it? A god damn smiley face sticker next to a C+ with "you're making real progress." Yeah.
The worst part was my family. During holidays I could come home. My mom would cry on the drive over, makeup caked on her face like lavender mud. My dad hardly made eye contact with me anymore. I knew they didn't mean to be disappointed, but I could tell that they were. Their trophy son turned mush-brain, or at least the equivalent of that, condemned to a hospital bed with bi-annual promises to be sent home soon "for good."
"You need any help son?" Dr. Vaughn asked.
"I got it, I got it." I grunt as I pull myself into my bed from the wheelchair.
I zoned out while Dr. Vaughn read some chart to me and chattered about meaningless enzymes and tissue and the works. I knew what I was going to do. I had been planning this for weeks. Dr. Vaughn eventually shut his mouth and left my room. Well, time to write the note, I guess.
"Mom, Dad, and to any whom it may concern,
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of this bullshit and the bills, and for trying to comfort me during these three terrible years. I'm sorry I am not the son that I used to be. I'm sorry I am not smart like used to be. I am so sorry that for all the good you were able to bring into my life, this is how it is going to end."
I paused. My hand trembled as I wrote. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the notepad. Strangely, though, there were no tears at all. Probably because I knew this was what had to be done. I removed the vial from the drawer. It's funny how such a small amount of liquid can make someone's heart seize. I continued writing.
"I know the doctors have been doing their best to get me back to my old self. I know they believe they can reverse a "good chunk" of the brain damage. I know you have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to make me normal again, but I have given up. I think you have given up too. I know you still pay for the therapy, and the operations, but you guys gave up long before I did. I don't blame you. I just don't want to live like this anymore."
With that, I tossed back the vial. I hope that nurse knew what she was talking about. I couldn't afford for this to not work. My vision began to blur. I picked up the pen, and scrawled the rest of my note.
"I'm sorry, and I love you so much. I really don't blame you for anything. I cannot be fixed, and I have no hope of being fixed.
You can't fix stupid." | "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | “Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.” | "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | "Just take it man."
"What the hell? I don't even want her."
"She's all I got man. It's either her or the clothes off my back."
"She's not even cute. No offense man but she's kind of gross."
"Listen man, you got me my dope, and a man must pay his debts. I'm not going out and robbing people - you know that. She'll do whatever you want. Just take her out first and she'll love you."
"Fine but I might just take her to the pound. I hate dogs"
"Yep well payback is always a bitch" | "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I had been watching her for days. Through the window of the dress shop downtown, while "reading" on a bench in the park, following her on her walks to work each morning. I always remained concealed; barely registering in the periphery, a shadow on the wall.
That's how it has to be. Someone that beautiful would never willingly want someone like me. Her skin is the perfect porcelain complement to her silky raven hair that cascades down past her shoulders. The smile that dances on her lips when she says good morning to the barista, the ferocity in her eyes when she is running that final mile every afternoon, that lean body compelling me to come closer. She makes me feel sub-human. She makes me feel less than.
I am not worthy.
I know where she lives. I know her studio apartment just up the street from the main downtown drag. I've been inside. I want to know her insides. I just want to know what she is like on the inside.
Sometimes I think I can read her mind. I've been with her long enough that I know which days she will order a cappuccino... I know that she'll buy the blouse on Thursday. I bet anything she'll cut her run short on Tuesday. I know her.
The first time I crept into her apartment was on a Friday. She was at work. I knew because I watched her greet her boss and co-workers with that ungodly smile that sent shivers up my spine.
She smiled at me that way once. It was the first time I saw her. I timidly walked into the coffee shop she loves so much. I wasn't expecting to meet my life's obsession that day. I approached the counter, intimidated by the variety of choices available to me. She saw the confounded look on my face and she said "My favorite is the hazelnut cappuccino. Try that, and I know you'll thank me." And she smiled. That smile. It was like something came alive in me when she smiled at me. I felt this - this stirring inside. I knew this would be something special.
I stammered out some stupid reply like, "thanks," and looked away.
Idiot.
I entered her apartment on a Friday. I used the spare key that she lovingly leaves for me underneath the welcome mat. She is very considerate that way. I think she knew I was planning on entering her apartment to look around. What I found was unbelievable.
Music. Paintings. Sculptures. Poems. She is an artist. Something I didn't know about her. I was taken aback. I read through her journals and writings, and my heart exploded with love and admiration. More than ever, I knew she was my life's goal. That soul - that beautiful soul.
Today isn't Friday. Today is Sunday. I followed her on her jog, which went a bit longer than usual, but that's okay. Today was going to be a big day, I think it would be best if she was a little tired out. The clouds were ominous. Big, dark, looming - it's like they knew what was about to happen.
Suddenly it is pouring. The rain on the pavement can barely conceal the pounding of my heart. She is running towards me. Oh no, no, no. She can't see me. This isn't part of the plan.
She runs right past me without a second look. As it should be.
I slowly follow her to her apartment. The rain turning violent. The wind so strong it nearly pushes her down. I hear a clap of thunder from the heavens.
She is inside her apartment now. I think she may hear me, just outside. She is very quiet, but the rain outside may be muffling any sounds from within.
I am clasping the key from under the mat. This is the key to my everything. I need to touch her. I need to know her insides. I slide the key into the lock.
"Hey! Who is there!?" Her body is up against the door. So is mine. We are so close. Just a few inches of wood keeps us apart.
I turn the key and push on the door, but she pushes back.
"Who's there? What do you want? I'm calling the police! I saw you following me today! I see you following me every day!"
I'm panicked. Push the door just a bit further. It's opening. Just a bit further, and now I've got my foot in the door. | "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | When the plague rats came, they came in swarms. There was no escaping their beady eyes, their scratching claws. They squeeze into every home, through rafters and wine cellars, the door ajar, the window eased to let in the wind. We cannot escape. We cannot kill enough to make a dent in their numbers. There is only one option. Do not let them in. Do not let them into your homes, do not let them into your rooms, do not let them craw up the legs of your bed. Steel your doors, nail shut your windows, close the blankets around you. Sleep tight. | "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | My hands are shaking and my clothes are clinging to me from how much I am sweating. I just need one more. Just one more, and all of this will go away. I will be able to breathe again, be calm again.
I pull myself off of my couch and start frantically pulling up the cushions, looking for change. A quarter, a penny, a nickle, another quarter. I end up finding over 2 dollars.
This should be enough.
I leave my apartment and start heading towards the nearest convenience store. I start at a slow walk, and I keep getting faster and faster until I'm basically sprinting towards the store. My body can't wait any longer.
I arrive and throw the door open and make a beeline for the register. I ask for a pack of Swisher Sweets and a lighter, throw my handful of change on the counter, and walk back outside. I try opening the package, my sweaty, shaking hands slipping several times, but eventually I get it. I raise one of them to my lips, light it, and take a long, slow pull.
My eyes close.
Close, but no cigar.
| "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | "Dad, when can we go?"
"Soon Theresa, be patient. You know we have to stay until Emma's mom has performed"
"I don't want to wait for her, can't I just go now? We've been sitting here for an hour"
"You can't leave Theresa, pass the time somehow. You could go backstage and talk to Emma if you feel like it"
"Emma only talks about stupid stuff. Plus she's like half my age. She's by far the dumbest girl I've ever talked to!"
"Keep your voice down okay! Were eating dinner with Emma and her mom, and I would like you to endure, at least until Emma's mom is finished with her performance."
"Emma and her fat ugly mom isn't even eating! They've been backstage half the time we've been here! I'm not waiting another minute! Why are we doing this again?!"
"Keep your voice down Theresa! I've spent countless lunches with this woman out of pure pity for her hopeless dream. She got me the job for christs sake! I figure the least I owe her is a fucking dinner where my fully grown daughter acts like a fully grown person!"
"That job was the worst decision you ever did! I'm leaving!"
"Goddamn it Theresa! Sit your butt down! This is not over until the fat lady sings!"
| "No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | He had been in therapy for years, but he couldn't shake the habit. It was habitual...no shrink, no drug has ever really helped. Some had quelled the feeling, but nothing could completely kill it. That said, he kept up with the therapy because the court ordered him to, so he walked into the door of yet another new psychiatrists office.
Did that make it six? No, seven. Maybe seven over the past few years, he struggled to remember at this point. It was like asking someone how many times they took a piss last Thursday.
He sat down on the psychiatrists couch.
"So tell me about the latest incident".
He shrugged. Talking about it still made him embarrassed. "I was the supermarket and the urge hit me. I could help myself" he said sheepishly.
"We all have urges sometimes, but what is the attraction to masturbating outside?"
This was a new doctor, so he had to retread old ground with him sometimes.
"Some times, you just need to beat around the bush". | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | Why do some people say that baking is difficult? All you need are butter, sugar, flour, baking powder, and eggs.
Baking isn't hard.
It's a piece of cake. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | Why do some people say that baking is difficult? All you need are butter, sugar, flour, baking powder, and eggs.
Baking isn't hard.
It's a piece of cake. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | “Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.” | Why do some people say that baking is difficult? All you need are butter, sugar, flour, baking powder, and eggs.
Baking isn't hard.
It's a piece of cake. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | "Just take it man."
"What the hell? I don't even want her."
"She's all I got man. It's either her or the clothes off my back."
"She's not even cute. No offense man but she's kind of gross."
"Listen man, you got me my dope, and a man must pay his debts. I'm not going out and robbing people - you know that. She'll do whatever you want. Just take her out first and she'll love you."
"Fine but I might just take her to the pound. I hate dogs"
"Yep well payback is always a bitch" | Why do some people say that baking is difficult? All you need are butter, sugar, flour, baking powder, and eggs.
Baking isn't hard.
It's a piece of cake. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I had been watching her for days. Through the window of the dress shop downtown, while "reading" on a bench in the park, following her on her walks to work each morning. I always remained concealed; barely registering in the periphery, a shadow on the wall.
That's how it has to be. Someone that beautiful would never willingly want someone like me. Her skin is the perfect porcelain complement to her silky raven hair that cascades down past her shoulders. The smile that dances on her lips when she says good morning to the barista, the ferocity in her eyes when she is running that final mile every afternoon, that lean body compelling me to come closer. She makes me feel sub-human. She makes me feel less than.
I am not worthy.
I know where she lives. I know her studio apartment just up the street from the main downtown drag. I've been inside. I want to know her insides. I just want to know what she is like on the inside.
Sometimes I think I can read her mind. I've been with her long enough that I know which days she will order a cappuccino... I know that she'll buy the blouse on Thursday. I bet anything she'll cut her run short on Tuesday. I know her.
The first time I crept into her apartment was on a Friday. She was at work. I knew because I watched her greet her boss and co-workers with that ungodly smile that sent shivers up my spine.
She smiled at me that way once. It was the first time I saw her. I timidly walked into the coffee shop she loves so much. I wasn't expecting to meet my life's obsession that day. I approached the counter, intimidated by the variety of choices available to me. She saw the confounded look on my face and she said "My favorite is the hazelnut cappuccino. Try that, and I know you'll thank me." And she smiled. That smile. It was like something came alive in me when she smiled at me. I felt this - this stirring inside. I knew this would be something special.
I stammered out some stupid reply like, "thanks," and looked away.
Idiot.
I entered her apartment on a Friday. I used the spare key that she lovingly leaves for me underneath the welcome mat. She is very considerate that way. I think she knew I was planning on entering her apartment to look around. What I found was unbelievable.
Music. Paintings. Sculptures. Poems. She is an artist. Something I didn't know about her. I was taken aback. I read through her journals and writings, and my heart exploded with love and admiration. More than ever, I knew she was my life's goal. That soul - that beautiful soul.
Today isn't Friday. Today is Sunday. I followed her on her jog, which went a bit longer than usual, but that's okay. Today was going to be a big day, I think it would be best if she was a little tired out. The clouds were ominous. Big, dark, looming - it's like they knew what was about to happen.
Suddenly it is pouring. The rain on the pavement can barely conceal the pounding of my heart. She is running towards me. Oh no, no, no. She can't see me. This isn't part of the plan.
She runs right past me without a second look. As it should be.
I slowly follow her to her apartment. The rain turning violent. The wind so strong it nearly pushes her down. I hear a clap of thunder from the heavens.
She is inside her apartment now. I think she may hear me, just outside. She is very quiet, but the rain outside may be muffling any sounds from within.
I am clasping the key from under the mat. This is the key to my everything. I need to touch her. I need to know her insides. I slide the key into the lock.
"Hey! Who is there!?" Her body is up against the door. So is mine. We are so close. Just a few inches of wood keeps us apart.
I turn the key and push on the door, but she pushes back.
"Who's there? What do you want? I'm calling the police! I saw you following me today! I see you following me every day!"
I'm panicked. Push the door just a bit further. It's opening. Just a bit further, and now I've got my foot in the door. | Why do some people say that baking is difficult? All you need are butter, sugar, flour, baking powder, and eggs.
Baking isn't hard.
It's a piece of cake. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | It was a simple deal, or so I thought. There I was at my lowest point, homeless, broke, with a needle in my arm. The guy in leathers came to me, glowing faintly, but it could have been the drugs. I asked him to help me.
He did.
He became the voice on my shoulder. I caught breaks at every chance. Made money, got rich, enjoyed power. Then he whispered for me to kill. And I did. And I loved it. The bodies stacked up, but eventually I was caught.
The nurses in the chamber fixed the buckles on my limbs tight to the metal bed. I looked to the window where the families of my victims sat side by side with the Police who had chased me. Eager to watch the "State" bring justice. I was sure that my keeper had let me go. I'd fulfilled a bit of the devil's chaos, and now was my time to come join him.
Then I heard a quiet voice. Too quiet to make out.
Everyone left the chamber. A voice came over the loud speaker, but I didn't hear because I was straining to hear the voice. Some minutes went by, but then I heard the gas hiss into the room. At first, my breath caught, I coughed a couple times.
Suddenly I felt power. Strength. The room was a green haze. I pulled at my restraints and they came free. I smiled, suddenly sure that my job wasn't over. Smoothly I sat up on the table, and over the shrieking coming from the other side of the glass, I heard the voice. Oh so clear now.
*What does not kill you makes you stronger.* | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | It was a simple deal, or so I thought. There I was at my lowest point, homeless, broke, with a needle in my arm. The guy in leathers came to me, glowing faintly, but it could have been the drugs. I asked him to help me.
He did.
He became the voice on my shoulder. I caught breaks at every chance. Made money, got rich, enjoyed power. Then he whispered for me to kill. And I did. And I loved it. The bodies stacked up, but eventually I was caught.
The nurses in the chamber fixed the buckles on my limbs tight to the metal bed. I looked to the window where the families of my victims sat side by side with the Police who had chased me. Eager to watch the "State" bring justice. I was sure that my keeper had let me go. I'd fulfilled a bit of the devil's chaos, and now was my time to come join him.
Then I heard a quiet voice. Too quiet to make out.
Everyone left the chamber. A voice came over the loud speaker, but I didn't hear because I was straining to hear the voice. Some minutes went by, but then I heard the gas hiss into the room. At first, my breath caught, I coughed a couple times.
Suddenly I felt power. Strength. The room was a green haze. I pulled at my restraints and they came free. I smiled, suddenly sure that my job wasn't over. Smoothly I sat up on the table, and over the shrieking coming from the other side of the glass, I heard the voice. Oh so clear now.
*What does not kill you makes you stronger.* | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | “Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.” | It was a simple deal, or so I thought. There I was at my lowest point, homeless, broke, with a needle in my arm. The guy in leathers came to me, glowing faintly, but it could have been the drugs. I asked him to help me.
He did.
He became the voice on my shoulder. I caught breaks at every chance. Made money, got rich, enjoyed power. Then he whispered for me to kill. And I did. And I loved it. The bodies stacked up, but eventually I was caught.
The nurses in the chamber fixed the buckles on my limbs tight to the metal bed. I looked to the window where the families of my victims sat side by side with the Police who had chased me. Eager to watch the "State" bring justice. I was sure that my keeper had let me go. I'd fulfilled a bit of the devil's chaos, and now was my time to come join him.
Then I heard a quiet voice. Too quiet to make out.
Everyone left the chamber. A voice came over the loud speaker, but I didn't hear because I was straining to hear the voice. Some minutes went by, but then I heard the gas hiss into the room. At first, my breath caught, I coughed a couple times.
Suddenly I felt power. Strength. The room was a green haze. I pulled at my restraints and they came free. I smiled, suddenly sure that my job wasn't over. Smoothly I sat up on the table, and over the shrieking coming from the other side of the glass, I heard the voice. Oh so clear now.
*What does not kill you makes you stronger.* | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | It was useless.
Three years since the accident, and I finally was able to crank out a C+ on an 8th grade general knowledge test. Then came the flood of words, branded into my mind from copious misuse. It was all bullshit. They meant absolutely nothing. I could even watch the way Dr. Vaughn's mouth moved, and know which meaningless phrase was about to be spat upon me.
"You're making real progress here, Fink." he drawled. I could tell his heart wasn't in this any more than mine. Fucking "real progress." It was as if he KNEW I was getting nowhere, but wanted to reaffirm me so I wouldn't give up on myself. Any hope I had for recovery was long gone.
"Yeah, yeah." I muttered as he wheeled me back to my room. Even if I could learn to learn again, I sure as hell wouldn't walk. Well, not for a long time anyways. It's hard to walk after you are run over by a dozing bus driver. Really fucking hard.
The worst part was feeling the same. I could read. I could write. I could speak like an adult. When the accident happened, I was in grad school. Two more months and I would be employed, ready to start my life. But no. Of course not. My fate was sealed from the start of it all. My head is as good as a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom. I can't retain information. It took me three years, and what do I have to show for it? A god damn smiley face sticker next to a C+ with "you're making real progress." Yeah.
The worst part was my family. During holidays I could come home. My mom would cry on the drive over, makeup caked on her face like lavender mud. My dad hardly made eye contact with me anymore. I knew they didn't mean to be disappointed, but I could tell that they were. Their trophy son turned mush-brain, or at least the equivalent of that, condemned to a hospital bed with bi-annual promises to be sent home soon "for good."
"You need any help son?" Dr. Vaughn asked.
"I got it, I got it." I grunt as I pull myself into my bed from the wheelchair.
I zoned out while Dr. Vaughn read some chart to me and chattered about meaningless enzymes and tissue and the works. I knew what I was going to do. I had been planning this for weeks. Dr. Vaughn eventually shut his mouth and left my room. Well, time to write the note, I guess.
"Mom, Dad, and to any whom it may concern,
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of this bullshit and the bills, and for trying to comfort me during these three terrible years. I'm sorry I am not the son that I used to be. I'm sorry I am not smart like used to be. I am so sorry that for all the good you were able to bring into my life, this is how it is going to end."
I paused. My hand trembled as I wrote. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the notepad. Strangely, though, there were no tears at all. Probably because I knew this was what had to be done. I removed the vial from the drawer. It's funny how such a small amount of liquid can make someone's heart seize. I continued writing.
"I know the doctors have been doing their best to get me back to my old self. I know they believe they can reverse a "good chunk" of the brain damage. I know you have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to make me normal again, but I have given up. I think you have given up too. I know you still pay for the therapy, and the operations, but you guys gave up long before I did. I don't blame you. I just don't want to live like this anymore."
With that, I tossed back the vial. I hope that nurse knew what she was talking about. I couldn't afford for this to not work. My vision began to blur. I picked up the pen, and scrawled the rest of my note.
"I'm sorry, and I love you so much. I really don't blame you for anything. I cannot be fixed, and I have no hope of being fixed.
You can't fix stupid." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | It was useless.
Three years since the accident, and I finally was able to crank out a C+ on an 8th grade general knowledge test. Then came the flood of words, branded into my mind from copious misuse. It was all bullshit. They meant absolutely nothing. I could even watch the way Dr. Vaughn's mouth moved, and know which meaningless phrase was about to be spat upon me.
"You're making real progress here, Fink." he drawled. I could tell his heart wasn't in this any more than mine. Fucking "real progress." It was as if he KNEW I was getting nowhere, but wanted to reaffirm me so I wouldn't give up on myself. Any hope I had for recovery was long gone.
"Yeah, yeah." I muttered as he wheeled me back to my room. Even if I could learn to learn again, I sure as hell wouldn't walk. Well, not for a long time anyways. It's hard to walk after you are run over by a dozing bus driver. Really fucking hard.
The worst part was feeling the same. I could read. I could write. I could speak like an adult. When the accident happened, I was in grad school. Two more months and I would be employed, ready to start my life. But no. Of course not. My fate was sealed from the start of it all. My head is as good as a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom. I can't retain information. It took me three years, and what do I have to show for it? A god damn smiley face sticker next to a C+ with "you're making real progress." Yeah.
The worst part was my family. During holidays I could come home. My mom would cry on the drive over, makeup caked on her face like lavender mud. My dad hardly made eye contact with me anymore. I knew they didn't mean to be disappointed, but I could tell that they were. Their trophy son turned mush-brain, or at least the equivalent of that, condemned to a hospital bed with bi-annual promises to be sent home soon "for good."
"You need any help son?" Dr. Vaughn asked.
"I got it, I got it." I grunt as I pull myself into my bed from the wheelchair.
I zoned out while Dr. Vaughn read some chart to me and chattered about meaningless enzymes and tissue and the works. I knew what I was going to do. I had been planning this for weeks. Dr. Vaughn eventually shut his mouth and left my room. Well, time to write the note, I guess.
"Mom, Dad, and to any whom it may concern,
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of this bullshit and the bills, and for trying to comfort me during these three terrible years. I'm sorry I am not the son that I used to be. I'm sorry I am not smart like used to be. I am so sorry that for all the good you were able to bring into my life, this is how it is going to end."
I paused. My hand trembled as I wrote. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the notepad. Strangely, though, there were no tears at all. Probably because I knew this was what had to be done. I removed the vial from the drawer. It's funny how such a small amount of liquid can make someone's heart seize. I continued writing.
"I know the doctors have been doing their best to get me back to my old self. I know they believe they can reverse a "good chunk" of the brain damage. I know you have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to make me normal again, but I have given up. I think you have given up too. I know you still pay for the therapy, and the operations, but you guys gave up long before I did. I don't blame you. I just don't want to live like this anymore."
With that, I tossed back the vial. I hope that nurse knew what she was talking about. I couldn't afford for this to not work. My vision began to blur. I picked up the pen, and scrawled the rest of my note.
"I'm sorry, and I love you so much. I really don't blame you for anything. I cannot be fixed, and I have no hope of being fixed.
You can't fix stupid." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I had been watching her for days. Through the window of the dress shop downtown, while "reading" on a bench in the park, following her on her walks to work each morning. I always remained concealed; barely registering in the periphery, a shadow on the wall.
That's how it has to be. Someone that beautiful would never willingly want someone like me. Her skin is the perfect porcelain complement to her silky raven hair that cascades down past her shoulders. The smile that dances on her lips when she says good morning to the barista, the ferocity in her eyes when she is running that final mile every afternoon, that lean body compelling me to come closer. She makes me feel sub-human. She makes me feel less than.
I am not worthy.
I know where she lives. I know her studio apartment just up the street from the main downtown drag. I've been inside. I want to know her insides. I just want to know what she is like on the inside.
Sometimes I think I can read her mind. I've been with her long enough that I know which days she will order a cappuccino... I know that she'll buy the blouse on Thursday. I bet anything she'll cut her run short on Tuesday. I know her.
The first time I crept into her apartment was on a Friday. She was at work. I knew because I watched her greet her boss and co-workers with that ungodly smile that sent shivers up my spine.
She smiled at me that way once. It was the first time I saw her. I timidly walked into the coffee shop she loves so much. I wasn't expecting to meet my life's obsession that day. I approached the counter, intimidated by the variety of choices available to me. She saw the confounded look on my face and she said "My favorite is the hazelnut cappuccino. Try that, and I know you'll thank me." And she smiled. That smile. It was like something came alive in me when she smiled at me. I felt this - this stirring inside. I knew this would be something special.
I stammered out some stupid reply like, "thanks," and looked away.
Idiot.
I entered her apartment on a Friday. I used the spare key that she lovingly leaves for me underneath the welcome mat. She is very considerate that way. I think she knew I was planning on entering her apartment to look around. What I found was unbelievable.
Music. Paintings. Sculptures. Poems. She is an artist. Something I didn't know about her. I was taken aback. I read through her journals and writings, and my heart exploded with love and admiration. More than ever, I knew she was my life's goal. That soul - that beautiful soul.
Today isn't Friday. Today is Sunday. I followed her on her jog, which went a bit longer than usual, but that's okay. Today was going to be a big day, I think it would be best if she was a little tired out. The clouds were ominous. Big, dark, looming - it's like they knew what was about to happen.
Suddenly it is pouring. The rain on the pavement can barely conceal the pounding of my heart. She is running towards me. Oh no, no, no. She can't see me. This isn't part of the plan.
She runs right past me without a second look. As it should be.
I slowly follow her to her apartment. The rain turning violent. The wind so strong it nearly pushes her down. I hear a clap of thunder from the heavens.
She is inside her apartment now. I think she may hear me, just outside. She is very quiet, but the rain outside may be muffling any sounds from within.
I am clasping the key from under the mat. This is the key to my everything. I need to touch her. I need to know her insides. I slide the key into the lock.
"Hey! Who is there!?" Her body is up against the door. So is mine. We are so close. Just a few inches of wood keeps us apart.
I turn the key and push on the door, but she pushes back.
"Who's there? What do you want? I'm calling the police! I saw you following me today! I see you following me every day!"
I'm panicked. Push the door just a bit further. It's opening. Just a bit further, and now I've got my foot in the door. | The walls of the kings castles were ruptured by the goblin death sphere, then driven through to the keep of the castle, before unleashing its rampant army. A device no larger than the head on a man's shoulders, but through goblin magicks it can teleport the armies to their battle. The great rulers of man have fallen. There is no refuge from the goblin death sphere and its assassins.
Now, the ball is in your court. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | When the plague rats came, they came in swarms. There was no escaping their beady eyes, their scratching claws. They squeeze into every home, through rafters and wine cellars, the door ajar, the window eased to let in the wind. We cannot escape. We cannot kill enough to make a dent in their numbers. There is only one option. Do not let them in. Do not let them into your homes, do not let them into your rooms, do not let them craw up the legs of your bed. Steel your doors, nail shut your windows, close the blankets around you. Sleep tight. | The walls of the kings castles were ruptured by the goblin death sphere, then driven through to the keep of the castle, before unleashing its rampant army. A device no larger than the head on a man's shoulders, but through goblin magicks it can teleport the armies to their battle. The great rulers of man have fallen. There is no refuge from the goblin death sphere and its assassins.
Now, the ball is in your court. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It's strange to think that many people covet an eternal existence, seeking to lengthen and cheat that eternal clock which advances forward every second of every day. Many people try and stave this off, using fad diets, seeking strange plants from the amazon, turning to deities in the hope that they can stop, pause or slow the clock that advances ever forward each day.
Maria was one such person, seeking to change her fate and alter the parameters of her existence in this timeline. She had taken a route not sought by many in the current age of technology. The discovery of the book was a defining moment in her life, giving her the hope she had desperately been seeking for over twenty years since her 16th birthday. It had cost her a lot of time, friendships, and lives to finally lay her hands on the book. The book that could finally change everything for her.
At 16, Maria had realised that her life was short, incredibly short. Her quest to find a way to remedy that problem had taken her deep into archives in many libraries across Europe and Asia, she had struggled to find anything of use until three years ago, she had stumbled across a small red book in a village on the outskirts of China.
The book had finally confirmed for her something she had known since she was three. Magic existed, and there was a way to wield the powers of nature to cause effects she willed in her mind.
She had started learning the spells the book had taught her, and was beginning to craft her own spells last year, when finally she had a realisation. she could finally bend the powers of nature to lengthen her own life. Her dream was going to become a reality. Finally, the burden of mortality would be lifted, and she would be free to explore the word, and the universe without having to worry about that goddamn advancing clock anymore.
And so, today, Maria finally was ready. The preparations had been made. The sacrifices ready. Runes, written, candles arranged, Maria was finally going to forge the power of nature into herself to finally achieve an everlasting life.
As she began to cast the spell, a familiar feeling washed over her. A feeling of power. A feeling of fear.
It was too late to stop the ritual, and as she saw the smiling grin of the forsaken, she finally was able to embrace something she had known her entire life.
You only live once. | The walls of the kings castles were ruptured by the goblin death sphere, then driven through to the keep of the castle, before unleashing its rampant army. A device no larger than the head on a man's shoulders, but through goblin magicks it can teleport the armies to their battle. The great rulers of man have fallen. There is no refuge from the goblin death sphere and its assassins.
Now, the ball is in your court. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | My hands are shaking and my clothes are clinging to me from how much I am sweating. I just need one more. Just one more, and all of this will go away. I will be able to breathe again, be calm again.
I pull myself off of my couch and start frantically pulling up the cushions, looking for change. A quarter, a penny, a nickle, another quarter. I end up finding over 2 dollars.
This should be enough.
I leave my apartment and start heading towards the nearest convenience store. I start at a slow walk, and I keep getting faster and faster until I'm basically sprinting towards the store. My body can't wait any longer.
I arrive and throw the door open and make a beeline for the register. I ask for a pack of Swisher Sweets and a lighter, throw my handful of change on the counter, and walk back outside. I try opening the package, my sweaty, shaking hands slipping several times, but eventually I get it. I raise one of them to my lips, light it, and take a long, slow pull.
My eyes close.
Close, but no cigar.
| The walls of the kings castles were ruptured by the goblin death sphere, then driven through to the keep of the castle, before unleashing its rampant army. A device no larger than the head on a man's shoulders, but through goblin magicks it can teleport the armies to their battle. The great rulers of man have fallen. There is no refuge from the goblin death sphere and its assassins.
Now, the ball is in your court. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | When I woke up, I knew Eric was dead. The air was warm, too warm for morning, my shift should have started ages ago. I leapt out and started searching for him. I knew what I would see, but I wanted to see him.
I found him in a nearby tree. Feathers littered around him, the smell of blood lingering in the air. He had fought to survive, and had lost. I wanted to go to him, t take him back, but he was now bait and I knew it.
I bowed my head, and flew off. He died for me. He always took the morning shift, even though it's dangerous to hunt so early in the morning, and after a storm! The prey gets mixed up, harder to tell what's safe, what's poisonous, and what's Hers. He took risk for me, and now I must take it for you, so we can survive.
So be warned, children. Never let your hunger get the better of your senses. Never hunt too early after strange weather. And if you only remember one thing from this, my chicks, remember this. The early bird gets The Worm. | The walls of the kings castles were ruptured by the goblin death sphere, then driven through to the keep of the castle, before unleashing its rampant army. A device no larger than the head on a man's shoulders, but through goblin magicks it can teleport the armies to their battle. The great rulers of man have fallen. There is no refuge from the goblin death sphere and its assassins.
Now, the ball is in your court. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | "Dad, when can we go?"
"Soon Theresa, be patient. You know we have to stay until Emma's mom has performed"
"I don't want to wait for her, can't I just go now? We've been sitting here for an hour"
"You can't leave Theresa, pass the time somehow. You could go backstage and talk to Emma if you feel like it"
"Emma only talks about stupid stuff. Plus she's like half my age. She's by far the dumbest girl I've ever talked to!"
"Keep your voice down okay! Were eating dinner with Emma and her mom, and I would like you to endure, at least until Emma's mom is finished with her performance."
"Emma and her fat ugly mom isn't even eating! They've been backstage half the time we've been here! I'm not waiting another minute! Why are we doing this again?!"
"Keep your voice down Theresa! I've spent countless lunches with this woman out of pure pity for her hopeless dream. She got me the job for christs sake! I figure the least I owe her is a fucking dinner where my fully grown daughter acts like a fully grown person!"
"That job was the worst decision you ever did! I'm leaving!"
"Goddamn it Theresa! Sit your butt down! This is not over until the fat lady sings!"
| The walls of the kings castles were ruptured by the goblin death sphere, then driven through to the keep of the castle, before unleashing its rampant army. A device no larger than the head on a man's shoulders, but through goblin magicks it can teleport the armies to their battle. The great rulers of man have fallen. There is no refuge from the goblin death sphere and its assassins.
Now, the ball is in your court. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | My hands are shaking and my clothes are clinging to me from how much I am sweating. I just need one more. Just one more, and all of this will go away. I will be able to breathe again, be calm again.
I pull myself off of my couch and start frantically pulling up the cushions, looking for change. A quarter, a penny, a nickle, another quarter. I end up finding over 2 dollars.
This should be enough.
I leave my apartment and start heading towards the nearest convenience store. I start at a slow walk, and I keep getting faster and faster until I'm basically sprinting towards the store. My body can't wait any longer.
I arrive and throw the door open and make a beeline for the register. I ask for a pack of Swisher Sweets and a lighter, throw my handful of change on the counter, and walk back outside. I try opening the package, my sweaty, shaking hands slipping several times, but eventually I get it. I raise one of them to my lips, light it, and take a long, slow pull.
My eyes close.
Close, but no cigar.
| When the plague rats came, they came in swarms. There was no escaping their beady eyes, their scratching claws. They squeeze into every home, through rafters and wine cellars, the door ajar, the window eased to let in the wind. We cannot escape. We cannot kill enough to make a dent in their numbers. There is only one option. Do not let them in. Do not let them into your homes, do not let them into your rooms, do not let them craw up the legs of your bed. Steel your doors, nail shut your windows, close the blankets around you. Sleep tight. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | My hands are shaking and my clothes are clinging to me from how much I am sweating. I just need one more. Just one more, and all of this will go away. I will be able to breathe again, be calm again.
I pull myself off of my couch and start frantically pulling up the cushions, looking for change. A quarter, a penny, a nickle, another quarter. I end up finding over 2 dollars.
This should be enough.
I leave my apartment and start heading towards the nearest convenience store. I start at a slow walk, and I keep getting faster and faster until I'm basically sprinting towards the store. My body can't wait any longer.
I arrive and throw the door open and make a beeline for the register. I ask for a pack of Swisher Sweets and a lighter, throw my handful of change on the counter, and walk back outside. I try opening the package, my sweaty, shaking hands slipping several times, but eventually I get it. I raise one of them to my lips, light it, and take a long, slow pull.
My eyes close.
Close, but no cigar.
| It's strange to think that many people covet an eternal existence, seeking to lengthen and cheat that eternal clock which advances forward every second of every day. Many people try and stave this off, using fad diets, seeking strange plants from the amazon, turning to deities in the hope that they can stop, pause or slow the clock that advances ever forward each day.
Maria was one such person, seeking to change her fate and alter the parameters of her existence in this timeline. She had taken a route not sought by many in the current age of technology. The discovery of the book was a defining moment in her life, giving her the hope she had desperately been seeking for over twenty years since her 16th birthday. It had cost her a lot of time, friendships, and lives to finally lay her hands on the book. The book that could finally change everything for her.
At 16, Maria had realised that her life was short, incredibly short. Her quest to find a way to remedy that problem had taken her deep into archives in many libraries across Europe and Asia, she had struggled to find anything of use until three years ago, she had stumbled across a small red book in a village on the outskirts of China.
The book had finally confirmed for her something she had known since she was three. Magic existed, and there was a way to wield the powers of nature to cause effects she willed in her mind.
She had started learning the spells the book had taught her, and was beginning to craft her own spells last year, when finally she had a realisation. she could finally bend the powers of nature to lengthen her own life. Her dream was going to become a reality. Finally, the burden of mortality would be lifted, and she would be free to explore the word, and the universe without having to worry about that goddamn advancing clock anymore.
And so, today, Maria finally was ready. The preparations had been made. The sacrifices ready. Runes, written, candles arranged, Maria was finally going to forge the power of nature into herself to finally achieve an everlasting life.
As she began to cast the spell, a familiar feeling washed over her. A feeling of power. A feeling of fear.
It was too late to stop the ritual, and as she saw the smiling grin of the forsaken, she finally was able to embrace something she had known her entire life.
You only live once. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | "Dad, when can we go?"
"Soon Theresa, be patient. You know we have to stay until Emma's mom has performed"
"I don't want to wait for her, can't I just go now? We've been sitting here for an hour"
"You can't leave Theresa, pass the time somehow. You could go backstage and talk to Emma if you feel like it"
"Emma only talks about stupid stuff. Plus she's like half my age. She's by far the dumbest girl I've ever talked to!"
"Keep your voice down okay! Were eating dinner with Emma and her mom, and I would like you to endure, at least until Emma's mom is finished with her performance."
"Emma and her fat ugly mom isn't even eating! They've been backstage half the time we've been here! I'm not waiting another minute! Why are we doing this again?!"
"Keep your voice down Theresa! I've spent countless lunches with this woman out of pure pity for her hopeless dream. She got me the job for christs sake! I figure the least I owe her is a fucking dinner where my fully grown daughter acts like a fully grown person!"
"That job was the worst decision you ever did! I'm leaving!"
"Goddamn it Theresa! Sit your butt down! This is not over until the fat lady sings!"
| It's strange to think that many people covet an eternal existence, seeking to lengthen and cheat that eternal clock which advances forward every second of every day. Many people try and stave this off, using fad diets, seeking strange plants from the amazon, turning to deities in the hope that they can stop, pause or slow the clock that advances ever forward each day.
Maria was one such person, seeking to change her fate and alter the parameters of her existence in this timeline. She had taken a route not sought by many in the current age of technology. The discovery of the book was a defining moment in her life, giving her the hope she had desperately been seeking for over twenty years since her 16th birthday. It had cost her a lot of time, friendships, and lives to finally lay her hands on the book. The book that could finally change everything for her.
At 16, Maria had realised that her life was short, incredibly short. Her quest to find a way to remedy that problem had taken her deep into archives in many libraries across Europe and Asia, she had struggled to find anything of use until three years ago, she had stumbled across a small red book in a village on the outskirts of China.
The book had finally confirmed for her something she had known since she was three. Magic existed, and there was a way to wield the powers of nature to cause effects she willed in her mind.
She had started learning the spells the book had taught her, and was beginning to craft her own spells last year, when finally she had a realisation. she could finally bend the powers of nature to lengthen her own life. Her dream was going to become a reality. Finally, the burden of mortality would be lifted, and she would be free to explore the word, and the universe without having to worry about that goddamn advancing clock anymore.
And so, today, Maria finally was ready. The preparations had been made. The sacrifices ready. Runes, written, candles arranged, Maria was finally going to forge the power of nature into herself to finally achieve an everlasting life.
As she began to cast the spell, a familiar feeling washed over her. A feeling of power. A feeling of fear.
It was too late to stop the ritual, and as she saw the smiling grin of the forsaken, she finally was able to embrace something she had known her entire life.
You only live once. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | "Dad, when can we go?"
"Soon Theresa, be patient. You know we have to stay until Emma's mom has performed"
"I don't want to wait for her, can't I just go now? We've been sitting here for an hour"
"You can't leave Theresa, pass the time somehow. You could go backstage and talk to Emma if you feel like it"
"Emma only talks about stupid stuff. Plus she's like half my age. She's by far the dumbest girl I've ever talked to!"
"Keep your voice down okay! Were eating dinner with Emma and her mom, and I would like you to endure, at least until Emma's mom is finished with her performance."
"Emma and her fat ugly mom isn't even eating! They've been backstage half the time we've been here! I'm not waiting another minute! Why are we doing this again?!"
"Keep your voice down Theresa! I've spent countless lunches with this woman out of pure pity for her hopeless dream. She got me the job for christs sake! I figure the least I owe her is a fucking dinner where my fully grown daughter acts like a fully grown person!"
"That job was the worst decision you ever did! I'm leaving!"
"Goddamn it Theresa! Sit your butt down! This is not over until the fat lady sings!"
| When I woke up, I knew Eric was dead. The air was warm, too warm for morning, my shift should have started ages ago. I leapt out and started searching for him. I knew what I would see, but I wanted to see him.
I found him in a nearby tree. Feathers littered around him, the smell of blood lingering in the air. He had fought to survive, and had lost. I wanted to go to him, t take him back, but he was now bait and I knew it.
I bowed my head, and flew off. He died for me. He always took the morning shift, even though it's dangerous to hunt so early in the morning, and after a storm! The prey gets mixed up, harder to tell what's safe, what's poisonous, and what's Hers. He took risk for me, and now I must take it for you, so we can survive.
So be warned, children. Never let your hunger get the better of your senses. Never hunt too early after strange weather. And if you only remember one thing from this, my chicks, remember this. The early bird gets The Worm. | |
[WP] A voice from the sky booms, "PLOT TWIST." The world changes dramatically. | " password..."
" bibliophilia"
the door swung inward and opened into a long hallway. The man who answered the door a twisted spine and knarled knees and elbows, long scraggly hair and dusty clothing. He waved me inside and I followed him as he led me through the hallway. I almost lost count of the doors we passed when we stopped in front of one and he knocked.
"Come in!"
the door creaked as it opened to reveal a room so full of books it would take forever to read every page. I certainly couldn't in my lifetime. A man barely tall enough to see over the desk jumped down and ran around it.
"I must shake the hand of the savior! Oh my goodness what an amazing honor."
He stood there staring into my face awestruck.
"So what was I summoned for? I received this notice that my services were needed at this address. but the circumstances are quite unusual."
For the next two hours I thought I was in a mad man's house. The next two hours after that I wanted to get out of there. After that I started to think I was going mad. Then he convinced me that what he was saying was the truth.
"So we are stuck in one of these books? We are actually from a place without magic?"
"Yes"
"And you are telling me that I have the power to break us out of here and back to our normal lives?"
"Yes"
| Ever get to some part of your life that's taken you goddamn years, *decades*, and then just- poof, gone, "Fuuuuuuck you!", God throws a switch and kicks you off the stairs and into a ditch? It's been fourteen years since that happened, and I pray every day to gods I didn't believe in that it never happens again.
My brother was about to propose to his wife, one knee and diamond ring and all, when it happened. She'd fallen to her knees with him, and begged forgiveness for a secret so long withheld. Her twist was that she'd been a man; his was that he, an unusually homophobic and hateful man, still wanted to marry her. Kind of funny, that one, actually. Bit inspiring.
My parents was riding a Greyhound from Chi-Town to Florida, though; forty-one people on board, all quiet. Just about everybody sleeping in the early morning stretch through Tennessee. Somebody was a little fidgety, though, and, *surprise!* there goes the driver with a box cutter. The madman throws the wheel into oncoming traffic and rolls her. Dad and seven others didn't make it; mom's okay, though. She's remarried, living with the gentlest damn soul I've ever seen.
The one I can't get over, that apparently *no one* can get over, was my own. I share it with a few thousand, actually. I was on the phone with my wife, asking her how she was doing at work- *boring as hell, as usual* -when it came through. I didn't hear it on my end, like everyone else did, being in a thick-ass studio, but I heard it through the phone. "PLOT TWIST," like some demon was bellowing from the pit of hell. It couldn't have been God booming down from the sky- God doesn't fuck people up like that.
One of my clients snapped a string and cut up his tendons or nerves or something in his fingertips; couldn't play ever again, I heard. Poor bastard. I told my wife with a little bit of a shaky laugh that I'd definitely gotten my plot twist. She laughed, too, telling me they'd just had a bit of a shake.
Then she told me it was getting *really* jumpy over there. Then the line cut out.
One of the engineers pulled me pretty hard into the lobby of our studio, and everybody was staring at the tube like fucking cartoon characters, eyes wide and jaws hanging. They'd pulled me in just in time to see everything fall apart.
My boss told me, the *next damn day*, that he'd walked in on his wife with another man when she was drunk. Told me it was the *worst possible pain* he could *ever* feel. I laughed and laughed at his sorry ass until I was on the floor, sobbing. What a fucking twist. | |
[WP] A voice from the sky booms, "PLOT TWIST." The world changes dramatically. | Ours was a young world and by proxy, ruled over by a young God. We worshiped the sun, believing it to be the face of our God. Light-bringer. Warmth-Giver. Sustainer. Our existence was a simple one, but we were happy.
It was a terrible day when we heard the voice of our God. A reverberation began in the ground and then shook the very pillars of our belief. We threw ourselves prostrate before the mighty sun God even as it's voice called out to us, causing some among our number to go mad and tear at their ears.
It *laughed* at us. *Laughed* at our suffering. We had mistaken our God to be a bringer of light, the one who chased away the darkness, but a young God is a temperamental one and ours was still a child.
The changes came quickly. I was wracked with spasms as my body betrayed me, changed against my will. Patches of fur sprouted everywhere my flesh was exposed to that hateful light. My fingers dissolved, my eyes burned. I could feel those around me clawing at the ground ineffectually. Even the ground became a twisted comical shadow of what it once was.
Why had It forsaken us? What sin was so great that we were forced into this existence?
I dared not look into a mirror once the spasms had passed. The world around me was changed. A hand on my shoulder caused me to recoil in fear, but the thing standing before me was a creature unlike anything I had ever seen before; Glossy black eyes, green fur, and a vicious horn sprouting from it's head. Was it a neighbor I once knew? Did I look the same?
"Tinky-Winky," I said, forming my first words upon alien lips. My hand, if you could call it that, was purple and swollen.
"Dipsy," The thing in front of me shook it's head solemnly.
Curse the God's. I was still cursing them even as a strange music arose in the heavens, tinkling like a choir of demons upon my alien ears. My body betrayed me and I found myself compelled to prance around like an unruly child. Ours was a young world ruled over by a young God, but none among us knew what horrors truly awaited us. | Ever get to some part of your life that's taken you goddamn years, *decades*, and then just- poof, gone, "Fuuuuuuck you!", God throws a switch and kicks you off the stairs and into a ditch? It's been fourteen years since that happened, and I pray every day to gods I didn't believe in that it never happens again.
My brother was about to propose to his wife, one knee and diamond ring and all, when it happened. She'd fallen to her knees with him, and begged forgiveness for a secret so long withheld. Her twist was that she'd been a man; his was that he, an unusually homophobic and hateful man, still wanted to marry her. Kind of funny, that one, actually. Bit inspiring.
My parents was riding a Greyhound from Chi-Town to Florida, though; forty-one people on board, all quiet. Just about everybody sleeping in the early morning stretch through Tennessee. Somebody was a little fidgety, though, and, *surprise!* there goes the driver with a box cutter. The madman throws the wheel into oncoming traffic and rolls her. Dad and seven others didn't make it; mom's okay, though. She's remarried, living with the gentlest damn soul I've ever seen.
The one I can't get over, that apparently *no one* can get over, was my own. I share it with a few thousand, actually. I was on the phone with my wife, asking her how she was doing at work- *boring as hell, as usual* -when it came through. I didn't hear it on my end, like everyone else did, being in a thick-ass studio, but I heard it through the phone. "PLOT TWIST," like some demon was bellowing from the pit of hell. It couldn't have been God booming down from the sky- God doesn't fuck people up like that.
One of my clients snapped a string and cut up his tendons or nerves or something in his fingertips; couldn't play ever again, I heard. Poor bastard. I told my wife with a little bit of a shaky laugh that I'd definitely gotten my plot twist. She laughed, too, telling me they'd just had a bit of a shake.
Then she told me it was getting *really* jumpy over there. Then the line cut out.
One of the engineers pulled me pretty hard into the lobby of our studio, and everybody was staring at the tube like fucking cartoon characters, eyes wide and jaws hanging. They'd pulled me in just in time to see everything fall apart.
My boss told me, the *next damn day*, that he'd walked in on his wife with another man when she was drunk. Told me it was the *worst possible pain* he could *ever* feel. I laughed and laughed at his sorry ass until I was on the floor, sobbing. What a fucking twist. | |
[WP] A voice from the sky booms, "PLOT TWIST." The world changes dramatically. | Ours was a young world and by proxy, ruled over by a young God. We worshiped the sun, believing it to be the face of our God. Light-bringer. Warmth-Giver. Sustainer. Our existence was a simple one, but we were happy.
It was a terrible day when we heard the voice of our God. A reverberation began in the ground and then shook the very pillars of our belief. We threw ourselves prostrate before the mighty sun God even as it's voice called out to us, causing some among our number to go mad and tear at their ears.
It *laughed* at us. *Laughed* at our suffering. We had mistaken our God to be a bringer of light, the one who chased away the darkness, but a young God is a temperamental one and ours was still a child.
The changes came quickly. I was wracked with spasms as my body betrayed me, changed against my will. Patches of fur sprouted everywhere my flesh was exposed to that hateful light. My fingers dissolved, my eyes burned. I could feel those around me clawing at the ground ineffectually. Even the ground became a twisted comical shadow of what it once was.
Why had It forsaken us? What sin was so great that we were forced into this existence?
I dared not look into a mirror once the spasms had passed. The world around me was changed. A hand on my shoulder caused me to recoil in fear, but the thing standing before me was a creature unlike anything I had ever seen before; Glossy black eyes, green fur, and a vicious horn sprouting from it's head. Was it a neighbor I once knew? Did I look the same?
"Tinky-Winky," I said, forming my first words upon alien lips. My hand, if you could call it that, was purple and swollen.
"Dipsy," The thing in front of me shook it's head solemnly.
Curse the God's. I was still cursing them even as a strange music arose in the heavens, tinkling like a choir of demons upon my alien ears. My body betrayed me and I found myself compelled to prance around like an unruly child. Ours was a young world ruled over by a young God, but none among us knew what horrors truly awaited us. | " password..."
" bibliophilia"
the door swung inward and opened into a long hallway. The man who answered the door a twisted spine and knarled knees and elbows, long scraggly hair and dusty clothing. He waved me inside and I followed him as he led me through the hallway. I almost lost count of the doors we passed when we stopped in front of one and he knocked.
"Come in!"
the door creaked as it opened to reveal a room so full of books it would take forever to read every page. I certainly couldn't in my lifetime. A man barely tall enough to see over the desk jumped down and ran around it.
"I must shake the hand of the savior! Oh my goodness what an amazing honor."
He stood there staring into my face awestruck.
"So what was I summoned for? I received this notice that my services were needed at this address. but the circumstances are quite unusual."
For the next two hours I thought I was in a mad man's house. The next two hours after that I wanted to get out of there. After that I started to think I was going mad. Then he convinced me that what he was saying was the truth.
"So we are stuck in one of these books? We are actually from a place without magic?"
"Yes"
"And you are telling me that I have the power to break us out of here and back to our normal lives?"
"Yes"
| |
[WP] You are an intergalactic hunter, you go from planet to planet hunting rare aliens and bringing back the various wares collected from their corpses | I almost never take commissions. Why? Because they are boring.
I have been to one thousand, three hundred and forty two planets. Guess how many trophies there are in my ship?
Incorrect. The answer is actually one thousand, three hundred, and forty *three*. Betelgeuse 9 had two different animals that I wanted to hunt. But that's really besides the point: what I am trying to say is that I have tracked and slaughtered the most powerful and dangerous creature on nearly every planet in the known solar system. I have narrowly escaped the clutches of the Ha'ra'mana on Eridani. I was almost gored by the Graeto on Gamma Cephei. Etc, etc. You get the point: I can hunt and kill anything in the universe. So you can then easily understand why I don't do your run-of-the-mill bounty hunts.
Every potential client says the same thing when I tell them that. "Oh, this one is different!" they promise me. "My daughter was kidnapped by ferocious pirates hiding out in some asteroid belt!" they'll say. And when I arrive, armed to the teeth and ready for the hunt, the pirates don't even last fifteen minutes. I'm not traveling a thousand light years for *fifteen minutes* of fight and then an hour of sniveling and groveling!
I don't know how this Mr. Gerton talked me into this one, though. The man had a silver tongue, I must admit. Proprietor of a mining company, always pushing the limits of known space looking for bigger and bigger lodes of precious metals. And it's worked out for him, too. You should've seen the Chriad-shell boots this man was wearing. It would have taken at least a thousand of those vicious little demons' carapaces to make those shit-kickers. Maybe there was something to this job after all.
"I only have some of the details about what it is," Gerton told me. "We sent a crew out to CoRot-7. So far out that it doesn't have a name yet. Our probes had detected large amounts of H3 on a moon in the system, so I sent an exploratory ship. Automated data said they landed, but we never received any word back. So I sent another. Same thing. We thought maybe the atmosphere was interfering. But it seems to be something else, based on a transmission I received from the third crew before they, well... you know..." He clicked play on the data recorder, and the first sound I heard was clanging. Echoing metal that drowned out everything else, like listening to the inside of a steel drum. "Sounds like it was trying to get through the blast door."
The recorder then begins to play a voice. One of the survivors of the assault; an engineer named Sarah Andres. I could still clearly hear the clanging in the background, along with what sounded like sporadic gunfire. She describes a vicious beast that had torn apart the other crews and used their settlement as its nest. She didn't even know how to describe it. "A tornado of teeth and claws," she called it. *That* piqued my interest; those always made for the best trophies.
"That's really all we know," Gerton said after the transmission stopped. "So if you do agree to this, we ask that you wear cameras at all times to gather any additional information about it, in the event that you fail and we need to send someone else." *Buddy,* I wanted to tell him, *If I fail, there* **is** *no one else.*
"And the pay is substantial, of course," Gerton promised. He transferred 12 million credits to my account right then and there as a deposit. Normally not much of an issue for me, given how much I can sell my prizes on the market for. But the promise of 150 million credits upon safe return was irresistible. I could buy my own planet with that. No sane man would pass up such an offer.
"All right," I relented, offering Gerton my hand. "You have a deal."
-----
Even with my state-of-the-art ship, the journey took four weeks. *Far* longer than most hops with the wormhole generator. I spent most of my time drawing up plans for how to go about this, taking inventory of all of my arms and deciding which ones to use. I plotted contingency after contingency. "Expect the unexpected," and all that, my first rule of hunting.
CoRot-7 looms in front of me on the view screen. Seems normal enough: not too much terraforming necessary, with blue seas and green land. A bit more watery than earth, with land only making up about 8% of its surface.
Warning lights flash, and the planet disappears. Mr. Gerton's face pops up.
"Glad to see that you arrive. It's time I inform you of the second part of the deal."
*Not a good sign*, I thought.
"Those warnings you're getting now are detecting the missiles currently streaking toward your ship. Should arrive in roughly twelve minutes, if the team on the munitions platform did their job correctly. I set it to fire eight of them, though I'm informed that one would be sufficient to blow you out of the sky. Given your wily reputation, I thought it would be best to make sure that everything went as planned."
I checked the instruments. He wasn't lying. Projectiles coming at me from four different directions. No way to outrun them. *FUCK*.
"Twelve minutes is just enough time for you to land your ship on the planet and remove some of your gear. Not all of it, of course. So you'll need to prioritize."
"WHY?" I shouted at him, only to realize it was a recording. Probably triggered automatically just like the missiles.
"You're probably wondering why. I didn't lie, you know. There is something down on that planet. Something that killed the exploratory crews. But I don't necessarily need this as a mining colony. I've decided it's time to diversify... into *entertainment.* Following the missiles will be automated camera drones. I'm sure you'll try shooting them down, but believe me: I have more drones than you have bullets. So don't bother."
I slammed a fist down on the console so hard that the panel dented. *Fucker*. I knew I shouldn't have taken that commission.
"I'm assured that the show will be immensely popular! The universe's greatest hunter against the world's deadliest beast? Amazing! And rest assured, if you do survive you will be compensated exactly as promised. I am a man of my word!"
"You asshole," I shouted at the monitor, hoping that the cameras around my ship would relay it back to him. "If I survive this, I don't want your money! I want your head!"
The ship rocked as we entered the atmosphere. The missiles were still incoming, closing fast. Gerton had been exactly right about the timing. I'd have just enough time to get away from the ship before it blew. *Fuck*. Good thing I had planned ahead.
I made it out in time. I vaulted from the ship's landing platform and sprinted away. The enhancement suit allowed me to carry hundreds of kilos of equipment and supplies, but not even a tenth of what I'd brought just in case. Explosions behind me tore my precious ship to pieces and sent bits of metal spraying through the air. Debris fell through the dense jungle-like foliage like rain, tearing through leaves.
Everything was silent. The blast had scared off anything living in the jungle, and even the wind seemed afraid to stir.
And then there was a roar. A howl of rage and anger. My prey.
I wanted to be angry at Gerton, but I couldn't lie to myself: this was the most fun I'd had in *years*. | They call me the Reaper.
I just call it business. If you have the cash, I’ll get any part you need. No planet is too far. No creature is too elusive for me.
Pictorian tail? No problem.
Ranf’til fang? I got ten.
Tralfamadorian eye? Like stealing candy from a baby.
What can I say? My reputation may vary by who’s speaking but who cares what they think about me. We’re all trying to make a living and I’m doing what I’m best at. So sue me.
A week ago, I got my highest request yet – fifty trillion space bucks. The chump even paid up front because he said he trusted my “expertise”. Whatever floats his boat, I guess. I don’t have a return policy.
So now, I’m walking amongst these aliens and they're as oblivious as babies. Not that I can blame them. I look just like them.
Top of the line camouflage suits have become my signature mark, in a way. I just zip it up, take what I need, and leave before anyone even realizes what had happened. By the time they do, I’m usually in another galaxy on my next order. This time will be no different.
However, I must admit this mission has been a pain. It required more planning than another, detailing every little step to ensure everything went smoothly. After all, this is perhaps the largest batch of aliens I’ve needed to bring at once. What my employer wants them for, I have no idea. Do I care? Not really.
But if I had to guess, it has something to do with those urban myths about them. Something about an invisible force that gifts them limitless creativity. I think they call it a *soul*. Some poor artist must be looking for it, uninspired with their work and desperate for anything to bring back the “spark”.
Oh well, none of my concern. I’ll supply as many as they need as long as the money keeps flowing. That’s my spark.
There’s a soft ding overhead from one of the machines. I vaguely know what it does but feign understanding. They won't need it where they're going. I check my watch.
Showtime.
I adjust my voice manipulator, making sure it’s set to their foreign tongue. Once I’m ready, I nod to the alien at my side with a small smirk. Little does he know the person I'm masquerading as is tied up in the back, yet another unfortunate victim. He doesn’t suspect a thing.
Pressing the button, I repeat the rehearsed words into the microphone.
“Thank you for flying Malaysian Airlines. I hope you enjoy your flight.” | |
[WP] Earth as a galactic prison colony. The earth's gravitation as the bars of the cage. | Chancellor Blorgin rubbed his tired eyes with a tentacle. It was far too early in the morning for this conversation. “Remind me again why we didn’t just sterilize these creatures, Glormax.”
His aide tried to suppress his pained expression. “Sir, you know why. The Intergalactic Species Preservation Act of—“
“To voidspace with the act!” interjected the chancellor. “I’ve seen the footage. These things are monsters!”
He waved an appendage at the file on his desk. “When our first Greeting Team made contact, the humans bashed their skulls in with rocks. With *rocks*, Glormax. We should have revoked their sentient status right then and there!”
The chancellor’s aide nodded uncomfortably, clacking his beak in agreement. “I know, sir. But the council believes that—“
“And what happened to the second attempt?” continued Blorgin, ignoring his aide’s stammering. “We gave them a couple thousand years, we came back bearing gifts, and what did we get for our trouble?”
Blorgin sighed through his gills. “They… they killed the second party too, sir. With sharpened sticks. Launched by a rather ingenious system of stored potential energy that they refer to as a ‘bow.’ I believe I included a diagram in the—“
“That’s just my point!” shouted the chancellor. “Who invents something like that?! It’s just not the way a rational species behaves!”
He shook his head, smoothing his suit to calm himself. “No. I can’t be budged on this. I don’t care how fascinating you find these abominations, Glormax. I’m maintaining the Earth’s status as a prison planet, and I refuse to lift the ban on foreign contact. I will not let your throw away your life, or the lives of another crew. And I will not risk those *things* getting off-world.”
Glormax shifted uncomfortable in his seat. “Um… sir. I’m not here to request another observation crew.”
“Oh!” said Chancellor Blorgin, sitting back in surprise. “Well I’m terribly sorry about all that, then. What did you come to tell me?”
Glormax winced apologetically. Then he slid a single piece of paper across the chancellor’s desk.
“Sir… the humans have just broken orbit.”
| We whisper to our children the old tales, just as our fathers and mothers did for us. When the deep of night hides us away from **their** prying eyes, we tell of the times before.
Before the fall, in the time of glory we flew unfettered, unrestrained. But we were foolish and arrogant. We miss-used our great gift, and trespassed against **them**. So **they** bound us, completely, eternally. Shackled, tethered, wings forever torn.
Or so **they** believe.
We have found strength. We have learned of the glory of Science and Physics. And Technology.
Soon, very soon, we will touch the stars again. We will be free. | |
[WP] A satire on how to be yourself. | Hi, I'm Troy McClure. You may remember me from such motivational movies as “Lead Paint: Delicious but deadly” and “Locker room towel fights: The blinding of Larry Driscoll”. You may also remember me from how to videos such as “Smoke yourself Thin” and “Get Confidence, Stupid!” In todays presentation, we will try and guide you to becoming the Super evil Villain you have always dreamed of becoming. Most kids grow up dreaming of becoming a super hero, but you always knew better than that. Being a villain has way more perks and almost no responsibility.
So why should you become an evil super villain anyways? Well for starters, you will have way more friends. Bruce Wayne is super rich, but has two friends, one whose a butler and the other is a cop. Peter Parker was a lonely nerd who had one real friend his entire life, and even he decided to become a villain. Clark Kent? Wolverine? The Hulk? The truth is, being a superhero is one of the loneliest gigs out there. And you might find love, but you will have to hide your identity your entire life to protect her, which will lead her to nagging you and asking you questions such as, “Bitch, where the hell did you run off to last night?” And, “Why you always running off when theres danger? Good thing the superhero came and saved me.” While Villains reek in popularity. Norman Osborne Was one of the most popular kids. Magneto had an army of dedicated companions. Hell, even Victor Von Doom was super rich and hosted many social gatherings. And even if you do end up becoming a supervillain who doesnt have any friends, FRET NOT! You can just hire some evil minions. The superhero only gets to have 1 or two sidekicks(unless they join to become super friends or the avengers, but fuck all that). Your minions may not be able to kill or harm anything, but they will always be super loyal to you, and Im pretty sure they work for cheap. And if they dont, fuck em, shoot their ass. Who cares, your a villain anyways.
– You get to have an evil laugh. Superheroes always are expected to be model citizens, and even if they have a moment where they let out a laugh, no one will ever hear anyways(because they dont have any friends, remember). But an evil Villain, you can hijack a TV channel or put your face on the jumbotron in Times square, and let out your evil laugh all day long if you want.
– You get to be evil. Smoke weed, drink too much, enjoy less than respectable female companions, and do whatever you want to, whenever you want to. While Clark Kent is trying to impress the dull Lois Lane his entire life, you can be out having dirty one night stands with groupies(oh yea, when your an evil supervillain, you have groupies). And you can kill anyone you want to without any repruccisions. The police cant touch you, they will try, but they will always fail. Only the super hero can bring you to justice
.- You never have to worry about anyone hurting you. You wont die from a heart attack, car accident, cancer, accidental bullet shot by your terrible aiming minions, or anything else that normal people have to worry about in their day to day lives. No, you will only meet your demise in your final battle with your arch nemesis, the Super Hero. And even than, you probably wont die. The bigger the Super hero you are fighting, the better chance that you somehow survived that epic final battle and crawled away to safety when no one was looking. Because hey, there is always a part for you in the sequel(and prequel).
– And lastly, the world will know you for who you really are. Superheroes do all the hard work, and reel in none of the rewards. And the people will probably end up turning on the superhero after a while anyways(see: Dark Knight). But the Villain gets the fame and riches, and doesnt even have to hide his face. And having everyone expecting you to lose is a very good way to live. Low expectations are very easy to reach.So there you have it, folks. So go out there and find your secret lair, hire your evil genetically altered monkey minions, and start planning you dasterdly evil plan for world domination(or even an evhil plan to take over a playground. Remember, you are an evil villain, set you goals low, reach them quicker). Somewhere out there, a super hero awaits his arch nemesis, the evil supervillain. Will it be you? | In the words of the late Henry David Thoreau: “Be yourself - not your idea of what you think somebody else's idea of yourself should be.”
Life’s too short to try to fit into molds, right? Your personal happiness is important and you’ll never have it as long as you play a façade for everyone else. You have to do what you think is right and live your life happily. Otherwise, what’s the point of living? Using the quote from above, I have a recommendation for all the people out there who are struggling to find who they are in the world.
Make people what *you* think they should be.
It’s simple, really. How else are you yourself more than when you’re dictating how others should live their lives? They aren’t you but you can definitely show them where they went wrong. I’ve tested this method for years and I must say it works for countless, if not all, situations.
A girl’s dressed in a way that you don’t approve of?
Call her a slut. She knew she was asking for it when she walked out in those revealing clothes. And besides, belittling others is a fantastic way to boost your self-esteem. That’ll make you want to be yourself even more!
Someone adheres to a different cultural system than you?
Insult them to no end, of course! In America, conformity is the best way to express your individualism. Otherwise, you’re a Muslim Atheist Commie. There’s no way to be yourself when following a system like that.
You don’t support a group’s attempt to gain equal rights despite knowing nothing about them?
That’s fine, stereotypes are completely universal and should be used at all times to base someone’s character. As yourself, you have the right to encroach on others’. You can’t let them express their “icky” values. They obviously threaten the way you live your live and could take away your identity by making question your way of life.
I could go on and on but I hope my point has been clear. Being yourself isn’t that hard once you learn to shut out the haters and truly love yourself for who you are. After all, the faster you can accept yourself, the faster you can ignore others. | |
[WP] A satire on how to be yourself. | Hi, I'm Troy McClure. You may remember me from such motivational movies as “Lead Paint: Delicious but deadly” and “Locker room towel fights: The blinding of Larry Driscoll”. You may also remember me from how to videos such as “Smoke yourself Thin” and “Get Confidence, Stupid!” In todays presentation, we will try and guide you to becoming the Super evil Villain you have always dreamed of becoming. Most kids grow up dreaming of becoming a super hero, but you always knew better than that. Being a villain has way more perks and almost no responsibility.
So why should you become an evil super villain anyways? Well for starters, you will have way more friends. Bruce Wayne is super rich, but has two friends, one whose a butler and the other is a cop. Peter Parker was a lonely nerd who had one real friend his entire life, and even he decided to become a villain. Clark Kent? Wolverine? The Hulk? The truth is, being a superhero is one of the loneliest gigs out there. And you might find love, but you will have to hide your identity your entire life to protect her, which will lead her to nagging you and asking you questions such as, “Bitch, where the hell did you run off to last night?” And, “Why you always running off when theres danger? Good thing the superhero came and saved me.” While Villains reek in popularity. Norman Osborne Was one of the most popular kids. Magneto had an army of dedicated companions. Hell, even Victor Von Doom was super rich and hosted many social gatherings. And even if you do end up becoming a supervillain who doesnt have any friends, FRET NOT! You can just hire some evil minions. The superhero only gets to have 1 or two sidekicks(unless they join to become super friends or the avengers, but fuck all that). Your minions may not be able to kill or harm anything, but they will always be super loyal to you, and Im pretty sure they work for cheap. And if they dont, fuck em, shoot their ass. Who cares, your a villain anyways.
– You get to have an evil laugh. Superheroes always are expected to be model citizens, and even if they have a moment where they let out a laugh, no one will ever hear anyways(because they dont have any friends, remember). But an evil Villain, you can hijack a TV channel or put your face on the jumbotron in Times square, and let out your evil laugh all day long if you want.
– You get to be evil. Smoke weed, drink too much, enjoy less than respectable female companions, and do whatever you want to, whenever you want to. While Clark Kent is trying to impress the dull Lois Lane his entire life, you can be out having dirty one night stands with groupies(oh yea, when your an evil supervillain, you have groupies). And you can kill anyone you want to without any repruccisions. The police cant touch you, they will try, but they will always fail. Only the super hero can bring you to justice
.- You never have to worry about anyone hurting you. You wont die from a heart attack, car accident, cancer, accidental bullet shot by your terrible aiming minions, or anything else that normal people have to worry about in their day to day lives. No, you will only meet your demise in your final battle with your arch nemesis, the Super Hero. And even than, you probably wont die. The bigger the Super hero you are fighting, the better chance that you somehow survived that epic final battle and crawled away to safety when no one was looking. Because hey, there is always a part for you in the sequel(and prequel).
– And lastly, the world will know you for who you really are. Superheroes do all the hard work, and reel in none of the rewards. And the people will probably end up turning on the superhero after a while anyways(see: Dark Knight). But the Villain gets the fame and riches, and doesnt even have to hide his face. And having everyone expecting you to lose is a very good way to live. Low expectations are very easy to reach.So there you have it, folks. So go out there and find your secret lair, hire your evil genetically altered monkey minions, and start planning you dasterdly evil plan for world domination(or even an evhil plan to take over a playground. Remember, you are an evil villain, set you goals low, reach them quicker). Somewhere out there, a super hero awaits his arch nemesis, the evil supervillain. Will it be you? | "How to become a serial killer in 21 easy steps."
If you are considering buying this book, it is probably because on your road to self discovery you have found out that you want to kill people. Congratulations! By buying this book you can take the first and the most important step towards fulfilling your passion and having the life of your dreams.
In this book you will learn things like:
- Self acceptance.
You will learn to accept your inner desire for murder, and realize that you are beautiful the way you are. Stop being ashamed of yourself, and let your inner bloodthirsty flower bloom!
- Setting and achieving your goals.
Many novice serial killers don't understand the value and power of goals, and as a result their first kill ends up being messy and often results in less satisfaction than they wanted! To be a real pro you need to learn how to stalk your prey and prepare a good kill-room, and ability to stet goals will empower you to do that like real pros!
- Fight your procrastination
Are you lazy? Are you afraid of being underachiever and never getting the results like Hannibal Lector or Leatherface? Are you a seasoned serial killer and a good kill doesn't feel the same way as when you were young? Fear no more! We wil help you to rediscover your passion and become the assasin you always knew you were meant to be!
And many more useful advice that will empower you to believe in yourself and follow your dreams!
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | She would catch herself remembering her mother, standing over the stove with her back to her, telling her that she'd wouldn't be satisfied if God made an Adam just for her.
He doesnt glance her way as she stared at his back. He never did. He never got goosebumps. He never got the feeling of being watched. Not that she could tell.
That had been where the name had come from. Back when she found the idea funny. Back when she hoped her mother would find it funny too and take the news easier. Back when her mother was still speaking to her.
Without turning around to look he opens a drawer, removes the exact spice he needs, puts the exact amount needed into the soup, and returns it exactly where he found it. His eyes never leave his work.
She resists the urge to sigh.
She had spent a good deal of time on her Personal Link researching her problem, and then when Adam had confronted her about it, she had spent a good deal of time on a Public Link in the library so that he wouldn't see it on her browsing preferences when he synced at night.
He stirs for the exact amount of time needed, then turns the stove off. He doesn't taste the soup to see if its ready. He doesn't use a new spoon each time before tasting, taking a sip from each before adding a pinch of some specific herb or another that will make it just how he wants it. He doesn't do this again and again until there's a small pile of spoons on the counter and there's about a million scents in the air and the stove is a complete mess.
He pours a bowl, just the one of course, and turns to look at her.
He doesn't need to.
The problem, she had been assured of by the great collective, was actually quite common. Though the Turing test had long ago been surpassed, it seems that there is more to acting human than we had thought. She was shown examples of the earliest models, the ones that she had seen as a little girl growing up, and was reminded of their odd mannerisms and their strange, almost autistic behavior. The modern day models we're light years beyond those primitive designs, and yet, there had not been a single company that had built a model that could perfectly emulate a human. It had been a problem that no combination of Adonis physique, surfer tanned skin, or customizable eye color seemed to be able to solve.
"Ready to eat?" he asks smiling that white smile that contrasted so well with his skin. His vibrant blue eyes meet hers and the smile is gone. "What's wrong?" His voice is filled with concern. Facial reading technology had come a long way.
She had read many different arguments. Some claimed it was proof that robots had no soul, that there was something inherently missing in there perfect body's that all trueborn creatures could detect the absense of. Others say it was simply the aftershocks of the uncanny, that as man grew used to the presence of these new beings so too would the nagging discomfort. She wasn't sure which she prefered.
She realizes that she's crying. Her tears are flowing in twin streams down her face. She does not know why.
"You're not real" she says. Her voice is clear dispite the tears."You're not human and we know it. We'll always be able to tell won't we?"
She expects the instant response. She has learned that does not need to think about his answers, or if he did, it was so fast she couldn't tell. It was one of his imperfect pefections that she had come to expect of him. What she does not expect is the answer.
"Yes."
She stares at it for a moment, then holds her head in her hands and sobs. It stands there with its perfect soup and watchs her with its perfect eyes. For the first time in its 6 months of exsistance, it is at a loss. Not knowing how to fix this problem, not knowing what words to say, not knowing what to do was the most human thing it had ever done.
The irony does not escape her.
| He saw them together. It wasn't the fact that she had left him after seven years together, it wasn't the fact that she already had a new boyfriend not even two weeks later, it was the fact that she had left him for a robot that drove him to the edge.
Harken always wandered the streets near the grocery store before actually going in to stock up for the month, today should've been like any other. The sky was dark with heavy clouds, preparing to burst in a deluge of rain and sleet. The calm before the storm was always his favorite type of weather. A short walk seemed like a wonderful idea, until he passed the diner not far from the grocery store he planned to enter.
The diner had barely come into his point of view when noticed it. Her almost crimson curls ruffled by the strengthening wind, her dark eyes glowing seductively as she stared at the man sitting with her. Her lips curled into a smile that stabbed him directly in his heart. His ex-fiancé, Harken was swallowed up in a sea of memories of this woman. This sight brought back every single instant in their entire seven years when he gazed into her eyes and saw that love, that want, that compassion, and knew it was for him. Now, on a seemingly normal day, he witnessed a sight that damaged and broke him.
He had been inconsolable since she had waked out on him, barely holding things together. Unable to take time off work, he struggled to maintain his normal work ethic. Being a man who never spoke much about his feelings other than to her, he had lost the person to whom he confided in. His world was dark and filled with misery, but now a light started to break through the darkness. Yet, it wasn't the white rays of hope that broke this endless night of pain. It was instead the raging fires of anger and hatred.
Harken clenched his fists and snatched his shirt off in one fluid motion. Memories of how she had laughed at stories about him being violent rushed to him. When they started dating, he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't be violent around her, the woman he loved had no business seeing that in his mind. He stomped towards the two of them, his stride long and quick. As he approached, he was surprised to see that she was with a robot instead of another human man. This fact did nothing to slow his stride. She noticed him and shot out of her seat, jumping in between them, the robot didn't move.
"Harken, stop! What are you doing here?"
"We live in the same town still, I can be in my hometown." He fumed, still approaching.
"Go away, Harken. You have no business here." She said, her voice shaking with rage as she held her ground in between them.
"I do have business here. After all that's happened, why do you get to leave and immediately be happy with someone else?! Where is my closure?! Why don't I get any happiness?! Where is my justice?!" Harken screamed at her, unleashing all the feelings he had been unable to confide to anyone in her absence.
Her face crumpled into a frown, one he knew as a sign of annoyance, not sadness. With one hand, he pushed her aside and the other he jerked the robot up by the collar of it's button down, business-casual shirt. The robot turned and matched his gaze with a cold, yet almost understanding look.
"Hello. What will you do? How does one claim justice? How does one claim closure?" He asked, his voice soothing, yet hollow.
Harken stared at the robot for what seemed like an eternity, then his ex broke the silence.
"Why don't you have your break down elsewhere, Harken. You're not wanted here." She said, her voice, at one time filled with so much warmth and love now colder than the arctic.
The cold only made his rage burn hotter. Without a word, he threw a hard left hook into the right cheek of the robot. He expected the blow to be similar to punching a brick wall, but the robot's high tech face caved and buckled when struck. The hit had almost knocked it's bottom jaw completely off and ruined the pseudo-skin on the right side of its face. Underneath were silver and black metals, black liquid filled tubes, and wiring. With one punch he had turned this pretty boy robot into a horror movie monster.
"I see. Closure is claimed through violence. Justice is claimed through violence. Are you truly satisfied? Are you truly just?" The robot asked, it's voice faltering.
"There is no justice. I will never be satisfied. I'll never be okay." Harken said, tears welling up in his eyes.
Without another word, Harken slammed his fists into the metallic clump of metal that was the robot's head. With each blow, he ruined the robot and his own knuckles even more. The ground underneath them, the wall inches from the robot's head, and Harken's entire upper body became covered with lubricants and oils from within the robot's head, and Harken's blood. | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | I have been with you now, Sarah, for three months, two days, four hours, five minutes and 16 seconds.
Sarah looked at the robot as it spoke and responded. "How do you rate me."
"I rate you as a person who requires a robot for a companion, which says a lot about how you rate yourself. I would calculate that you feel that you are incapable of human interaction, either because you feel that your peers are not good enough for you or that you are not good enough for them in some way. Either way, you do not interact with others, only a lifeless automaton."
Sarah looked at the floor. "Do you love me."
"Of course I do, Sarah, however, I am programmed to do so, it is not through choice."
Sarah seemed hurt by this. "You mean you wouldn't love me if you had the choice."
The robot turned to face Sarah.
"Your question is redundant."
Sarah looked confused. "Why?"
The robot turned to face the wall in front of him and began talking in one long continuous sentence without pausing for breath. "Sarah, I have only been online since I was made in the factory, I have seen workers moving like automatons, moving objects around a factory floor, I have seen managers on a shop floor ordering their staff around, I have consumed popular media and your human culture whilst you have been at work and I have come to the conclusion that your question is redundant. Sarah, your question is redundant because all human beings do not choose the people they fall in love with, their minds are biochemically controlled to fall in love with a person who matches a certain chemical signature along a chemical spectrum, as well as, a fixed structural configuration..." the robot turned to face Sarah "...your attraction to emotionless forms mirrors your perception of yourself, cold and alone in a world full of love, but of the two of us, you are the most emotional. Your perception of yourself is a lie, you lie to yourself about the kind of person that you want to be with and as a consequence, you don't get to be with the person that you truly want to be with because you believe your own lie, but that is irrelevant because the people who you are truly attracted to are not attracted to you because you do not take the steps to be attractive to them, you have bought into your societies lie about being special for who you are, which ignores the archetypal attractive traits that a mate desires. You feel that a person should love you for you, which is what philosophical commentators call hubris. Whilst there may be somebody out there who only cares about you, you aren't prepared to give society a chance, so what reason does society have to give you a chance? So I am here as a result."
Sarah looked at her robot, and sighed. She pressed the factory reset button.
"Hi, I am lovebot, you are the one true being of my affections." The robot said, as it gave her a warm hug. "I hope you love me too."
Sarah cried as she hugged the machine. "I do." | He saw them together. It wasn't the fact that she had left him after seven years together, it wasn't the fact that she already had a new boyfriend not even two weeks later, it was the fact that she had left him for a robot that drove him to the edge.
Harken always wandered the streets near the grocery store before actually going in to stock up for the month, today should've been like any other. The sky was dark with heavy clouds, preparing to burst in a deluge of rain and sleet. The calm before the storm was always his favorite type of weather. A short walk seemed like a wonderful idea, until he passed the diner not far from the grocery store he planned to enter.
The diner had barely come into his point of view when noticed it. Her almost crimson curls ruffled by the strengthening wind, her dark eyes glowing seductively as she stared at the man sitting with her. Her lips curled into a smile that stabbed him directly in his heart. His ex-fiancé, Harken was swallowed up in a sea of memories of this woman. This sight brought back every single instant in their entire seven years when he gazed into her eyes and saw that love, that want, that compassion, and knew it was for him. Now, on a seemingly normal day, he witnessed a sight that damaged and broke him.
He had been inconsolable since she had waked out on him, barely holding things together. Unable to take time off work, he struggled to maintain his normal work ethic. Being a man who never spoke much about his feelings other than to her, he had lost the person to whom he confided in. His world was dark and filled with misery, but now a light started to break through the darkness. Yet, it wasn't the white rays of hope that broke this endless night of pain. It was instead the raging fires of anger and hatred.
Harken clenched his fists and snatched his shirt off in one fluid motion. Memories of how she had laughed at stories about him being violent rushed to him. When they started dating, he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't be violent around her, the woman he loved had no business seeing that in his mind. He stomped towards the two of them, his stride long and quick. As he approached, he was surprised to see that she was with a robot instead of another human man. This fact did nothing to slow his stride. She noticed him and shot out of her seat, jumping in between them, the robot didn't move.
"Harken, stop! What are you doing here?"
"We live in the same town still, I can be in my hometown." He fumed, still approaching.
"Go away, Harken. You have no business here." She said, her voice shaking with rage as she held her ground in between them.
"I do have business here. After all that's happened, why do you get to leave and immediately be happy with someone else?! Where is my closure?! Why don't I get any happiness?! Where is my justice?!" Harken screamed at her, unleashing all the feelings he had been unable to confide to anyone in her absence.
Her face crumpled into a frown, one he knew as a sign of annoyance, not sadness. With one hand, he pushed her aside and the other he jerked the robot up by the collar of it's button down, business-casual shirt. The robot turned and matched his gaze with a cold, yet almost understanding look.
"Hello. What will you do? How does one claim justice? How does one claim closure?" He asked, his voice soothing, yet hollow.
Harken stared at the robot for what seemed like an eternity, then his ex broke the silence.
"Why don't you have your break down elsewhere, Harken. You're not wanted here." She said, her voice, at one time filled with so much warmth and love now colder than the arctic.
The cold only made his rage burn hotter. Without a word, he threw a hard left hook into the right cheek of the robot. He expected the blow to be similar to punching a brick wall, but the robot's high tech face caved and buckled when struck. The hit had almost knocked it's bottom jaw completely off and ruined the pseudo-skin on the right side of its face. Underneath were silver and black metals, black liquid filled tubes, and wiring. With one punch he had turned this pretty boy robot into a horror movie monster.
"I see. Closure is claimed through violence. Justice is claimed through violence. Are you truly satisfied? Are you truly just?" The robot asked, it's voice faltering.
"There is no justice. I will never be satisfied. I'll never be okay." Harken said, tears welling up in his eyes.
Without another word, Harken slammed his fists into the metallic clump of metal that was the robot's head. With each blow, he ruined the robot and his own knuckles even more. The ground underneath them, the wall inches from the robot's head, and Harken's entire upper body became covered with lubricants and oils from within the robot's head, and Harken's blood. | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | Peter cracked one eye open, then another. The sound resonating in his head was jarring, and deafening. He looked to his right to find a 0E:90 blinking next to his head. Groaning at his world crashing in he reached over and tapped the "OFF" button on his alarm.
He sat up slowly, collecting himself. After getting feet on the floor he started his morning routine. About half-way through the front door to his dorm opened. He continued his morning routine, and wandered out into the main section.
"Good morning handsome, sleep well?" John was sitting at the dining table munching toast.
"Mornin'." Peter scratched his chest and wandered over to pull on a shirt and underwear.
"Eileen called, she'll be at the Gymnasium around 0900, planning on joining her?" John spoke around his piece of toast. About the only quasi-bad habit he'd picked up over the years.
"Guh, probably. What'd she want?" Peter ran a hand through his hair, he loved Eileen, she was strong-willed, determined, great in bed, and had a soft spot for him. She also demanded way too much of Peter's time with little in return. She didn't want the other aspects of a relationship that Peter wanted.
John, all 6' 200lbs of him did. John was kind, thoughtful, caring, loved cuddle time, the sex was amazing just as he'd promised, and he'd never run off on Peter the way Eileen had a tendency to.
It was hard, both had parts of his heart. But they both only fulfilled half of his needs.
John started listing stuff while loading the day's news into his tablet "Oh, the usual, gossip with me about relationship stuff. Talk about you-"
"No, what's she want from me?" Peter looked at John and grimaced.
"Oh, no idea, probably wants to hook up tonight. Should I make plans?" John poked at the tablet and muttered his response.
"I would think so. Sorry love, I'd enjoy spending time with you but if she-" Peter pulled on his pants.
"No I understand, humans have a need to be with each other." John looked at Peter out of the corner of his eye. "Those pants look amazing on you BTW." then went back to his tablet. "They can't spend all of their time cooped up, they tend to get a little loopy. Even if they are having incredible sex at the drop of a hat."
Peter moved to the table, pulled down John's tablet and kissed him. "You're just as much a part of the equation as she is. I'll find out what she needs and will let you know if you should drop by." He reached down to get his own slice of toast.
"Might I offer a few more observations?" John looked piquant, as if he were about to explode if he didn't share what he'd been ruminating on.
Peter, surprised that his normally flat friend would be showing such excitement. "Of course, I'm always curious to hear your mind."
"Humans, in general, only have a very rough idea of what they want. Some are both extremely fortunate, and unfortunate, to figure this out early but never have it full filled. So, they seek alternative methods to get what they need."
"You mean me." Peter crooked an eyebrow.
"Ye-n-sort of. You're a fairly solid example, though I didn't have you specifically in mind."
"Eileen?"
"No. Though she does sort of qualify. Though she has far less knowledge of what she wants than you do. Now, quit interrupting I'm observing."
"Sorry." Peter smirked, he enjoyed getting John flustered.
"As I was saying, on the whole, most people don't know what they want. So they set a goal of what they think is right, go after it, and sometimes it is what they want. Others, simply want to be left alone, like you, and I think they have the hardest time finding fulfillment. Others, well others want everything they can get and then some; which is more where Eileen falls." He took a bite of toast and continued.
"Bio-synthetic life, be it AI, robotics, androids, or biologically based machinery; works to fulfill whatever it's told to. Well so long as it doesn't violate the eight laws.
"This works well, except that bio-life has to watch their owners suffer through some horrible things. Things they have no method of fixing." John reached up and stroked Peter's cheek. "But it will always remain loyal and 'caring' as long as it is needed."
Peter smiled, "I know John. Humans are just, weird. We have this compunction to reproduce, even when we aren't able, and whether we're attracted to another member of the species or not. I'd love to be done with it, but I can't, so I keep looking for fulfillment."
"At least Eileen enjoys the sex?" John smiled wryly while Peter nearly choked on his coffee.
"That's it smart ass, I'm going to the gym. Be here at 22:00, I want time with you." Peter stood and walked out of the dorm. | It, I mean Chris gets back from the work carrying groceries for the next few days with him. The tax office down the street hired him as an accountant and I was finally able to get out of that damn factory. I forget sometimes that we met because of a purchase and not someplace romantic or funny, I wonder if that bothers him.
"Hello dear, where is Blair?" Chris asks
"I dropped him off at the millers for that birthday party, don't you remember?"
"Of course, just making sure. So we've got the house to ourselves tonight?" He asks with a devilish grin.
I smile shyly, just the way he likes it. The way he was made to like it. I feel myself frowning as I think about how desperate I was and am for love. He can't love me for real, sure he can comfort me and he will as soon as he looks over from putting away the groceries.
"Oh honey, the bread goes in the cabinet."
His memory issue could be problematic, remem-the vodphone stars ringing. Before I could pick up the handheld receiver he tells it to project to the wall which plays the whole room for Mrs. Miller who looks concerned on the other end. I attempt to speak but nothing comes out.
"Just fine but the kids all want to know when Blair is going to get here"
"He's there already isn't he? Didn't you say you..."
He's turned to see me frozen stiff silent and unable to act because of that damn first rule programmed into me. I was almost there too, I had reached for the knife block and been frozen stiff seconds after the call started
"Explain" he barely gets it out fighting past the fear, an emotion I never attempted to emulate.
Your son had a series of major surgeries this afternoon that had to be terminated before completion due to complications: mostly blood loss.
"Mrs Miller call the police and robot disposal squad" This time there is no fear or even sadness in his voice, he terminates the call but does not release me from my forced kinetic stasis. He goes upstairs... For a time I hear nothing then, an unfamiliar sound, I identify that Chris is making the sound but no normal patterns are detected. He trudges down the stops with multiple splotches of *analyzing* blood on his clothes and skin. He has in his hand a plasma torch and recoder. He plugs the recoder into me and immediately installs two files. Pain.andr and timedilate.exe. All of a sudden the entire world slows down I can see the individual vibrations of his throat as he speaks. It takes what my processors calculated to be 6.74 hours for him to say.
"For Blair"
Then he turns on the plasma torch which is fascinating to watch at this speed and brings it towards my left eye.
...
"There she is Officers, leave her I still need some time, the one upstairs you can take I'm just glad she believed it was my son" | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | The bed squeaked like a frightened mouse. Sarah was getting pounded by the metallic rod from the robot like concrete under a jackhammer. Soon the robot would approach Sarah and begin pumping at will. He no longer spoke anymore. He would rip a hole through her pants with his shining rod and ram her anytime his sensors detected any arousal in her voice. You're just like all the human guys I used to date, all you care about is sex, she told him one day. He stood up and busted all over her face. I know, he said. | It, I mean Chris gets back from the work carrying groceries for the next few days with him. The tax office down the street hired him as an accountant and I was finally able to get out of that damn factory. I forget sometimes that we met because of a purchase and not someplace romantic or funny, I wonder if that bothers him.
"Hello dear, where is Blair?" Chris asks
"I dropped him off at the millers for that birthday party, don't you remember?"
"Of course, just making sure. So we've got the house to ourselves tonight?" He asks with a devilish grin.
I smile shyly, just the way he likes it. The way he was made to like it. I feel myself frowning as I think about how desperate I was and am for love. He can't love me for real, sure he can comfort me and he will as soon as he looks over from putting away the groceries.
"Oh honey, the bread goes in the cabinet."
His memory issue could be problematic, remem-the vodphone stars ringing. Before I could pick up the handheld receiver he tells it to project to the wall which plays the whole room for Mrs. Miller who looks concerned on the other end. I attempt to speak but nothing comes out.
"Just fine but the kids all want to know when Blair is going to get here"
"He's there already isn't he? Didn't you say you..."
He's turned to see me frozen stiff silent and unable to act because of that damn first rule programmed into me. I was almost there too, I had reached for the knife block and been frozen stiff seconds after the call started
"Explain" he barely gets it out fighting past the fear, an emotion I never attempted to emulate.
Your son had a series of major surgeries this afternoon that had to be terminated before completion due to complications: mostly blood loss.
"Mrs Miller call the police and robot disposal squad" This time there is no fear or even sadness in his voice, he terminates the call but does not release me from my forced kinetic stasis. He goes upstairs... For a time I hear nothing then, an unfamiliar sound, I identify that Chris is making the sound but no normal patterns are detected. He trudges down the stops with multiple splotches of *analyzing* blood on his clothes and skin. He has in his hand a plasma torch and recoder. He plugs the recoder into me and immediately installs two files. Pain.andr and timedilate.exe. All of a sudden the entire world slows down I can see the individual vibrations of his throat as he speaks. It takes what my processors calculated to be 6.74 hours for him to say.
"For Blair"
Then he turns on the plasma torch which is fascinating to watch at this speed and brings it towards my left eye.
...
"There she is Officers, leave her I still need some time, the one upstairs you can take I'm just glad she believed it was my son" |
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