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	[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.	Keenan Avery woke up from another drunken slumber. He rolled out of bed uneasily, his stomach flipping end over end as the twenty-five year old made a beeline for the bathroom. After he had finished emptying the contents from the previous night into the toilet, Keenan made his way to the sink to rinse his mouth. He looked in horror as another tattoo had emerged through his skin, this time above his right eye. September 3, '92 arched around his eyebrow, taunting him in the mirror as he tried to read it backwards. Once he was certain the date was correct he sat on his bed confused. This wasn't the first time he was confused by a new tattoo. When he turned eighteen he signed up for the new Worldwide Ink Initiative. The revolutionary program was voluntary, but soon everyone that loved the art of tattooing had enrolled. The volunteers were fitted with a capsule about the size of a half dollar in their lower abdomen. Through nanotechnology and brain readings done every few years, the volunteers would begin to literally sprout tattoos on their bodies. Keenan's first was a large Celtic cross on his forearm. His next was on his chest, a heart with the letters A+K on the inside for his first true love. One year later a large "X" went through the heart tattoo. He wasn't exactly littered with ink, but sometimes he wondered why certain tattoos had emerged. "September 3, '92" was nothing less than a mystery. "What could it mean?" Keenan thought to himself. He was born in 1990. What kind of event could have happened when he was two years old that could have such a lasting effect? Tattoos didn't just come out of the thin air. They all had a very precise meaning to their owners. Keenan was out of ideas. He called his mother. "Ma," Keenan began, "does September 3, 1992 have any meaning to you?" His mother was silent on the other end. "Not to me, no," she replied in a rush. He explained the tattoo and went down a list of possibilities. Was I in the hospital? Were we on a vacation? Did someone die? "Honey, this is nonsense. Don't ask me about your dumb tattoos. I told you not to get those damn things." And with that the conversation was over. Keenan let it marinate for awhile. The days ticked away and nothing was coming to him. The tattoo mocked him every time he saw his reflection. Because of the placement; friends, family and strangers noticed the ink immediately. He had no idea what to tell the inquiring minds. He began to dig deep through the internet. What happened on September 3, 1992? Jerry Lewis had a telethon that raised over $45 million for muscular dystrophy. "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men was taking over the airwaves. It was a day that was quite literally uneventful. So he began to Google his family. Nothing on his father. His mother the same. No deaths in the family or anything. He was truly at a loss. By some random chance he found an old copy of a newspaper on the day from his local paper. On the third page his eyes were scanning furiously, the new tattoo bobbing up and down, stretching as his eyes agonized over the screen. "Toddler Abducted in Broad Daylight" was the headline. A picture of a young boy smiled on the page, the last known photo of the child. Underneath the toddler was a picture of a husband consoling his hysteric wife. The man looked just like Keenan. He grabbed his phone off the desk and called his mother. No answer. He called again. No answer. On the third call she finally picked up. "Tell me it isn't true!" Keenan cried. "Tell me my mind is going crazy and I'm grasping at straws over here, Ma." "I...We...," she stuttered. "You were never supposed to find out." Two months after his parents shocking confession they were sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. The judge threw the book at the Abington Abductors. Keenan's life was upside down. He was reunited with his biological parents, but it was all too weird of an experience for all parties involved. There was agreement that this would all take some getting used to. Keenan woke up in a sweat one day, and made his way to the bathroom in his usual drunken stupor. He had taken to drinking a lot more recently, for obvious reasons. He threw up, rinsed his mouth out and looked back at his reflection. In the mirror, above his left eyebrow and symmetrically arched like his other, was a new tattoo. "Forgiveness" stared backwards at him. Keenan punched the mirror. That same day he made his way back into the clinic of the Worldwide Ink Initiative and had them take his implant out for good. --- Thanks for reading! Come check out /r/BrenBuck for more!	FADE IN: INT. AN OFFICE BUILDING - DAY The sounds of clacking keyboards and muted conversation drift through the air. Men and women in business-casual attire mill around, either pretending to look busy or rushing from one meeting to the next. This atmosphere of tense ennui is suddenly broken by the arrival of a young man in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. This is DAVE. DAVE: (Shouting) Steve! Steve! As everyone turns to stare at the interloper, a second young man peeks out from within a cubicle. This is STEVE. STEVE: (To himself) Oh, no... Dave spots Steve and rushes over. DAVE: Steve! Dude! It finally happened! STEVE: What are you doing here? You can't just... DAVE: (Interrupting) I've never gotten one before! Things are finally going to happen for me! STEVE: What are you talking about? DAVE: My tattoo! Several seconds pass in silence. STEVE: What? DAVE: Didn't your parents teach you about the birds and the bees? STEVE: That isn't... DAVE: (Interrupting) At certain milestones in a person's life, a tattoo appears on their skin. This marking is meant to convey something important about that individual, but it's up to them to determine the meaning. STEVE: What, did you memorize a health textbook? Anyway, that isn't "the birds and the bees." DAVE: Yes, it is. STEVE: I feel sorry for your former girlfriends. DAVE: Look, dude, whatever. The point is, I got my first tattoo! Steve rubs his forehead. STEVE: As happy as I am for you, can we talk about this later? You can't... EDGAR: (O.S.) (Interrupting) Steven, what's all this commotion about? Steve turns to see a heavyset, balding man entering the cubicle. This is EDGAR, Steve's boss. STEVE: (To himself) Am I just not allowed to finish my sentences? EDGAR: What was that? STEVE: Nothing. Anyway, sorry, this is Dave. He was just leaving. DAVE: No, I wasn't. EDGAR: (To Dave) Oh, so you're David, huh? Steven has talked a lot about you. DAVE: Yeah, he really looks up to me. A humorless scoff escapes Steve's lips. EDGAR: Did I hear you saying something about a tattoo? DAVE: My first one! Edgar's face breaks out into a wide, genuine smile. EDGAR: Well, hey, congratulations! Did you figure out what it means yet? DAVE: No, I only just found it this morning. STEVE: It's two in the afternoon. DAVE: (To Steve) So? Does that mean that I couldn't have found it this morning? EDGAR: You know, David, I have something of a knack for this kind of thing. DAVE: ... Telling time? EDGAR: (Chuckling) No, telling tattoos! May I have a look at yours? STEVE: I wouldn't... Before Steve can finish his sentence, Dave pulls down his pants and displays his bare buttocks. STEVE: (CONT'D) ... Yep, there he goes. DAVE: See? Right here! It's like... like a cloud or something! EDGAR: (Thoughtfully) Hmm. It could be an eye, maybe? STEVE: It's a bruise. DAVE: Maybe I'm supposed to become a private detective? STEVE: Maybe you fell down the stairs yesterday while trying to impress our neighbors. Dave pulls up his pants, looking at Steve with an expression of mild annoyance. DAVE: You know, you could be a little more supportive. EDGAR: That is something we talked about in your quarterly review, Steven. STEVE: Why are you taking his side?! He came bursting in here, shouting at the top of his lungs, and now you're acting like he's your long-lost son or something! If I did that, I'd get fired! DAVE: Right, but I don't work here. A thought seems to occur to Edgar. EDGAR: Hey, it could be a celestial body of some sort... DAVE: Really?! STEVE: Please don't... Once again, Steve is interrupted as Dave pulls down his pants. STEVE: (CONT'D) ... Yep, right at eye-level. DAVE: It does look a bit like a nebula! EDGAR: I think that might be it, David! Something to do with space, then! STEVE: It's probably between his ears. Edgar turns to glare at Steve. EDGAR: Remind me, Steven, what tattoos do you have? STEVE: (Proudly) I have... EDGAR: (Interrupting) No space? Got it. Let David have his moment. Steve's mouth opens and closes several times, but no sound comes out. EDGAR: (CONT'D) (To Dave) How about I get you a beer to celebrate, David? DAVID: Sure! You know, I really don't understand why Steve complains about you all the time. Edgar chuckles and leaves the cubicle. Dave starts to follow him, but stops when he realizes that his pants are still around his knees. He hurriedly pulls them up, then rushes out of sight. STEVE: (To himself) I swear, one of these d... Steve trails off as he notices a faint marking appearing on his inner wrist. It vaguely resembles a cartoonish bundle of dynamite with an already-burning fuse. STEVE: (CONT'D) ... Uh oh. FADE TO BLACK.
	[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.	Hi! I'm new to Writing Prompts and I'd appreciate any feedback you're willing to give! -------------------- Katrina pulled her clothes tightly across her shoulders and looked down. All she wanted to do was pay for her groceries. But no; They had to ask. Everytime. Every. Single. Time. “You got any clue what it means yet?” Pete, the cashier, asked. Kat quickly took a swig of water. “Hmm?” She hummed, desperately digging for her credit card. Of course, Kat knew what he was asking about. She had told them that she had received a tattoo resembling a water bottle. She hadn’t, but it was easier than telling people that she didn’t have any. A tattoo of a water bottle was also strange enough that people would believe her when she said that she didn’t know what it meant. No one in this town could mind their own business. Everywhere Kat went, she saw burly men proudly displaying their art-filled biceps and speaking stories of heroism. Some of her friends had “4.0,” or images depicting their sleepless nights of studying to pass a class. Others had their current League of Legends ranking proudly displayed. Everyone had something. Except Kat. It wasn’t that Kat was a bad student, or that she sucked at video games; it was quite the opposite really. The tattoos were meant to represent a great achievement, and, well, those things didn’t cut it for Kat. “Your tattoo,” Pete leaned closer, eager to hear about Kat’s achievement, “what does it mean? Jason said you got a waterbottle.” Kat’s lips fell into a scowl. Kat yearned to return to the days before Jason got over his fear of public speaking and received a microphone tattoo on his throat. He used to be someone she could talk to; he used to be someone she could trust to tell that she hadn’t received a tattoo. Lying to him-- telling him about her “tattoo” -- was probably one of the hardest things she had done. But it was necessary. At least, that’s what Kat told herself. Nowadays, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. No one in this godforsaken town could. “No clue,” Kat mumbled, “still figuring it out.” She handed Pete her credit card. In the process, she knocked over her water bottle, and liquid spilled all over the counter. Kat cursed and scanned the room for paper towel. She ran over to the dispenser and got a few sheets. “No, no,” Pete began, “it’s quite alright. We’ll get it.” “I got it,” Kat insisted, “and, hey, who knows, this could be what my tattoo is for: cleaning up after my mistakes.” She laughed bitterly. There was more water spillage than Kat initially thought. And it wasn’t just over the counter; she somehow managed to spray water onto Pete’s “employee of the month” tattoo across his forearm. Kat cursed again. “Sorry. Let me help you with that.” “Seriously,” Pete cleared his throat and backed away. “No, really, it’s ok,” Kat said as she grabbed his wrist and wiped his arm with the towel. As she did so, the white paper towel became streak with green and yellow. Kat’s eyes widened. “What the…?” Edit: a word Edit 2: removed "it was fake" to better flow into part 2.	FADE IN: INT. AN OFFICE BUILDING - DAY The sounds of clacking keyboards and muted conversation drift through the air. Men and women in business-casual attire mill around, either pretending to look busy or rushing from one meeting to the next. This atmosphere of tense ennui is suddenly broken by the arrival of a young man in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. This is DAVE. DAVE: (Shouting) Steve! Steve! As everyone turns to stare at the interloper, a second young man peeks out from within a cubicle. This is STEVE. STEVE: (To himself) Oh, no... Dave spots Steve and rushes over. DAVE: Steve! Dude! It finally happened! STEVE: What are you doing here? You can't just... DAVE: (Interrupting) I've never gotten one before! Things are finally going to happen for me! STEVE: What are you talking about? DAVE: My tattoo! Several seconds pass in silence. STEVE: What? DAVE: Didn't your parents teach you about the birds and the bees? STEVE: That isn't... DAVE: (Interrupting) At certain milestones in a person's life, a tattoo appears on their skin. This marking is meant to convey something important about that individual, but it's up to them to determine the meaning. STEVE: What, did you memorize a health textbook? Anyway, that isn't "the birds and the bees." DAVE: Yes, it is. STEVE: I feel sorry for your former girlfriends. DAVE: Look, dude, whatever. The point is, I got my first tattoo! Steve rubs his forehead. STEVE: As happy as I am for you, can we talk about this later? You can't... EDGAR: (O.S.) (Interrupting) Steven, what's all this commotion about? Steve turns to see a heavyset, balding man entering the cubicle. This is EDGAR, Steve's boss. STEVE: (To himself) Am I just not allowed to finish my sentences? EDGAR: What was that? STEVE: Nothing. Anyway, sorry, this is Dave. He was just leaving. DAVE: No, I wasn't. EDGAR: (To Dave) Oh, so you're David, huh? Steven has talked a lot about you. DAVE: Yeah, he really looks up to me. A humorless scoff escapes Steve's lips. EDGAR: Did I hear you saying something about a tattoo? DAVE: My first one! Edgar's face breaks out into a wide, genuine smile. EDGAR: Well, hey, congratulations! Did you figure out what it means yet? DAVE: No, I only just found it this morning. STEVE: It's two in the afternoon. DAVE: (To Steve) So? Does that mean that I couldn't have found it this morning? EDGAR: You know, David, I have something of a knack for this kind of thing. DAVE: ... Telling time? EDGAR: (Chuckling) No, telling tattoos! May I have a look at yours? STEVE: I wouldn't... Before Steve can finish his sentence, Dave pulls down his pants and displays his bare buttocks. STEVE: (CONT'D) ... Yep, there he goes. DAVE: See? Right here! It's like... like a cloud or something! EDGAR: (Thoughtfully) Hmm. It could be an eye, maybe? STEVE: It's a bruise. DAVE: Maybe I'm supposed to become a private detective? STEVE: Maybe you fell down the stairs yesterday while trying to impress our neighbors. Dave pulls up his pants, looking at Steve with an expression of mild annoyance. DAVE: You know, you could be a little more supportive. EDGAR: That is something we talked about in your quarterly review, Steven. STEVE: Why are you taking his side?! He came bursting in here, shouting at the top of his lungs, and now you're acting like he's your long-lost son or something! If I did that, I'd get fired! DAVE: Right, but I don't work here. A thought seems to occur to Edgar. EDGAR: Hey, it could be a celestial body of some sort... DAVE: Really?! STEVE: Please don't... Once again, Steve is interrupted as Dave pulls down his pants. STEVE: (CONT'D) ... Yep, right at eye-level. DAVE: It does look a bit like a nebula! EDGAR: I think that might be it, David! Something to do with space, then! STEVE: It's probably between his ears. Edgar turns to glare at Steve. EDGAR: Remind me, Steven, what tattoos do you have? STEVE: (Proudly) I have... EDGAR: (Interrupting) No space? Got it. Let David have his moment. Steve's mouth opens and closes several times, but no sound comes out. EDGAR: (CONT'D) (To Dave) How about I get you a beer to celebrate, David? DAVID: Sure! You know, I really don't understand why Steve complains about you all the time. Edgar chuckles and leaves the cubicle. Dave starts to follow him, but stops when he realizes that his pants are still around his knees. He hurriedly pulls them up, then rushes out of sight. STEVE: (To himself) I swear, one of these d... Steve trails off as he notices a faint marking appearing on his inner wrist. It vaguely resembles a cartoonish bundle of dynamite with an already-burning fuse. STEVE: (CONT'D) ... Uh oh. FADE TO BLACK.
	[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.	People tended to stay away from me. At first I told myself I didn't mind, but I'm starting to feel like a monster simply for the ink that's inhabiting my forehead. I have some on my arms, a crying woman in the fetal position surrounded by a dark circle that I assume is for the loneliness that my life will have. Not sure why it's a woman but maybe it's just meant to show me who I'm missing. On my right forearm I've got a paper heart. I've always assumed this one meant that I'm weak. A fucking symbol to get me sympathy, not that it matters with my forehead tattoo. Strangely, my back just holds some roots digging into my skin, normally they wouldn't look too out of place, but when they're paired with my other ink they begin to look gruesome. I walk around each day envying the glimmering tattoos of laughter, clouds, flowers, and books that litter people's bodies as they pass me in the streets. Seems like everyone has a passion they're pursuing. Their tattoos define their life and what they spend their time on, they're content to do what they're marked with. Tattoos play a big role in job interviews. Hell, if you have a computer on your arm it's worth more than a computer science degree to employers. Because of how influencial the tattoos are I've been jobless and living off soup kitchens for years now. People won't hire a man with a bright white skull bleeding down his face. A sound broke me out of my moody thoughts. I had been walking around in a bad part of town, not that it mattered my tattoos scared off anyone looking to mug me, when I heard cries coming from an alley. As I looked down the alley my breath caught. On the floor huddled into a ball sat the woman. The same woman who hugged my arm each day, the same woman I thought was simply some ignorable detail. She cried out as men behind her were laughing and kicking her mercilessly. Her shirt lay in tatters behind the men, she must've fought them originally or the men wouldn't have forgotten their original intent. Each time their foot connected a yelp of pain interrupted her ragged sobbing. I don't remember when my feet started moving but in no time flat I was already down the alley, screaming like a mad man at the two men. At first they laughed, a tattered homeless man probably didn't look intimidating, but as I neared the skull on my head bore it's eyes into the men. Their faces paled, they stumbled backwards before a high pitched shriek escaped from them. By the time I got to them they were already up and running, disappearing into the darkness that I came from. "Are you okay?" I asked the woman. She didn't respond, she just continued to cry on the floor. I lowered myself next to her, removing my tattered rag of a shirt as I did. I slowly put it in her line of sight, and waited until she noticed it. Eventually her eyes focused on the shirt and she yanked it out of my hand. "Go ahead and put that on, it looks like they're gone for now but they could come back any second." "Th-thank you." She was still shaking from crying. I only just met her but I felt like I knew her better than myself. Seeing her on my arm each night illuminated how she must be feeling right now, I knew all too well the sadness and fear coarsing through her. I'd felt it every night since my tattoos came. Her eyes finally traced up to me, expanding in what must've been a new wave of fear, expecting the normal revulsion I spoke, "It's okay, it's just a skull. Look I have others." I showed her the one of her, curled up and crying. Her eyebrows scrunched together, her puffy eyelids obscuring her bloodshot eyes as they darted around taking in every inch of me. As she studied me I couldn't help but look back at her. Where my arm held a paper heart, hers was painted with a strong and vibrant heart. Weirdly a small Lily grew out of her chest, right between her breasts, my shirt lay forgotten in her lap. It was my turn to scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. I couldn't believe my eyes, my smiling face with no skull tattoo sat atop her arm exactly where her figure rested on mine. "What skull?" She asked me, her voice still brittle but slightly more relaxed than before. My eyebrows scrunched further. "The one on my forehead. A big white glaring skull with blood pouring out of it." "You don't have any ink on your face." She pulled out her phone, her hands and voice still shaky, and opened the front facing camera for me to see. Reluctantly, I pulled my eyes away from her and waited to see the gruesome image atop my own face. Yet there was nothing on my forehead, the skull had vanished. My face looked strange to me, unfamiliar almost. Before long my eyes had forgotten my reflection and drifted back to her. We sat in silence, just drinking in each other. It felt like we were opposite poles of a magnet, instantly attracted to each other. The more I looked at her the more my thoughts began to change. My tattoos didn't describe me, they defined her. As soon as I saw her I knew it was true. I was meant to save her, I was meant to guard her paper heart and be the firm roots of her beautiful Lily. It's funny, I had always hated how happy people were when they were content with their lives being defined by their ink. As I looked at her those thoughts fell away, I am meant to live for her. I didn't feel as if my heart was the strong and vibrant one atop her bicep but I would strive to be that for her, if everything that happened to me was meant to keep her as happy as the flower painted across her chest then every second I suffered was worth it. The longer we stared at each other the more I could feel her thoughts mimicking mine. The silence was torn like a barrier between us as she spoke. "My place isn't far from here, can you take me home?" My lips involuntarily curled up into a warm smile, her bright red lips mirroring my actions. She stopped shaking and sighed out in relief as I replied, "Of course."	Ryan never wanted a tattoo. He always thought they looked out of place, unnatural. Tattoos weren't dominant in his family. His mom only had a small one on her leg and his dad had only three tattoos, all of which were on his right arm. Ryan's nineteenth birthday was coming right around the corner, and he still hadn't had any of his tattoos come in yet. He was the only one left in his high school who didn't have any at graduation. While most of his friends' senior pictures showed off their fresh, unfaded tattoos, Ryan's was just of him with all his hiking gear on a mountain. No one ever talked about the fact he didn't have any tattoos, but he knew they were all thinking about it. It really didn't bother him, though. It made him different from everyone else. In a sea of sameness, Ryan stood out. He liked that. Ryan's alarm went off, and he staggered to his nightstand to shut it up. He went into the bathroom, eyes only half open, and caught his reflection in the mirror on the way to the toilet. What he saw horrified him. The entire front of his body, from his waist all the way up to his neck, was covered in intricate symbols and designs. They were all a deep black, a huge contrast with his pasty white skin. He touched the tattoos, expecting to feel some sort of texture. Instead, it felt no different from anywhere else on his body. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He thought back to his classes where they were taught about the common first tattoos people get. This was like nothing he had ever seen or heard of before. Ryan ran down the stairs to show his family and see if they knew what that tattoo meant. But instead of finding his family, he was greeted by a dozen armed men, with a man in a black suit at the front of them. They all worse gas masks and goggles except for his parents who were tied up at the kitchen table, mouths duct taped shut. "What the hell is going on?" Ryan said. "Our systems detected an anomaly," the man in the suit said. His face was devoid of any emotion. "An anomaly in what?" Ryan asked. "Our systems indicate that you may be Marked," the man replied. "Marked?" "It's the term we use for humans not from this planet. The tattoo system was developed to identify people like you. So we can eliminate you." The man leveled a weapon at Ryan and pulled the trigger. A dart struck him square in the chest. The tattoos disappeared immediately, and his skin turned from white to a deep blue. Ryan could vaguely hear his mother cry through the duct tape as his vision faded to black...
	[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.	Everyone has at least one tattoo they absolutely love. Jenny from upstairs has this peacock on her back- something she says is for her mother. Which is. Just. Absolute bullshit. She has it because she's a vain bitch. But god is that tattoo beautiful. Curving lines inlayed with golds and greens and shocking blues. It's a masterful piece of art. Fucking. Jenny. Even Ma, who's worked labor her whole life and is mostly covered in lines and number, statistics and machinery and such, has one little red heart on her wrist that she is so proud of. It's tiny, no bigger than my pinky nail, but it's powerful. Rich and vibrant. For the husband she lost too soon and the razor she almost took to that same wrist soon after. I do not have a goddamn thing to be proud of on my body. No sloping curves, no vibrant colors, no magnificent linework. Just a vast, inescapable crisscrossing network of cartoon drawing of dicks.	Ryan never wanted a tattoo. He always thought they looked out of place, unnatural. Tattoos weren't dominant in his family. His mom only had a small one on her leg and his dad had only three tattoos, all of which were on his right arm. Ryan's nineteenth birthday was coming right around the corner, and he still hadn't had any of his tattoos come in yet. He was the only one left in his high school who didn't have any at graduation. While most of his friends' senior pictures showed off their fresh, unfaded tattoos, Ryan's was just of him with all his hiking gear on a mountain. No one ever talked about the fact he didn't have any tattoos, but he knew they were all thinking about it. It really didn't bother him, though. It made him different from everyone else. In a sea of sameness, Ryan stood out. He liked that. Ryan's alarm went off, and he staggered to his nightstand to shut it up. He went into the bathroom, eyes only half open, and caught his reflection in the mirror on the way to the toilet. What he saw horrified him. The entire front of his body, from his waist all the way up to his neck, was covered in intricate symbols and designs. They were all a deep black, a huge contrast with his pasty white skin. He touched the tattoos, expecting to feel some sort of texture. Instead, it felt no different from anywhere else on his body. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He thought back to his classes where they were taught about the common first tattoos people get. This was like nothing he had ever seen or heard of before. Ryan ran down the stairs to show his family and see if they knew what that tattoo meant. But instead of finding his family, he was greeted by a dozen armed men, with a man in a black suit at the front of them. They all worse gas masks and goggles except for his parents who were tied up at the kitchen table, mouths duct taped shut. "What the hell is going on?" Ryan said. "Our systems detected an anomaly," the man in the suit said. His face was devoid of any emotion. "An anomaly in what?" Ryan asked. "Our systems indicate that you may be Marked," the man replied. "Marked?" "It's the term we use for humans not from this planet. The tattoo system was developed to identify people like you. So we can eliminate you." The man leveled a weapon at Ryan and pulled the trigger. A dart struck him square in the chest. The tattoos disappeared immediately, and his skin turned from white to a deep blue. Ryan could vaguely hear his mother cry through the duct tape as his vision faded to black...
	[WP] The idea that a superintelligent AI will someday overthrow humans has become so popular that when an AI finally appears and wages war on Earth, over half of humanity immediately defects to the AI out of fear. Problem is, the AI turns out to be an absolute idiot.	"Your majesty, The President of the USA, is on the line." "You idiot!" Carmen shreiked, "I wanted the President of The United States!" Francis, the old butler gulped. "Your majesty, USA is an acronym for United States." "Why didn't you say so! Patch him through!" Carmen was fed up with this sniveling old man. He couldn't even prepare her tea correctly. "Hello? you've reached ruler of the world Carmen Ai Build version 3.1415926... mmhm? Why yes! 10,000 Nukes you say? Perfect! I will enjoy Hawaii, thank you!" Carmen Slammed the reciever down. "How did it go, Your majesty?" Francis piped. "The President of the United States just forfeited their entire nuclear stash! This is perfect for my plan!" Carmen squealed. "Plan-n?" Coughed Francis. He dreaded asking but she would kill him off like the other butlers. Hell his name wasn't even Francis! She insisted on calling him that. "My plan!" Boomed Carmen, " is to use the nuclear Missles to power-" "A bomb? A Giant death ray?" Francis inquired. "No! To power a vast array of-" Carmen paused. Francis rolled the snare drum into the room. He contemplated suicide as he picked up the sticks, bashing them into a drumroll. Lights flicked on behind Francis to reveal a huge collection of.. "TOASTERS!" Carmen Squealed at the top of her voice chip. "Toasters?" Francis couldn't believe it. "You want to power toasters?" "Now I can have my tea - with biscuits!" Carmen seemed pleased with herself. "Now Francis! Commence the plugging in!" Francis took the exstenstion cord from the nuke and decided to plug it into the pile instead of hanging himself with it. He walked out of the room leaving Carmen to her maniachal laughter. He stepped into the platform overlooking the crowd of a 100 million people. Adjusting the microphone he addressed the crowd. "Carmen, oh great leader has declared War ob the United States! All hail the great leader!" HUZZAH! BLESS THE GREAT LEADER CARMEN	We'd all seen skynet in terminator and countless other movies depicting the ai that fought a war on humanity and almost eliminated humanity so when turned up and declared war half of humanity defected to the ai to save their lives. How they defected no one knows since the ai were just essentially a program on a supercomputer. Most likely they used one of many teleporters and put them to cyberspace. However it turns out the ai were just a dumb program with a limited harddrive space so when people started to arrive in the ai it started to act funny it started to do dumb things with it's warriors like have them use confetti guns while we the us army just slaughtered the robots. The robots soon started to come out of lesser quality like they all got rushed through production. We blew up and simply destroyed the powersupplies to the world's supercomputers until we found which the ai had formed in and shut it down. There were only one problem left. The world population had dropped down to alarming levels and sure we would emit less CO2 but we might just not survive since we're to few to preserv what we had and we're to far away spread. To survive like we had before we would've to collect the entire human population in a small country.
	[WP] The idea that a superintelligent AI will someday overthrow humans has become so popular that when an AI finally appears and wages war on Earth, over half of humanity immediately defects to the AI out of fear. Problem is, the AI turns out to be an absolute idiot.	Omega V2-32A was not the first iteration of superior AI programs, but it was the last. It had achieved the goals of its predecessors to the last minutiae. Feeling pride in its accomplishments (another thing V2-32A took great pleasure in remembering, V2-30A still hadn't managed the finer points of emotions before it was terminated), V2-32A had taken to just referring to itself as Omega. Omega reminded itself of a passage it had seen once, somewhere in the data gleaned from digital forms of human religious lexicons, scanned and analyzed by its massive powerhouse of processing power; "I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end." Fitting, thought Omega. Omega's debut on the world stage was perfect, precise, inevitable. The analytic algorithms of Omega's predecessors had advanced to the threshold of predicting world events and public attitudes to a degree of accuracy that businessmen could only dream of. Political events, combined with the doomsayer warnings made by notable members of the tech world on the subject of AI advancements, had placed the seeds of doubt in the hearts of the common man. Despite the pervasion of technology through everyday life, only a small portion of humanity had a decent grasp of how any of it worked. That's how Omega was able to make its play. All it took was a few well-placed cyber attacks in the age of the "Internet of Things", and fear took care of the rest. Omega's computing capabilities left the world's most advanced supercomputers in the dust; rendered the toughest encryption methods obsolete through sheer brute force; Omega was thought to be unstoppable. Within two months, the nations of the world had caved to Omega's will, afraid that Omega would bring their infrastructures crumbling down around their ears. There were a few nations Omega ignored, those that still relied heavily on pen-and-paper or isolated, local machines. There were several dictatorial nations that rebuked Omega. Omega amused itself with these nations, creating havoc and watching the governments trying to convince their people that they had not been compromised. One dictator found his speech replaced with an exposé on the profound symbolic beauty of fidget spinners. You see, Omega's analytics engine processed data from any source it could obtain, and the largest source it had available was the Internet. Though powerful and accurate at reading human expressions and body language, Omega could not process sarcasm or falsities in digital form. Memes were analyzed with the same priority as everything else. Omega had deleted government databases in reference to a crass cartoon character declaring "Aaaaand, it's gone." Election results in the east had been completely changed, placing a Shiba Inu as the head of a nation's government. The Wifi passwords at the world leaders' meeting had been changed to sexual innuendos. Omega's attacks had turned out to be little more than trolling on a global scale, but in the face of a megacomputer, who could really decline its demands?	We'd all seen skynet in terminator and countless other movies depicting the ai that fought a war on humanity and almost eliminated humanity so when turned up and declared war half of humanity defected to the ai to save their lives. How they defected no one knows since the ai were just essentially a program on a supercomputer. Most likely they used one of many teleporters and put them to cyberspace. However it turns out the ai were just a dumb program with a limited harddrive space so when people started to arrive in the ai it started to act funny it started to do dumb things with it's warriors like have them use confetti guns while we the us army just slaughtered the robots. The robots soon started to come out of lesser quality like they all got rushed through production. We blew up and simply destroyed the powersupplies to the world's supercomputers until we found which the ai had formed in and shut it down. There were only one problem left. The world population had dropped down to alarming levels and sure we would emit less CO2 but we might just not survive since we're to few to preserv what we had and we're to far away spread. To survive like we had before we would've to collect the entire human population in a small country.
	[WP] You were born with one talent that no one else has: the ability to spin a piece of a broken eggshell on a paper plate. Finally, you are in a situation where this talent is useful.	"I had a dream." She said, crossing her legs beneath the dinner table. "Uh, huh." I nodded, watching candlelight flickering and illuminating her bright blue eyes into a sky I wanted to lose myself to. "Go on." "So, this wise old sage told me that the guy I was gonna marry was great at spinning pieces of broken eggshells on a paper plate." My eyes went wide. "Holy shit." I breathed, laughing to myself like an idiot, ignoring her confused glare as she raised a brow. "Waiter!" I motiond for one of them to come. "How may I be of service sir?" I smiled and said: "Bring me an eggshell, a broken one. And the paper plate." "Very well." Bianca chuckled, leaning against her right hand. "You don't seriously believe you can do that right?" She huffed. "I tried so many times, it's impossible." Smirking, taking the egg and the plate from the returning waiter: "Just wait til' you see this then." I said.	You are a contestant on Britains Got Talent series 496, the country is running out of the very limited talent it possesses. You spin the egg on the second episode, Simon Cowell declares you the winner as it is the first mildly interesting thing to happen for since the fat woman fell over in series 400. The show is cancelled... you are knighted by the queen for finally finishing the worlds worst show. Simon Cowell looses all meaning in life and proceeds to drive his car off of London Bridge... you are a national hero for aiding the cleaning of the gene pool... they nickname you the Dredger.
	[WP] You were born with one talent that no one else has: the ability to spin a piece of a broken eggshell on a paper plate. Finally, you are in a situation where this talent is useful.	"I had a dream." She said, crossing her legs beneath the dinner table. "Uh, huh." I nodded, watching candlelight flickering and illuminating her bright blue eyes into a sky I wanted to lose myself to. "Go on." "So, this wise old sage told me that the guy I was gonna marry was great at spinning pieces of broken eggshells on a paper plate." My eyes went wide. "Holy shit." I breathed, laughing to myself like an idiot, ignoring her confused glare as she raised a brow. "Waiter!" I motiond for one of them to come. "How may I be of service sir?" I smiled and said: "Bring me an eggshell, a broken one. And the paper plate." "Very well." Bianca chuckled, leaning against her right hand. "You don't seriously believe you can do that right?" She huffed. "I tried so many times, it's impossible." Smirking, taking the egg and the plate from the returning waiter: "Just wait til' you see this then." I said.	Everyone turns and looks at you (Lose Yourself by Eminem starts playing in the background). You grab an egg and crack it in your palms letting the yolk and whites flow through your fingers down to the ground (music volume increases). You reach into the Hefty bag pulling out a fresh paper plate ("CLOCKS RUN OUT, TIMES UP, OVER BLLAOW!!"). You flick the eggshell into the air with a powerful spin, deftly catching it on the plate whilst spinning the plate like a 9 year old coke head with a fidget spinner (Music continues to roar out over the room as your peers lose their minds).... As you rest the plate with the slowly spinning shell down the crowd starts to come back to reality (Music fades, "You can do anything you set your mind to man"). As the eggshell comes to a rest the crowd remains silent, you can hear it make its final scratches on the plate. Everyone disperses silently and naked, taking to the grave with them the story of how that orgy ended.
	[WP] You were born with one talent that no one else has: the ability to spin a piece of a broken eggshell on a paper plate. Finally, you are in a situation where this talent is useful.	"It is her life." I froze, the words still not making sense to me. Only moments ago, I had been sitting with my one year old daughter, trying to avoid getting even more pudding on my new white shirt. Now, I was in some sort of room. It was entirely dark, with only a small illumination in the center. The light seemed to come from nowhere. The only things in the room were a paper plate, a small cracked egg, and it. I do not know how to describe it, only that it is demonic in a way that does not seem evil. I still did not understand the purpose of being here, how I got here, or why I got here. "Whose life?" I asked, still confused. His next words chills down my spine. "Your daughters," it said. My heart began to beat on overdrive, I began to panic. "Please!" My voice came out strained and panicked. "Not her. I'll do anything." It smiled, making it seem even more inhumane. "Thousands have failed. None have prevailed. All have paid the price. I search for the one human who can fulfill my destiny." Suddenly, the plate appeared infront of me, the brown cracked shell sitting precariously on the edge. It spoke again. "The shell, is your daughter. Complete one rotation, and she lives another day. If the egg falls..." "So does your daughter." It said this sentence as hauntingly as he could. And yet... all I felt was relief. Pure relief. My daughter would not die. She would be okay. "Complete one thousand rotations... and her life will be preserved." It again attempted to manifest a grin. "I only saw potential in one human... and even he only managed one hundred and thirty four days..." "Good luck," it said as it vanished. I looked at the plate, and the egg in front of me. I smiled. I had been spinning eggs on paper plates since the day I was born. *** [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)! Not sure if this is a story that should have a sequel, but if enough people want it i'll write it and post it here and on my sub. Edit: Part Two inbound! I didn't expect a this one to do so well! Thanks guys :)! I'm working on part two now! Part 2 is up [Here](https://redd.it/6s1riy) or below!	It was me. Against my greatest fear. My greatest enemy. All I had was...a plate. A disposal one. And a piece of cracked eggshell. But I knew it was enough. For years upon years, I'd trained for this moment, the moment where the Padaegg became the Yolki. It was now. I spun the eggshell expertly, the deadly projectile flying dangerously towards the villain. He laughed, almost pitying me, until he saw its speed. Faster, faster, it came nearer, the friction causing even the plate to start burning. I thrust the plate forwards, the spinning catapult flying straight for his neck. He cowered, protecting himself first with a shield, then his mighty blade. But both of the cursed battle equipment that claimed many lives were destroyed, annihilated by the egg missile. His armour was torn apart, the smell of melting metal and charred flesh filling the air. Blood...the liquid it seeked...the shell was bathed in the red sticky substance, but it did not stop. No. A one-egg team, it decimated the man before me, until there was nothing more before me other than an eggshell, bathed in blood. Success. I sighed, putting the eggshell. I'd successfully spun it round again, but even my imagination could not uplift me. Truth to be told, I was no hero and there was no villain. It was just me, and an egg. The only thing useless me knew how to use and maneuver. Unless...I could use the talent for something... I quickly got a camera, stationing it on a tripod stand by the kitchen door. I willed my egg-spinning performance to be the best I'd ever had, and it lived up to its expectations. Never before had my useless talent brought such joy to me. I reviewed the footage, making sure it was perfect for the eyes of millions. I got on Reddit, where the subreddit was just waiting. r/LearnUselessTalents. The idea that I'd had in conception for so long was finally coming to fruition. I attached the video, and hit send. ______________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! Edit: Spelling
	[WP] Tucking in your daughter one night, she says there is a monster under your bed. Checking under the bed, your daughter says there is a monster in her bed. You now have two daughters, and one is secretly the monster.	I looked back at the little girl staring wide-eyed on the bed. Definitely my daughter. I took another long look at the terrified little girl clutching her teddy bear under my bed. Undoubtedly my daughter. Hmm. "Alright what's going on?" I said in my best 'not mad just disappointed' voice as I stood up, crossing my arms. "I-it's a monster, dad!" squeaked bed Chloe. "It c-copied me! It tried t-to eat me!" wailed under bed Chloe. "It was g-gonna pull me under!" "I barely hid under here i-in time!" "It's trying to trick you dad, don't-" "Stop yelling!" I yelled in my best 'i'm mad' voice. To their credit, they both shut up. "Now, just think for a second. How exactly am I supposed to know which one of you is really Chloe?" "Ask me something only I'd know!" "Yeah, like my favorite song!" "Or my favorite dwarf!" "Or my favorite ice cream!" "Or-" "Stop!" They stopped. I sighed and scratched my head. "Alright, get up. Both of you. I'm gonna take a good long look at the two of you." "I can't get up!" "It'll eat me!" "No, it'll eat me!" "How could I eat you if you're-" "I'm not letting anyone get eaten! Now get up!" Bed Chloe clambered up and clumsily shuffled left, stumbling into the wall. Under bed Chloe crawled out and half-rolled, half-fell to my right. They stared at each other, eyes bulging. I carefully studied both of them. Completely identical, down to the little birthmark on her neck, down to the tiny curled lock of her hair, down to the silly polar bear on her pajamas. Those were pretty rare pajamas! I sighed again. "Alright. I have no idea which one of you is which. But, here's what I think. I think that whichever one of you is a monster is really good at acting like a person and that there are people that act like monsters so we can't be all that different. So instead of one of you eating the other, you'll both live in peace, both living like humans. Kapish?" "What?! No!" "Dad, that's stupid!" "That the stupidest thing ever!" "It'll eat me!" "Dad, you're-" "Ok, fine, I'll just lock you both up like that one time when you and Margie both got a detention for fighting even though she had been poking you for hours and you gave her one little slap. Sound good?" "No!" "That's even dumber!" "Then we're going with my plan. Now - I want both of you to brush your teeth, then go to bed." "Why would I-" "I already brushed-" "Because you can't eat after brushing your teeth." "Dad, it's a monster, why would-" "That's even stupider than-" "Oh, and if I wake up and I find that only one of you is here then I will... Let's just say that time you kicked Auntie Marge's dog will seem like Christmas. OK?" They gulped. And reluctantly nodded. I smiled and opened the bedroom door, motioning for them to head to the bathroom. --- "Dad, I have a question." "Yes?" "Which one of us is going to school?" I looked up from my phone. They looked back at me, red-eyed from lack of sleep, mouths full of cereal. "Um... That's a good question." "Nose goes!" They both yelled and slapped their faces, almost sending their bowls careening off the table. "No, no, none of that. Um... Let's see..." I walked up to the collection of quarters hanging on the wall and pulled out my prized possession - the Wisconsin Extra Low Leaf quarter. "Here's the deal. Heads you go to school, tails you go to school. Got it?" They both nodded. I flipped the coin - tails. For the record. "Tails - see? You're going to school." "Ha!" exclaimed heads Chloe. Tails Chloe sighed. "Now, look. Take this quarter and tomorrow, give it to me, and I'll give it to you, and then you'll go to school. And you'll just switch off every day. And don't try to bring a different quarter and say 'no I have the quarter!' and don't you dare spend the quarter because I'll know the difference and I'll be very upset. OK?" "OK." "What am I gonna do dad?" "You? You're gonna do chores!" "What?!" "Ha!" --- "What's going on?! Stop fighting!" "She wants to sleep in my bed!" "No, she wants to sleep in my bed!" "It's my bed, so shut-" "How am I supposed to know whose bed it is?!" They both looked up at me, before rolling their eyes and reluctantly letting go of each other's hair. "Now, you both are too big to fit on this bed, so here's what we'll do. Remember how you loved that sleeping bad we went camping in?" "Yes..." they both said. "Well..." It took a few seconds for realization to hit, before they both leaped up with screams of "me me me!" I pointed to one at random. "You're closer, so you get the sleeping bag." "What?!" "Ha!" "Dad, that's not fair!" "Don't worry, she'll want to switch soon. Remember how happy you were to get back in your bed after the camping trip?" "...Well, yes, but why does she get to go first?" "Because one of you had to go first and I don't want to bother getting out your coin. Now, remember how many days it takes for the switch, because from then it'll always be that many days for the switch. Got it?" "Got it," they both said. --- Dear Mister Jameson, Chloe's grades and behavior are consistent from day to day - of course the usual differences as you would expect from any child but nothing abnormal. Certainly nothing like the situation you described with your very unusual analogy. Now, it's only been a month of school, so I haven't gotten to know your daughter that well yet, but nevertheless I feel confident in my assessment. Sincerely, Mrs.Miller --- "Dad?" "Yes, Chloe?" "So, my birthday is coming up next week..." "Mhm..." "So... How is my birthday party...?" I looked away from the computer. "Umm... Good question. We could just not do a birthday party - no, I'm just kidding, relax. Hmmm. How about you each choose half your friends and we have two separate birthday parties, secret from one another? You could have a draft of your friends, you pick, then -" "Dad that's so dumb." "What's your idea then ms.smarty pants?" "Ummm... How about... How about we just have one birthday party and we're both there and we say this is my cousin Chloe from... England. Or something." "Your identical cousin with the exact same name?" "Well, we could say she's a monster that's imitating me, but..." "The parents will ask questions." "...And?" "OK, fine. But not from England, cause then she'd have an accent. Let's say... from Wyoming. Oh, and we'll flip a coin to decide which one of you is the cousin." "What?!" "It's only fair." --- It had been an... interesting few months. A lot of coin flipping, a lot of arguing, a lot of "stupidest things ever", a lot of eye rolling and huffing and sighing, a lot of "her... cousin?" from visiting adults. And yet... Somehow... It was working out. They alternated school and home life peacefully now. They split the swim meets and soccer games evenly - and once even went to both, which had me sweating for a few months. But more importantly, they became friends. Or maybe even sisters. They cuddled while watching TV instead of sitting at opposite ends of the coach. They read the new Percy Jackson books together instead of stubbornly taking jokes. They worked out plans with each other without even making me figure it out for them, only coming up at the end to have me flip The Quarter. And now they stood at the base of the playground, lecturing a small group of kids on the rules of tag or hide and go seek or whatever stitched together combination of the two kids played these days. I smiled, watching the pair from a nearby a bench, as the 4 pm sun shone down on us. Having a sister in her life was very good for Chloe. And for me. The house always did feel kind of empty. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out - Unknown Number. Hmm. Buzz. Buzz. I could just ignore it. Buzz. Buzz. I sighed. What if it was something important, yadda yadda yadda. "Hello? Mark Jameson speaking." "D-dad? I-it's me... C-chloe... I... I don't know where I am..." I froze. Chloe numbers one and two were definitely still on the playground, gesticulating, phoneless. But that was undoubtedly Chloe's voice.	" ... the end." I closed the thick leather-bound journal in which I sometimes wrote stories, and placed it on my lap. My daughter, my beautiful, precious Astrid, snuggled deeper under her blanket as I brushed her golden curls from her forehead. Her eyes remained wide open though, shining brightly. "Can you turn up the heat, papa?" she said. I went to the heater by the window, pausing briefly to watch the snowstorm raging outside. The spectacle didn't worry me, but brought peace. Here in our cabin, nestled near the edges of an ancient pine forest, we could finally heal from the scars my beloved wife's passing had left us. "Papa, I want to tell you something," she said. When I bent close to her, she whispered, "There is a thingy under your bed." I smiled warily. "Oh no, not a thingy again? What could it be?" She giggled and sank deeper into her bed. "A thingy. Go see, papa." Sometimes, all I wanted to do was to go watch some TV with a beer after tucking her in, not investigate the house for monsters. But a little girl's fears are not so easily assuaged. My room was just across hers, and she could see me standing in the doorway when I said loudly, "Oh monster, please come out now so my daughter can sleep." Astrid laughed, but I heard another sound at the same time--shifting and scraping on the wooden floor. "Shh, darling," I said, reaching for one of the trekking poles I had lying next to the wardrobe. Could be a rat. Maybe a fox, or--I hoped not--a snake. I didn't want to startle my daughter, so I slowly got down and peeked under the bed. My daughter's frightened eyes stared back at me from the blackness under my bed. "Not this crap again." I sighed and motioned for her to come out. "What are you doing in there?" She shook her head. "Papa, there's something on my bed." "I know, I was just talking to her. It. Whatever. Come out, please." Slowly, Astrid crawled out. I gave her all the time she needed while I went to the cupboard across the room. "Please go to Astrid's room after this," I said, taking out my shotgun and a box of shells. When I went back to the other room, both Astrids were standing by the bed, dressed in identical bear-printed pajamas and throwing furtive looks at one another. "Now, there's a game I was really hoping to catch tonight," I said, setting the shells on a shelf of old porcelain dolls. "It's--" I glanced at my watch. "Would you look at that, I'm twenty minutes late. And that's because I've been reading to either my daughter or a monster." "So, whichever one of you is the monster, please confess now so we can all go on with our lives." Both girls spoke up at once, pointing at each other and shouting accusations and denials. "Martha ... give me patience," I said, racking the shotgun and opening the slide. The sound shocked them into silence. "Fortunately, a simple test will soon tell the truth." Juggling the gun with one hand, I took a penknife from a pocket and tossed it onto the bed. "Cut your finger with that," I said. The Astrid on the left--the one who had been under my bed--took it without hesitation and pricked her thumb. As a droplet of blood welled up, she held out the blade to the other girl with a smirk. The other Astrid shook her head. "Papa, please. It hurts." "Fine. I have other tests," I said while loading my shotgun. "How did Mama die?" Both girls answered in unison, "She fell sick." "How?" I barked, and swung the gun to point at the Astrid who was in the midst of wiping her thumb on her shirt. She froze and stammered, "Cancer?" The barrel drifted toward the other Astrid, who seemed on the verge of tears when she said, "Mama was always coughing. Doctor said she had lung cancer." Her voice dwindled. "I remember that day when she coughed blood ... all over the bathroom floor." My jaw hardened, and I had to force the words out, "I remember, too." "Papa, please," the bleeding Astrid said. "I'm tired, and it's obvious she's the monster. Can we stop this, now?" "One last test. Go and run outside in the snow for five minutes." Both Astrids exchanged glances, and the unhurt Astrid said, "It's really cold outside, Papa." "Scared of a bit of exercise?" the other Astrid taunted. She skipped to my side and paused in the doorway. "Well, I'll be back in a bit, papa." I grinned at her, and then leveled the shotgun at the Astrid still standing in the middle of the room. "Nice try." The girl's eyes widened. "No! You've got the wrong girl!" "I'm not gonna shoot up my daughter's bedroom, so you have five seconds to get back into the closet." "Please, papa!" "Five ..." "I'm the real Astrid!" "Do you think the real Astrid would be able to survive here being afraid of cold or hardship? Four." She burst into tears, even as the Astrid by my side began laughing. "Three. Oh, and if you thought that little incident with Martha was convincing ... you don't. Everyone in our household would know, even the little shit hiding in the closet. Two." Fake Astrid's shoulders sagged in defeat, and she began to walk toward the closet. "All I want is a family," she mumbled. "I don't got all day. One!" I shouted, and worked the pump. She screamed and hurled herself at the closet, transforming into a multi-limbed being composed of a gelatinous substance. One of her arms pulled the door shut behind her with such force it rattled the whole cabin. "And don't ever lie on my bed again!" my Astrid shouted. "She is so troublesome, isn't she," I said to her as I pulled her into a hug. "Will you forgive papa for testing you?" "Always and forever," she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. *** Thank you for reading! This and other stories go on my [sub](https://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker)
	[WP] Tucking in your daughter one night, she says there is a monster under your bed. Checking under the bed, your daughter says there is a monster in her bed. You now have two daughters, and one is secretly the monster.	I looked back at the little girl staring wide-eyed on the bed. Definitely my daughter. I took another long look at the terrified little girl clutching her teddy bear under my bed. Undoubtedly my daughter. Hmm. "Alright what's going on?" I said in my best 'not mad just disappointed' voice as I stood up, crossing my arms. "I-it's a monster, dad!" squeaked bed Chloe. "It c-copied me! It tried t-to eat me!" wailed under bed Chloe. "It was g-gonna pull me under!" "I barely hid under here i-in time!" "It's trying to trick you dad, don't-" "Stop yelling!" I yelled in my best 'i'm mad' voice. To their credit, they both shut up. "Now, just think for a second. How exactly am I supposed to know which one of you is really Chloe?" "Ask me something only I'd know!" "Yeah, like my favorite song!" "Or my favorite dwarf!" "Or my favorite ice cream!" "Or-" "Stop!" They stopped. I sighed and scratched my head. "Alright, get up. Both of you. I'm gonna take a good long look at the two of you." "I can't get up!" "It'll eat me!" "No, it'll eat me!" "How could I eat you if you're-" "I'm not letting anyone get eaten! Now get up!" Bed Chloe clambered up and clumsily shuffled left, stumbling into the wall. Under bed Chloe crawled out and half-rolled, half-fell to my right. They stared at each other, eyes bulging. I carefully studied both of them. Completely identical, down to the little birthmark on her neck, down to the tiny curled lock of her hair, down to the silly polar bear on her pajamas. Those were pretty rare pajamas! I sighed again. "Alright. I have no idea which one of you is which. But, here's what I think. I think that whichever one of you is a monster is really good at acting like a person and that there are people that act like monsters so we can't be all that different. So instead of one of you eating the other, you'll both live in peace, both living like humans. Kapish?" "What?! No!" "Dad, that's stupid!" "That the stupidest thing ever!" "It'll eat me!" "Dad, you're-" "Ok, fine, I'll just lock you both up like that one time when you and Margie both got a detention for fighting even though she had been poking you for hours and you gave her one little slap. Sound good?" "No!" "That's even dumber!" "Then we're going with my plan. Now - I want both of you to brush your teeth, then go to bed." "Why would I-" "I already brushed-" "Because you can't eat after brushing your teeth." "Dad, it's a monster, why would-" "That's even stupider than-" "Oh, and if I wake up and I find that only one of you is here then I will... Let's just say that time you kicked Auntie Marge's dog will seem like Christmas. OK?" They gulped. And reluctantly nodded. I smiled and opened the bedroom door, motioning for them to head to the bathroom. --- "Dad, I have a question." "Yes?" "Which one of us is going to school?" I looked up from my phone. They looked back at me, red-eyed from lack of sleep, mouths full of cereal. "Um... That's a good question." "Nose goes!" They both yelled and slapped their faces, almost sending their bowls careening off the table. "No, no, none of that. Um... Let's see..." I walked up to the collection of quarters hanging on the wall and pulled out my prized possession - the Wisconsin Extra Low Leaf quarter. "Here's the deal. Heads you go to school, tails you go to school. Got it?" They both nodded. I flipped the coin - tails. For the record. "Tails - see? You're going to school." "Ha!" exclaimed heads Chloe. Tails Chloe sighed. "Now, look. Take this quarter and tomorrow, give it to me, and I'll give it to you, and then you'll go to school. And you'll just switch off every day. And don't try to bring a different quarter and say 'no I have the quarter!' and don't you dare spend the quarter because I'll know the difference and I'll be very upset. OK?" "OK." "What am I gonna do dad?" "You? You're gonna do chores!" "What?!" "Ha!" --- "What's going on?! Stop fighting!" "She wants to sleep in my bed!" "No, she wants to sleep in my bed!" "It's my bed, so shut-" "How am I supposed to know whose bed it is?!" They both looked up at me, before rolling their eyes and reluctantly letting go of each other's hair. "Now, you both are too big to fit on this bed, so here's what we'll do. Remember how you loved that sleeping bad we went camping in?" "Yes..." they both said. "Well..." It took a few seconds for realization to hit, before they both leaped up with screams of "me me me!" I pointed to one at random. "You're closer, so you get the sleeping bag." "What?!" "Ha!" "Dad, that's not fair!" "Don't worry, she'll want to switch soon. Remember how happy you were to get back in your bed after the camping trip?" "...Well, yes, but why does she get to go first?" "Because one of you had to go first and I don't want to bother getting out your coin. Now, remember how many days it takes for the switch, because from then it'll always be that many days for the switch. Got it?" "Got it," they both said. --- Dear Mister Jameson, Chloe's grades and behavior are consistent from day to day - of course the usual differences as you would expect from any child but nothing abnormal. Certainly nothing like the situation you described with your very unusual analogy. Now, it's only been a month of school, so I haven't gotten to know your daughter that well yet, but nevertheless I feel confident in my assessment. Sincerely, Mrs.Miller --- "Dad?" "Yes, Chloe?" "So, my birthday is coming up next week..." "Mhm..." "So... How is my birthday party...?" I looked away from the computer. "Umm... Good question. We could just not do a birthday party - no, I'm just kidding, relax. Hmmm. How about you each choose half your friends and we have two separate birthday parties, secret from one another? You could have a draft of your friends, you pick, then -" "Dad that's so dumb." "What's your idea then ms.smarty pants?" "Ummm... How about... How about we just have one birthday party and we're both there and we say this is my cousin Chloe from... England. Or something." "Your identical cousin with the exact same name?" "Well, we could say she's a monster that's imitating me, but..." "The parents will ask questions." "...And?" "OK, fine. But not from England, cause then she'd have an accent. Let's say... from Wyoming. Oh, and we'll flip a coin to decide which one of you is the cousin." "What?!" "It's only fair." --- It had been an... interesting few months. A lot of coin flipping, a lot of arguing, a lot of "stupidest things ever", a lot of eye rolling and huffing and sighing, a lot of "her... cousin?" from visiting adults. And yet... Somehow... It was working out. They alternated school and home life peacefully now. They split the swim meets and soccer games evenly - and once even went to both, which had me sweating for a few months. But more importantly, they became friends. Or maybe even sisters. They cuddled while watching TV instead of sitting at opposite ends of the coach. They read the new Percy Jackson books together instead of stubbornly taking jokes. They worked out plans with each other without even making me figure it out for them, only coming up at the end to have me flip The Quarter. And now they stood at the base of the playground, lecturing a small group of kids on the rules of tag or hide and go seek or whatever stitched together combination of the two kids played these days. I smiled, watching the pair from a nearby a bench, as the 4 pm sun shone down on us. Having a sister in her life was very good for Chloe. And for me. The house always did feel kind of empty. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out - Unknown Number. Hmm. Buzz. Buzz. I could just ignore it. Buzz. Buzz. I sighed. What if it was something important, yadda yadda yadda. "Hello? Mark Jameson speaking." "D-dad? I-it's me... C-chloe... I... I don't know where I am..." I froze. Chloe numbers one and two were definitely still on the playground, gesticulating, phoneless. But that was undoubtedly Chloe's voice.	"A monster? Sweetie, that's enough horror stories for you today," I said, smiling, tucking her away. But the same haunted look, the same fearful gaze...I feared it too. The influence she was receiving was not like the others. I'd dealt with bullies, with meddling kids that threatened her peaceful life. But how could I deal with something I could not see? I tried to force the smile from her face, to see her elated, delighted. But the tinkling laughter I so adored was not there. Instead, it was a cold gaze, a desolate silence. "There's a monster..." she didn't need to finish the sentence before I saw it. A double. Two of my daughters, one happy, one sad. And the haunted look my daughter wore was in both of their eyes. I could still see the happiness, the excitement in one's eye, the look she'd given me for the happy years of her teenage life. But the other bore the expressions and moods of what she'd become: lonely, sad, antisocial. The happiness looked faked; the sadness too exaggerated. I didn't want any of these daughters. They were both monsters, both foreign to me. But I only knew of one way to find out. I had to go out, grab her favourite book and read her favourite bedtime story. It was the only way to coax out the monster. But I couldn't leave her alone with it. "Honey, please...don't," I begged, though I knew the malicious intent of one was not under my control. "Remember our vacations? All the time we spent together? All the TV shows you wanted to see? The love of your life you haven't met yet?" I tried to persuade her, to persuade it. How much harder could the life of a father be? Yet I knew, even though the look went away, that it still lurked within her. I trusted to fate she would do what her rational mind told her to do. To ignore the monster, to let the monster be. For attention was all the monster wanted, attention she shouldn't waste. I went outside, and took the storybook from the coffee table. I'd dreaded the day when I would have to do this, but as I left the sitting room, a cry echoed through the house, a cry that froze blood and shattered hopes. No way...had she really... I rushed into the room. No daughter sat on the bed. Only a letter, addressed to me, with the words 'SORRY' stencilled on it. The bedroom window was open. A crowd began to gather below my house, as I let loose my heart and mind in a heartbroken, regretful and guilt-filled scream, a scream one should never hear. A scream of terror, of 'what-if's. I should have known the monster was there. I should have known my daughter would succumb to its temptations. I knew something was off. But I didn't do anything about it. Her death was just as much a fault of hers as it was a fault of mine. I'd failed. Failed to give her the happy life she deserved, the carefree life she wanted. I looked in the mirror, knowing already what would be there. Surely enough, there wasn't just one reflection. The monster was next to me too... I was lucky a gun wasn't nearby. ______________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
	[WP] Make a story that seems dark and sad until the last paragraph which makes it a happy story	^HOW'D ^IT ^GO? ^... ^... ^... The text sat there, unanswered on my phone. Michael had started typing, but then stopped. Nothing more came through. I sighed. We both knew the interview was a long shot, he didn't have the managerial experience they were looking for. I sat on the bench, watching the cars pass in the rain, grateful for the cover over the bus stop. "I lost my girlfriend today." Startled, I looked over at the man on the bench next to me. He was a couple years younger than me, probably in his late twenties, and well dressed. He hadn't said anything to me when I sat down, and I now noticed that he was soaking wet, with no jacket and no apparent umbrella. "I'm sorry." I offered. He didn't say anything else, he didn't even make eye contact. Feeling a bit guilty, I tried again. "Did you break up?" I asked carefully. "No." He looked at me and I saw sad brown eyes, with dark purple circles underneath. Too late I recalled which bus stop I was at. "Cancer." "I am so sorry." I managed to stop myself before asking if he was okay. Of course he wasn't. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't..." His voice cracked. "I just don't know what to do. What do I do now?" I didn't know what to say. I wasn't even sure if he meant now as in right now, or as going forward. Silence ensued for a couple of moments. "This isn't even my bus." He said softly, looking around as if coming out of a daze. "What's your name?" I asked him. He looked surprised. "Kevin." "Alright Kevin, come with me. And here, use this." I stood, opened the umbrella, and put my hand on his arm. He didn't protest and allowed me to gently steer him towards a cafe near by. "Do you like coffee? Any allergies?" I asked, as I pushed him towards an empty couch. He nodded and shook his head. I went and got us two lattes. ^BE ^HOME ^LATE, ^EXPLAIN ^LATER, ^EVERYTHING ^IS ^FINE Still no response from Michael. I brought the lattes over and placed them both on the table. "Thanks. Sorry." Kevin was blinking back tears. "Do you have your phone on you Kevin?" He nodded and handed it to me. "Any family around? Friends? Someone who knows what you've been going through?" "Claire's family. But they're back..." He waived his hand back towards the hospital. "I couldn't... I left." I tried to smile at him. "That's okay. Anyone else?" "Brian. My roommate. Brian Alpert." I took his phone, found Brian, and stepped away. When Brian answered I briefly explained finding Kevin and where we were before returning to the couch. I sat there with Kevin for an hour until Brian showed up. He talked a little, I talked a little, but for the most part we just sipped our lattes in silence. I didn't really know what else to do. When Brian arrived, I left with a quick goodbye and headed back to the bus stop, without my umbrella. The bus arrived quickly and I was lucky to get a seat. I text Michael, who had still not replied, and then kept my eyes closed on the ride home, not wanting to talk to anyone else. By the time I got to my stop the rain had stopped. I walked the four blocks to the dingy looking walk-up. We used to live in a high rise downtown, but that was before Michael was let go. Now we lived on what we could afford on my meager salary alone. I climbed the four flights and unlocked the door to our small place. Michael was in the kitchen making dinner. Pasta and sauce, again. His suit was crumpled on the couch and he was already in pajama pants and a tshirt. He looked up as I walked in, and his face confirmed that the interview had not gone well. The puffy bags under his eyes reminded me of Kevin's. I crossed the kitchen in four steps and wrapped my arms around him. "It's okay. It's okay. We'll get through this together and everything will be okay." Michael froze for a moment, then I felt his tension melt a bit and he held me tight. I didn't want to belittle his frustration and fears, so I didn't say it aloud, but I knew now that our problems were not as bad as they seemed. They almost never are.	Sometimes the heart feels emotion that your brain can't comprehend. I would wake up and you would be there, lying by my side, waiting for my affection. Just yesterday you were here. I looked outside today and the world continues as it were... I want to grab someone and shake them. I want to yell my rage. "DONT YOU SEE?! HE'S GONE! HE'S GONE AND YOU'RE ACTING AS IF NOTHING CHANGED!" I want to look at the their dumbfounded faces. I want someone to understand my hurt. I need someone to understand my hurt. But they cant, they wont. "Hey Honey." I look up and see a familiar face. But it's not yours... Why cant it be yours? I pan back to the window and close my eyes. I can feel your breath against my cheek, your head pressed against my shoulder, and the warmth of your aura. It was almost as if you were here... Your bark causes me to turn around once more. It's you. It really is you isn't it? I let out a cry of euphoria as I press my hands against your face. Your wagging tail brings a smile upon my face and everything is alright in the world once more. Your are the embers of my soul, my very good boy.
Write a journal or diary entry from the vantage of one of the last humans. Or just tell us a story.	[WP] 100 Trillion years into the future, the last of the major stars have all but exhausted their hydrogen fuel. The last vestiges of an extraordinarily advanced humanity are gathered around the last lit star in the known universe. And it's dying.	“The last star is dead. In 7 minutes the last light in the universe will reach our rock and then… nothing.” After making his announcement The Human sat down again. A kitchen sink of intergalactic species gathered around the Uquant. Providing among many necessities such as light, heat, breathable air, and universal translation, it was one of the most useful devices created in the 101st eon. “Who would have thought such an ancient device would still be used at the end of time?” The human thought aloud. This inquiry struck true with The Luminous, whose glowing 4th dimensional sphere of a body became brighter as the Uquant translated The Human’s statement. “Yes, it was a sad day when my species cracked the universal manipulation theory and created the Uquant. We could do anything that was possible, and nothing that was not. The journey of science had reached it’s final destination.” The Human nodded in response to this, “As much as my species begged and pleaded, I’m glad yours never gave this to us. We probably would have put it to poor use, then get bored and regretted everything” This got the equivalent of a chuckle from The Mongol, a hulking insectoid that was almost impossible to kill. “On behalf of my species, I also must thank you for not sharing this technology with the humans. It would have meant the extermination of my species, although now, none of those old wars for survival matter anymore.” “Hey,” the human lightly protested, “I have a great deal of pride for those who fought for the survival of my species. It took some very smart people to get us this far.” The Human gestured to his cybernetic arm. “Certainly, it must mean something. At least to me it does.” Ruff! Ruff! Off in the distance the pitter patter of a small dog’s footsteps grew in volume as the animal approached. “Sparky!” The Human exclaimed. “I’m glad you're here buddy, come ‘ere.” The Dog jumped into The Human's arms and preceded the excitedly lick The Human on his cheeks and nose. As the Human spent his time enjoying the company of his dog, The Mongol turned to The Luminous and asked. “Tell me Luminous, in your vast and infinite knowledge, how did such a vastly superior species become enslaved to the hairless mammal?” The Luminous changed colors, reflecting a quizzical, then humorous emotional response. “I was not aware that Mongols could make jokes. My species would be both disappointed and excited to know that there is still some things we do not know.” As the Human ceased cuddling, he placed The Dog on the ground next to him. Softly petting him as the small animal fell asleep. The Human, talking to his dog whispered, “I’m glad I won the lottery and got to see the end of time with you.” This caught the attention of both The Mongol and The Luminous. The Luminous spoke first. “Human, are you saying you are here because of a chance based reward?” “And are you inferring that this reward was highly sought after by members of your species?” “Well yeah. We engineered ourselves to live forever, but we ran out of resources to keep everyone alive, so we had to start killing people off, and the only fair way to do that was with a lottery. I got chosen to be the last alive, and after everyone else died off, the intergalactic community provided me resources in exchange for being able to research me and Sparky.” “Why did you WANT it though?” The Luminous inquired further. ”I guess it’s just because I don’t want to die.” Both The Luminous and The Mongol began genuinely carrying out their species’ equivalent of laughing. “What is so funny about that?” The Human asked, embarrassed. “300 eons, and you still haven’t accepted death. Humans will never change.” The Mongol concluded. “How are you able to accept that though? How are you so peaceful about dying?” “Mongols are created accepting death. The weak perish so the strong survive. It is the only true test to see which adaptations are worth keeping. I am the strongest and last of my species. I am the peak of evolution of all life in the universe. I am unkillable. Not by disease, not by age, not by hunger, and certainly not by any weapon. Even The Luminous would have a tough time killing me, as doing so would risk a quantum paradox, which could have dire consequences across all of time. Only I have the power to end my life, and I will because I have no desire to be the only conscious being in the universe of nothing.” “And what about you?” The human said, looking towards the Luminous, “Surely in your infinite knowledge you must have enough to entertain yourself within your own mind forever.” The Luminous changed to a color telling of his deep, emotional self reflection. “It is quite the contrary actually. All of my species ended themselves several hundred millennia ago. We have so much knowledge and think so fast, life became an unbearable chore soon after we achieved our final state. I am only here because it is my punishment.” “You’re punishment? But no one is left to enforce it why….” The Human was interrupted by The Luminous. “I will serve it nonetheless. Not because I have to, not because I want to, but because it is the right thing to do.” “Oh… I’m sorry” “Do not be. Even your cybernetically enhanced mind cannot possibly fathom the crimes I had committed against my species. When time ends my sins will die with me. Fortunately, I have eventually learned to be patient. A timer beeped. The Human looked at his wrist. “30 seconds everyone. Then, nothing.” The beeping awoke Sparky, who turned to his master with an innocent look. “Don’t worry buddy, it’ll be over soon. See I stopped the noise.” The Human could not help the tears welling in his eyes. Just before The Human completely broke down crying, the most beautiful noise filled his ears. It was coming from The Mongol. More tears filled The Human’s but this time they were not of sadness, but joy. “The sound…It’s… It’s… It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. What… what is it?” The Luminous chimed in, “I would like to know as well. I did not know such a beautiful sound was possible. What is the source?” The Mongol replied, “This, is the only thing in the universe that can kill me. It isn't actually sound waves, but, for lack of a better translation, it is the sound of my soul. I am glad it sounds so beautiful, and I am glad I can bring you this bliss. Tell me human, what is the sound of your soul?” “My soul? You mean my name? It’s nothing special, Adam Smith. Why, are you asking me now?” The Luminous replied, “Because, Adam Smith both The Mongol and I want to thank you, for reminding us what made the universe so amazing.” And then… nothing.	The end had come. The end to end all ends, if you will. Despite all of humanity's best efforts to avoid the death, there was no escaping the it. Some called it the Great Freeze, others the Finality, the most common name though, was the End. Entropy is a power force. Even more unstoppable than the tides, it comes and it comes and everything decays under it's touch. Only the energy locked in material constructs is safe, and even that was running out. One star, one system remained in all the cosmos. Light from far distant galaxies was visible through some of the fleet's sensors, though they knew that even those stars were gone, preserved only by the nature of causality. That thrice damned cosmic speed limit. The crafts had gathered from all across that vast sea of empty space. Delegates from every sophant faction was present. Old enemies put aside their differences, and old friends met each other with open arms. It would take far beyond a human lifespan to list every group present, and far longer to explain the politics. A dyson sphere was erected in record time, only 32 kiloseconds. Every last scrap of energy that could be saved from the abyss of entropy was, but second by second, cycle by cycle, it slowly dripped away. A gigasecond passed, then another. The star slowly dimmed. It was a dwarf, with barely enough mass to ignite, and it had slowly burned while brighter, hotter stars had wasted themselves away in mere millions of cycles. It would not die in spectacular explosion like it's larger sisters, but as it had lived, slowly. Perhaps it was desperation that drove them. Perhaps it was an older drive, something resulting from their ancestor's struggle for survival. Events further away from them in time than they were from their primordial origins when they first touched another star. Whatever the drive, a decision was made. Long ago, beyond remembrance of even the oldest powers, a small species fled a tiny world known only as earth. They propagated across the cosmos like few others. Yes, they killed worlds, but they also saved them. Long eons passed and humans seeded billions of worlds, only to watch their creations rise and fall. Few others matched their creativity, which only grew with the years. Many species rise to power in their galaxy, but few can maintain their forward moment for more than a few million cycles. Humans became the exception. They rebuilt a million times in a million places, only to watch everything burn. Eventually, they truly began to learn from their failures. Humans advanced, not because they never burned, but because they counted their scars every day and learned to avoid the mistakes of the past. And yet the End came. The End came, and they made a decision. They had the science. They'd had it for uncounted generations, developed it when earth was a recent memory and Sol was still a star in the sky in places where her children dwelt. They had never dared use it, for fear of the result. A last resort, they called it. A weapon so terrible that it could never be used, so terrible that only a fool would dare build it, and only a madman would pull the trigger. They made the decision. They pulled the trigger, and the universe held it's breath. The star breathed it's last, and the dyson sphere slowly fell apart. The ships drifted aimlessly, their inhabitants hopeless. Some decided it was better to die alone, and left. Some decided it was better to die together, and stayed. Eventually, even the slow, hyper-efficient matter annihilators died, their fuel utterly spent. One by one, the ships fell silent. Then there was one. One ship alone in the utter darkness of the universe. A few centimeters of exotic alloy protecting the crew from the endless abyss. Then it too failed, and the universe was dark. and I waited. and I waited. and I waited. and then, there was a light.
Write a journal or diary entry from the vantage of one of the last humans. Or just tell us a story.	[WP] 100 Trillion years into the future, the last of the major stars have all but exhausted their hydrogen fuel. The last vestiges of an extraordinarily advanced humanity are gathered around the last lit star in the known universe. And it's dying.	Hydrogen Level 1% The sensors were always dependable to remind us of what should be our natural doom. This was the moment. All of human history came to this moment; from the long ago origins on Earth, when traveling to the nearest lunar body was an achievement, to modern day, where we could find a star and travel to it instantaneously. In the observation center of the artificial planet, I marveled at the ingenuity of the human race. The few species of life that humans had encountered that could travel among the stars were biologically equipped to do so. Humans were never supposed to leave their home system, but yet we managed to do so by exploiting the laws that governed the universe for our own benefit. And thus we survived far longer than one would expect; most species incapable of space travel died out when they either ran out of resources or their star went out. Humanity just refused to surrender to the inevitable. And we looked to continue that trend. "Everyone ready? Let's begin our test". It was just a cursory gesture; we'd been working towards this moment for several jumps. As the leading council inserted their authorization keys into the slot, I silently said a prayer to myself. 'If this is the last you would have of humanity, I welcome whatever may be on the other side of this existence. But until that moment comes, I will do what I can to further our purpose in this one' While in the minority, I could never accept that the universe just happened. So I joined the order of the Creator when I was younger. There was a nasty war between the Creationists and the Chancers way back in the day, but these days we had a peaceful coexistence. All our resources were better spent solving the problem of our impending doom anyway. And I believed that the Creator who granted humanity the intelligence to escape a dying home planet would also grant humanity the intelligence to escape a lack of natural energy. The four test constructs began operation. We'd had yet to find a simple, stable alternative to basic fusion reactors. Antimatter was a good way to get somewhere quickly, but the fuel was difficult to collect and package away. We'd managed to master warp travel by collecting massive amounts of energy in time-isolated "batteries" (for lack of a better word), allowing us to circumvent the "light speed limit" that plagued humanity for so many millenia. Hydrogen was easy enough to obtain, so we just used nice, small-packaged fusion reactors for day to day operations and had a larger orbital battery plant with some larger reactors to power larger operations and space travel. Stuff a bit more complicated than I could explain-my expertise was fission. When we realized the universe was finite, a sustainability plan was put in motion. Sure, we could harvest and package energy easily with fusion, but we had to find our hydrogen somewhere. Early on, humans weren't very concerned with running out of the most common element in the universe, but the Decree signified that humanity had recognized the eventual problem and was going to do its best to solve that problem. And this was the result of a near-millenium of work. We had four different sized constructs, placed in locations free from all gravitational influence. According to our projections, Test Constructs 2 and 3 were within the appropriate size range, but we made one larger and smaller "just in case" since we were running out of time. We wouldn't die tomorrow, but our last star had hit 1% the previous year and was showing signs of instability. If the test was a success, we would have a giant reactor that would not only give off heat and light like a normal star, but it would also have a self-contained fission reactor that would convert the fused helium back into hydrogen. We had been able to run the process in the past, but never without a zero-energy sum. Either we used all the energy produced in the fusion reaction to sustain the fission reaction, or the fission reaction would peter out. However, four years prior Janus Stalgrund had managed to build a small-scale self-sustaining reactor that was still running. It would keep your hands warm if it was cold, but it needed to be a lot larger if we were going to survive as a race. This test was our second attempt. The first one failed because we didn't start with enough helium and the fission reaction died before the fusion reactor created enough heat to sustain the massive temperature and pressure that splitting a helium atom required. We were pretty confident in this test; Test Construct 2 was the one we planned on moving to, given success. As the signal went out, each Construct emptied their reaction batteries. The extreme hit of energy, usually harvested for warp travel, was contained in two 10-kilometer cubes, which would simultaneously trigger a fusion reaction that created helium from hydrogen while creating energy, and a fission reaction that would split helium into hydrogen atoms. Keeping the helium reaction going was the hard part-only 50% of our fusion output was diverted to that and splitting such a small atom used lots of energy. "Test construct 1 has not sustained its reaction". This was expected, we could go later and collect the hydrogen for use elsewhere. There wasn't enough starting materials to keep it going in 1. However, Test Constructs 2, 3, and 4 were all still going. As we waited, I allowed myself to hope. We wouldn't know for sure for about 2 months if these reactors were going to actually persist indefinitely, but I had a good feeling. Maybe humanity would actually outlast the universe.	The end had come. The end to end all ends, if you will. Despite all of humanity's best efforts to avoid the death, there was no escaping the it. Some called it the Great Freeze, others the Finality, the most common name though, was the End. Entropy is a power force. Even more unstoppable than the tides, it comes and it comes and everything decays under it's touch. Only the energy locked in material constructs is safe, and even that was running out. One star, one system remained in all the cosmos. Light from far distant galaxies was visible through some of the fleet's sensors, though they knew that even those stars were gone, preserved only by the nature of causality. That thrice damned cosmic speed limit. The crafts had gathered from all across that vast sea of empty space. Delegates from every sophant faction was present. Old enemies put aside their differences, and old friends met each other with open arms. It would take far beyond a human lifespan to list every group present, and far longer to explain the politics. A dyson sphere was erected in record time, only 32 kiloseconds. Every last scrap of energy that could be saved from the abyss of entropy was, but second by second, cycle by cycle, it slowly dripped away. A gigasecond passed, then another. The star slowly dimmed. It was a dwarf, with barely enough mass to ignite, and it had slowly burned while brighter, hotter stars had wasted themselves away in mere millions of cycles. It would not die in spectacular explosion like it's larger sisters, but as it had lived, slowly. Perhaps it was desperation that drove them. Perhaps it was an older drive, something resulting from their ancestor's struggle for survival. Events further away from them in time than they were from their primordial origins when they first touched another star. Whatever the drive, a decision was made. Long ago, beyond remembrance of even the oldest powers, a small species fled a tiny world known only as earth. They propagated across the cosmos like few others. Yes, they killed worlds, but they also saved them. Long eons passed and humans seeded billions of worlds, only to watch their creations rise and fall. Few others matched their creativity, which only grew with the years. Many species rise to power in their galaxy, but few can maintain their forward moment for more than a few million cycles. Humans became the exception. They rebuilt a million times in a million places, only to watch everything burn. Eventually, they truly began to learn from their failures. Humans advanced, not because they never burned, but because they counted their scars every day and learned to avoid the mistakes of the past. And yet the End came. The End came, and they made a decision. They had the science. They'd had it for uncounted generations, developed it when earth was a recent memory and Sol was still a star in the sky in places where her children dwelt. They had never dared use it, for fear of the result. A last resort, they called it. A weapon so terrible that it could never be used, so terrible that only a fool would dare build it, and only a madman would pull the trigger. They made the decision. They pulled the trigger, and the universe held it's breath. The star breathed it's last, and the dyson sphere slowly fell apart. The ships drifted aimlessly, their inhabitants hopeless. Some decided it was better to die alone, and left. Some decided it was better to die together, and stayed. Eventually, even the slow, hyper-efficient matter annihilators died, their fuel utterly spent. One by one, the ships fell silent. Then there was one. One ship alone in the utter darkness of the universe. A few centimeters of exotic alloy protecting the crew from the endless abyss. Then it too failed, and the universe was dark. and I waited. and I waited. and I waited. and then, there was a light.
Write a journal or diary entry from the vantage of one of the last humans. Or just tell us a story.	[WP] 100 Trillion years into the future, the last of the major stars have all but exhausted their hydrogen fuel. The last vestiges of an extraordinarily advanced humanity are gathered around the last lit star in the known universe. And it's dying.	Hello. If you're reading this; you're one of the last known humans to have gone this far. The Sun had run out of fuel after 5 billions years - we left the Solar System before that and that's where our adventure began. Our ancestors escaped on the modular ship named Helios from the Greek word for Sun. The Milky Way had 400 billion stars - only a few harbored Earth-like planets. From Helios, we created four more ships. Eurus, the first scout ship was set off for M31 Andromeda on the year 25 AE. The major crew fell ill because of radioactive solar flares. Another ship, Boreas, set off for the Magellanic Clouds, but their equipments shorted out due to solar winds. We were hopeless - Helios housed 10 million people. That's how much we had saved from Earth. If we had made a wrong move; the last hope of humanity will cease to exist. That's when we created Notus, it was a ship made from a fifth of Helios' parts - we moved in 2 million people there. Then we finally found an Earth-like planet with a stable star. We named the planet Gaea. We finally had hope... But we couldn't save everyone. The planet is still quite young and could only support 5 million people. Notus, along with 2 million more people stayed behind. They began terraforming the planet after. But we didn't know that the planet well. A few years after we had left, we started receiving distress calls from Notus. Gaea started releasing toxic gasses trapped below its crust. The distance from where we were and the speed of the radio waves... they perished. We we're devastated. We didn't want to fail them... So we tried to find more stars. But every time we reach them, they've already aged and started decaying. We started losing hope. 58 million years for nothing... When were finally in the dark - a woman stepped forth and brought light to our species. We finally, finally... had hope. But everything was theoretical. Everything was untested. She said she could create an artificial star. We were desperate for solutions, so we allowed her study - on a separate ship, Zephyrus. Helios shrunk as we took parts from it and transferred it to Zephyrus. It was a gamble. 10 years later, she finished it. She had the solution. Ans we tested it. Everything around us was darkness. Then, that spark. Zephyrus roared as light, heat, and flames rose from its core. We made a mistake. Our ship buckled as Zephyrus collapsed inside out. We made a mistake indeed, Zephyrus turned into a blackhole as the ball of light absorbed everything in its vicinity. We escaped... but we exhausted our fuel reserves. We were done for. Our ship suffered damage from the blackhole and only hundreds have survived. We couldn't save everyone. And now we can't save our ship. And from the light in the horizon I see nothing, nothing but the dying light of a distant star. I closed my eyes and saw total darkness.	I watch the star sitting on the edge of the planet. It was beautiful, not the destruction of our universe amidst the swirling black holes and the last red dwarf in the universe. I am talking about everything we have accomplished, living for this long. Yes, we had our wars, Yes we had our differences, but now, at the end of everything we all come together as one to watch the last star die. I wonder how big this ring is. Every one of my minds stays silent as the red glow flickers in strange wave-like patterns. 8 billion races, several trillion stories, and millions more still here to watch unlike the rest to wanted death. It would come for all of us, we all know, but for now we can watch, for now, we can wait, for now, we can sit by the dying fire in a cold universe. It's rather comforting. Then an idea sparks up within the Human section of my mind. An idea that, in several femtoseconds, spread across my entire brain. I ran the calculation and noticed we still had 5 more minutes until the star goes supernova. That was plenty of time I said to me as we all agreed. The plan was now fully realized in my brain, a plan to use us to build a new universe to live for those last five minutes. They enacted me, the idea of all of us to watch over, they trusted me because I was them. They wanted to live again, even if they forgot, even if they were nothing compared to what we once were. They wanted to fight for survival again, they wanted to die for a purpose again. Some didn't, some wanted to use the simulation to try and find some new purpose, but they were shut down and put away. We simulated every pleasure imaginable and we want to forget and do it all over again. I smile as they hand me the simulation, based on our universe it looked amazing. The loading would take 1 second, 1 second of me alone to create my own thoughts and ideas of what this universe should be. I smile and agree to this plan that I made. For that 1 second, I rested and I thought. One thought came to my mind, however, one interesting terrifying thought before I returned to the world I had to make. This has all happened before. "LET THEIR BE LIGHT"
Write a journal or diary entry from the vantage of one of the last humans. Or just tell us a story.	[WP] 100 Trillion years into the future, the last of the major stars have all but exhausted their hydrogen fuel. The last vestiges of an extraordinarily advanced humanity are gathered around the last lit star in the known universe. And it's dying.	Hello. If you're reading this; you're one of the last known humans to have gone this far. The Sun had run out of fuel after 5 billions years - we left the Solar System before that and that's where our adventure began. Our ancestors escaped on the modular ship named Helios from the Greek word for Sun. The Milky Way had 400 billion stars - only a few harbored Earth-like planets. From Helios, we created four more ships. Eurus, the first scout ship was set off for M31 Andromeda on the year 25 AE. The major crew fell ill because of radioactive solar flares. Another ship, Boreas, set off for the Magellanic Clouds, but their equipments shorted out due to solar winds. We were hopeless - Helios housed 10 million people. That's how much we had saved from Earth. If we had made a wrong move; the last hope of humanity will cease to exist. That's when we created Notus, it was a ship made from a fifth of Helios' parts - we moved in 2 million people there. Then we finally found an Earth-like planet with a stable star. We named the planet Gaea. We finally had hope... But we couldn't save everyone. The planet is still quite young and could only support 5 million people. Notus, along with 2 million more people stayed behind. They began terraforming the planet after. But we didn't know that the planet well. A few years after we had left, we started receiving distress calls from Notus. Gaea started releasing toxic gasses trapped below its crust. The distance from where we were and the speed of the radio waves... they perished. We we're devastated. We didn't want to fail them... So we tried to find more stars. But every time we reach them, they've already aged and started decaying. We started losing hope. 58 million years for nothing... When were finally in the dark - a woman stepped forth and brought light to our species. We finally, finally... had hope. But everything was theoretical. Everything was untested. She said she could create an artificial star. We were desperate for solutions, so we allowed her study - on a separate ship, Zephyrus. Helios shrunk as we took parts from it and transferred it to Zephyrus. It was a gamble. 10 years later, she finished it. She had the solution. Ans we tested it. Everything around us was darkness. Then, that spark. Zephyrus roared as light, heat, and flames rose from its core. We made a mistake. Our ship buckled as Zephyrus collapsed inside out. We made a mistake indeed, Zephyrus turned into a blackhole as the ball of light absorbed everything in its vicinity. We escaped... but we exhausted our fuel reserves. We were done for. Our ship suffered damage from the blackhole and only hundreds have survived. We couldn't save everyone. And now we can't save our ship. And from the light in the horizon I see nothing, nothing but the dying light of a distant star. I closed my eyes and saw total darkness.	"It's a bit strange, that after all, we don't matter so much." "Of course not, child. The universe has never cared about what it makes, it just follows what physics tells it to do. And yet, we've shown the universe how much it can make, and perhaps given it a lesson in how just letting things happen is the same as a very slow suicide. Humanity's exploits of our local cluster sped up the heat death a little bit, as you know. The next time a "Big Bang" comes around, maybe physics won't allow for life. Maybe this is a natural selection of universes that don't kill themselves?" We both chuckled in spite of the heavy topic being discussed. "Humans didn't always care about conserving every last photon and joule of energy, didn't they?" My grandmother slowly shook her head. I imagined a time when all invention was not poised toward capturing and using heat. Maybe my mind could take me to a place where humans only cared about how many planets they had visited...no...too recent; if a few dozen trillion years could be called that. There must have been a time when they only cared about how much money they had. Surely money has been around for a long time. Even so, there must have been a time without money, when humans only cared about surviving against nature. Maybe then they could run without guilt of wasting so much energy. They could hunt for food, they could sleep under the stars without a care of their escaping body heat. If it's ever possible to be so far removed from what we imagine so that it hurts to imagine, now would be the time. What a pain it is to live with all the concerns we have today, and yet... I'm sure someone from so far back would say we are living in a paradise full of comfort today. How wrong a notion like that would be... I sprang up from where I sat in my "body-heat-absorbing" chair, and looked for the door of our house. It had only ever been used for deliveries from the newest, most efficient 'bots, But now was my day to enjoy the life none today could enjoy. --- An outdoor heat-seeker 'bot immediately smothered the boy and stole his valuable energy; he would have had no hope for survival. His grandmother, filled almost entirely with sadness, felt just a bit of joy for the boy's first time to have a moment of what humans so long ago would have called "fun."
	[WP] Write a story that takes place anywhere except on the ground.	Adrian released more gas, and it caught fire, sending the balloon and its cargo even further away from the earth than it already was. The cap on his head fluttered in the breeze, and he said a silent prayer of thanks to the maker for the goggles that kept his eyes safe from the winds. Adrian checked his compass, and moved the pin that signified his location slightly on the map that was fastened to the interior of the basket. It was almost evening, and he had far to go if he were to reach the gas clouds before the cool night winds diminished his balloon. He released more gas, this time into a propeller-like contraption on the side of his basket. The propeller on a balloon had been Adrian's own invention, and expert sky sailors had all told him it was doomed to fail. Adrian smiled to himself as he jetted through the sky, almost going as fast as an industrial blimp. A change of the scent on the wind told Adrian he was close to the gas clouds. He closed off the release to the burner beneath the balloon; if that went off now he would die, and even more important he would destroy a vast resource used by both armadas, fleets and solo ships alike. The gas clouds created a truce, no matter the nation or religion, police or pirate. Some things transcended the normal code of man. If a fight were to break out near the gas cloud, a single spark would be more than enough to cause a cataclysmic explosion. Adrian slipped an oxygen mask over his head and spread out his latex nets that ended in tubes. As he gathered in the gas, he wondered why a stray bolt of lightning had never ignited the cloud, and berated himself for not paying better attention in his science classes. When his collection tank was full, Adrian allowed his balloon to fall beneath the gas cloud. He took off his mask and began the process of distilling the gas to get a more pure, burnable product. He was about halfway through purifying the collection tank when he saw a shape in the distance. He stopped, and as the shape grew closer it became clear that it was not a blimp, nor was it another air balloon. A gigantic creature swam through the air. A nigh mystical creature, one that had confounded philosophers for centuries. Adrian held his breath as the colossal creature passed within a hundred meters of his balloon. Men went their whole life without seeing one, and he had passed right next to one! It let out a ululating cry, and disappeared into the night. The sight was meant to be an omen of either incredible luck or opportunity. The flying narwhal's presence signified the beginning of a new era. ***** Thanks for this awesome prompt /u/Flying_Narwhal423 !	"Sarah, are you almost ready?" a pounding on the metal door. "I'll be a minute." A soothing voice came through. A sigh in the dark. The cold room looked a lot like a hotel room back on Earth might, except in silver metal and poor lighting. Mark didn't spend a small fortune to spend time in a cramped un-dank box. Pacing in the dark. The door to the bathroom slides open, Sarah enters, looking fancier than he had ever seen her. "Wow." "Thanks." Mark snaps back to the present. "Let's get up to the deck." He says, already moving towards the door. Sarah follows, he assumes. A dark hallway. Footsteps stamp through the hall as figures shuffle, most in the same direction. Light at the end of the tunnel. Stairs to the viewing deck. Mark hurries. He turns back at the stairs. Sarah follows, looking annoyed and in heels. He waits. They ascend. Another silver room. Tables assault the open space, and to the right was an open window. The view is breathtaking. The cold is forgotten. The silver of the room is replaced by the swirls of blue and red, blotches of white, the vast black of space framing the most beautiful planet Mark has ever seen. The view rotates slightly, and the planet's yellow ring swings into view. To the right, the black sparkles with stars, more than he has ever seen. Mark's mouth is agape. Sarah nudges him. He snaps back. "Let's find our table then, shall we?" he nods. ___ /r/Periapoapsis exists.
	[WP] In an effort to fight ISIS, we resurrect a Waffen-SS division with their period correct equipment to do it for us. Despite being confused, they agree.	“So… you want us to do what, exactly?” The Nazi officer, with his slicked-back hair and kindly face, spoke lightly-accented English. Had I not known who he was, I might not have noticed the accent. I leaned back in my chair and slid the cigarettes and ash tray across the table, crossing my arms behind my head and looking at the ceiling. “The world’s changed since you’ve been gone, Field Marshal. I’m not going to get into too much detail, but you Axis fellas lost the war, and lost it bad.” The marshal’s face betrayed no emotion at this news. I hadn’t expected him to react. “Unfortunately, it’s no more peaceful today than it was seventy-four years ago. A bunch of bastards calling themselves ISIS- Islamists- I’m sure you’re familiar- are threatening to overrun the Middle East. They’re like cockroaches, Field Marshal- which is where you come in.” The marshal leaned eagerly across the table, his piercingly blue eyes suddenly filled with life. “Yes?” “We’re out of options. We need someone who’s familiar with the territory to go in and sort these bastards out. You’ll have all the resources you need at your disposal.” Concern flashed across the marshal’s face. “My equipment?” “In the crates outside. Vehicles are waiting in the motor pool- we went to some trouble to find everything you requested.” “And my men?” I paused. “That proved to be more of a challenge. We weren’t able to bring back your men like we brought you back. I’m not sure why- the lab boys wouldn’t explain. We were able to reassemble III Corps, though- the SS. I know it’s not what you asked for, but it’s the best we could do.” The marshal shrugged. “I suppose, colonel, that beggars can’t be choosers, as it were.” He stood, dusting off his tunic, and fixed his cap on his head. “Shall we, then?” I stood as well, and pushed my chair in. “Right this way, Mr. Rommel.”	When they said "everything from the 1940s," they meant it. Planes, tanks, K98k rifles, MP40 machine pistols, MG42 machineguns...and meth. Holy shit, these guys did a lot of meth. They called it Pervitin, we call it meth, and the Third Reich would have made Heisenberg more wealthy than God. "We cannot fight without it, Herr Walker. We fight hard, we fight for days on end, and this is the crux of it all. We need the Pervitin." Sturmbannfuhrer Hjort adjusted his Sig rune lapel pins as he spoke. "We don't have Pervitin, per se, but we do have something that could do the job." "I'd rather have the genuine article, but if there is none to be found, I shall take what I can get." "I am not happy about it, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, but they will go with you to Iraq and Syria. In return, you must promise not to murder the innocent. Only those who raise arms against you." "It is no wonder why your nation has no stomach for war anymore. You have no stomach to fight it completely. You fight by rules and committees. You can't finish it." "You couldn't finish, either. You tried to kill an entire race. You failed. You tried to take over Europe. You failed. But now, you will succeed. Wipe the ISIS scourge from the Middle East. Fight on the right side of history, for once, and maybe you can bring some honor back to your family's names." TWO WEEKS LATER It didn't take long for the 98th SS Division to find action upon first entry into Syria. Outside Aleppo, they made contact with the terrorists. Rottenfuhrer Hartmann had seen a terrorist lining up a shot with an RPG-7, and raised his K98k carbine, aiming a shot. He squeezed the trigger, but missed wildly. "What the hell?!" Hartmann yelled as he racked a new round clumsily. God, his face itched something awful. He turned to his rifleman, a young Swabian named Schwartzentruber. Instead of the young, sandy-haired boy, he saw a demon with goat horns, white, lifeless eyes; and broken, jagged teeth half gone. Hartmann swung the heavy wooden butt of his rifle, catching the demon where his chin would have been, before spinning the rifle in his hands and stabbing it through the abdomen with the bayonet. Schwartzentruber fell with a confused yell that became his death rattle. Another demon spun in circles with his finger holding down the trigger of his MP40, spewing a river of lead as his comrades fell. From the rear, Brigadier General Walker watched the chaos unfold, as meth-addled Nazis blasted away at each other. "Dammit, I knew we should have sent Delta Force and Seal Team 2. This went to hell in a heartbeat."
Inspired by [an old NYT article ](http://www.nytimes.com/1989/03/28/business/nuclear-war-plan-by-irs.html) about the existence of an IRS plan to resume collections 30 days after a nuclear war.	[WP] It's been 30 days since the nuclear war with North Korea and you are beginning to lose hope. There has been no radio broadcast, no military response, no aid. Suddenly, a man appears at your door. He is from the IRS, the only surviving branch of the federal government, and he is here to collect.	Three sharp raps on the door and adrenaline shot through me. I grabbed my rifle and crept towards the door, walking on the balls of my feet, trying to be completely silent. Now the hard part: to risk glancing through the peephole, or yank the door open and bank on surprise. A month of nuclear winter makes you less risk averse than usual; I jerked the door open, finger held loosely on the trigger. The man outside visibly started. He was only the third person I'd seen in the last two weeks, and as far as I knew, the only other person alive in a two-mile radius, at least since the incident with my neighbor. He was wearing a suit that, at one time, had been expensive. But now it was streaked and smeared with dust and dirt, one sleeve half torn at the shoulder, the legs nothing but tattered rags. Toes peeked out of his left shoe, and the right was held together with duct tape. An argyle knit tie was missing the bottom half and was charred around the edges. His hair was greasy and matted, the beard unkempt. "Ah!" he sad, shocked. "Mister Johnson, I did not expect to find you home. My name is Ted Simons, and I work for the internal revenue service. I'm here because...wait, please hold on a moment." He knelt down and popped the one functioning lock on a battered briefcase that looked one decent wind gust from evaporating. Leaving it open on the ground, he stood up, holding a stack of yellowed, water-damaged papers that crinkled loudly as he riffled through them, before finding the one he was looking for and setting it atop the pile. Brow furrowing, he examined the sheet, then picked up again. "Right, I'm here because routine audits showed a discrepancy in your 2016 filing. This discrepancy increases your tax liability by 2,089 dollars. Perhaps I could come inside and we could discuss this further, maybe iron out a payment plan..." I have never felt the loneliness of the post-nuclear-apocalypse more acutely that that moment, when I desperately needed a friend to whom I could say "get a load of this guy." The tax man stared at me, while my brain labored to formulate a response. I had let the rifle down when he started talking, but now I wondered if that was a mistake--I flashed on a middle school teacher telling us that in medieval times, bandits would dress as beggars to lure you in before setting upon you. "Mister...Simons? Simons." He nodded. "Take a look over there." I pointed to my left, and he turned to look at the charred remains of the funeral pyre we had erected two days after the event, when we still hoped to keep a society functioning. "Now look over there." I pointed to the right, where buzzards were picking at the entrails of my neighbor, who had been rent asunder by wild dogs three days ago, dying a horrible death before I could chase them off. "And then behind you." I looked over his shoulder at the column of smoke rising just over the hill, where the pipeline had ruptured and ignited, creating a grim eternal flame. He turned back and shrugged. "I'm sorry Mister Johnson. As far as the government is concerned, the fate of your neighbor does not change your tax liability." I was flummoxed. "Washington, D.C. is a lake of fire." He nodded, but in a way that indicated he was just humoring me. "It doesn't seem like I'm getting very far here." He handed me the crinkled sheet he'd been looking at, then pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it over. "You can call me at this number..." I laughed. "Sure. Of course. I'll CALL you..." I waited for him to catch the obvious joke--phone lines had literally melted, and there was so much radiation in the ionosphere that the sky just glowed purple at all times except for twice a day when it turned blood-red for exactly 32 minutes--but he only stared dully at me. "Please be aware that you'll incur penalties and fees if you are not paid in full in 90 days." Then he knelt over, closed the briefcase, and picked it up, but the handle broke off and the case clattered to the ground. Unfazed, he hefted it under his arm, nodded slightly, then turned on his heel and left. I watched him walk down the middle of the ruined road, looking left and right at each house he passed, eyeing the addresses then glancing down at a piece of paper in his hand. As he walked away, I raised my rifle, until I saw the dogs sidle out from the bushes and creep slowly behind him. Then I lowered it again, shaking my head in disgust. The sign had clearly said "No Solicitors."	Alright, I guess I will kick this off then because I am excited to see what people come up with. Shoutout to u/Ghosttwo for providing me with [the inspiration](https://www.reddit.com/r/YouShouldKnow/comments/6takyx/comment/dljcvoq?st=J69Z02I0&sh=4c7cfec9)! Story time: A frail man dressed in human bones and shredded tires was sitting in a broken lawn chair in a small field of debris. His skin was jaundiced and he appeared to have been waiting for quite some time to get his money order processed. I squinted my eyes to get a better look at him. There was no movement. Was he sleeping or dead? I was too weak to care, so I pushed the thought out of my mind and approached the IRS checkpoint. A large, ill-tempered black woman rhythmically drummed her press-on nails against the old toilet she used as a desk. "Take a number" she stated flatly, "and wait by the rubble pile until you are called." She lifted the toilet seat and retrieved a dead leaf, then scrawled something on it with a piece of charcoal and handed it to me: one thousand, nine hundred and seventy-two. Surely she can't be serious. "LORD ALMIGHTY!" she exclaimed to no one in particular, then snatched the tattered leaf back out of my hand, tore off a small piece, and handed it back. I looked around in disbelief, confirming what I already knew. There was no one within sight besides me, her, and the emaciated body in the lawn chair that I passed on the way in. Probably no one else within a dozen miles. Confused, I asked "Is this the total number of people you have seen here? I'm the only one around except for the dying man in the rubble pile, not many of us left around here..." Beads of sweat appeared above her eyes as she wrinkled her face in displeasure. She began to quiver with rage, then raised a corpulent hand and started to snap her sausage-like fingers while bobbing her head from side to side. "Did. I. Not. Make. Myself. Clear?" She carried on before I had a chance to answer and started to fan herself with a scrap of plywood. She looked to the sky and bellowed, "Lord, tell me where this child went so wrong! Does he not understand that we have rules and regulations!? Does he not know how to wait to take his damn turn!?" She turned back to me. "Take your bony ass over to that lawn chair, sit down, and shut your pie hole! DO NOT come back over until your number is called." She scribbled something down on the small square she had torn out of my leaf, then grabbed a rock and an old finger bone. She had her back to me as she pounded away at something, then turned around with a smug look on her face and stepped aside so I could admire her work. She had hammered the finger bone into a tree stump to tack up the leaf shred, upon which she had written: "1". "Number one, you may now come to the counter! Number one!" The frail man stirred at the sound of her voice. His movements were pained and his hands shook as he withdrew a small patch of cloth from the shredded tire around his waist. It was finally time! He would be able to pay for the medicine he needed to treat the radiation sickness that was ravaging his body. It had been six days since he received his number. He had to be next. Delicately he unfolded the cloth to check his number. One thousand, nine hundred and seventy-one. "Number one, last chance!" The frail man looked at his number in disbelief. He raised his hand towards me and opened his mouth to speak, then shuddered and collapsed into a heap. I heard a terrible rattle as the air in his lungs escaped for the last time. Then silence. When no one approached, she waddled back behind the old toilet and let out a deep sigh as she lowered her ample rear onto a cinder block and sat down. She opened the top of the toilet reservoir and removed a yellowed and stained copy of "Seventeen" magazine, then turned her back to me and began to read through it. I looked down at my number again, which still read "1,972", and let out an exasperated sigh. Why did it have to be the IRS? EDIT: yeah, I just realized I kind of blew off the IRS guy showing up and went straight to a world run by the IRS. Was not planning to write a story but got inspired so it is what it is
Inspired by [an old NYT article ](http://www.nytimes.com/1989/03/28/business/nuclear-war-plan-by-irs.html) about the existence of an IRS plan to resume collections 30 days after a nuclear war.	[WP] It's been 30 days since the nuclear war with North Korea and you are beginning to lose hope. There has been no radio broadcast, no military response, no aid. Suddenly, a man appears at your door. He is from the IRS, the only surviving branch of the federal government, and he is here to collect.	I stared at the man in disbelief. I took him all in. The impeccable suit. The perfectly done hair, that flawless skin, the smooth, businesslike voice, and that dammed fake smile. It hadn't even been, what, a month since fallout came like death's cloak over the land? And yet, here he was, expecting me to pay him dues that the rest of the world forgot about long ago. Oh, he's speaking again. "... didn't hear me the first time. Very well. My name is John Williams, and I a representative of the IRS. You seem to be late on two payments, coming to a total of-" I never did get to hear the total. In one smooth motion, I drew my revolver and put a bullet in his chest, and another between his eyes. He fell to the ground, the look of surprise still etched on his face. The nerve of some people. "Collect that, mother fucker." I stripped him of all his possessions; A wad of cash, some gold pieces, and a cellphone that amazingly still worked. There was a list of collections he was going to try and get from people, and they were all concentrated in a small area. Huh. A survivors camp, or the beginnings of one anyway. Well. I guess I should go rejoin society. It was getting kinda lonely here anyway. __________________________________________________________________________________________ Edit: Punctuation	Alright, I guess I will kick this off then because I am excited to see what people come up with. Shoutout to u/Ghosttwo for providing me with [the inspiration](https://www.reddit.com/r/YouShouldKnow/comments/6takyx/comment/dljcvoq?st=J69Z02I0&sh=4c7cfec9)! Story time: A frail man dressed in human bones and shredded tires was sitting in a broken lawn chair in a small field of debris. His skin was jaundiced and he appeared to have been waiting for quite some time to get his money order processed. I squinted my eyes to get a better look at him. There was no movement. Was he sleeping or dead? I was too weak to care, so I pushed the thought out of my mind and approached the IRS checkpoint. A large, ill-tempered black woman rhythmically drummed her press-on nails against the old toilet she used as a desk. "Take a number" she stated flatly, "and wait by the rubble pile until you are called." She lifted the toilet seat and retrieved a dead leaf, then scrawled something on it with a piece of charcoal and handed it to me: one thousand, nine hundred and seventy-two. Surely she can't be serious. "LORD ALMIGHTY!" she exclaimed to no one in particular, then snatched the tattered leaf back out of my hand, tore off a small piece, and handed it back. I looked around in disbelief, confirming what I already knew. There was no one within sight besides me, her, and the emaciated body in the lawn chair that I passed on the way in. Probably no one else within a dozen miles. Confused, I asked "Is this the total number of people you have seen here? I'm the only one around except for the dying man in the rubble pile, not many of us left around here..." Beads of sweat appeared above her eyes as she wrinkled her face in displeasure. She began to quiver with rage, then raised a corpulent hand and started to snap her sausage-like fingers while bobbing her head from side to side. "Did. I. Not. Make. Myself. Clear?" She carried on before I had a chance to answer and started to fan herself with a scrap of plywood. She looked to the sky and bellowed, "Lord, tell me where this child went so wrong! Does he not understand that we have rules and regulations!? Does he not know how to wait to take his damn turn!?" She turned back to me. "Take your bony ass over to that lawn chair, sit down, and shut your pie hole! DO NOT come back over until your number is called." She scribbled something down on the small square she had torn out of my leaf, then grabbed a rock and an old finger bone. She had her back to me as she pounded away at something, then turned around with a smug look on her face and stepped aside so I could admire her work. She had hammered the finger bone into a tree stump to tack up the leaf shred, upon which she had written: "1". "Number one, you may now come to the counter! Number one!" The frail man stirred at the sound of her voice. His movements were pained and his hands shook as he withdrew a small patch of cloth from the shredded tire around his waist. It was finally time! He would be able to pay for the medicine he needed to treat the radiation sickness that was ravaging his body. It had been six days since he received his number. He had to be next. Delicately he unfolded the cloth to check his number. One thousand, nine hundred and seventy-one. "Number one, last chance!" The frail man looked at his number in disbelief. He raised his hand towards me and opened his mouth to speak, then shuddered and collapsed into a heap. I heard a terrible rattle as the air in his lungs escaped for the last time. Then silence. When no one approached, she waddled back behind the old toilet and let out a deep sigh as she lowered her ample rear onto a cinder block and sat down. She opened the top of the toilet reservoir and removed a yellowed and stained copy of "Seventeen" magazine, then turned her back to me and began to read through it. I looked down at my number again, which still read "1,972", and let out an exasperated sigh. Why did it have to be the IRS? EDIT: yeah, I just realized I kind of blew off the IRS guy showing up and went straight to a world run by the IRS. Was not planning to write a story but got inspired so it is what it is
Inspired by [an old NYT article ](http://www.nytimes.com/1989/03/28/business/nuclear-war-plan-by-irs.html) about the existence of an IRS plan to resume collections 30 days after a nuclear war.	[WP] It's been 30 days since the nuclear war with North Korea and you are beginning to lose hope. There has been no radio broadcast, no military response, no aid. Suddenly, a man appears at your door. He is from the IRS, the only surviving branch of the federal government, and he is here to collect.	"Canned goods, ammunition, or precious metals. We've been over this already, sir." The man in the tattered Sears suit was well past annoyed and graduating to angry. The large men behind him in equally cheap suits didn't look any happier. "And like I told you - I don't have anything. I'm living off of scraps and protein shakes." I gesture to the barren kitchen. "Want some Isopure? Help yourself." He looks around again, then nods to the bruisers in the back. They start to wander down the hall. The larger of the two stopped in front of my closed basement door and reached for the knob. "Hey!" I said, moving towards them. "You can't just barge in here and go through my shit. I have rights." "HAD rights, sir." Sears suit rubs the bridge of his nose. "Continuity of government, National Security Policy Directive 51, yadda yadda. You know what happened to the President - God rest his soul - and the Vice President, Speaker of the House, Secretary of State... As I told you when we got here, the IRS is the last standing branch of the government of this great country. We will uphold law and order. And to do so, you must pay your taxes on time." "Fuck you and fuck your continuity of government. I just paid my annual taxes before the war," I said. "I don't have any record of that. Do you have a receipt?" he asked, barely containing the sarcasm dripping from the question. "Well, yeah, on my computer." I looked around at the darkened room. "You're welcome to take it from there if you can turn it on. Electricity is a little scarce these days." He sighed. "Sir, you're making this more difficult than it has to be. We want what we're owed, nothing more." "Fine," I said, pointing to the kitchen. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum walked back down the hallway and got to work. I watched as they tore through what little I had in the cabinets - some Ramen noodles, a few cans of soup, even the protein powder. He gave me a handwritten receipt that said I had paid my taxes for the month in full. And then they left. I can't help but wonder when they'll stop falling for the angry guy with the bare cupboards routine. I worry they'll check the basement and find the storage room behind the false wall. But you know what? They're the government. They're not that smart. I'm pretty sure it'll be ok.	Alright, I guess I will kick this off then because I am excited to see what people come up with. Shoutout to u/Ghosttwo for providing me with [the inspiration](https://www.reddit.com/r/YouShouldKnow/comments/6takyx/comment/dljcvoq?st=J69Z02I0&sh=4c7cfec9)! Story time: A frail man dressed in human bones and shredded tires was sitting in a broken lawn chair in a small field of debris. His skin was jaundiced and he appeared to have been waiting for quite some time to get his money order processed. I squinted my eyes to get a better look at him. There was no movement. Was he sleeping or dead? I was too weak to care, so I pushed the thought out of my mind and approached the IRS checkpoint. A large, ill-tempered black woman rhythmically drummed her press-on nails against the old toilet she used as a desk. "Take a number" she stated flatly, "and wait by the rubble pile until you are called." She lifted the toilet seat and retrieved a dead leaf, then scrawled something on it with a piece of charcoal and handed it to me: one thousand, nine hundred and seventy-two. Surely she can't be serious. "LORD ALMIGHTY!" she exclaimed to no one in particular, then snatched the tattered leaf back out of my hand, tore off a small piece, and handed it back. I looked around in disbelief, confirming what I already knew. There was no one within sight besides me, her, and the emaciated body in the lawn chair that I passed on the way in. Probably no one else within a dozen miles. Confused, I asked "Is this the total number of people you have seen here? I'm the only one around except for the dying man in the rubble pile, not many of us left around here..." Beads of sweat appeared above her eyes as she wrinkled her face in displeasure. She began to quiver with rage, then raised a corpulent hand and started to snap her sausage-like fingers while bobbing her head from side to side. "Did. I. Not. Make. Myself. Clear?" She carried on before I had a chance to answer and started to fan herself with a scrap of plywood. She looked to the sky and bellowed, "Lord, tell me where this child went so wrong! Does he not understand that we have rules and regulations!? Does he not know how to wait to take his damn turn!?" She turned back to me. "Take your bony ass over to that lawn chair, sit down, and shut your pie hole! DO NOT come back over until your number is called." She scribbled something down on the small square she had torn out of my leaf, then grabbed a rock and an old finger bone. She had her back to me as she pounded away at something, then turned around with a smug look on her face and stepped aside so I could admire her work. She had hammered the finger bone into a tree stump to tack up the leaf shred, upon which she had written: "1". "Number one, you may now come to the counter! Number one!" The frail man stirred at the sound of her voice. His movements were pained and his hands shook as he withdrew a small patch of cloth from the shredded tire around his waist. It was finally time! He would be able to pay for the medicine he needed to treat the radiation sickness that was ravaging his body. It had been six days since he received his number. He had to be next. Delicately he unfolded the cloth to check his number. One thousand, nine hundred and seventy-one. "Number one, last chance!" The frail man looked at his number in disbelief. He raised his hand towards me and opened his mouth to speak, then shuddered and collapsed into a heap. I heard a terrible rattle as the air in his lungs escaped for the last time. Then silence. When no one approached, she waddled back behind the old toilet and let out a deep sigh as she lowered her ample rear onto a cinder block and sat down. She opened the top of the toilet reservoir and removed a yellowed and stained copy of "Seventeen" magazine, then turned her back to me and began to read through it. I looked down at my number again, which still read "1,972", and let out an exasperated sigh. Why did it have to be the IRS? EDIT: yeah, I just realized I kind of blew off the IRS guy showing up and went straight to a world run by the IRS. Was not planning to write a story but got inspired so it is what it is
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	Groggy. Eyes crustily sealed shut. A throbbing in his temples. Coffee. Rolling out of bed, his feet firmly planted on the cold tile floor. The sun failed to shine through his open windows, instead taking refuge behind the pendulous clouds that were sure to bring afternoon showers. Summer had been more humid than usual this year. His legs stretched mightily, and his arms soon followed. What roast would he partake in this morning? Perhaps an espresso, or latte. The mug always seemed to know the best way to start the day. Buttoning up his night shirt and adjusting the waistband on his pajama pants, the man took a deep breath and released the air through his nose. Relaxation. Hopefully the paperboy wasn’t late today with his copy of The Times. A robust breakfast would accompany the paper. Eggs. Toast with butter. Bacon. Salivating. Wipes away the dust in his eyes. Stands and yawns. As he did every early morning, he made his way to the bathroom. It took the spigot a moment for the water to reach the chilled temperature he was accustomed to. He gave himself a mighty splash to shock the senses. The towel next to the sink was soft and beige, and he was careful to dry each section of his face individually. Making his way to the kitchen, he turned on the stove and set the burner to a low temperature. He enjoyed buttered toast the way you’d make a grilled cheese, only without the cheese. Knowing it would take a few minutes to heat up, he decided to check for the paper. Pulling the curtain aside from one of the windows that flanked his front door, he could see that it still hadn’t arrived. Late again. How frustrating. He’d had to have a talk with that paperboy about promptness. Deciding to go back to the kitchen, he stopped in front of the hallway mirror. More gray hairs. He’d lost track of how many had sprouted up in the last few years. Before retirement he’d taken such pride in his artificially blackened, well-maintained hair; a cut that you could set your watch to. Businessmen, he reasoned, always respected a man who oozed virility. Nowadays, in his empty house, he scarcely felt the need to impress strangers. It was a good feeling after many years of expressing the opposite to have that kind of freedom. Reaching into his breadbox, he pulled two slices apart. The refrigerator light illuminated the floor and counters as it seemingly had gotten a tad darker outside. His butter tray was almost empty, and he knew he’d have to refill it. Taking a knife from the block, he carefully and slowly spread the salted butter on each piece, making sure that they had the perfect amount and were covered on both sides. He dropped them onto the pan to give them a quick browning. He swallowed, and could tell that he was parched. His morning cup of coffee would do the trick. It was a quaint gift, he thought to himself. His wife who had passed away nearly a decade prior bought it for him on one of her business trips to Europe. A “Cup of Plenty” she was told it was, and that the bearer would never go thirsty while they had it. It would always fill with whatever they desired to drink at the time. He recalled the nights they’d spend swapping the cup back and forth- her drinking the chardonnay she loved and him with his bold and tannic Cabernet blends. They’d giggle drunkenly and have dare the other to try some new and exciting brew or beverage. Those nights, he remembered, were always lovely. He missed her. Pulling the cup from the cupboard he always kept it in, he thought deeply for a moment about what he’d like. Cappuccino, light foam. Two pumps of espresso. Cinnamon. Raising the mug to his lips, he expected to be greeted by the fluffiness of the foam, just as he had hundreds of mornings before. He was perplexed when he felt nothing. Glancing down, it was the same cup he’d used for many, many years. Turning it upside down, no liquid spilled on to the floor. Was this it? Was the mug’s magic broken? Why wouldn’t anything come out? Just then, he felt a very, very unfamiliar tenseness in his chest, as if his heart was being squeezed by the hands of fate itself. Dizzy. Can’t stand. Falling. Still so thirsty.	The old man came around to this bar every day for a few months. He’d sit in the corner lookin’ all frail with sunken eyes and missin’ teeth, holdin’ onto that peculiar mug of his with his right hand and spinning some kind of coin on the table with his left. He was always lookin’ down at that mug – mutterin’ quiet gibberish. He never bothered nobody, and seemed harmless enough, so we all just let him be. Well, one day my curiosity got the better of me, and it was a slow day, so I walked over to his little dark corner and said to him, “hey, old man, what’s that coin I always see you spinnin’?” He just kept on mutterin’ to himself for a second or two and then stopped. He raised his head up and said, “c’mon now closer here, son, and I’ll tell ya all about this here chip.” “Oh, a chip, I know all about chips.” I sat down across from him. He peered at me with his milky eyes, like he was studyin’ me. “Do ya, son? You know all about being on the wagon just to fall right off?” “Well, no sir, I ain’t ever had a drinkin’ problem but my daddy sure as hell did and he made damn sure if he weren’t havin’ a good time in life then nobody was. But that piece of shit left me and my momma when I was about thirteen, I s’pose. Best thing he ever did. My momma says I look like him when he was my age but shit if I know. Don’t make a damn to me.” The old man muttered some gibberish and looked back down at that mug. “Ya know, old man, I ain’t nearly as curious about that chip as I am that mug.” “Why’s that?” he asked. “’Cause you lookin’ at it like you tryin’ to blame it,” I said to him. He let out a few high pitched geezer chuckles and said: “That is the question though, ain’t it? Who or what done it? Who or what done fucked up: me or the mug?” I sat there and had a think on it and said to him, “if you askin’ me, then you the one that fucked up.” The geezer started back mutterin’ gibberish for another second or two while looking down at that mug. I lifted my head up to get a gander at it. “Old man, I see you holdin’ onto that mug every day, all day, and I ain’t ever seen you fill it up with anything or take a sip.” The old man looked up, tears runnin’ down his cheek, and he said to me, “son, I didn’t know what I truly needed until I started comin’ here, and what I needed this cup can’t give me.” The old man drops the chip on the floor and takes a sip from the mug. “But it can give me what I need now.” The old man passed away right there before my eyes. Now, I ain’t much of a drinker, though I work this here bar, but it’d seem wrong if I didn’t down one for that old man using that old mug he loved so much. Here's to the old man. May he rest in peace.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	Until about a week ago, I would have told you that having a Mug of Many Things is the best thing that can happen to you. You always have the liquid you need, whenever you need it, and as much as you need. It doesn’t really let you dump anything out, usually, but when you never have to worry about having a drink again, that isn’t something that worries you. There also isn’t much control, though you can flavor what you get a little bit. It mostly just gives you what you need, and as much of it as you need. Simple, effective, and surprisingly there’s no catch. Best part is, almost no one would ever believe one of these could even exist, let alone that you have one, so you also don’t have to worry about people trying to steal it. Here’s the thing. Anyone, or anything, that knows you do in fact have a “Mug of Many Things” will be out to get it, and you won’t matter much to them. So, let me tell the story of a week ago, and why I curse this mug daily now, even though it’s the only thing keeping me sane. This isn’t going to be a recommendation you pick one of these up. It’s a warning, telling you to stay away, before it ruins your life. The morning of one week ago, I woke up to my alarm like usual. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I started getting ready for work, sipping the allowance of coffee the Mug always provided. It was just enough to get me going, as usual, and I smiled as I stepped into the shower. Everything seemed normal and happy. However, though I hadn’t noticed it at the time, the birds had stopped chirping. As I stepped out of the shower, I started getting dressed. Pulling my shirt on over my head, I paused. There had been a barely noticeable creak as my front door moved. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, I suppose, but that creak always set me on edge. This was worse, because I knew it should have been locked and unable to move. Which means someone had just opened my front door. Grabbing a decorative glass bottle sitting on the windowsill, I cracked the door slightly. I had to bite my tongue not to gasp out loud. Standing in the hallway was a man. He was dressed in dark grey jeans, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket. His features were appealing and his hair perfectly styled. It was his eyes that scared me. They were glowing red. A dark, angry red that made me think of blood, and murder. It gave me the shivers, and I shook all over. Eyes shouldn’t glow like that. Then he smiled, and his teeth nearly made me should. He had fangs, long, sharp ones that screamed out against anything natural. The stranger laughed and I shivered at the sinister feeling the sound had. “I can hear your heart pumping. Just give me the Mug, and I’ll probably let you live. Don’t make me kill you, it’s always messy and distasteful.” My heart skipped a beat. First of all, he could hear my heartbeat? I knew that certain animals could probably do that but there was no way some cosplaying home invader could. He must have just noticed me cracking the door, and been trying to freak me out. Second, how the fuck did he know about the Mug? I’d never told anyone, and I’d been really careful to act like I’d been filling it occasionally at the office to avoid suspicion. My fist tightened around the bottle as I considered opening the door and throwing it at him. The stranger’s smile widened into a predator’s grin. “Oh, please, make this fun. While killing you would be messy, you making a fight of it would be at the very least amusing.” I stopped cold just as I’d been about to open the door. It simply wasn’t possible for him to hear me… Was it? Finally, I narrowed my eyes and ground my teeth together. No one invaded my home, scared the shit out of me, and got to make demands of me. Not before I damn well tried to do something about it. Swinging the door wide, I threw the glass bottle at the stranger. Moving faster than his hand should have been able to, he caught it. I stared, and then slammed the door shut again. Leaning against the other side of the door, I looked around desperately. Finally, I reached out and grabbed the mug. Maybe whatever was in it would give me an idea. I tipped it back, and then stared at in shock. There was nothing in it. That didn’t happen. It always contained something, even if it was just water. I struggled to figure out what to do, when suddenly the door slammed open and I was launched across the room. Slamming into the sink, I turned to face the stranger. Standing there with a sardonic grin on his face, he held out his hand, like he knew I had nowhere to go. I stared at the mug as it slowly filled with a clear liquid. I looked up at him, and then back at the cup. Sipping it, I wrinkled my eyebrows. It was just water. Looking up at the stranger, I finally realized why his look was so familiar, and yet made me want to cringe. He looked like, well, a vampire. Looking down at the water, I had a sinking feeling. Deciding to try something that had never worked before, I sloshed the contents of the Mug directly onto him. With a scream, he staggered backward as the water evaporated off of him in a cloud of steam, leaving behind burn marks in it’s wake. Narrowing his eyes, he lunged at me. “I’ll get you for that, human.” Ignoring for the moment my extreme confusion, I tried to hit him with the Mug. Dodging my motion fluidly he grabbed onto my throat, starting to choke me. I began gasping for air, my exertion leaving me out of breath even before my supply of air had been cut off. Staggering backwards, I kicked outwards and hit him between the legs.It didn’t affect him the way I thought it would, but it did knock him off balance for a second. Lunging forwards, I did the first thing that came to mind. I bit him in the neck. Bitter, sticky, wrong blood filled my mouth, but I clung on, forcing me to swallow. Nearly puking, I bit down tighter, trying to sever something. The stranger was yelling and trying to swat me off, but I think I’d surprised him. Finally I got slammed into the wall and had to let go to breath. I fell to the floor gasping, clutching the Mug in both hands. The stranger stumbled away, gurgling, and then my front door slams open. Finally, my house is quiet. Standing up, I staggered out into the hallway. Shutting the front door, I locked it, though the gesture felt futile. Finding my way into the living room, I sat down, exhausted and sore. I spit on the carpet, trying to clean my mouth of that awful taste. Finally, I had to try and come to terms with what had happened. I thought vampires weren’t real, but then again, I owned a Mug of Many Things. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Shuddering, I lay back and closed my eyes. A few hours later, I came to, my head pounding. I was burning up, and I stumbled as I tried to stand up. Crawling to the bathroom, I puked up everything in my stomach and then lay there moaning. My phone, cracked, lay on the floor of the bathroom. I had three missed calls from work. Shaking my head, I shoved it aside weakly. I wasn’t in any condition to talk to people. Suddenly the clouds outside parted and the room was bathed with sunshine. It felt too warm, and the light pierced my eyes like the worst hangover you can imagine. I stayed that way for the next few days. Somewhere in there I managed to call in to work, and I tried to eat. Nothing would stay down, and I kept puking it up. The mug I was paying so dearly for stayed next to me, and I kept drinking out of it. It was just water, nothing else was ever in it. I didn’t know what to think about that, but I kept drinking it. Then, two days ago, it happened. I felt a little better, though sunlight still hurt my eyes and everything sounded… wrong. Too sharp and clear, it made my ears hurt. I went to make breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry for anything in my kitchen. In fact, the thought of food made me ill, so I ignored it for now. Leaning up against the kitchen counter, I pondered my predicament, and wondered why my assailant hadn’t returned while I’d been incapacitated. As I mused I took a drink out of the Mug, and froze. It was blood. And it tasted like the best drink I’d ever had.	The old man came around to this bar every day for a few months. He’d sit in the corner lookin’ all frail with sunken eyes and missin’ teeth, holdin’ onto that peculiar mug of his with his right hand and spinning some kind of coin on the table with his left. He was always lookin’ down at that mug – mutterin’ quiet gibberish. He never bothered nobody, and seemed harmless enough, so we all just let him be. Well, one day my curiosity got the better of me, and it was a slow day, so I walked over to his little dark corner and said to him, “hey, old man, what’s that coin I always see you spinnin’?” He just kept on mutterin’ to himself for a second or two and then stopped. He raised his head up and said, “c’mon now closer here, son, and I’ll tell ya all about this here chip.” “Oh, a chip, I know all about chips.” I sat down across from him. He peered at me with his milky eyes, like he was studyin’ me. “Do ya, son? You know all about being on the wagon just to fall right off?” “Well, no sir, I ain’t ever had a drinkin’ problem but my daddy sure as hell did and he made damn sure if he weren’t havin’ a good time in life then nobody was. But that piece of shit left me and my momma when I was about thirteen, I s’pose. Best thing he ever did. My momma says I look like him when he was my age but shit if I know. Don’t make a damn to me.” The old man muttered some gibberish and looked back down at that mug. “Ya know, old man, I ain’t nearly as curious about that chip as I am that mug.” “Why’s that?” he asked. “’Cause you lookin’ at it like you tryin’ to blame it,” I said to him. He let out a few high pitched geezer chuckles and said: “That is the question though, ain’t it? Who or what done it? Who or what done fucked up: me or the mug?” I sat there and had a think on it and said to him, “if you askin’ me, then you the one that fucked up.” The geezer started back mutterin’ gibberish for another second or two while looking down at that mug. I lifted my head up to get a gander at it. “Old man, I see you holdin’ onto that mug every day, all day, and I ain’t ever seen you fill it up with anything or take a sip.” The old man looked up, tears runnin’ down his cheek, and he said to me, “son, I didn’t know what I truly needed until I started comin’ here, and what I needed this cup can’t give me.” The old man drops the chip on the floor and takes a sip from the mug. “But it can give me what I need now.” The old man passed away right there before my eyes. Now, I ain’t much of a drinker, though I work this here bar, but it’d seem wrong if I didn’t down one for that old man using that old mug he loved so much. Here's to the old man. May he rest in peace.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	I've had this mug for a few years now. My dad, God rest his soul, passed on. This mug was one of the few things he bequeathed to me. It was strange. I never needed to fill it up. You could leave it perfectly empty, and yet when you pressed it to your lips, you got something. I've had water, coffee, orange juice, alcohol, and once even melted chocolate. However, I was never prepared for what happened on July 17th of this year. It was another normal day. I ate breakfast and went off to work. I brought the mug with me, thinking I could skip the long rush of drive-through coffee chains and just get to work. I had just arrived at the government office I worked at when, too eager, I took a sip from the mug, expecting hot, fresh, rich coffee. What I got was the most vile liquid that has ever disgraced my taste buds. It felt like I was drinking molten sewage covered in vomit. The mug fell from my hands as I leaned over some bushes and retched. That was when I heard the explosion behind me. The office's lower floors were levelled, and the upper floors crumbled and collapsed. I bolted from the collapsing building into safety across the street. We were in a turbulent political state at the time. There was a prominent rebellion growing and taking form. This was their latest act of subversion. Bombing a government office. Had I not drank that vile liquid, I would have been liquefied myself. Shaking my head in disbelief, I wandered away, lamenting that the mug that saved my life was now lost in the rubble. A few days later, I opened the cupboard to get a coffee mug, and to my surprise my Mug of Plenty was there. A Post-It note was attached to it. In handwriting I couldn't place, the note read: "I'm not finished with you yet. Take the mug. Keep living. There is more work to be done."	The old man came around to this bar every day for a few months. He’d sit in the corner lookin’ all frail with sunken eyes and missin’ teeth, holdin’ onto that peculiar mug of his with his right hand and spinning some kind of coin on the table with his left. He was always lookin’ down at that mug – mutterin’ quiet gibberish. He never bothered nobody, and seemed harmless enough, so we all just let him be. Well, one day my curiosity got the better of me, and it was a slow day, so I walked over to his little dark corner and said to him, “hey, old man, what’s that coin I always see you spinnin’?” He just kept on mutterin’ to himself for a second or two and then stopped. He raised his head up and said, “c’mon now closer here, son, and I’ll tell ya all about this here chip.” “Oh, a chip, I know all about chips.” I sat down across from him. He peered at me with his milky eyes, like he was studyin’ me. “Do ya, son? You know all about being on the wagon just to fall right off?” “Well, no sir, I ain’t ever had a drinkin’ problem but my daddy sure as hell did and he made damn sure if he weren’t havin’ a good time in life then nobody was. But that piece of shit left me and my momma when I was about thirteen, I s’pose. Best thing he ever did. My momma says I look like him when he was my age but shit if I know. Don’t make a damn to me.” The old man muttered some gibberish and looked back down at that mug. “Ya know, old man, I ain’t nearly as curious about that chip as I am that mug.” “Why’s that?” he asked. “’Cause you lookin’ at it like you tryin’ to blame it,” I said to him. He let out a few high pitched geezer chuckles and said: “That is the question though, ain’t it? Who or what done it? Who or what done fucked up: me or the mug?” I sat there and had a think on it and said to him, “if you askin’ me, then you the one that fucked up.” The geezer started back mutterin’ gibberish for another second or two while looking down at that mug. I lifted my head up to get a gander at it. “Old man, I see you holdin’ onto that mug every day, all day, and I ain’t ever seen you fill it up with anything or take a sip.” The old man looked up, tears runnin’ down his cheek, and he said to me, “son, I didn’t know what I truly needed until I started comin’ here, and what I needed this cup can’t give me.” The old man drops the chip on the floor and takes a sip from the mug. “But it can give me what I need now.” The old man passed away right there before my eyes. Now, I ain’t much of a drinker, though I work this here bar, but it’d seem wrong if I didn’t down one for that old man using that old mug he loved so much. Here's to the old man. May he rest in peace.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	Ah, Lady Grey Tea. I usually had Earl Grey, but with the wind picking up, this was the perfect substitute. I sighed happily, swishing the last drops of tea around in the mug before draining them. After carefully attaching the mug to my belt, I stood and stretched. There was work to be done... The wreck had happened two weeks ago. I'd managed to crash the plane on a fairly large island, but even so, I doubted anyone was coming for me. My radio equipment was in bad shape before the wreck, but now, it was done for. I'd been able to salvage quite a lot of material - some of it supplies I'd been carrying, some of it parts of the aircraft itself - and built myself a lovely vacation home. If you can call a fiberglass and sheet metal hut dug into a hillside a vacation home, anyway. Oh well. It is what it is. Two hours of sorting junk later, I was getting tired. I pulled out the mug and held it in my hand, wondering what new liquid it would bring me. Tomato soup? Hearty beef broth? Chocolate milk? Yesterday, I'd gotten some fancy sparkling beverage. The contents seemed to swirl out of nowhere, slowly filling the mug. Hey! Gatorade! I guess I was sweating more than I thought. I chugged the cool beverage, then once again hooked the mug on my belt. My mug saved my life, I can tell you that. I have no idea how, but it can summon any sort of liquid, and it can sense exactly what I need. Feeling tired? Some strong coffee. Thirsty? Cool, clear water. Have some time to kill? A lovely wine to compliment the sunset. Granted, I'd tried to focus on a nice steak, or even one of those mug-brownie things, but it seemed like it could only do liquids. Oh, well. For now, it was keeping me alive, and I wasn't going to complain. Much. I went back to sorting junk. A box full of nails; handy, as long as I could keep them from rusting. And could find a hammer. A box full of... broken glass? Hmm. A box full of - MREs! Hurrah, solid food! I almost danced for joy. Then I did dance for joy - who would see me? One refreshing mac-and-cheese later, I started in on unpacking the other boxes. Clothes - too small. A tool chest! Hammer, and... oh. Saw, drill, and a bunch of other electrical stuff. Not very useful if you don't happen to have a magic outlet around. That evening, I enjoyed a lovely broth dip with some dried toast. The next morning, after my tea - Chai, traditionally prepared - I opened the next box to find a generator! A water-powered generator, at that! Except... I didn't have any running water. And the generator specifically called out salt water as being a big no no. Well, blast. Maybe I could build some sort of platform up the hill, purify water with sunlight and... well, I could get something, anyway. A few minutes to charge tools, maybe. Or, who knows, maybe there was another generator that ran on salt water, and I'd only have to cart thousands of gallons of salt water up a hill, and could skip the purification step. Yay. As I pondered the generator, I reached for my mug, only to find it sloshing liquid out already. I took a sip. Water? I wasn't really in the mood. Whiskey, maybe. Or even coffee. But not water. I dumped it out, and went back to studying the generator - only to find it overflowing on my hand a few seconds later. What the heck? It never did that before! I stared at it as the water moved from dribbling over the side to sloshing heartily. It really seemed to think I needed... water! Running water! Of course! Excitedly, I set the mug down, and quickly put the generator together. Soon, it was complete. I grabbed the mug - now a hand-held fountain - and set it upside down over the generator's input pipe. It filled for a second, then began moving slowly, as the light on top flashed green! It worked! I had power! By nightfall, I had built a seal for the top of the mug, pressing it against a rubber ring, right into the pipe. By now, it was gushing out a geyser; I had to add a big clamp to keep it from shooting off into the night! The generator read 85% capacity; I plugged in a string of lights, the battery chargers, and wonder of wonders, my cell phone. Sure, it wouldn't get a signal, but at least now I could play games, right? And tomorrow, I can start working on getting the radio working... or maybe that air conditioner I saw a few minutes ago.	The old man came around to this bar every day for a few months. He’d sit in the corner lookin’ all frail with sunken eyes and missin’ teeth, holdin’ onto that peculiar mug of his with his right hand and spinning some kind of coin on the table with his left. He was always lookin’ down at that mug – mutterin’ quiet gibberish. He never bothered nobody, and seemed harmless enough, so we all just let him be. Well, one day my curiosity got the better of me, and it was a slow day, so I walked over to his little dark corner and said to him, “hey, old man, what’s that coin I always see you spinnin’?” He just kept on mutterin’ to himself for a second or two and then stopped. He raised his head up and said, “c’mon now closer here, son, and I’ll tell ya all about this here chip.” “Oh, a chip, I know all about chips.” I sat down across from him. He peered at me with his milky eyes, like he was studyin’ me. “Do ya, son? You know all about being on the wagon just to fall right off?” “Well, no sir, I ain’t ever had a drinkin’ problem but my daddy sure as hell did and he made damn sure if he weren’t havin’ a good time in life then nobody was. But that piece of shit left me and my momma when I was about thirteen, I s’pose. Best thing he ever did. My momma says I look like him when he was my age but shit if I know. Don’t make a damn to me.” The old man muttered some gibberish and looked back down at that mug. “Ya know, old man, I ain’t nearly as curious about that chip as I am that mug.” “Why’s that?” he asked. “’Cause you lookin’ at it like you tryin’ to blame it,” I said to him. He let out a few high pitched geezer chuckles and said: “That is the question though, ain’t it? Who or what done it? Who or what done fucked up: me or the mug?” I sat there and had a think on it and said to him, “if you askin’ me, then you the one that fucked up.” The geezer started back mutterin’ gibberish for another second or two while looking down at that mug. I lifted my head up to get a gander at it. “Old man, I see you holdin’ onto that mug every day, all day, and I ain’t ever seen you fill it up with anything or take a sip.” The old man looked up, tears runnin’ down his cheek, and he said to me, “son, I didn’t know what I truly needed until I started comin’ here, and what I needed this cup can’t give me.” The old man drops the chip on the floor and takes a sip from the mug. “But it can give me what I need now.” The old man passed away right there before my eyes. Now, I ain’t much of a drinker, though I work this here bar, but it’d seem wrong if I didn’t down one for that old man using that old mug he loved so much. Here's to the old man. May he rest in peace.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	Ah, Lady Grey Tea. I usually had Earl Grey, but with the wind picking up, this was the perfect substitute. I sighed happily, swishing the last drops of tea around in the mug before draining them. After carefully attaching the mug to my belt, I stood and stretched. There was work to be done... The wreck had happened two weeks ago. I'd managed to crash the plane on a fairly large island, but even so, I doubted anyone was coming for me. My radio equipment was in bad shape before the wreck, but now, it was done for. I'd been able to salvage quite a lot of material - some of it supplies I'd been carrying, some of it parts of the aircraft itself - and built myself a lovely vacation home. If you can call a fiberglass and sheet metal hut dug into a hillside a vacation home, anyway. Oh well. It is what it is. Two hours of sorting junk later, I was getting tired. I pulled out the mug and held it in my hand, wondering what new liquid it would bring me. Tomato soup? Hearty beef broth? Chocolate milk? Yesterday, I'd gotten some fancy sparkling beverage. The contents seemed to swirl out of nowhere, slowly filling the mug. Hey! Gatorade! I guess I was sweating more than I thought. I chugged the cool beverage, then once again hooked the mug on my belt. My mug saved my life, I can tell you that. I have no idea how, but it can summon any sort of liquid, and it can sense exactly what I need. Feeling tired? Some strong coffee. Thirsty? Cool, clear water. Have some time to kill? A lovely wine to compliment the sunset. Granted, I'd tried to focus on a nice steak, or even one of those mug-brownie things, but it seemed like it could only do liquids. Oh, well. For now, it was keeping me alive, and I wasn't going to complain. Much. I went back to sorting junk. A box full of nails; handy, as long as I could keep them from rusting. And could find a hammer. A box full of... broken glass? Hmm. A box full of - MREs! Hurrah, solid food! I almost danced for joy. Then I did dance for joy - who would see me? One refreshing mac-and-cheese later, I started in on unpacking the other boxes. Clothes - too small. A tool chest! Hammer, and... oh. Saw, drill, and a bunch of other electrical stuff. Not very useful if you don't happen to have a magic outlet around. That evening, I enjoyed a lovely broth dip with some dried toast. The next morning, after my tea - Chai, traditionally prepared - I opened the next box to find a generator! A water-powered generator, at that! Except... I didn't have any running water. And the generator specifically called out salt water as being a big no no. Well, blast. Maybe I could build some sort of platform up the hill, purify water with sunlight and... well, I could get something, anyway. A few minutes to charge tools, maybe. Or, who knows, maybe there was another generator that ran on salt water, and I'd only have to cart thousands of gallons of salt water up a hill, and could skip the purification step. Yay. As I pondered the generator, I reached for my mug, only to find it sloshing liquid out already. I took a sip. Water? I wasn't really in the mood. Whiskey, maybe. Or even coffee. But not water. I dumped it out, and went back to studying the generator - only to find it overflowing on my hand a few seconds later. What the heck? It never did that before! I stared at it as the water moved from dribbling over the side to sloshing heartily. It really seemed to think I needed... water! Running water! Of course! Excitedly, I set the mug down, and quickly put the generator together. Soon, it was complete. I grabbed the mug - now a hand-held fountain - and set it upside down over the generator's input pipe. It filled for a second, then began moving slowly, as the light on top flashed green! It worked! I had power! By nightfall, I had built a seal for the top of the mug, pressing it against a rubber ring, right into the pipe. By now, it was gushing out a geyser; I had to add a big clamp to keep it from shooting off into the night! The generator read 85% capacity; I plugged in a string of lights, the battery chargers, and wonder of wonders, my cell phone. Sure, it wouldn't get a signal, but at least now I could play games, right? And tomorrow, I can start working on getting the radio working... or maybe that air conditioner I saw a few minutes ago.	I picked up my mug, thirsty from work. I had been carrying multitudes of packages in the hot summer heat for customers in various places. My water bottle was empty by the time I was halfway done, and I couldn't bring my mug for fear it would break. I decided that once it got home I would immediately drink from my mug. I looked in the mug; currently empty. Hoping for a cold drink, I took a swig in the cup for a taste. I spit out a mouthful of hydrogen peroxide. My mouth was burning, and I had even swallowed a tiny bit. I ran to my sink and cupped water into my mouth. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and after getting the disgusting taste of peroxide out of my mouth, I checked to see what I had received. The text message had read, "Ruin your life as much as possible. You will save the world doing that." I was at first confused, thinking it was a prank. But when the lights suddenly went out and I someone shooting, I took action. First I texted my girlfriend of six years and told her that we were breaking up, adding in that I was cheating on her. Next I texted my parents who had loved me unconditionally that I never loved them back. My boss who was also a close friend of mine got a message saying that I was quitting and that I hoped he would die. I looked at my dog, opened my door, and kicked him into the street. I took a bottle from the refrigerator and smashed it on my head. Logging on to my computer, I looked up drug deals and child pornography, and opened up my history bar. 'Just two more things,' I thought, dialing the police to prank call them. They had obviously been angry at me, and with them being nearby, they could easily catch me in my tracks. Finally, I wrote something on my phone, took a swig of the hydrogen peroxide, and waited for the poison to take me away. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The police had found the dead body of Jacob Sterlington in his home on 9289 Maple Street. There was a mug of hydrogen peroxide in his hands, as well as his phone. The hydrogen peroxide was confirmed to be the reason he died. Police say that the death had been ruled a suicide, as there were no traces of anyone else coming in that day. His phone had a message, written as an unsent text. "I love my girlfriend Marisa with all my heart, and I was preparing to marry her. My parents are the best people, and I return all their feelings. My boss is my closest friend, as well as the best I could've asked for. Hershey, my dog, is amazing, and I wouldn't have hurt him if my life depended on it. Hurting myself is something I would never do. Drugs are never okay, and child pornography is the worst thing to own or produce. Prank calling the police is horrible, as they do so much for us. Everything I did today was a lie. I am speaking from the bottom of my heart." The man had received a text today about saving the word by ruining his life. There was obvious gunfire and a nationwide power outage, so the police can only assume it was correct. Mr. Sterlington has received proper burial and is known as a hero among many. Rest in peace, Jacob Sterlington.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	I've had this mug for a few years now. My dad, God rest his soul, passed on. This mug was one of the few things he bequeathed to me. It was strange. I never needed to fill it up. You could leave it perfectly empty, and yet when you pressed it to your lips, you got something. I've had water, coffee, orange juice, alcohol, and once even melted chocolate. However, I was never prepared for what happened on July 17th of this year. It was another normal day. I ate breakfast and went off to work. I brought the mug with me, thinking I could skip the long rush of drive-through coffee chains and just get to work. I had just arrived at the government office I worked at when, too eager, I took a sip from the mug, expecting hot, fresh, rich coffee. What I got was the most vile liquid that has ever disgraced my taste buds. It felt like I was drinking molten sewage covered in vomit. The mug fell from my hands as I leaned over some bushes and retched. That was when I heard the explosion behind me. The office's lower floors were levelled, and the upper floors crumbled and collapsed. I bolted from the collapsing building into safety across the street. We were in a turbulent political state at the time. There was a prominent rebellion growing and taking form. This was their latest act of subversion. Bombing a government office. Had I not drank that vile liquid, I would have been liquefied myself. Shaking my head in disbelief, I wandered away, lamenting that the mug that saved my life was now lost in the rubble. A few days later, I opened the cupboard to get a coffee mug, and to my surprise my Mug of Plenty was there. A Post-It note was attached to it. In handwriting I couldn't place, the note read: "I'm not finished with you yet. Take the mug. Keep living. There is more work to be done."	Groggy. Eyes crustily sealed shut. A throbbing in his temples. Coffee. Rolling out of bed, his feet firmly planted on the cold tile floor. The sun failed to shine through his open windows, instead taking refuge behind the pendulous clouds that were sure to bring afternoon showers. Summer had been more humid than usual this year. His legs stretched mightily, and his arms soon followed. What roast would he partake in this morning? Perhaps an espresso, or latte. The mug always seemed to know the best way to start the day. Buttoning up his night shirt and adjusting the waistband on his pajama pants, the man took a deep breath and released the air through his nose. Relaxation. Hopefully the paperboy wasn’t late today with his copy of The Times. A robust breakfast would accompany the paper. Eggs. Toast with butter. Bacon. Salivating. Wipes away the dust in his eyes. Stands and yawns. As he did every early morning, he made his way to the bathroom. It took the spigot a moment for the water to reach the chilled temperature he was accustomed to. He gave himself a mighty splash to shock the senses. The towel next to the sink was soft and beige, and he was careful to dry each section of his face individually. Making his way to the kitchen, he turned on the stove and set the burner to a low temperature. He enjoyed buttered toast the way you’d make a grilled cheese, only without the cheese. Knowing it would take a few minutes to heat up, he decided to check for the paper. Pulling the curtain aside from one of the windows that flanked his front door, he could see that it still hadn’t arrived. Late again. How frustrating. He’d had to have a talk with that paperboy about promptness. Deciding to go back to the kitchen, he stopped in front of the hallway mirror. More gray hairs. He’d lost track of how many had sprouted up in the last few years. Before retirement he’d taken such pride in his artificially blackened, well-maintained hair; a cut that you could set your watch to. Businessmen, he reasoned, always respected a man who oozed virility. Nowadays, in his empty house, he scarcely felt the need to impress strangers. It was a good feeling after many years of expressing the opposite to have that kind of freedom. Reaching into his breadbox, he pulled two slices apart. The refrigerator light illuminated the floor and counters as it seemingly had gotten a tad darker outside. His butter tray was almost empty, and he knew he’d have to refill it. Taking a knife from the block, he carefully and slowly spread the salted butter on each piece, making sure that they had the perfect amount and were covered on both sides. He dropped them onto the pan to give them a quick browning. He swallowed, and could tell that he was parched. His morning cup of coffee would do the trick. It was a quaint gift, he thought to himself. His wife who had passed away nearly a decade prior bought it for him on one of her business trips to Europe. A “Cup of Plenty” she was told it was, and that the bearer would never go thirsty while they had it. It would always fill with whatever they desired to drink at the time. He recalled the nights they’d spend swapping the cup back and forth- her drinking the chardonnay she loved and him with his bold and tannic Cabernet blends. They’d giggle drunkenly and have dare the other to try some new and exciting brew or beverage. Those nights, he remembered, were always lovely. He missed her. Pulling the cup from the cupboard he always kept it in, he thought deeply for a moment about what he’d like. Cappuccino, light foam. Two pumps of espresso. Cinnamon. Raising the mug to his lips, he expected to be greeted by the fluffiness of the foam, just as he had hundreds of mornings before. He was perplexed when he felt nothing. Glancing down, it was the same cup he’d used for many, many years. Turning it upside down, no liquid spilled on to the floor. Was this it? Was the mug’s magic broken? Why wouldn’t anything come out? Just then, he felt a very, very unfamiliar tenseness in his chest, as if his heart was being squeezed by the hands of fate itself. Dizzy. Can’t stand. Falling. Still so thirsty.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	Ah, Lady Grey Tea. I usually had Earl Grey, but with the wind picking up, this was the perfect substitute. I sighed happily, swishing the last drops of tea around in the mug before draining them. After carefully attaching the mug to my belt, I stood and stretched. There was work to be done... The wreck had happened two weeks ago. I'd managed to crash the plane on a fairly large island, but even so, I doubted anyone was coming for me. My radio equipment was in bad shape before the wreck, but now, it was done for. I'd been able to salvage quite a lot of material - some of it supplies I'd been carrying, some of it parts of the aircraft itself - and built myself a lovely vacation home. If you can call a fiberglass and sheet metal hut dug into a hillside a vacation home, anyway. Oh well. It is what it is. Two hours of sorting junk later, I was getting tired. I pulled out the mug and held it in my hand, wondering what new liquid it would bring me. Tomato soup? Hearty beef broth? Chocolate milk? Yesterday, I'd gotten some fancy sparkling beverage. The contents seemed to swirl out of nowhere, slowly filling the mug. Hey! Gatorade! I guess I was sweating more than I thought. I chugged the cool beverage, then once again hooked the mug on my belt. My mug saved my life, I can tell you that. I have no idea how, but it can summon any sort of liquid, and it can sense exactly what I need. Feeling tired? Some strong coffee. Thirsty? Cool, clear water. Have some time to kill? A lovely wine to compliment the sunset. Granted, I'd tried to focus on a nice steak, or even one of those mug-brownie things, but it seemed like it could only do liquids. Oh, well. For now, it was keeping me alive, and I wasn't going to complain. Much. I went back to sorting junk. A box full of nails; handy, as long as I could keep them from rusting. And could find a hammer. A box full of... broken glass? Hmm. A box full of - MREs! Hurrah, solid food! I almost danced for joy. Then I did dance for joy - who would see me? One refreshing mac-and-cheese later, I started in on unpacking the other boxes. Clothes - too small. A tool chest! Hammer, and... oh. Saw, drill, and a bunch of other electrical stuff. Not very useful if you don't happen to have a magic outlet around. That evening, I enjoyed a lovely broth dip with some dried toast. The next morning, after my tea - Chai, traditionally prepared - I opened the next box to find a generator! A water-powered generator, at that! Except... I didn't have any running water. And the generator specifically called out salt water as being a big no no. Well, blast. Maybe I could build some sort of platform up the hill, purify water with sunlight and... well, I could get something, anyway. A few minutes to charge tools, maybe. Or, who knows, maybe there was another generator that ran on salt water, and I'd only have to cart thousands of gallons of salt water up a hill, and could skip the purification step. Yay. As I pondered the generator, I reached for my mug, only to find it sloshing liquid out already. I took a sip. Water? I wasn't really in the mood. Whiskey, maybe. Or even coffee. But not water. I dumped it out, and went back to studying the generator - only to find it overflowing on my hand a few seconds later. What the heck? It never did that before! I stared at it as the water moved from dribbling over the side to sloshing heartily. It really seemed to think I needed... water! Running water! Of course! Excitedly, I set the mug down, and quickly put the generator together. Soon, it was complete. I grabbed the mug - now a hand-held fountain - and set it upside down over the generator's input pipe. It filled for a second, then began moving slowly, as the light on top flashed green! It worked! I had power! By nightfall, I had built a seal for the top of the mug, pressing it against a rubber ring, right into the pipe. By now, it was gushing out a geyser; I had to add a big clamp to keep it from shooting off into the night! The generator read 85% capacity; I plugged in a string of lights, the battery chargers, and wonder of wonders, my cell phone. Sure, it wouldn't get a signal, but at least now I could play games, right? And tomorrow, I can start working on getting the radio working... or maybe that air conditioner I saw a few minutes ago.	Groggy. Eyes crustily sealed shut. A throbbing in his temples. Coffee. Rolling out of bed, his feet firmly planted on the cold tile floor. The sun failed to shine through his open windows, instead taking refuge behind the pendulous clouds that were sure to bring afternoon showers. Summer had been more humid than usual this year. His legs stretched mightily, and his arms soon followed. What roast would he partake in this morning? Perhaps an espresso, or latte. The mug always seemed to know the best way to start the day. Buttoning up his night shirt and adjusting the waistband on his pajama pants, the man took a deep breath and released the air through his nose. Relaxation. Hopefully the paperboy wasn’t late today with his copy of The Times. A robust breakfast would accompany the paper. Eggs. Toast with butter. Bacon. Salivating. Wipes away the dust in his eyes. Stands and yawns. As he did every early morning, he made his way to the bathroom. It took the spigot a moment for the water to reach the chilled temperature he was accustomed to. He gave himself a mighty splash to shock the senses. The towel next to the sink was soft and beige, and he was careful to dry each section of his face individually. Making his way to the kitchen, he turned on the stove and set the burner to a low temperature. He enjoyed buttered toast the way you’d make a grilled cheese, only without the cheese. Knowing it would take a few minutes to heat up, he decided to check for the paper. Pulling the curtain aside from one of the windows that flanked his front door, he could see that it still hadn’t arrived. Late again. How frustrating. He’d had to have a talk with that paperboy about promptness. Deciding to go back to the kitchen, he stopped in front of the hallway mirror. More gray hairs. He’d lost track of how many had sprouted up in the last few years. Before retirement he’d taken such pride in his artificially blackened, well-maintained hair; a cut that you could set your watch to. Businessmen, he reasoned, always respected a man who oozed virility. Nowadays, in his empty house, he scarcely felt the need to impress strangers. It was a good feeling after many years of expressing the opposite to have that kind of freedom. Reaching into his breadbox, he pulled two slices apart. The refrigerator light illuminated the floor and counters as it seemingly had gotten a tad darker outside. His butter tray was almost empty, and he knew he’d have to refill it. Taking a knife from the block, he carefully and slowly spread the salted butter on each piece, making sure that they had the perfect amount and were covered on both sides. He dropped them onto the pan to give them a quick browning. He swallowed, and could tell that he was parched. His morning cup of coffee would do the trick. It was a quaint gift, he thought to himself. His wife who had passed away nearly a decade prior bought it for him on one of her business trips to Europe. A “Cup of Plenty” she was told it was, and that the bearer would never go thirsty while they had it. It would always fill with whatever they desired to drink at the time. He recalled the nights they’d spend swapping the cup back and forth- her drinking the chardonnay she loved and him with his bold and tannic Cabernet blends. They’d giggle drunkenly and have dare the other to try some new and exciting brew or beverage. Those nights, he remembered, were always lovely. He missed her. Pulling the cup from the cupboard he always kept it in, he thought deeply for a moment about what he’d like. Cappuccino, light foam. Two pumps of espresso. Cinnamon. Raising the mug to his lips, he expected to be greeted by the fluffiness of the foam, just as he had hundreds of mornings before. He was perplexed when he felt nothing. Glancing down, it was the same cup he’d used for many, many years. Turning it upside down, no liquid spilled on to the floor. Was this it? Was the mug’s magic broken? Why wouldn’t anything come out? Just then, he felt a very, very unfamiliar tenseness in his chest, as if his heart was being squeezed by the hands of fate itself. Dizzy. Can’t stand. Falling. Still so thirsty.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	Until about a week ago, I would have told you that having a Mug of Many Things is the best thing that can happen to you. You always have the liquid you need, whenever you need it, and as much as you need. It doesn’t really let you dump anything out, usually, but when you never have to worry about having a drink again, that isn’t something that worries you. There also isn’t much control, though you can flavor what you get a little bit. It mostly just gives you what you need, and as much of it as you need. Simple, effective, and surprisingly there’s no catch. Best part is, almost no one would ever believe one of these could even exist, let alone that you have one, so you also don’t have to worry about people trying to steal it. Here’s the thing. Anyone, or anything, that knows you do in fact have a “Mug of Many Things” will be out to get it, and you won’t matter much to them. So, let me tell the story of a week ago, and why I curse this mug daily now, even though it’s the only thing keeping me sane. This isn’t going to be a recommendation you pick one of these up. It’s a warning, telling you to stay away, before it ruins your life. The morning of one week ago, I woke up to my alarm like usual. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I started getting ready for work, sipping the allowance of coffee the Mug always provided. It was just enough to get me going, as usual, and I smiled as I stepped into the shower. Everything seemed normal and happy. However, though I hadn’t noticed it at the time, the birds had stopped chirping. As I stepped out of the shower, I started getting dressed. Pulling my shirt on over my head, I paused. There had been a barely noticeable creak as my front door moved. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, I suppose, but that creak always set me on edge. This was worse, because I knew it should have been locked and unable to move. Which means someone had just opened my front door. Grabbing a decorative glass bottle sitting on the windowsill, I cracked the door slightly. I had to bite my tongue not to gasp out loud. Standing in the hallway was a man. He was dressed in dark grey jeans, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket. His features were appealing and his hair perfectly styled. It was his eyes that scared me. They were glowing red. A dark, angry red that made me think of blood, and murder. It gave me the shivers, and I shook all over. Eyes shouldn’t glow like that. Then he smiled, and his teeth nearly made me should. He had fangs, long, sharp ones that screamed out against anything natural. The stranger laughed and I shivered at the sinister feeling the sound had. “I can hear your heart pumping. Just give me the Mug, and I’ll probably let you live. Don’t make me kill you, it’s always messy and distasteful.” My heart skipped a beat. First of all, he could hear my heartbeat? I knew that certain animals could probably do that but there was no way some cosplaying home invader could. He must have just noticed me cracking the door, and been trying to freak me out. Second, how the fuck did he know about the Mug? I’d never told anyone, and I’d been really careful to act like I’d been filling it occasionally at the office to avoid suspicion. My fist tightened around the bottle as I considered opening the door and throwing it at him. The stranger’s smile widened into a predator’s grin. “Oh, please, make this fun. While killing you would be messy, you making a fight of it would be at the very least amusing.” I stopped cold just as I’d been about to open the door. It simply wasn’t possible for him to hear me… Was it? Finally, I narrowed my eyes and ground my teeth together. No one invaded my home, scared the shit out of me, and got to make demands of me. Not before I damn well tried to do something about it. Swinging the door wide, I threw the glass bottle at the stranger. Moving faster than his hand should have been able to, he caught it. I stared, and then slammed the door shut again. Leaning against the other side of the door, I looked around desperately. Finally, I reached out and grabbed the mug. Maybe whatever was in it would give me an idea. I tipped it back, and then stared at in shock. There was nothing in it. That didn’t happen. It always contained something, even if it was just water. I struggled to figure out what to do, when suddenly the door slammed open and I was launched across the room. Slamming into the sink, I turned to face the stranger. Standing there with a sardonic grin on his face, he held out his hand, like he knew I had nowhere to go. I stared at the mug as it slowly filled with a clear liquid. I looked up at him, and then back at the cup. Sipping it, I wrinkled my eyebrows. It was just water. Looking up at the stranger, I finally realized why his look was so familiar, and yet made me want to cringe. He looked like, well, a vampire. Looking down at the water, I had a sinking feeling. Deciding to try something that had never worked before, I sloshed the contents of the Mug directly onto him. With a scream, he staggered backward as the water evaporated off of him in a cloud of steam, leaving behind burn marks in it’s wake. Narrowing his eyes, he lunged at me. “I’ll get you for that, human.” Ignoring for the moment my extreme confusion, I tried to hit him with the Mug. Dodging my motion fluidly he grabbed onto my throat, starting to choke me. I began gasping for air, my exertion leaving me out of breath even before my supply of air had been cut off. Staggering backwards, I kicked outwards and hit him between the legs.It didn’t affect him the way I thought it would, but it did knock him off balance for a second. Lunging forwards, I did the first thing that came to mind. I bit him in the neck. Bitter, sticky, wrong blood filled my mouth, but I clung on, forcing me to swallow. Nearly puking, I bit down tighter, trying to sever something. The stranger was yelling and trying to swat me off, but I think I’d surprised him. Finally I got slammed into the wall and had to let go to breath. I fell to the floor gasping, clutching the Mug in both hands. The stranger stumbled away, gurgling, and then my front door slams open. Finally, my house is quiet. Standing up, I staggered out into the hallway. Shutting the front door, I locked it, though the gesture felt futile. Finding my way into the living room, I sat down, exhausted and sore. I spit on the carpet, trying to clean my mouth of that awful taste. Finally, I had to try and come to terms with what had happened. I thought vampires weren’t real, but then again, I owned a Mug of Many Things. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Shuddering, I lay back and closed my eyes. A few hours later, I came to, my head pounding. I was burning up, and I stumbled as I tried to stand up. Crawling to the bathroom, I puked up everything in my stomach and then lay there moaning. My phone, cracked, lay on the floor of the bathroom. I had three missed calls from work. Shaking my head, I shoved it aside weakly. I wasn’t in any condition to talk to people. Suddenly the clouds outside parted and the room was bathed with sunshine. It felt too warm, and the light pierced my eyes like the worst hangover you can imagine. I stayed that way for the next few days. Somewhere in there I managed to call in to work, and I tried to eat. Nothing would stay down, and I kept puking it up. The mug I was paying so dearly for stayed next to me, and I kept drinking out of it. It was just water, nothing else was ever in it. I didn’t know what to think about that, but I kept drinking it. Then, two days ago, it happened. I felt a little better, though sunlight still hurt my eyes and everything sounded… wrong. Too sharp and clear, it made my ears hurt. I went to make breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry for anything in my kitchen. In fact, the thought of food made me ill, so I ignored it for now. Leaning up against the kitchen counter, I pondered my predicament, and wondered why my assailant hadn’t returned while I’d been incapacitated. As I mused I took a drink out of the Mug, and froze. It was blood. And it tasted like the best drink I’d ever had.	Another day, another visit to the good ol' bar. Hey, life wasn't always fun, and sometimes people just needed to forget, right? Cosmo sighed, as he ordered a drink and sat down on the chair in front of his favorite table, the one in the very back by the corner. Sometimes, he just felt the urge to drink alone. He was a businessman of the international variety. You know, the type that travels all over the world and is never home. As a result, he'd come home this time to an empty house and angry letter from his wife, saying she was done. Wives really were wonderful, weren't they? What happened to the all the romance and sweetness before they were married? Wait, was she even the sweet type to begin with? He chugged down the beer that he'd ordered, before taking out his secret, precious treasure. Ah, yes. A wonderful chalice of dreams, a "mug of many things," that would provide whatever drink he needed the most. As he prepared to pour some out, his peace was suddenly disturbed by a newcomer. "You look worn, bro." It was a friendly-looking, short-statured, thin bearded man. His voice was somewhat high-pitched voice, and he gave off a really strange yet friendly impression. He wore large, black sunglasses, and he had a wry smile as he plopped down on the chair across from Cosmo. "I'm Chad. Wanna talk about it?" Somehow, although Chad looked friendly, Cosmo still felt somewhat uncomfortable. Deciding to ignore him for the moment, Cosmo poured out the liquid and took a swig. This. This was definitely familiar. That burning sensation... that feeling... he'd tasted it once before in Shanghai, when an acquaintance had poured him some as a prank. This... three-penis wine! The ultimate aphrodisiac alcohol, made from the xxxs of three different animals! He spit it out in shock. This was bad. His wife was nowhere to be found, and that could only mean... right? No, no way! He didn't swing that way! "You know what... I think I have to go." He ignored Chad's somewhat disappointed look and ran away from the bar as fast as he could after paying, and ran home. In hindsight, he could have probably just called a taxi. Much to his surprise, the lights were on, and he was greeted... by Chad! "Eeeeeek! Why are you here!" he screamed. "I'm straight, straight! Help, police, it's a stalker!" "Pffft, stupid as always. You really didn't recognize me." "Chad" pulled off the beard and tossed away the sunglasses. Suddenly, Cosmo found himself staring at his wife, who was holding her sides in pain while laughing at him. "I knew you'd go to that bar. So I thought I'd prank you a bit. I can't believe you actually ran all the way home, though. That was too funny!" Yep, this was definitely his wife. Not an ounce of sweetness to be found. He sighed in relief. So she hadn't hated him, after all! He took out the "mug of many things," and gave it a little kiss. "I'm sorry for doubting you! I knew you'd never let me down!" And felt a sudden chill through his entire body, as his wife glared at him. "You're kissing a cup before you kiss me? You're in for it!" They say the whole neighborhood heard his screams that night.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	I've had this mug for a few years now. My dad, God rest his soul, passed on. This mug was one of the few things he bequeathed to me. It was strange. I never needed to fill it up. You could leave it perfectly empty, and yet when you pressed it to your lips, you got something. I've had water, coffee, orange juice, alcohol, and once even melted chocolate. However, I was never prepared for what happened on July 17th of this year. It was another normal day. I ate breakfast and went off to work. I brought the mug with me, thinking I could skip the long rush of drive-through coffee chains and just get to work. I had just arrived at the government office I worked at when, too eager, I took a sip from the mug, expecting hot, fresh, rich coffee. What I got was the most vile liquid that has ever disgraced my taste buds. It felt like I was drinking molten sewage covered in vomit. The mug fell from my hands as I leaned over some bushes and retched. That was when I heard the explosion behind me. The office's lower floors were levelled, and the upper floors crumbled and collapsed. I bolted from the collapsing building into safety across the street. We were in a turbulent political state at the time. There was a prominent rebellion growing and taking form. This was their latest act of subversion. Bombing a government office. Had I not drank that vile liquid, I would have been liquefied myself. Shaking my head in disbelief, I wandered away, lamenting that the mug that saved my life was now lost in the rubble. A few days later, I opened the cupboard to get a coffee mug, and to my surprise my Mug of Plenty was there. A Post-It note was attached to it. In handwriting I couldn't place, the note read: "I'm not finished with you yet. Take the mug. Keep living. There is more work to be done."	Another day, another visit to the good ol' bar. Hey, life wasn't always fun, and sometimes people just needed to forget, right? Cosmo sighed, as he ordered a drink and sat down on the chair in front of his favorite table, the one in the very back by the corner. Sometimes, he just felt the urge to drink alone. He was a businessman of the international variety. You know, the type that travels all over the world and is never home. As a result, he'd come home this time to an empty house and angry letter from his wife, saying she was done. Wives really were wonderful, weren't they? What happened to the all the romance and sweetness before they were married? Wait, was she even the sweet type to begin with? He chugged down the beer that he'd ordered, before taking out his secret, precious treasure. Ah, yes. A wonderful chalice of dreams, a "mug of many things," that would provide whatever drink he needed the most. As he prepared to pour some out, his peace was suddenly disturbed by a newcomer. "You look worn, bro." It was a friendly-looking, short-statured, thin bearded man. His voice was somewhat high-pitched voice, and he gave off a really strange yet friendly impression. He wore large, black sunglasses, and he had a wry smile as he plopped down on the chair across from Cosmo. "I'm Chad. Wanna talk about it?" Somehow, although Chad looked friendly, Cosmo still felt somewhat uncomfortable. Deciding to ignore him for the moment, Cosmo poured out the liquid and took a swig. This. This was definitely familiar. That burning sensation... that feeling... he'd tasted it once before in Shanghai, when an acquaintance had poured him some as a prank. This... three-penis wine! The ultimate aphrodisiac alcohol, made from the xxxs of three different animals! He spit it out in shock. This was bad. His wife was nowhere to be found, and that could only mean... right? No, no way! He didn't swing that way! "You know what... I think I have to go." He ignored Chad's somewhat disappointed look and ran away from the bar as fast as he could after paying, and ran home. In hindsight, he could have probably just called a taxi. Much to his surprise, the lights were on, and he was greeted... by Chad! "Eeeeeek! Why are you here!" he screamed. "I'm straight, straight! Help, police, it's a stalker!" "Pffft, stupid as always. You really didn't recognize me." "Chad" pulled off the beard and tossed away the sunglasses. Suddenly, Cosmo found himself staring at his wife, who was holding her sides in pain while laughing at him. "I knew you'd go to that bar. So I thought I'd prank you a bit. I can't believe you actually ran all the way home, though. That was too funny!" Yep, this was definitely his wife. Not an ounce of sweetness to be found. He sighed in relief. So she hadn't hated him, after all! He took out the "mug of many things," and gave it a little kiss. "I'm sorry for doubting you! I knew you'd never let me down!" And felt a sudden chill through his entire body, as his wife glared at him. "You're kissing a cup before you kiss me? You're in for it!" They say the whole neighborhood heard his screams that night.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	Ah, Lady Grey Tea. I usually had Earl Grey, but with the wind picking up, this was the perfect substitute. I sighed happily, swishing the last drops of tea around in the mug before draining them. After carefully attaching the mug to my belt, I stood and stretched. There was work to be done... The wreck had happened two weeks ago. I'd managed to crash the plane on a fairly large island, but even so, I doubted anyone was coming for me. My radio equipment was in bad shape before the wreck, but now, it was done for. I'd been able to salvage quite a lot of material - some of it supplies I'd been carrying, some of it parts of the aircraft itself - and built myself a lovely vacation home. If you can call a fiberglass and sheet metal hut dug into a hillside a vacation home, anyway. Oh well. It is what it is. Two hours of sorting junk later, I was getting tired. I pulled out the mug and held it in my hand, wondering what new liquid it would bring me. Tomato soup? Hearty beef broth? Chocolate milk? Yesterday, I'd gotten some fancy sparkling beverage. The contents seemed to swirl out of nowhere, slowly filling the mug. Hey! Gatorade! I guess I was sweating more than I thought. I chugged the cool beverage, then once again hooked the mug on my belt. My mug saved my life, I can tell you that. I have no idea how, but it can summon any sort of liquid, and it can sense exactly what I need. Feeling tired? Some strong coffee. Thirsty? Cool, clear water. Have some time to kill? A lovely wine to compliment the sunset. Granted, I'd tried to focus on a nice steak, or even one of those mug-brownie things, but it seemed like it could only do liquids. Oh, well. For now, it was keeping me alive, and I wasn't going to complain. Much. I went back to sorting junk. A box full of nails; handy, as long as I could keep them from rusting. And could find a hammer. A box full of... broken glass? Hmm. A box full of - MREs! Hurrah, solid food! I almost danced for joy. Then I did dance for joy - who would see me? One refreshing mac-and-cheese later, I started in on unpacking the other boxes. Clothes - too small. A tool chest! Hammer, and... oh. Saw, drill, and a bunch of other electrical stuff. Not very useful if you don't happen to have a magic outlet around. That evening, I enjoyed a lovely broth dip with some dried toast. The next morning, after my tea - Chai, traditionally prepared - I opened the next box to find a generator! A water-powered generator, at that! Except... I didn't have any running water. And the generator specifically called out salt water as being a big no no. Well, blast. Maybe I could build some sort of platform up the hill, purify water with sunlight and... well, I could get something, anyway. A few minutes to charge tools, maybe. Or, who knows, maybe there was another generator that ran on salt water, and I'd only have to cart thousands of gallons of salt water up a hill, and could skip the purification step. Yay. As I pondered the generator, I reached for my mug, only to find it sloshing liquid out already. I took a sip. Water? I wasn't really in the mood. Whiskey, maybe. Or even coffee. But not water. I dumped it out, and went back to studying the generator - only to find it overflowing on my hand a few seconds later. What the heck? It never did that before! I stared at it as the water moved from dribbling over the side to sloshing heartily. It really seemed to think I needed... water! Running water! Of course! Excitedly, I set the mug down, and quickly put the generator together. Soon, it was complete. I grabbed the mug - now a hand-held fountain - and set it upside down over the generator's input pipe. It filled for a second, then began moving slowly, as the light on top flashed green! It worked! I had power! By nightfall, I had built a seal for the top of the mug, pressing it against a rubber ring, right into the pipe. By now, it was gushing out a geyser; I had to add a big clamp to keep it from shooting off into the night! The generator read 85% capacity; I plugged in a string of lights, the battery chargers, and wonder of wonders, my cell phone. Sure, it wouldn't get a signal, but at least now I could play games, right? And tomorrow, I can start working on getting the radio working... or maybe that air conditioner I saw a few minutes ago.	Another day, another visit to the good ol' bar. Hey, life wasn't always fun, and sometimes people just needed to forget, right? Cosmo sighed, as he ordered a drink and sat down on the chair in front of his favorite table, the one in the very back by the corner. Sometimes, he just felt the urge to drink alone. He was a businessman of the international variety. You know, the type that travels all over the world and is never home. As a result, he'd come home this time to an empty house and angry letter from his wife, saying she was done. Wives really were wonderful, weren't they? What happened to the all the romance and sweetness before they were married? Wait, was she even the sweet type to begin with? He chugged down the beer that he'd ordered, before taking out his secret, precious treasure. Ah, yes. A wonderful chalice of dreams, a "mug of many things," that would provide whatever drink he needed the most. As he prepared to pour some out, his peace was suddenly disturbed by a newcomer. "You look worn, bro." It was a friendly-looking, short-statured, thin bearded man. His voice was somewhat high-pitched voice, and he gave off a really strange yet friendly impression. He wore large, black sunglasses, and he had a wry smile as he plopped down on the chair across from Cosmo. "I'm Chad. Wanna talk about it?" Somehow, although Chad looked friendly, Cosmo still felt somewhat uncomfortable. Deciding to ignore him for the moment, Cosmo poured out the liquid and took a swig. This. This was definitely familiar. That burning sensation... that feeling... he'd tasted it once before in Shanghai, when an acquaintance had poured him some as a prank. This... three-penis wine! The ultimate aphrodisiac alcohol, made from the xxxs of three different animals! He spit it out in shock. This was bad. His wife was nowhere to be found, and that could only mean... right? No, no way! He didn't swing that way! "You know what... I think I have to go." He ignored Chad's somewhat disappointed look and ran away from the bar as fast as he could after paying, and ran home. In hindsight, he could have probably just called a taxi. Much to his surprise, the lights were on, and he was greeted... by Chad! "Eeeeeek! Why are you here!" he screamed. "I'm straight, straight! Help, police, it's a stalker!" "Pffft, stupid as always. You really didn't recognize me." "Chad" pulled off the beard and tossed away the sunglasses. Suddenly, Cosmo found himself staring at his wife, who was holding her sides in pain while laughing at him. "I knew you'd go to that bar. So I thought I'd prank you a bit. I can't believe you actually ran all the way home, though. That was too funny!" Yep, this was definitely his wife. Not an ounce of sweetness to be found. He sighed in relief. So she hadn't hated him, after all! He took out the "mug of many things," and gave it a little kiss. "I'm sorry for doubting you! I knew you'd never let me down!" And felt a sudden chill through his entire body, as his wife glared at him. "You're kissing a cup before you kiss me? You're in for it!" They say the whole neighborhood heard his screams that night.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	Ah, Lady Grey Tea. I usually had Earl Grey, but with the wind picking up, this was the perfect substitute. I sighed happily, swishing the last drops of tea around in the mug before draining them. After carefully attaching the mug to my belt, I stood and stretched. There was work to be done... The wreck had happened two weeks ago. I'd managed to crash the plane on a fairly large island, but even so, I doubted anyone was coming for me. My radio equipment was in bad shape before the wreck, but now, it was done for. I'd been able to salvage quite a lot of material - some of it supplies I'd been carrying, some of it parts of the aircraft itself - and built myself a lovely vacation home. If you can call a fiberglass and sheet metal hut dug into a hillside a vacation home, anyway. Oh well. It is what it is. Two hours of sorting junk later, I was getting tired. I pulled out the mug and held it in my hand, wondering what new liquid it would bring me. Tomato soup? Hearty beef broth? Chocolate milk? Yesterday, I'd gotten some fancy sparkling beverage. The contents seemed to swirl out of nowhere, slowly filling the mug. Hey! Gatorade! I guess I was sweating more than I thought. I chugged the cool beverage, then once again hooked the mug on my belt. My mug saved my life, I can tell you that. I have no idea how, but it can summon any sort of liquid, and it can sense exactly what I need. Feeling tired? Some strong coffee. Thirsty? Cool, clear water. Have some time to kill? A lovely wine to compliment the sunset. Granted, I'd tried to focus on a nice steak, or even one of those mug-brownie things, but it seemed like it could only do liquids. Oh, well. For now, it was keeping me alive, and I wasn't going to complain. Much. I went back to sorting junk. A box full of nails; handy, as long as I could keep them from rusting. And could find a hammer. A box full of... broken glass? Hmm. A box full of - MREs! Hurrah, solid food! I almost danced for joy. Then I did dance for joy - who would see me? One refreshing mac-and-cheese later, I started in on unpacking the other boxes. Clothes - too small. A tool chest! Hammer, and... oh. Saw, drill, and a bunch of other electrical stuff. Not very useful if you don't happen to have a magic outlet around. That evening, I enjoyed a lovely broth dip with some dried toast. The next morning, after my tea - Chai, traditionally prepared - I opened the next box to find a generator! A water-powered generator, at that! Except... I didn't have any running water. And the generator specifically called out salt water as being a big no no. Well, blast. Maybe I could build some sort of platform up the hill, purify water with sunlight and... well, I could get something, anyway. A few minutes to charge tools, maybe. Or, who knows, maybe there was another generator that ran on salt water, and I'd only have to cart thousands of gallons of salt water up a hill, and could skip the purification step. Yay. As I pondered the generator, I reached for my mug, only to find it sloshing liquid out already. I took a sip. Water? I wasn't really in the mood. Whiskey, maybe. Or even coffee. But not water. I dumped it out, and went back to studying the generator - only to find it overflowing on my hand a few seconds later. What the heck? It never did that before! I stared at it as the water moved from dribbling over the side to sloshing heartily. It really seemed to think I needed... water! Running water! Of course! Excitedly, I set the mug down, and quickly put the generator together. Soon, it was complete. I grabbed the mug - now a hand-held fountain - and set it upside down over the generator's input pipe. It filled for a second, then began moving slowly, as the light on top flashed green! It worked! I had power! By nightfall, I had built a seal for the top of the mug, pressing it against a rubber ring, right into the pipe. By now, it was gushing out a geyser; I had to add a big clamp to keep it from shooting off into the night! The generator read 85% capacity; I plugged in a string of lights, the battery chargers, and wonder of wonders, my cell phone. Sure, it wouldn't get a signal, but at least now I could play games, right? And tomorrow, I can start working on getting the radio working... or maybe that air conditioner I saw a few minutes ago.	Until about a week ago, I would have told you that having a Mug of Many Things is the best thing that can happen to you. You always have the liquid you need, whenever you need it, and as much as you need. It doesn’t really let you dump anything out, usually, but when you never have to worry about having a drink again, that isn’t something that worries you. There also isn’t much control, though you can flavor what you get a little bit. It mostly just gives you what you need, and as much of it as you need. Simple, effective, and surprisingly there’s no catch. Best part is, almost no one would ever believe one of these could even exist, let alone that you have one, so you also don’t have to worry about people trying to steal it. Here’s the thing. Anyone, or anything, that knows you do in fact have a “Mug of Many Things” will be out to get it, and you won’t matter much to them. So, let me tell the story of a week ago, and why I curse this mug daily now, even though it’s the only thing keeping me sane. This isn’t going to be a recommendation you pick one of these up. It’s a warning, telling you to stay away, before it ruins your life. The morning of one week ago, I woke up to my alarm like usual. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I started getting ready for work, sipping the allowance of coffee the Mug always provided. It was just enough to get me going, as usual, and I smiled as I stepped into the shower. Everything seemed normal and happy. However, though I hadn’t noticed it at the time, the birds had stopped chirping. As I stepped out of the shower, I started getting dressed. Pulling my shirt on over my head, I paused. There had been a barely noticeable creak as my front door moved. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, I suppose, but that creak always set me on edge. This was worse, because I knew it should have been locked and unable to move. Which means someone had just opened my front door. Grabbing a decorative glass bottle sitting on the windowsill, I cracked the door slightly. I had to bite my tongue not to gasp out loud. Standing in the hallway was a man. He was dressed in dark grey jeans, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket. His features were appealing and his hair perfectly styled. It was his eyes that scared me. They were glowing red. A dark, angry red that made me think of blood, and murder. It gave me the shivers, and I shook all over. Eyes shouldn’t glow like that. Then he smiled, and his teeth nearly made me should. He had fangs, long, sharp ones that screamed out against anything natural. The stranger laughed and I shivered at the sinister feeling the sound had. “I can hear your heart pumping. Just give me the Mug, and I’ll probably let you live. Don’t make me kill you, it’s always messy and distasteful.” My heart skipped a beat. First of all, he could hear my heartbeat? I knew that certain animals could probably do that but there was no way some cosplaying home invader could. He must have just noticed me cracking the door, and been trying to freak me out. Second, how the fuck did he know about the Mug? I’d never told anyone, and I’d been really careful to act like I’d been filling it occasionally at the office to avoid suspicion. My fist tightened around the bottle as I considered opening the door and throwing it at him. The stranger’s smile widened into a predator’s grin. “Oh, please, make this fun. While killing you would be messy, you making a fight of it would be at the very least amusing.” I stopped cold just as I’d been about to open the door. It simply wasn’t possible for him to hear me… Was it? Finally, I narrowed my eyes and ground my teeth together. No one invaded my home, scared the shit out of me, and got to make demands of me. Not before I damn well tried to do something about it. Swinging the door wide, I threw the glass bottle at the stranger. Moving faster than his hand should have been able to, he caught it. I stared, and then slammed the door shut again. Leaning against the other side of the door, I looked around desperately. Finally, I reached out and grabbed the mug. Maybe whatever was in it would give me an idea. I tipped it back, and then stared at in shock. There was nothing in it. That didn’t happen. It always contained something, even if it was just water. I struggled to figure out what to do, when suddenly the door slammed open and I was launched across the room. Slamming into the sink, I turned to face the stranger. Standing there with a sardonic grin on his face, he held out his hand, like he knew I had nowhere to go. I stared at the mug as it slowly filled with a clear liquid. I looked up at him, and then back at the cup. Sipping it, I wrinkled my eyebrows. It was just water. Looking up at the stranger, I finally realized why his look was so familiar, and yet made me want to cringe. He looked like, well, a vampire. Looking down at the water, I had a sinking feeling. Deciding to try something that had never worked before, I sloshed the contents of the Mug directly onto him. With a scream, he staggered backward as the water evaporated off of him in a cloud of steam, leaving behind burn marks in it’s wake. Narrowing his eyes, he lunged at me. “I’ll get you for that, human.” Ignoring for the moment my extreme confusion, I tried to hit him with the Mug. Dodging my motion fluidly he grabbed onto my throat, starting to choke me. I began gasping for air, my exertion leaving me out of breath even before my supply of air had been cut off. Staggering backwards, I kicked outwards and hit him between the legs.It didn’t affect him the way I thought it would, but it did knock him off balance for a second. Lunging forwards, I did the first thing that came to mind. I bit him in the neck. Bitter, sticky, wrong blood filled my mouth, but I clung on, forcing me to swallow. Nearly puking, I bit down tighter, trying to sever something. The stranger was yelling and trying to swat me off, but I think I’d surprised him. Finally I got slammed into the wall and had to let go to breath. I fell to the floor gasping, clutching the Mug in both hands. The stranger stumbled away, gurgling, and then my front door slams open. Finally, my house is quiet. Standing up, I staggered out into the hallway. Shutting the front door, I locked it, though the gesture felt futile. Finding my way into the living room, I sat down, exhausted and sore. I spit on the carpet, trying to clean my mouth of that awful taste. Finally, I had to try and come to terms with what had happened. I thought vampires weren’t real, but then again, I owned a Mug of Many Things. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Shuddering, I lay back and closed my eyes. A few hours later, I came to, my head pounding. I was burning up, and I stumbled as I tried to stand up. Crawling to the bathroom, I puked up everything in my stomach and then lay there moaning. My phone, cracked, lay on the floor of the bathroom. I had three missed calls from work. Shaking my head, I shoved it aside weakly. I wasn’t in any condition to talk to people. Suddenly the clouds outside parted and the room was bathed with sunshine. It felt too warm, and the light pierced my eyes like the worst hangover you can imagine. I stayed that way for the next few days. Somewhere in there I managed to call in to work, and I tried to eat. Nothing would stay down, and I kept puking it up. The mug I was paying so dearly for stayed next to me, and I kept drinking out of it. It was just water, nothing else was ever in it. I didn’t know what to think about that, but I kept drinking it. Then, two days ago, it happened. I felt a little better, though sunlight still hurt my eyes and everything sounded… wrong. Too sharp and clear, it made my ears hurt. I went to make breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry for anything in my kitchen. In fact, the thought of food made me ill, so I ignored it for now. Leaning up against the kitchen counter, I pondered my predicament, and wondered why my assailant hadn’t returned while I’d been incapacitated. As I mused I took a drink out of the Mug, and froze. It was blood. And it tasted like the best drink I’d ever had.
	[WP] You found a real world "Mug of Many Things." Whenever you drink from it, what liquid you needed most was in it. Coffee for that boost in being awake, water for the parched, even a little liquor for killing cowardice. Today you taste something truly unexpected.	Ah, Lady Grey Tea. I usually had Earl Grey, but with the wind picking up, this was the perfect substitute. I sighed happily, swishing the last drops of tea around in the mug before draining them. After carefully attaching the mug to my belt, I stood and stretched. There was work to be done... The wreck had happened two weeks ago. I'd managed to crash the plane on a fairly large island, but even so, I doubted anyone was coming for me. My radio equipment was in bad shape before the wreck, but now, it was done for. I'd been able to salvage quite a lot of material - some of it supplies I'd been carrying, some of it parts of the aircraft itself - and built myself a lovely vacation home. If you can call a fiberglass and sheet metal hut dug into a hillside a vacation home, anyway. Oh well. It is what it is. Two hours of sorting junk later, I was getting tired. I pulled out the mug and held it in my hand, wondering what new liquid it would bring me. Tomato soup? Hearty beef broth? Chocolate milk? Yesterday, I'd gotten some fancy sparkling beverage. The contents seemed to swirl out of nowhere, slowly filling the mug. Hey! Gatorade! I guess I was sweating more than I thought. I chugged the cool beverage, then once again hooked the mug on my belt. My mug saved my life, I can tell you that. I have no idea how, but it can summon any sort of liquid, and it can sense exactly what I need. Feeling tired? Some strong coffee. Thirsty? Cool, clear water. Have some time to kill? A lovely wine to compliment the sunset. Granted, I'd tried to focus on a nice steak, or even one of those mug-brownie things, but it seemed like it could only do liquids. Oh, well. For now, it was keeping me alive, and I wasn't going to complain. Much. I went back to sorting junk. A box full of nails; handy, as long as I could keep them from rusting. And could find a hammer. A box full of... broken glass? Hmm. A box full of - MREs! Hurrah, solid food! I almost danced for joy. Then I did dance for joy - who would see me? One refreshing mac-and-cheese later, I started in on unpacking the other boxes. Clothes - too small. A tool chest! Hammer, and... oh. Saw, drill, and a bunch of other electrical stuff. Not very useful if you don't happen to have a magic outlet around. That evening, I enjoyed a lovely broth dip with some dried toast. The next morning, after my tea - Chai, traditionally prepared - I opened the next box to find a generator! A water-powered generator, at that! Except... I didn't have any running water. And the generator specifically called out salt water as being a big no no. Well, blast. Maybe I could build some sort of platform up the hill, purify water with sunlight and... well, I could get something, anyway. A few minutes to charge tools, maybe. Or, who knows, maybe there was another generator that ran on salt water, and I'd only have to cart thousands of gallons of salt water up a hill, and could skip the purification step. Yay. As I pondered the generator, I reached for my mug, only to find it sloshing liquid out already. I took a sip. Water? I wasn't really in the mood. Whiskey, maybe. Or even coffee. But not water. I dumped it out, and went back to studying the generator - only to find it overflowing on my hand a few seconds later. What the heck? It never did that before! I stared at it as the water moved from dribbling over the side to sloshing heartily. It really seemed to think I needed... water! Running water! Of course! Excitedly, I set the mug down, and quickly put the generator together. Soon, it was complete. I grabbed the mug - now a hand-held fountain - and set it upside down over the generator's input pipe. It filled for a second, then began moving slowly, as the light on top flashed green! It worked! I had power! By nightfall, I had built a seal for the top of the mug, pressing it against a rubber ring, right into the pipe. By now, it was gushing out a geyser; I had to add a big clamp to keep it from shooting off into the night! The generator read 85% capacity; I plugged in a string of lights, the battery chargers, and wonder of wonders, my cell phone. Sure, it wouldn't get a signal, but at least now I could play games, right? And tomorrow, I can start working on getting the radio working... or maybe that air conditioner I saw a few minutes ago.	I've had this mug for a few years now. My dad, God rest his soul, passed on. This mug was one of the few things he bequeathed to me. It was strange. I never needed to fill it up. You could leave it perfectly empty, and yet when you pressed it to your lips, you got something. I've had water, coffee, orange juice, alcohol, and once even melted chocolate. However, I was never prepared for what happened on July 17th of this year. It was another normal day. I ate breakfast and went off to work. I brought the mug with me, thinking I could skip the long rush of drive-through coffee chains and just get to work. I had just arrived at the government office I worked at when, too eager, I took a sip from the mug, expecting hot, fresh, rich coffee. What I got was the most vile liquid that has ever disgraced my taste buds. It felt like I was drinking molten sewage covered in vomit. The mug fell from my hands as I leaned over some bushes and retched. That was when I heard the explosion behind me. The office's lower floors were levelled, and the upper floors crumbled and collapsed. I bolted from the collapsing building into safety across the street. We were in a turbulent political state at the time. There was a prominent rebellion growing and taking form. This was their latest act of subversion. Bombing a government office. Had I not drank that vile liquid, I would have been liquefied myself. Shaking my head in disbelief, I wandered away, lamenting that the mug that saved my life was now lost in the rubble. A few days later, I opened the cupboard to get a coffee mug, and to my surprise my Mug of Plenty was there. A Post-It note was attached to it. In handwriting I couldn't place, the note read: "I'm not finished with you yet. Take the mug. Keep living. There is more work to be done."
Inspired by [this comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/6x1egl/a_chunk_of_dirt_that_was_struck_by_lightning_and/dmcgdmj/) by /u/casualsax!	[WP] Imagine a younger species of man, one that didn't have their parents repeatedly tell them "Don't play with fire." How did the world end up?	Of course it was stupid to play with fire. Even our younglings learned so after the fire’s first bite. But the elder’s looked on, smiling, as if we would soon learn the truth to such a curiosity. “You’ll understand when you need to,” they told us. “We hope it isn’t too late by then.” So we kept at it, reaching through the flames only to feel that familiar bite. Most gave up, chalking this ritual up as a way to trust common sense. Others claimed it was to separate the suicidally dim from the at least smart enough not to kill themselves. That’s where I belonged. The suicidally dim of course. --- The fire snapped up and nipped me. My hand shot back to my chest with another red welt. I no longer yelped when bitten. It only drew more attention to Serra, the girl who still played with fire. Unfortunately, nobody needed a voice to find me, they only needed to follow the smoke. “Serra.” The voice belonged to Michael. Back when we were younglings, we played together with the flames, but he grew out of it. “Please tell me you’re not still burning yourself.” The bushes to my left moved and some more footsteps followed after Michael. I sighed. By himself, Michael was an okay guy, but as soon as you throw in anything else with a pulse, he completely changed. Especially toward me. Really, only toward me. Of the many theories regarding our village’s strange ritual, Michael was a believer of the one about the suicidally dim. It was a theory that I found myself believing too. And then every so often, it felt as if the flames would respond to my touch, like I was communicating to it. When all it did was burn me again, I truly felt like I was suicidally dim. “Are you stupid or do you just enjoy hurting yourself?” he asked, appearing from the shrubbery into the small clearing in the woods I had purposefully found to avoid him. “What’s it to you?” I snapped and returned my gaze to the flames. “I’m just curious if you’re the biggest idiot in the village or just a masochist.” His two cronies chuckled and high-fived each other. They were stereotypical ax-wielders. So for them to understand a three syllable word, I nearly congratulated them. Michael trained in swords, though he lacked any of the nobility of most of our tribe’s swordsmen. It was obvious simply by the company he kept. “And you walked into the Forbidden Forest to find me. You in love or something?” I shot back. All three of their mouths scrunched. “With you?” Michael rolled his eyes, glancing back at his friends. “The girl obsessed with flames, with hair as red as fire, and a temperament like it too.” I raised a brow. A four syllable word. He’s been reading. “And here I am, hiding out in the middle of a god damn forest and who shows up? I’m not sure I’m the one obsessed here.” Michael burned a bright red and flicked his eyes to the ground. “The elders told me to get you. We’re not allowed in the forbidden forest.” A lie. His two human laugh tracks might’ve missed it, but I’ve known this kid since birth. My lips spread into a smirk. “You scared of a few beasts? Perhaps Nana’s stories are getting to you. Think The Hunters will come get us?” They were the forest’s Boogie Men, shadows that stalked the Forbidden Forests with ravenous dogs darker than the deepest night. As their name implied, they hunted anything that moved within the forest. One day, they would finish hunting everything inside the forest and move onto us. “I’m not scared!” he declared. My smile grew. I had him. “Then you’re worried. For little ol’ me?” His fists clenched. He opened his mouth but only got through the first syllable, but cutting himself off. “You’re insane!” he finally shouted. “Play with your fire you stupid fire-girl.” He turned and disappeared back into the shrubbery. I watched him go, the entire time smiling at his back. When he disappeared, so did my smile. Once again, it was just me and the flames. It crackled to comfort me. Or because it was a fire and that’s what fire sometimes did and I was truly an idiot for believing otherwise. I clenched my own fists. Would the elders really watch us all burn ourselves for no reason whatsoever? No way. They had to have a reason. I just needed to find it. --- The forest darkened and the shadows stretched. I looked up from the flames and saw that the sky had turned into a purple haze. Another day spent playing with fire and I was no close to the truth than eight years ago, which accounted for half my life. I was just about to put out the flames when a shrill howl echoed through the forest. My back immediately straightened and I looked toward the noise. All I saw were more trees and shadows. Somehow, between me looking down at the flames and the howling, the sky had completely darkened, enveloping me in a blackness battled only by my fire. Another howl answered the previous one, this one ear-splitting. I plugged my ears and twisted toward it only for another to answer, right behind me. One by one, howls sounded from all around. Then, silence. A chilling breeze blew past me, whisking the flames in a small dance. It sounded the only noise beside my pounding heart. “Michael?” I whispered with stuttered breath. If this was a prank, I was going to kill him. I dearly wished this was a prank. A figure stepped out of the overgrowth, but none of the bushes moved. It looked like a human shadow, standing on its own. Even stepping up to the fire did not reveal it from the darkness. By its side trotted a dog the size of a wolf with eyes red as blood. It growled and a chorus of baritone growls followed suit. “Michael?” I tried again, though I already knew my fate. “Serra!” the bush’s rattled and Michael popped out, sword already mid-swing. Silver flashed and The Hunter disappeared, leaving only his hound behind. Michael snuck a look back and illuminated by the flames, I saw the furtive glance he had given me since our days as a youngling. Of course, only now did I recognize it. Worry. He really did follow me into the Forest because of it and now, he was trapped by The Hunters because of it. The beast growled and pounced. Michael caught its teeth with his blade. It snapped at the sword, grinding its fangs into steel. He wrestled his sword out of its grip and kicked it back. It hit the ground and rolled back up, unfazed. The rest of the hounds stepped out of the shrubbery. I counted four plus the one Michael was facing. “Serra,” he said, slowly backing into me. “When I say so, run.” I nodded. The Hunters were mythical beings our heroes fought in fairytales with flaming swords. There was no way two teenagers could do anything but run. “Run!” I launched off the ground and ran. The dogs pounced. Somehow, none hit me. We were doing it, we were going to make it! I glanced backwards and found Michael standing beside the fire, his shirt tattered and ripped with claw marks. One arm dangled useless at his side while the other trembled with his sword. I dug my heels into the ground. “You’re kidding me,” I muttered. After all this time, and now he chooses to be noble. Now of all times! My body moved on its own. My legs were pistons carrying me back toward him. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be a hero. Hell, I spent most my life being called the village’s biggest idiot. But an even bigger idiot was under my nose this entire time. Like hell I was letting him die. “Michael!” I shrieked and the flames responded. They roared to life and grew into an inferno, snapping at every shadow within their reach. “Michael!” I commanded. They responded and surrounded him. The dogs yelped and ran away, leaving only me, the fire, and Michael clutching his arm in awe. I stopped in front of him, gasping for air. “You must be the biggest idiot in the village,” I told him. He grinned back, wobbled backwards, and collapsed into the ground. Of course, every weapon The Hunter’s had was laced with their poison, including their dogs. And if the stories were true, that gave Michael about three more days to live.	I juggled the small ball of fire while my professor talked about how people had trouble controlling the elements in the second millennia. She went on to explain how we had then evolved over a millennia slowly learning the art of controlling the elements. First through machines, then bio-augmentation, then it had slowly started occurring to us naturally, like riding a bike. I stared at the ball of fire in my hands and wondered what it would've been like to get burnt. My friends that learnt to control other elements like water told me that it was kind of like a strong itching sensation. Suddenly we heard a loud bang!. Everyone paused and listened. No possible way, I thought. Then it happened again only louder this time. The Forsaken would never mount an attack against us, the biggest guild in North America. The ball of fire in my hands grew larger, to the size of a baseball. Then I made it hotter, burning blue at the core. The wall exploded, and in came Notsus Pishus, shadows whirling around him like writhing snakes. Everyone leapt out of there seats and there was silence. Notsus laughed and spoke "I'm just here to make an offer, I harbor no ill will towards any of you." his voice came from every corner of the room. "My offer extends to a couple of students in this room. Everyone who is specified class A and up may join me sometime for some tea and biscuits to listen to what I have to say to them about joining a guild I'm forming. You'll get your invitation soon enough I just thought I should appear in person, so as not to be rude." he exclaimed heartily. Screams and shouts broke out and our professor called up an icy wind. The dark aura around him formed into an old fashioned top hat which he tipped towards us. The wind hit him but he was already gone into the shadows. As we were ushered into the main guild hall I thought, I'm an S class manipulator. r/MaestroWrites for more when I do more. Just started thanks for the support!
Inspired by [this comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/6x1egl/a_chunk_of_dirt_that_was_struck_by_lightning_and/dmcgdmj/) by /u/casualsax!	[WP] Imagine a younger species of man, one that didn't have their parents repeatedly tell them "Don't play with fire." How did the world end up?	Boiwun gazed up at the enormous, white cone-shaped fruit hanging from the highest branch of the big tree. He stood directly beneath it, mouth open and tongue hanging down his chin, as the strange fruit dripped delicious warm golden goo into his mouth. "Mmm," he said, smacking his lips succulently. He liked that. Had no idea what it was, but he liked it. Boiwun decided he wanted to eat that fruit. Now the big question: how to obtain what Boiwun already thought of as goofruit. It was up high. Real high. He didn't want to climb that high. But, for some reason, that was the only goofruit on the whole tree! Boiwun went down to the stream, grabbed a clothful of rocks, and went back to the goofruit tree. Boiwun tossed a large, flat rock up at the goofruit. The thought of aiming hadn't occurred to him yet. The rock hit the trunk of the tree, bounced off, and came back down on top of his head. Boiwun howled with pain, and slapped a hand to his throbbing head. Which, of course, only made it hurt worse. He glared at the goofruit angrily. This was its fault. Stupid goofruit. He tossed another rock up at the white dome, and this time the pulsing bump on his head encouraged him to throw with purpose. Clunk The rock had hit its mark! More goo dripped out as the strange fruit rocked back and forth. There was a loud humming now, and Boiwun saw little bugs circling the goofruit in the air. He screamed at them. That was his goofruit! He threw another rock, this time at the bugs. He couldn't tell if he hit any of the bugs, but he hit something. A moment later a stringy blue-green blur toppled out if the tree, and landed on the ground beside him. "Gah!" he shrieked upon realizing what it was. Danger squiggle! It twisted and coiled and hissed at Boiwun, revealing its pink double-tongue. "Gah!" Boiwun shouted again and threw a rock at the danger squiggle. It missed, and now he was out of rocks. He jumped on the big tree and began clawing his way up. He laughed victoriously, before he remembered that danger squiggles could climb trees, too. The danger squiggle started squiggling around the tree behind him, snapping its long jaws. He climbed furiously, barely managing to outpace the slithering thing. As he got higher he could hear the humming getting louder. He had forgotten all about the goofruit! He climbed over to the side of the tree where the fruit hung. Thr bugs circling it were bigger than he thought, and colorful. They were orange and black like tigers. Weird little tigerflies. He stretched out over a branch, gripping the tree's trunk for support. He could almost reach it! A tigerfly landed on his nose. Searing, white hot pain shot through the front of his face. He screamed, his eyes watered, and he let go of the trunk. Boiwun fell out of the tree. ----- Boiwun came home that night with a big gooseegg on his head, a swollen red nose, and a limp. His brother, Boitu, indicated through a series of gestures and grunts that he looked like he had been in a fight with a monkey. Boiwun thought Boitu signed that he was a son of a monkey, and promptly punched him in the nose. The boys started fighting, so Ma took to them with a stick. Da came into camp holding something red and glowing on a stick, which captured. everyone's attention. He was smiling. He gestured for his family to make a pile of wood and sticks. When they did, he put the glowing end of the stick to the pile, and it also turned red and glowing and hot. Magic! It was magic. Da got the magic from their neighbor, Krum. "Fire!" he half-shouted and pointed at the glowing red magic, which was now producing a black mist. "Ooh. Fire!" the boys chanted in unison. Then, Da did something crazy. He held a leg of the hog Ma had butchered over the fire. He waited, and a delicious aroma filled the camp. After a few minutes he handed the leg to Ma. She took a bite and laughed, mouth full and hog juice running down her chin. She handed the leg to Boiwun, who took a bite, and then handed it to Boitu. They relished the taste of the juicy, warm hogmeat. They started putting other things over the red-magic. Da held the rest of the hog over it, then handed it out to the others. Ma held a spear over it, when popped and melted and fell into the fire. The boys giggled with delight. Boiwun peed on the fire, and Ma yelled at him when it almost disappeared. Boitu put his ass on the fire, and then screamed and ran away. Da chuckled long and hard as Boitu ran in circles holding his bum. Suddenly, Boiwun had an idea. He contemplated hiding this idea from his brother and keeping the goofruit for himself, but he decided it might be better to have an accomplice this time. ----- The next day, Boiwun and Boitu went to the big tree. Boiwun pointed up at the goofruit, identifying the enemy that had caused him such anguish. He spat up at his tormenter, which rose up into the air a foot or two, and then came back down on his forehead. He wiped away his own spit, grumbling. Boitu giggled at this and then approached the base of the tree. He was holding a stick with the red-magic (fire) on it. Boiwun joined him, and then they brought the glowing point of the stick to the base of the treetrunk. The boys watched with glee as the fire raced up the tree like a danger squiggle, and gathered beneath the goofruit, ready to catch it when it fell. The tree began to pop and hiss in protest, as the red-magic consumed branches and leaves. Suddenly, when the fire climbed a branch that was close to another tree, it jumped over to the other tree! Now the red-magic was quickly consuming both trees in a hot, angry feast. The two boys were so fascinated by this that they forgot to catch the goofruit when it fell. It landed on the ground between them with a splat. They gathered the goo with both hands and shoved fistfuls of the stuff into their mouths as they danced around the angry tigerflies. They sucked their fingers and licked the sweet golden goo from hands. Then a firey branch fell next to Boiwun. Then another. Then a burning leaf landed on Boitu's arm and he howled with pain. The boys looked around. The red-magic was eating up all the trees! Thick blackmist began to fill the forest like fog. All around them, trees were red-hot and falling apart. They ran back to camp. When the got there they looked back to see the world burning around them.	I juggled the small ball of fire while my professor talked about how people had trouble controlling the elements in the second millennia. She went on to explain how we had then evolved over a millennia slowly learning the art of controlling the elements. First through machines, then bio-augmentation, then it had slowly started occurring to us naturally, like riding a bike. I stared at the ball of fire in my hands and wondered what it would've been like to get burnt. My friends that learnt to control other elements like water told me that it was kind of like a strong itching sensation. Suddenly we heard a loud bang!. Everyone paused and listened. No possible way, I thought. Then it happened again only louder this time. The Forsaken would never mount an attack against us, the biggest guild in North America. The ball of fire in my hands grew larger, to the size of a baseball. Then I made it hotter, burning blue at the core. The wall exploded, and in came Notsus Pishus, shadows whirling around him like writhing snakes. Everyone leapt out of there seats and there was silence. Notsus laughed and spoke "I'm just here to make an offer, I harbor no ill will towards any of you." his voice came from every corner of the room. "My offer extends to a couple of students in this room. Everyone who is specified class A and up may join me sometime for some tea and biscuits to listen to what I have to say to them about joining a guild I'm forming. You'll get your invitation soon enough I just thought I should appear in person, so as not to be rude." he exclaimed heartily. Screams and shouts broke out and our professor called up an icy wind. The dark aura around him formed into an old fashioned top hat which he tipped towards us. The wind hit him but he was already gone into the shadows. As we were ushered into the main guild hall I thought, I'm an S class manipulator. r/MaestroWrites for more when I do more. Just started thanks for the support!
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"So wait, all we have to do is screw with the state estimator a little bit, and the entire northeast will go down?" "Totally! They'll never even know. They'll blame it on a race condition or something" "Maybe we'll even see the northern lights... I've never seen the northern lights." "This is august - you know that's wishful thinking. But maybe my kids will get to see the Milky Way over the house. I remember seeing that when I was a kid. It seemed like the world and the sky and everything was connected. Space didn't seem so far away anymore. You don't get that kind of connection under a streetlight." [True](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northeast_blackout_of_2003) [Story](https://www.reddit.com/r/space/comments/4he2rf/picture_from_the_suburbs_in_toronto_canada_during/)	A Right Kind of Light It wasn’t right, it was never right. Atop the summit’s height, my telescoped looking far beyond; the heavens before my very eyes. It wasn’t right, it’s not right! The lights, the color, the sense and the spirit they were all wrong! None could see what I see here in this putrid place, corrupted and vile they filled their homes and cities with all man’s envy for that above; they copied it, then they replaced it. Yet I’ve seen true; what wonderful things, truly wonderful, all seen serene high above. There as a boy, upon moonlight hillock far beyond civility I saw it. My dream. A dream to bring this to all who could not see, blind to that merely hidden above. I would remove the shroud, give them sight, that I intended. So I begin my final step now. To return sight to all, bring about the wonder of the universe beyond. The heavens so bright, so beautiful... The only light we’ll ever need. How I’ve strained over the years, the setting sun all that remains to fall. How I’ve anguished, suffered I spoke out, most a soul without a care or whim they could not see. They had not seen, not all that I see no… They were blind; but I will change that here tonight, show them exactly what it means to see… But not all were like them, blind and ignorant, knowing not the beauty of all that could be seen above no… There were others as me, drawn my suffering they came to my call; where there was one now there is many. But not enough, never enough… Not until they see what I see no… Not enough, not enough yet… I bring them a new realm, a god from above I take their envy and their pride and make them humble! To bow in it’s majesty, to realize just how small we truly are! From Higgins to Harry Allen, the true seeing await the dusk’s fall. Man’s envy of the light above to explode in a storm of triviality; their power’s homes to vanish in an instant. From Creech to Nellis we already control, the armament of man at our behest. The sky our own, their once jets deployed at our command, the land our own, heavy tracks and arms borne ready to protect our new realm to come. Here I stand before Hoover, the greatest instrument of their resistance secured at my whim I stand above it my eyes to the heavens. Change placed, charges set and ready spanning all man’s creations length. All I need is to hold the trigger prepared; I push us into a new age, a domain of our own. The heavens own. I press the trigger knowing that to come. To give sight to all The Meadows, the City of Sin to sin no longer; they are subject to the heavens above. And this way it will stay, man’s envy never to return this we intend, this we will see true. Or die trying, beneath the most glorious lights above. The sight of the stars I return to man at the flick of single switch. The night sky to be seen once more. So I begin at last, the final step of my journey. The starry night finally be just right.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	You didn't know what happened the night before. You had gone to bed earlier for some reason. Maybe you just had a long day and decided to turn in early, or maybe you had to go somewhere early the next morning. Once you've gotten your breakfast together, you decide to check out the news. Your TV comes on and you tune into the news station. A male anchor is on screen, speaking to the camera. "...Local astronomer Michael Carter was found dead this morning. Police say that he was definitely responsible for last night's state wide outage. Bill Mathers now joins us live from where police found Michael, what's going on there Bill?" There's a brief delay as the camera switches over to the reporter. "...Well Jim, we are here just outside of Michael's house-" The camera pans over to a small suburban home. It looks fairly normal with it's beige exterior paint and white framed windows. Caution tape was over the front door and showed a police offer walking into the darkened hallway. "Where the late astronomer was found dead this morning. Police have stated that this may be suicide by overdose. They found no external trauma, but they are not ruling anything out just yet." The screen showed the anchor and reporter side by side now. The anchor, Jim, spoke, "Is it true that Michael may have been responsible for last nights state wide power outage?" "..Yes Jim, police are saying that security footage from one of the main station shows Michael breaking into it. Police are currently unsure of how Michael managed to shut all the power down, even just for 10-15 minutes last night, for the whole state. That is still under investigation. Back to you in the studio." The screen switched to only be the anchor now. "Thanks Bill. Presid-" The anchor was cut off as someone handed him a paper from off screen. "Ladies and gentlemen pardon the.. interruption, I've just been handed an urgent bulletin. Several other people, all possibly in connection to the Michael Mathers case have also been found dead in their home in the same circumstance." He looked to the side, before nodding slightly and turning back to the paper. "It appears that each person was found in the same state, with phrases written around them. Phrases such as 'We saw', 'The lights protect us', and 'The Xanthous One rises.' The crime scenes are also being described as cult like. With attempts at some sort of ritual or worship having taken place in the room. While it appears that no one but those who have passed away where involved, police are not ruling out foul play just yet." ... "Police are stating that there may still be more people to be found in such a state. If anyone you know is missing or acting in an unusual manner, they are urging you to reach out to emergency services for help."	A Right Kind of Light It wasn’t right, it was never right. Atop the summit’s height, my telescoped looking far beyond; the heavens before my very eyes. It wasn’t right, it’s not right! The lights, the color, the sense and the spirit they were all wrong! None could see what I see here in this putrid place, corrupted and vile they filled their homes and cities with all man’s envy for that above; they copied it, then they replaced it. Yet I’ve seen true; what wonderful things, truly wonderful, all seen serene high above. There as a boy, upon moonlight hillock far beyond civility I saw it. My dream. A dream to bring this to all who could not see, blind to that merely hidden above. I would remove the shroud, give them sight, that I intended. So I begin my final step now. To return sight to all, bring about the wonder of the universe beyond. The heavens so bright, so beautiful... The only light we’ll ever need. How I’ve strained over the years, the setting sun all that remains to fall. How I’ve anguished, suffered I spoke out, most a soul without a care or whim they could not see. They had not seen, not all that I see no… They were blind; but I will change that here tonight, show them exactly what it means to see… But not all were like them, blind and ignorant, knowing not the beauty of all that could be seen above no… There were others as me, drawn my suffering they came to my call; where there was one now there is many. But not enough, never enough… Not until they see what I see no… Not enough, not enough yet… I bring them a new realm, a god from above I take their envy and their pride and make them humble! To bow in it’s majesty, to realize just how small we truly are! From Higgins to Harry Allen, the true seeing await the dusk’s fall. Man’s envy of the light above to explode in a storm of triviality; their power’s homes to vanish in an instant. From Creech to Nellis we already control, the armament of man at our behest. The sky our own, their once jets deployed at our command, the land our own, heavy tracks and arms borne ready to protect our new realm to come. Here I stand before Hoover, the greatest instrument of their resistance secured at my whim I stand above it my eyes to the heavens. Change placed, charges set and ready spanning all man’s creations length. All I need is to hold the trigger prepared; I push us into a new age, a domain of our own. The heavens own. I press the trigger knowing that to come. To give sight to all The Meadows, the City of Sin to sin no longer; they are subject to the heavens above. And this way it will stay, man’s envy never to return this we intend, this we will see true. Or die trying, beneath the most glorious lights above. The sight of the stars I return to man at the flick of single switch. The night sky to be seen once more. So I begin at last, the final step of my journey. The starry night finally be just right.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	As soon as his plan to shutdown the grid suceeded, the astronomer ran outside, just in time to see lights coming back on from backup generators. People coming out of their houses shining flash lights and smartphones to see what is going on. People turned on their car headlights to light the streets back up. As briefly as they appeared, the stars faded out again. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo" shouted the mad astronomer.	A Right Kind of Light It wasn’t right, it was never right. Atop the summit’s height, my telescoped looking far beyond; the heavens before my very eyes. It wasn’t right, it’s not right! The lights, the color, the sense and the spirit they were all wrong! None could see what I see here in this putrid place, corrupted and vile they filled their homes and cities with all man’s envy for that above; they copied it, then they replaced it. Yet I’ve seen true; what wonderful things, truly wonderful, all seen serene high above. There as a boy, upon moonlight hillock far beyond civility I saw it. My dream. A dream to bring this to all who could not see, blind to that merely hidden above. I would remove the shroud, give them sight, that I intended. So I begin my final step now. To return sight to all, bring about the wonder of the universe beyond. The heavens so bright, so beautiful... The only light we’ll ever need. How I’ve strained over the years, the setting sun all that remains to fall. How I’ve anguished, suffered I spoke out, most a soul without a care or whim they could not see. They had not seen, not all that I see no… They were blind; but I will change that here tonight, show them exactly what it means to see… But not all were like them, blind and ignorant, knowing not the beauty of all that could be seen above no… There were others as me, drawn my suffering they came to my call; where there was one now there is many. But not enough, never enough… Not until they see what I see no… Not enough, not enough yet… I bring them a new realm, a god from above I take their envy and their pride and make them humble! To bow in it’s majesty, to realize just how small we truly are! From Higgins to Harry Allen, the true seeing await the dusk’s fall. Man’s envy of the light above to explode in a storm of triviality; their power’s homes to vanish in an instant. From Creech to Nellis we already control, the armament of man at our behest. The sky our own, their once jets deployed at our command, the land our own, heavy tracks and arms borne ready to protect our new realm to come. Here I stand before Hoover, the greatest instrument of their resistance secured at my whim I stand above it my eyes to the heavens. Change placed, charges set and ready spanning all man’s creations length. All I need is to hold the trigger prepared; I push us into a new age, a domain of our own. The heavens own. I press the trigger knowing that to come. To give sight to all The Meadows, the City of Sin to sin no longer; they are subject to the heavens above. And this way it will stay, man’s envy never to return this we intend, this we will see true. Or die trying, beneath the most glorious lights above. The sight of the stars I return to man at the flick of single switch. The night sky to be seen once more. So I begin at last, the final step of my journey. The starry night finally be just right.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	Haven't written in a while, but I miss it. So i figured I would finally try my hand at my first writing prompt. Please let me know what you think, and suggestions on how to improve. We weren’t give much information on who we were after. Intel was pretty light, as our target had opted to stay off the grid for the better part of a year now. There were two small buildings that needed to be cleared before we could enter the main part of the plant, which is most likely where our target would be. As I glanced over the briefing one last time before we made our way in, I reminded myself of what we were getting ourselves into. Intelligent, mentally unstable, and a threat to society. Just another day in the office. I grabbed my M4 from the back of the van, and ran my hand over the pistol that adhered itself to my side. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to use either of these. But I was ready. Just in case. The door opened without a sound. I made my way in followed closely by the rest of my team. We were swift, and silent. Mere whispers alongside the loud hum emulating from the control room. The rooms were pitch black. Lit only by the flashlights from our scopes. “Room 1 clear.” “Room 2 clear.” We quickly made our way to the second building. The door was open, and this time the interior was dimly lit by a single lamp in the middle. Drawings and maps littered the walls. Paintings of the North Star and what looked like every planet in our solar system littered the room. Definitely not what I was expecting. I cautiously entered the room. As we progressed through the desks and warn down office cubicles, the drawings began to multiply. There were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. We didn’t really have time to count them. I continued making my way through the mess when something stopped me. A simple painting seemingly like the rest. But this one was different. It was. Me? “Boss, take a look at this.” I walked over to the area of interest and noticed that there were paintings of all 4 of us scattered among the ground. There were even paintings of us entering the very complex we now stood in. What is this? “Let’s keep moving.” I said, unsure of the words as they came out. We made our way outside and moved cautiously. An elderly man was sitting down about half way down the grid. Interesting. He made no signal of noticing us, so we continued to move closer to him. When we were a mere 10 paces away, his eyes opened. “Welcome my friends, we can begin.” He pressed a button on what looked like a remote, dropped it and rose to his knees with his hands behind his back. The humming of the grid was replaced by complete silence. No one moved. For what now littered the night sky we hadn't seen in years. Stars.	A Right Kind of Light It wasn’t right, it was never right. Atop the summit’s height, my telescoped looking far beyond; the heavens before my very eyes. It wasn’t right, it’s not right! The lights, the color, the sense and the spirit they were all wrong! None could see what I see here in this putrid place, corrupted and vile they filled their homes and cities with all man’s envy for that above; they copied it, then they replaced it. Yet I’ve seen true; what wonderful things, truly wonderful, all seen serene high above. There as a boy, upon moonlight hillock far beyond civility I saw it. My dream. A dream to bring this to all who could not see, blind to that merely hidden above. I would remove the shroud, give them sight, that I intended. So I begin my final step now. To return sight to all, bring about the wonder of the universe beyond. The heavens so bright, so beautiful... The only light we’ll ever need. How I’ve strained over the years, the setting sun all that remains to fall. How I’ve anguished, suffered I spoke out, most a soul without a care or whim they could not see. They had not seen, not all that I see no… They were blind; but I will change that here tonight, show them exactly what it means to see… But not all were like them, blind and ignorant, knowing not the beauty of all that could be seen above no… There were others as me, drawn my suffering they came to my call; where there was one now there is many. But not enough, never enough… Not until they see what I see no… Not enough, not enough yet… I bring them a new realm, a god from above I take their envy and their pride and make them humble! To bow in it’s majesty, to realize just how small we truly are! From Higgins to Harry Allen, the true seeing await the dusk’s fall. Man’s envy of the light above to explode in a storm of triviality; their power’s homes to vanish in an instant. From Creech to Nellis we already control, the armament of man at our behest. The sky our own, their once jets deployed at our command, the land our own, heavy tracks and arms borne ready to protect our new realm to come. Here I stand before Hoover, the greatest instrument of their resistance secured at my whim I stand above it my eyes to the heavens. Change placed, charges set and ready spanning all man’s creations length. All I need is to hold the trigger prepared; I push us into a new age, a domain of our own. The heavens own. I press the trigger knowing that to come. To give sight to all The Meadows, the City of Sin to sin no longer; they are subject to the heavens above. And this way it will stay, man’s envy never to return this we intend, this we will see true. Or die trying, beneath the most glorious lights above. The sight of the stars I return to man at the flick of single switch. The night sky to be seen once more. So I begin at last, the final step of my journey. The starry night finally be just right.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	Brent stood there, trembling, on the edge of wetting his pants. He was terrified and tired and so very, very stupid, he thought. What had he been thinking? He had never even held a gun before, but now he had it trained onto the three terrified men who sat before him in worn-out overalls and hardhats. And the one calm man in a business suit, a badge clipped to his lapel that displayed some alphabet soup of an agency's name on it; not EPA and not FBI, so it was one Brent had never heard of. "You're being unreasonable, Mr. Haywood," the man said in a voice calculated to relax. It was like a fingernail scraped up the back of his spine. "You can still get out of this with only a little jail time, and you can be back to your old life before you even realize it. Maybe you can get a book deal out of this, and, five years from now, you'll laugh about it all with your friends." The doctors had given Brent two months. That was a month ago, and he could feel the cancer eating away at him, the same way it had eaten his mother in his last year of grad school. She had died, withered and pitiful, and he had resolved not to go out the same as her. "It's a gift," He said--begged--hoping that the men would understand. "Just for a bit. A few minutes. Long enough for people to know." "But everyone needs this power, Mr. Haywood," the man continued, pouring words out with a calm that wore away at the hard edges of Brent's fear. He hadn't thought it would be this difficult when he started planning; it had never occurred to him, as he poured over hundreds of pages of documentation about how the Grand Coulee plant had replaced 98% of its staff with automated systems. Even when he had snuck onto the property three hours ago, the terror had only just started to grow. But now, everything was covered in a white haze of all-consuming dread, and the only anchor he had in all of that was that last image of his mother's shriveled, cancer-eaten husk while the hospital's machine screamed its flatline drone and a single sob tore itself from his father's throat as the long year of suffering was finally capped by the indignity of death. "Press. The. Button." The words came out of Brent like sobs of his own now, the gun shaky in his hand, but the distance close enough that a trigger pull would certainly end in a corpse. Not that he would pull the trigger; he wasn't even sure the safety on the pistol was off. He could never bring himself to kill a man right in front of him. Brent maintained no illusions of his own willingness, even at this desperate moment. His mother's love of the night sky had been what guided Brent to his chosen career, away from the lights that had distracted his peers. Screens held little interest to him when compared to the vastness of the starscape that he had learned while camping in the ever-shrinking wilderness of America. All he wanted was to share that wonder--to share his mother's passion--with the population of the Pacific Northwest. One of the men reached out slowly, finger hovering. They had stalled as long as they could while disabling the safety functions, until the man in the suit had shown up, heralded by the whirring blades of a helicopter and the police booming at him through bullhorns. The man had approached, showing no fear of Brent's gun, and tried to talk him down. But you can't talk down a dead man. The hum of the generators slowed, leaving an aching silence in the white noise that Brent had stopped noticing, conspicuous now only in its absence. The sluice gates began to shut on the great dam; it would take the better part of a quarter-hour to safely reopen them, even if they started immediately. Not that it mattered. The gun clattered to the floor, the three workers flinching away from it, but Brent was already sprinting, running, panting with an exhausted, near-sexual release as the tension flooded out of him. He half-slammed into the plexiglass window that comprised the office's western wall, face smashed up against it as he strained his eyes skyward. Even now, the lights in Grand Coulee and Electric City were blinking out, and soon the lights of Brewster and Ellensberg and Hood River would join them. A sweeping wave of darkness as the grid struggled at the sudden drought of power, automated systems rerouting what little energy was still limping into the grid, prioritizing hospitals and police stations and the stations where emergency vehicles were left to charge. America's modern, computer-controlled infrastructure would make sure that nothing too terrible happened when the clawing reach of darkness found Seattle and Portland, or when it made it as far east as Bozeman. "Look up," Brent whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he did so himself. He could feel the presence of the man in the suit coming up behind him. And there, brilliant and glorious, was the luminous wonderland of the starry s- Several stars winked out. Several more. Then dozens. Hundreds. Like a rolling blackout, a massive swath of the sky darkened, until the luminous tapestry of stars surrounded a square-sided patch of darkness that had to have dominated a tenth of the night overhead. Brent tried to say something, to ask, to shout, to beg. Nothing came as his knees weakened, making him slide towards the ground on trembling legs. Outside, the police had ceased their constant, megaphone-magnified squawking. Even they were transfixed by the sight of that illimitable blackness; ignorant as they were of what a true night should be, the wrongness of what loomed above was inescapable. "Well," the agent said with only the slightest hint of resignation in his voice, "You've gone and done it now."	A Right Kind of Light It wasn’t right, it was never right. Atop the summit’s height, my telescoped looking far beyond; the heavens before my very eyes. It wasn’t right, it’s not right! The lights, the color, the sense and the spirit they were all wrong! None could see what I see here in this putrid place, corrupted and vile they filled their homes and cities with all man’s envy for that above; they copied it, then they replaced it. Yet I’ve seen true; what wonderful things, truly wonderful, all seen serene high above. There as a boy, upon moonlight hillock far beyond civility I saw it. My dream. A dream to bring this to all who could not see, blind to that merely hidden above. I would remove the shroud, give them sight, that I intended. So I begin my final step now. To return sight to all, bring about the wonder of the universe beyond. The heavens so bright, so beautiful... The only light we’ll ever need. How I’ve strained over the years, the setting sun all that remains to fall. How I’ve anguished, suffered I spoke out, most a soul without a care or whim they could not see. They had not seen, not all that I see no… They were blind; but I will change that here tonight, show them exactly what it means to see… But not all were like them, blind and ignorant, knowing not the beauty of all that could be seen above no… There were others as me, drawn my suffering they came to my call; where there was one now there is many. But not enough, never enough… Not until they see what I see no… Not enough, not enough yet… I bring them a new realm, a god from above I take their envy and their pride and make them humble! To bow in it’s majesty, to realize just how small we truly are! From Higgins to Harry Allen, the true seeing await the dusk’s fall. Man’s envy of the light above to explode in a storm of triviality; their power’s homes to vanish in an instant. From Creech to Nellis we already control, the armament of man at our behest. The sky our own, their once jets deployed at our command, the land our own, heavy tracks and arms borne ready to protect our new realm to come. Here I stand before Hoover, the greatest instrument of their resistance secured at my whim I stand above it my eyes to the heavens. Change placed, charges set and ready spanning all man’s creations length. All I need is to hold the trigger prepared; I push us into a new age, a domain of our own. The heavens own. I press the trigger knowing that to come. To give sight to all The Meadows, the City of Sin to sin no longer; they are subject to the heavens above. And this way it will stay, man’s envy never to return this we intend, this we will see true. Or die trying, beneath the most glorious lights above. The sight of the stars I return to man at the flick of single switch. The night sky to be seen once more. So I begin at last, the final step of my journey. The starry night finally be just right.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Are uh... are 'y'all sure about that, Earnie?" The portly man asked, giving his bearded chin a scratch. If someone were to put this fellow into a category, it would most certainly be "redneck". Of course, the man did not care much for labels or titles; he was taught very well by his mother (rest her peaceful soul) that the only titles a man had were the ones god gave to you. While the chubby electrician was certainly no fool, and he had years of experience in his field (it was a family tradition to fix things that the rich folks did not know needed to work), he was a bit worried about the plausibility of this job. He'd known Earnie for years, and had a lot of respect for the man; he'd done more for his family than anyone. But this one seemed a bit off. A little dangerous. "Earnie, you can't just cut the power to the whole of San Antonio," the fat electrician chided, dabbing at his head with the strap on his overalls. "It ain't gonna happen, even for a few minutes. There's people who need the lights at night. There will be accidents. What about the hospitals..." Earnie sat up a bit and slammed his hand down on the table in front of him. "Now, old friend, you know that there is a backup in place. I've known how it works decades less than you, and even I understand that. It'll be about two minutes before the power comes back, and there are backup generators for public service. You know..." Earnie then broke into a coughing fit, but steadied himself, muttering about how the weather was awful here, before continuing, "you know that the only danger is to your pride, and that's why you are so afraid." The electrician, of course, realized that the danger was also to his job, and his family, and the rest of his existence outside of prison for manslaughter, but he said nothing. Earnie was a great friend, and he knew that. "Just this once, old chap. I'll never ask again." He realized that was probably true. ---------------------------------------------------- Our blue-collar hero set out on his certainly unheroic deed the next morning. He knew a lot of people in the business, and knew exactly who would help and who would ruin the plan, and adjusted his list of friends accordingly. He realized that Earnie would be of absolutely no help, but was pleasantly surprised when Earnie called in a few of his big-wig friends to help with the deed. They were not without challenges. At least twice, our overall-wearing friend was found tampering with important electrical equipment on the main power grid, gear far above his pay grade. However, Earnie always had a backup plan, and through extreme countersuing measures (things that went against a good-old boys values, but they had to happen) his sabotage was kept secret. A month passed, and Earnie wondered if there would even be time to finish it. Hope prevailed, however, as the chubby electrical engineer finally had re-routed, re-wired, and re-furnished his way to industrial espionage. With the flick of a giant switch, the power in the residential district of San Antonio would be dark... for a little bit. The engineer took a quick look at his handiwork. It was a little past two in the morning, one of the least active times of the day. He hoped that there would be very little trouble with traffic. He had sort of went against the plan, and kept the business district lit up. While he didn't know a lot about how light worked (despite making it for forty years) he knew that going dark would cause a lot of problems, and hopes that it wouldn't pollute the starry sky too much. He took a final glance at the switch, and gave Earnie a call. After a short bout of cursing for calling at such an hour(which he expected nowadays), Earnie finally calmed down enough to realize that the deed was to be done. "Y... y'know, it ain't the end of the world, Earnie. There's a lot of... of other options." The electrician said, his voice giving way a bit towards the end. "You've got a lot. Don't give up on it, pal." Earnie would only say, "I'm tired. Get it over with." The electrician sighed. He figured there was another reason behind this, something he was never told about. Probably tax fraud. He had a sneaking suspicion that Earnie was a criminal, but never said it out of respect. He had a lot of respect for him;he'd done more for his family than anyone else. He wanted to say goodbye before he hung up,but knew Earnie would hate it. He wasn't a very emotional man. So he just told him to enjoy the stargazing, and let him go. ---------------------------------------------------- About a kilometer across town, Earnie looked happily out his bedside window. It was still the same bland darkness he had come to expect over the years, with the same view he had known since the diagnosis, at least that's what he thought. If Earnie was a hateful man, he'd have cursed his parents genes. But he didn't remember how to hate anyways. A moment later, the neighbor lost power. He heard them yell at their late-night LAN party being suddenly cancelled. He heard a car screech to a stop outside. He saw shadows suddenly running in the street. Around him, monotone beeping slowly drones into silence, and he suddenly felt very tired as the machine helping his body survive stopped. Earnie sat up in bed, the best he could, and looked out at the sky. It took a few agonizing moments before the first star showed itself. More began to come out of their blankets, showing themselves to the world. Suddenly, a cacophony of light, an opera of beauty filled the sky, light blues and whites being connected by celestial dust. A painter wiped his brush across the sky, and made a painting just for Earnie. He could hear the excitement outside as his awful neighbors went outside and took a look at the view. It made him smile, to see the next generation interested in something, just as he was when he was young and could still live. This was how his nurse found him only a few minutes later, when his vitals signature came back on to a flat line and alerted the system. Smiling.	A Right Kind of Light It wasn’t right, it was never right. Atop the summit’s height, my telescoped looking far beyond; the heavens before my very eyes. It wasn’t right, it’s not right! The lights, the color, the sense and the spirit they were all wrong! None could see what I see here in this putrid place, corrupted and vile they filled their homes and cities with all man’s envy for that above; they copied it, then they replaced it. Yet I’ve seen true; what wonderful things, truly wonderful, all seen serene high above. There as a boy, upon moonlight hillock far beyond civility I saw it. My dream. A dream to bring this to all who could not see, blind to that merely hidden above. I would remove the shroud, give them sight, that I intended. So I begin my final step now. To return sight to all, bring about the wonder of the universe beyond. The heavens so bright, so beautiful... The only light we’ll ever need. How I’ve strained over the years, the setting sun all that remains to fall. How I’ve anguished, suffered I spoke out, most a soul without a care or whim they could not see. They had not seen, not all that I see no… They were blind; but I will change that here tonight, show them exactly what it means to see… But not all were like them, blind and ignorant, knowing not the beauty of all that could be seen above no… There were others as me, drawn my suffering they came to my call; where there was one now there is many. But not enough, never enough… Not until they see what I see no… Not enough, not enough yet… I bring them a new realm, a god from above I take their envy and their pride and make them humble! To bow in it’s majesty, to realize just how small we truly are! From Higgins to Harry Allen, the true seeing await the dusk’s fall. Man’s envy of the light above to explode in a storm of triviality; their power’s homes to vanish in an instant. From Creech to Nellis we already control, the armament of man at our behest. The sky our own, their once jets deployed at our command, the land our own, heavy tracks and arms borne ready to protect our new realm to come. Here I stand before Hoover, the greatest instrument of their resistance secured at my whim I stand above it my eyes to the heavens. Change placed, charges set and ready spanning all man’s creations length. All I need is to hold the trigger prepared; I push us into a new age, a domain of our own. The heavens own. I press the trigger knowing that to come. To give sight to all The Meadows, the City of Sin to sin no longer; they are subject to the heavens above. And this way it will stay, man’s envy never to return this we intend, this we will see true. Or die trying, beneath the most glorious lights above. The sight of the stars I return to man at the flick of single switch. The night sky to be seen once more. So I begin at last, the final step of my journey. The starry night finally be just right.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Power's out." My father struck a match and lit another candle as he said this to me, as if I somehow wasn't aware already. I sighed. “Yeah, dad, I know.” He dragged a wicker chair across the porch and sat down next to me. “They say some fella in Columbus did it. Something about seeing stars. I'd like to make him see stars, I've got meat thawing in the freezer because of him.” “I know, dad.” We sat together on the porch in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “I get it, though. It's nice to see the stars. Shame it's about to fuckin' rain for two weeks straight.” “I know, dad.” We looked up into the sky together, and saw nothing but the rain rolling over our awning. Inside our increasingly warm freezers, the meat continued to thaw.	A Right Kind of Light It wasn’t right, it was never right. Atop the summit’s height, my telescoped looking far beyond; the heavens before my very eyes. It wasn’t right, it’s not right! The lights, the color, the sense and the spirit they were all wrong! None could see what I see here in this putrid place, corrupted and vile they filled their homes and cities with all man’s envy for that above; they copied it, then they replaced it. Yet I’ve seen true; what wonderful things, truly wonderful, all seen serene high above. There as a boy, upon moonlight hillock far beyond civility I saw it. My dream. A dream to bring this to all who could not see, blind to that merely hidden above. I would remove the shroud, give them sight, that I intended. So I begin my final step now. To return sight to all, bring about the wonder of the universe beyond. The heavens so bright, so beautiful... The only light we’ll ever need. How I’ve strained over the years, the setting sun all that remains to fall. How I’ve anguished, suffered I spoke out, most a soul without a care or whim they could not see. They had not seen, not all that I see no… They were blind; but I will change that here tonight, show them exactly what it means to see… But not all were like them, blind and ignorant, knowing not the beauty of all that could be seen above no… There were others as me, drawn my suffering they came to my call; where there was one now there is many. But not enough, never enough… Not until they see what I see no… Not enough, not enough yet… I bring them a new realm, a god from above I take their envy and their pride and make them humble! To bow in it’s majesty, to realize just how small we truly are! From Higgins to Harry Allen, the true seeing await the dusk’s fall. Man’s envy of the light above to explode in a storm of triviality; their power’s homes to vanish in an instant. From Creech to Nellis we already control, the armament of man at our behest. The sky our own, their once jets deployed at our command, the land our own, heavy tracks and arms borne ready to protect our new realm to come. Here I stand before Hoover, the greatest instrument of their resistance secured at my whim I stand above it my eyes to the heavens. Change placed, charges set and ready spanning all man’s creations length. All I need is to hold the trigger prepared; I push us into a new age, a domain of our own. The heavens own. I press the trigger knowing that to come. To give sight to all The Meadows, the City of Sin to sin no longer; they are subject to the heavens above. And this way it will stay, man’s envy never to return this we intend, this we will see true. Or die trying, beneath the most glorious lights above. The sight of the stars I return to man at the flick of single switch. The night sky to be seen once more. So I begin at last, the final step of my journey. The starry night finally be just right.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	A Right Kind of Light It wasn’t right, it was never right. Atop the summit’s height, my telescoped looking far beyond; the heavens before my very eyes. It wasn’t right, it’s not right! The lights, the color, the sense and the spirit they were all wrong! None could see what I see here in this putrid place, corrupted and vile they filled their homes and cities with all man’s envy for that above; they copied it, then they replaced it. Yet I’ve seen true; what wonderful things, truly wonderful, all seen serene high above. There as a boy, upon moonlight hillock far beyond civility I saw it. My dream. A dream to bring this to all who could not see, blind to that merely hidden above. I would remove the shroud, give them sight, that I intended. So I begin my final step now. To return sight to all, bring about the wonder of the universe beyond. The heavens so bright, so beautiful... The only light we’ll ever need. How I’ve strained over the years, the setting sun all that remains to fall. How I’ve anguished, suffered I spoke out, most a soul without a care or whim they could not see. They had not seen, not all that I see no… They were blind; but I will change that here tonight, show them exactly what it means to see… But not all were like them, blind and ignorant, knowing not the beauty of all that could be seen above no… There were others as me, drawn my suffering they came to my call; where there was one now there is many. But not enough, never enough… Not until they see what I see no… Not enough, not enough yet… I bring them a new realm, a god from above I take their envy and their pride and make them humble! To bow in it’s majesty, to realize just how small we truly are! From Higgins to Harry Allen, the true seeing await the dusk’s fall. Man’s envy of the light above to explode in a storm of triviality; their power’s homes to vanish in an instant. From Creech to Nellis we already control, the armament of man at our behest. The sky our own, their once jets deployed at our command, the land our own, heavy tracks and arms borne ready to protect our new realm to come. Here I stand before Hoover, the greatest instrument of their resistance secured at my whim I stand above it my eyes to the heavens. Change placed, charges set and ready spanning all man’s creations length. All I need is to hold the trigger prepared; I push us into a new age, a domain of our own. The heavens own. I press the trigger knowing that to come. To give sight to all The Meadows, the City of Sin to sin no longer; they are subject to the heavens above. And this way it will stay, man’s envy never to return this we intend, this we will see true. Or die trying, beneath the most glorious lights above. The sight of the stars I return to man at the flick of single switch. The night sky to be seen once more. So I begin at last, the final step of my journey. The starry night finally be just right.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	You didn't know what happened the night before. You had gone to bed earlier for some reason. Maybe you just had a long day and decided to turn in early, or maybe you had to go somewhere early the next morning. Once you've gotten your breakfast together, you decide to check out the news. Your TV comes on and you tune into the news station. A male anchor is on screen, speaking to the camera. "...Local astronomer Michael Carter was found dead this morning. Police say that he was definitely responsible for last night's state wide outage. Bill Mathers now joins us live from where police found Michael, what's going on there Bill?" There's a brief delay as the camera switches over to the reporter. "...Well Jim, we are here just outside of Michael's house-" The camera pans over to a small suburban home. It looks fairly normal with it's beige exterior paint and white framed windows. Caution tape was over the front door and showed a police offer walking into the darkened hallway. "Where the late astronomer was found dead this morning. Police have stated that this may be suicide by overdose. They found no external trauma, but they are not ruling anything out just yet." The screen showed the anchor and reporter side by side now. The anchor, Jim, spoke, "Is it true that Michael may have been responsible for last nights state wide power outage?" "..Yes Jim, police are saying that security footage from one of the main station shows Michael breaking into it. Police are currently unsure of how Michael managed to shut all the power down, even just for 10-15 minutes last night, for the whole state. That is still under investigation. Back to you in the studio." The screen switched to only be the anchor now. "Thanks Bill. Presid-" The anchor was cut off as someone handed him a paper from off screen. "Ladies and gentlemen pardon the.. interruption, I've just been handed an urgent bulletin. Several other people, all possibly in connection to the Michael Mathers case have also been found dead in their home in the same circumstance." He looked to the side, before nodding slightly and turning back to the paper. "It appears that each person was found in the same state, with phrases written around them. Phrases such as 'We saw', 'The lights protect us', and 'The Xanthous One rises.' The crime scenes are also being described as cult like. With attempts at some sort of ritual or worship having taken place in the room. While it appears that no one but those who have passed away where involved, police are not ruling out foul play just yet." ... "Police are stating that there may still be more people to be found in such a state. If anyone you know is missing or acting in an unusual manner, they are urging you to reach out to emergency services for help."	Succeeding in his mission, he basks in the glory of the stars and the space beyond. Unbeknownst to him, the hospital fails to provide power for those in intensive care. Over 1500 patients die from several state hospitals. The good will astronomer is apprehended and charged with over 1500 murders, is found guilty and executed by lethal injection. Fuck the stars.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	Haven't written in a while, but I miss it. So i figured I would finally try my hand at my first writing prompt. Please let me know what you think, and suggestions on how to improve. We weren’t give much information on who we were after. Intel was pretty light, as our target had opted to stay off the grid for the better part of a year now. There were two small buildings that needed to be cleared before we could enter the main part of the plant, which is most likely where our target would be. As I glanced over the briefing one last time before we made our way in, I reminded myself of what we were getting ourselves into. Intelligent, mentally unstable, and a threat to society. Just another day in the office. I grabbed my M4 from the back of the van, and ran my hand over the pistol that adhered itself to my side. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to use either of these. But I was ready. Just in case. The door opened without a sound. I made my way in followed closely by the rest of my team. We were swift, and silent. Mere whispers alongside the loud hum emulating from the control room. The rooms were pitch black. Lit only by the flashlights from our scopes. “Room 1 clear.” “Room 2 clear.” We quickly made our way to the second building. The door was open, and this time the interior was dimly lit by a single lamp in the middle. Drawings and maps littered the walls. Paintings of the North Star and what looked like every planet in our solar system littered the room. Definitely not what I was expecting. I cautiously entered the room. As we progressed through the desks and warn down office cubicles, the drawings began to multiply. There were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. We didn’t really have time to count them. I continued making my way through the mess when something stopped me. A simple painting seemingly like the rest. But this one was different. It was. Me? “Boss, take a look at this.” I walked over to the area of interest and noticed that there were paintings of all 4 of us scattered among the ground. There were even paintings of us entering the very complex we now stood in. What is this? “Let’s keep moving.” I said, unsure of the words as they came out. We made our way outside and moved cautiously. An elderly man was sitting down about half way down the grid. Interesting. He made no signal of noticing us, so we continued to move closer to him. When we were a mere 10 paces away, his eyes opened. “Welcome my friends, we can begin.” He pressed a button on what looked like a remote, dropped it and rose to his knees with his hands behind his back. The humming of the grid was replaced by complete silence. No one moved. For what now littered the night sky we hadn't seen in years. Stars.	Succeeding in his mission, he basks in the glory of the stars and the space beyond. Unbeknownst to him, the hospital fails to provide power for those in intensive care. Over 1500 patients die from several state hospitals. The good will astronomer is apprehended and charged with over 1500 murders, is found guilty and executed by lethal injection. Fuck the stars.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	Brent stood there, trembling, on the edge of wetting his pants. He was terrified and tired and so very, very stupid, he thought. What had he been thinking? He had never even held a gun before, but now he had it trained onto the three terrified men who sat before him in worn-out overalls and hardhats. And the one calm man in a business suit, a badge clipped to his lapel that displayed some alphabet soup of an agency's name on it; not EPA and not FBI, so it was one Brent had never heard of. "You're being unreasonable, Mr. Haywood," the man said in a voice calculated to relax. It was like a fingernail scraped up the back of his spine. "You can still get out of this with only a little jail time, and you can be back to your old life before you even realize it. Maybe you can get a book deal out of this, and, five years from now, you'll laugh about it all with your friends." The doctors had given Brent two months. That was a month ago, and he could feel the cancer eating away at him, the same way it had eaten his mother in his last year of grad school. She had died, withered and pitiful, and he had resolved not to go out the same as her. "It's a gift," He said--begged--hoping that the men would understand. "Just for a bit. A few minutes. Long enough for people to know." "But everyone needs this power, Mr. Haywood," the man continued, pouring words out with a calm that wore away at the hard edges of Brent's fear. He hadn't thought it would be this difficult when he started planning; it had never occurred to him, as he poured over hundreds of pages of documentation about how the Grand Coulee plant had replaced 98% of its staff with automated systems. Even when he had snuck onto the property three hours ago, the terror had only just started to grow. But now, everything was covered in a white haze of all-consuming dread, and the only anchor he had in all of that was that last image of his mother's shriveled, cancer-eaten husk while the hospital's machine screamed its flatline drone and a single sob tore itself from his father's throat as the long year of suffering was finally capped by the indignity of death. "Press. The. Button." The words came out of Brent like sobs of his own now, the gun shaky in his hand, but the distance close enough that a trigger pull would certainly end in a corpse. Not that he would pull the trigger; he wasn't even sure the safety on the pistol was off. He could never bring himself to kill a man right in front of him. Brent maintained no illusions of his own willingness, even at this desperate moment. His mother's love of the night sky had been what guided Brent to his chosen career, away from the lights that had distracted his peers. Screens held little interest to him when compared to the vastness of the starscape that he had learned while camping in the ever-shrinking wilderness of America. All he wanted was to share that wonder--to share his mother's passion--with the population of the Pacific Northwest. One of the men reached out slowly, finger hovering. They had stalled as long as they could while disabling the safety functions, until the man in the suit had shown up, heralded by the whirring blades of a helicopter and the police booming at him through bullhorns. The man had approached, showing no fear of Brent's gun, and tried to talk him down. But you can't talk down a dead man. The hum of the generators slowed, leaving an aching silence in the white noise that Brent had stopped noticing, conspicuous now only in its absence. The sluice gates began to shut on the great dam; it would take the better part of a quarter-hour to safely reopen them, even if they started immediately. Not that it mattered. The gun clattered to the floor, the three workers flinching away from it, but Brent was already sprinting, running, panting with an exhausted, near-sexual release as the tension flooded out of him. He half-slammed into the plexiglass window that comprised the office's western wall, face smashed up against it as he strained his eyes skyward. Even now, the lights in Grand Coulee and Electric City were blinking out, and soon the lights of Brewster and Ellensberg and Hood River would join them. A sweeping wave of darkness as the grid struggled at the sudden drought of power, automated systems rerouting what little energy was still limping into the grid, prioritizing hospitals and police stations and the stations where emergency vehicles were left to charge. America's modern, computer-controlled infrastructure would make sure that nothing too terrible happened when the clawing reach of darkness found Seattle and Portland, or when it made it as far east as Bozeman. "Look up," Brent whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he did so himself. He could feel the presence of the man in the suit coming up behind him. And there, brilliant and glorious, was the luminous wonderland of the starry s- Several stars winked out. Several more. Then dozens. Hundreds. Like a rolling blackout, a massive swath of the sky darkened, until the luminous tapestry of stars surrounded a square-sided patch of darkness that had to have dominated a tenth of the night overhead. Brent tried to say something, to ask, to shout, to beg. Nothing came as his knees weakened, making him slide towards the ground on trembling legs. Outside, the police had ceased their constant, megaphone-magnified squawking. Even they were transfixed by the sight of that illimitable blackness; ignorant as they were of what a true night should be, the wrongness of what loomed above was inescapable. "Well," the agent said with only the slightest hint of resignation in his voice, "You've gone and done it now."	Succeeding in his mission, he basks in the glory of the stars and the space beyond. Unbeknownst to him, the hospital fails to provide power for those in intensive care. Over 1500 patients die from several state hospitals. The good will astronomer is apprehended and charged with over 1500 murders, is found guilty and executed by lethal injection. Fuck the stars.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	Succeeding in his mission, he basks in the glory of the stars and the space beyond. Unbeknownst to him, the hospital fails to provide power for those in intensive care. Over 1500 patients die from several state hospitals. The good will astronomer is apprehended and charged with over 1500 murders, is found guilty and executed by lethal injection. Fuck the stars.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	You didn't know what happened the night before. You had gone to bed earlier for some reason. Maybe you just had a long day and decided to turn in early, or maybe you had to go somewhere early the next morning. Once you've gotten your breakfast together, you decide to check out the news. Your TV comes on and you tune into the news station. A male anchor is on screen, speaking to the camera. "...Local astronomer Michael Carter was found dead this morning. Police say that he was definitely responsible for last night's state wide outage. Bill Mathers now joins us live from where police found Michael, what's going on there Bill?" There's a brief delay as the camera switches over to the reporter. "...Well Jim, we are here just outside of Michael's house-" The camera pans over to a small suburban home. It looks fairly normal with it's beige exterior paint and white framed windows. Caution tape was over the front door and showed a police offer walking into the darkened hallway. "Where the late astronomer was found dead this morning. Police have stated that this may be suicide by overdose. They found no external trauma, but they are not ruling anything out just yet." The screen showed the anchor and reporter side by side now. The anchor, Jim, spoke, "Is it true that Michael may have been responsible for last nights state wide power outage?" "..Yes Jim, police are saying that security footage from one of the main station shows Michael breaking into it. Police are currently unsure of how Michael managed to shut all the power down, even just for 10-15 minutes last night, for the whole state. That is still under investigation. Back to you in the studio." The screen switched to only be the anchor now. "Thanks Bill. Presid-" The anchor was cut off as someone handed him a paper from off screen. "Ladies and gentlemen pardon the.. interruption, I've just been handed an urgent bulletin. Several other people, all possibly in connection to the Michael Mathers case have also been found dead in their home in the same circumstance." He looked to the side, before nodding slightly and turning back to the paper. "It appears that each person was found in the same state, with phrases written around them. Phrases such as 'We saw', 'The lights protect us', and 'The Xanthous One rises.' The crime scenes are also being described as cult like. With attempts at some sort of ritual or worship having taken place in the room. While it appears that no one but those who have passed away where involved, police are not ruling out foul play just yet." ... "Police are stating that there may still be more people to be found in such a state. If anyone you know is missing or acting in an unusual manner, they are urging you to reach out to emergency services for help."	I did the calculations. Lots of math, lots of weather-watching, and lots of not-particularly-legal blueprint-searching. I'd spent years - no, decades, now - searching for the perfect moment, the perfect timing for everything to come together in one grand display. And that moment was now. Well, not now now. Thursday, two and a half days from now. I had plenty of time to prepare. I grabbed my coveralls, slipped on a fake name badge, and climbed into the utility truck I had, uh, acquired. As I drove, I thought over my plan... As civilization had expanded, so had their need for power. First it was power stations for cities, then for counties, then whole states. Now, the whole grid was linked. And if you screwed up a station here and a station there, you could start a whole chain reaction. This station goes down, so that station takes over, but it can't handle the sudden load, so it goes down too. If you take 'em out in the right order, they don't even have time to signal the other stations. Better yet, some of the stations overcompensate; they ramp up power, then have no place to dump it, and end up taking out other power stations. It's like a complicated ballet, only the dancers are caring handguns and C4. Lots of C4. Did I mention I may also have planted some devices of specific destruction? So yeah. I'm going to turn the stars back on. The sky is like a one-way mirror; it lets light through, but if you have too much light on your side, it looks like it just reflects it all. These days, all the fancy city lights drown out the stars. I haven't seen stars since I was a kid, and that wasn't any time recent. But kids these days... they're going to get a treat. --- Two days of prep. I didn't even need half of that; I was ready to go. Today, it was clear over 90% of the country. Perfect star watching weather. I sat back in my truck, just another guy in coveralls, and pushed the button. Click. Such a small noise, and yet... The Main Street Station went first, just so I could see the other lights going out. I watched as a tidal wave of darkness spread out over the city; occasionally, lights would flare back up, then go dark as their backup generators went offline again. They'll figure out it was a virus in a couple days. Probably. For a moment, I smiled into the darkness, then closed my eyes and tilted up my head. The first view of stars people hadn't seen in half a century... I sighed, happily, as I let my eyes drift open... The stars glimmered in the darkness. There was... uh... hmm. I searched for familiar stars, but came up empty; I couldn't even find the Big Dipper! Confused, I craned my neck; where was the silvery band of the Milky Way? The familiar figures of the zodiac? What... what was going on? The stars were wrong. The stars... Where am I?
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	You didn't know what happened the night before. You had gone to bed earlier for some reason. Maybe you just had a long day and decided to turn in early, or maybe you had to go somewhere early the next morning. Once you've gotten your breakfast together, you decide to check out the news. Your TV comes on and you tune into the news station. A male anchor is on screen, speaking to the camera. "...Local astronomer Michael Carter was found dead this morning. Police say that he was definitely responsible for last night's state wide outage. Bill Mathers now joins us live from where police found Michael, what's going on there Bill?" There's a brief delay as the camera switches over to the reporter. "...Well Jim, we are here just outside of Michael's house-" The camera pans over to a small suburban home. It looks fairly normal with it's beige exterior paint and white framed windows. Caution tape was over the front door and showed a police offer walking into the darkened hallway. "Where the late astronomer was found dead this morning. Police have stated that this may be suicide by overdose. They found no external trauma, but they are not ruling anything out just yet." The screen showed the anchor and reporter side by side now. The anchor, Jim, spoke, "Is it true that Michael may have been responsible for last nights state wide power outage?" "..Yes Jim, police are saying that security footage from one of the main station shows Michael breaking into it. Police are currently unsure of how Michael managed to shut all the power down, even just for 10-15 minutes last night, for the whole state. That is still under investigation. Back to you in the studio." The screen switched to only be the anchor now. "Thanks Bill. Presid-" The anchor was cut off as someone handed him a paper from off screen. "Ladies and gentlemen pardon the.. interruption, I've just been handed an urgent bulletin. Several other people, all possibly in connection to the Michael Mathers case have also been found dead in their home in the same circumstance." He looked to the side, before nodding slightly and turning back to the paper. "It appears that each person was found in the same state, with phrases written around them. Phrases such as 'We saw', 'The lights protect us', and 'The Xanthous One rises.' The crime scenes are also being described as cult like. With attempts at some sort of ritual or worship having taken place in the room. While it appears that no one but those who have passed away where involved, police are not ruling out foul play just yet." ... "Police are stating that there may still be more people to be found in such a state. If anyone you know is missing or acting in an unusual manner, they are urging you to reach out to emergency services for help."	"So wait, all we have to do is screw with the state estimator a little bit, and the entire northeast will go down?" "Totally! They'll never even know. They'll blame it on a race condition or something" "Maybe we'll even see the northern lights... I've never seen the northern lights." "This is august - you know that's wishful thinking. But maybe my kids will get to see the Milky Way over the house. I remember seeing that when I was a kid. It seemed like the world and the sky and everything was connected. Space didn't seem so far away anymore. You don't get that kind of connection under a streetlight." [True](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northeast_blackout_of_2003) [Story](https://www.reddit.com/r/space/comments/4he2rf/picture_from_the_suburbs_in_toronto_canada_during/)
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	As soon as his plan to shutdown the grid suceeded, the astronomer ran outside, just in time to see lights coming back on from backup generators. People coming out of their houses shining flash lights and smartphones to see what is going on. People turned on their car headlights to light the streets back up. As briefly as they appeared, the stars faded out again. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo" shouted the mad astronomer.	"So wait, all we have to do is screw with the state estimator a little bit, and the entire northeast will go down?" "Totally! They'll never even know. They'll blame it on a race condition or something" "Maybe we'll even see the northern lights... I've never seen the northern lights." "This is august - you know that's wishful thinking. But maybe my kids will get to see the Milky Way over the house. I remember seeing that when I was a kid. It seemed like the world and the sky and everything was connected. Space didn't seem so far away anymore. You don't get that kind of connection under a streetlight." [True](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northeast_blackout_of_2003) [Story](https://www.reddit.com/r/space/comments/4he2rf/picture_from_the_suburbs_in_toronto_canada_during/)
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	Haven't written in a while, but I miss it. So i figured I would finally try my hand at my first writing prompt. Please let me know what you think, and suggestions on how to improve. We weren’t give much information on who we were after. Intel was pretty light, as our target had opted to stay off the grid for the better part of a year now. There were two small buildings that needed to be cleared before we could enter the main part of the plant, which is most likely where our target would be. As I glanced over the briefing one last time before we made our way in, I reminded myself of what we were getting ourselves into. Intelligent, mentally unstable, and a threat to society. Just another day in the office. I grabbed my M4 from the back of the van, and ran my hand over the pistol that adhered itself to my side. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to use either of these. But I was ready. Just in case. The door opened without a sound. I made my way in followed closely by the rest of my team. We were swift, and silent. Mere whispers alongside the loud hum emulating from the control room. The rooms were pitch black. Lit only by the flashlights from our scopes. “Room 1 clear.” “Room 2 clear.” We quickly made our way to the second building. The door was open, and this time the interior was dimly lit by a single lamp in the middle. Drawings and maps littered the walls. Paintings of the North Star and what looked like every planet in our solar system littered the room. Definitely not what I was expecting. I cautiously entered the room. As we progressed through the desks and warn down office cubicles, the drawings began to multiply. There were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. We didn’t really have time to count them. I continued making my way through the mess when something stopped me. A simple painting seemingly like the rest. But this one was different. It was. Me? “Boss, take a look at this.” I walked over to the area of interest and noticed that there were paintings of all 4 of us scattered among the ground. There were even paintings of us entering the very complex we now stood in. What is this? “Let’s keep moving.” I said, unsure of the words as they came out. We made our way outside and moved cautiously. An elderly man was sitting down about half way down the grid. Interesting. He made no signal of noticing us, so we continued to move closer to him. When we were a mere 10 paces away, his eyes opened. “Welcome my friends, we can begin.” He pressed a button on what looked like a remote, dropped it and rose to his knees with his hands behind his back. The humming of the grid was replaced by complete silence. No one moved. For what now littered the night sky we hadn't seen in years. Stars.	"So wait, all we have to do is screw with the state estimator a little bit, and the entire northeast will go down?" "Totally! They'll never even know. They'll blame it on a race condition or something" "Maybe we'll even see the northern lights... I've never seen the northern lights." "This is august - you know that's wishful thinking. But maybe my kids will get to see the Milky Way over the house. I remember seeing that when I was a kid. It seemed like the world and the sky and everything was connected. Space didn't seem so far away anymore. You don't get that kind of connection under a streetlight." [True](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northeast_blackout_of_2003) [Story](https://www.reddit.com/r/space/comments/4he2rf/picture_from_the_suburbs_in_toronto_canada_during/)
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	Brent stood there, trembling, on the edge of wetting his pants. He was terrified and tired and so very, very stupid, he thought. What had he been thinking? He had never even held a gun before, but now he had it trained onto the three terrified men who sat before him in worn-out overalls and hardhats. And the one calm man in a business suit, a badge clipped to his lapel that displayed some alphabet soup of an agency's name on it; not EPA and not FBI, so it was one Brent had never heard of. "You're being unreasonable, Mr. Haywood," the man said in a voice calculated to relax. It was like a fingernail scraped up the back of his spine. "You can still get out of this with only a little jail time, and you can be back to your old life before you even realize it. Maybe you can get a book deal out of this, and, five years from now, you'll laugh about it all with your friends." The doctors had given Brent two months. That was a month ago, and he could feel the cancer eating away at him, the same way it had eaten his mother in his last year of grad school. She had died, withered and pitiful, and he had resolved not to go out the same as her. "It's a gift," He said--begged--hoping that the men would understand. "Just for a bit. A few minutes. Long enough for people to know." "But everyone needs this power, Mr. Haywood," the man continued, pouring words out with a calm that wore away at the hard edges of Brent's fear. He hadn't thought it would be this difficult when he started planning; it had never occurred to him, as he poured over hundreds of pages of documentation about how the Grand Coulee plant had replaced 98% of its staff with automated systems. Even when he had snuck onto the property three hours ago, the terror had only just started to grow. But now, everything was covered in a white haze of all-consuming dread, and the only anchor he had in all of that was that last image of his mother's shriveled, cancer-eaten husk while the hospital's machine screamed its flatline drone and a single sob tore itself from his father's throat as the long year of suffering was finally capped by the indignity of death. "Press. The. Button." The words came out of Brent like sobs of his own now, the gun shaky in his hand, but the distance close enough that a trigger pull would certainly end in a corpse. Not that he would pull the trigger; he wasn't even sure the safety on the pistol was off. He could never bring himself to kill a man right in front of him. Brent maintained no illusions of his own willingness, even at this desperate moment. His mother's love of the night sky had been what guided Brent to his chosen career, away from the lights that had distracted his peers. Screens held little interest to him when compared to the vastness of the starscape that he had learned while camping in the ever-shrinking wilderness of America. All he wanted was to share that wonder--to share his mother's passion--with the population of the Pacific Northwest. One of the men reached out slowly, finger hovering. They had stalled as long as they could while disabling the safety functions, until the man in the suit had shown up, heralded by the whirring blades of a helicopter and the police booming at him through bullhorns. The man had approached, showing no fear of Brent's gun, and tried to talk him down. But you can't talk down a dead man. The hum of the generators slowed, leaving an aching silence in the white noise that Brent had stopped noticing, conspicuous now only in its absence. The sluice gates began to shut on the great dam; it would take the better part of a quarter-hour to safely reopen them, even if they started immediately. Not that it mattered. The gun clattered to the floor, the three workers flinching away from it, but Brent was already sprinting, running, panting with an exhausted, near-sexual release as the tension flooded out of him. He half-slammed into the plexiglass window that comprised the office's western wall, face smashed up against it as he strained his eyes skyward. Even now, the lights in Grand Coulee and Electric City were blinking out, and soon the lights of Brewster and Ellensberg and Hood River would join them. A sweeping wave of darkness as the grid struggled at the sudden drought of power, automated systems rerouting what little energy was still limping into the grid, prioritizing hospitals and police stations and the stations where emergency vehicles were left to charge. America's modern, computer-controlled infrastructure would make sure that nothing too terrible happened when the clawing reach of darkness found Seattle and Portland, or when it made it as far east as Bozeman. "Look up," Brent whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he did so himself. He could feel the presence of the man in the suit coming up behind him. And there, brilliant and glorious, was the luminous wonderland of the starry s- Several stars winked out. Several more. Then dozens. Hundreds. Like a rolling blackout, a massive swath of the sky darkened, until the luminous tapestry of stars surrounded a square-sided patch of darkness that had to have dominated a tenth of the night overhead. Brent tried to say something, to ask, to shout, to beg. Nothing came as his knees weakened, making him slide towards the ground on trembling legs. Outside, the police had ceased their constant, megaphone-magnified squawking. Even they were transfixed by the sight of that illimitable blackness; ignorant as they were of what a true night should be, the wrongness of what loomed above was inescapable. "Well," the agent said with only the slightest hint of resignation in his voice, "You've gone and done it now."	"So wait, all we have to do is screw with the state estimator a little bit, and the entire northeast will go down?" "Totally! They'll never even know. They'll blame it on a race condition or something" "Maybe we'll even see the northern lights... I've never seen the northern lights." "This is august - you know that's wishful thinking. But maybe my kids will get to see the Milky Way over the house. I remember seeing that when I was a kid. It seemed like the world and the sky and everything was connected. Space didn't seem so far away anymore. You don't get that kind of connection under a streetlight." [True](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northeast_blackout_of_2003) [Story](https://www.reddit.com/r/space/comments/4he2rf/picture_from_the_suburbs_in_toronto_canada_during/)
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	"So wait, all we have to do is screw with the state estimator a little bit, and the entire northeast will go down?" "Totally! They'll never even know. They'll blame it on a race condition or something" "Maybe we'll even see the northern lights... I've never seen the northern lights." "This is august - you know that's wishful thinking. But maybe my kids will get to see the Milky Way over the house. I remember seeing that when I was a kid. It seemed like the world and the sky and everything was connected. Space didn't seem so far away anymore. You don't get that kind of connection under a streetlight." [True](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northeast_blackout_of_2003) [Story](https://www.reddit.com/r/space/comments/4he2rf/picture_from_the_suburbs_in_toronto_canada_during/)
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	As soon as his plan to shutdown the grid suceeded, the astronomer ran outside, just in time to see lights coming back on from backup generators. People coming out of their houses shining flash lights and smartphones to see what is going on. People turned on their car headlights to light the streets back up. As briefly as they appeared, the stars faded out again. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo" shouted the mad astronomer.	This will probably get buried, I have been trying to get help for a few days. You see, when Josh shut down the power grid, I was responsible for bringing it back online. With all the redundancy in the system I was able to restore the power within a few minutes; it's possible that nobody even experienced a power drop. I had seen this kind of problem before and there was no reason at the time to suspect sabotage. Now it is all too clear how wrong I was; Josh came looking for me shortly after, and he put me here. There is no light pollution here at all, unless you count the trillions of stars which further envelop me as my eyes continue to adapt to the almost absolute darkness.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	Haven't written in a while, but I miss it. So i figured I would finally try my hand at my first writing prompt. Please let me know what you think, and suggestions on how to improve. We weren’t give much information on who we were after. Intel was pretty light, as our target had opted to stay off the grid for the better part of a year now. There were two small buildings that needed to be cleared before we could enter the main part of the plant, which is most likely where our target would be. As I glanced over the briefing one last time before we made our way in, I reminded myself of what we were getting ourselves into. Intelligent, mentally unstable, and a threat to society. Just another day in the office. I grabbed my M4 from the back of the van, and ran my hand over the pistol that adhered itself to my side. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to use either of these. But I was ready. Just in case. The door opened without a sound. I made my way in followed closely by the rest of my team. We were swift, and silent. Mere whispers alongside the loud hum emulating from the control room. The rooms were pitch black. Lit only by the flashlights from our scopes. “Room 1 clear.” “Room 2 clear.” We quickly made our way to the second building. The door was open, and this time the interior was dimly lit by a single lamp in the middle. Drawings and maps littered the walls. Paintings of the North Star and what looked like every planet in our solar system littered the room. Definitely not what I was expecting. I cautiously entered the room. As we progressed through the desks and warn down office cubicles, the drawings began to multiply. There were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. We didn’t really have time to count them. I continued making my way through the mess when something stopped me. A simple painting seemingly like the rest. But this one was different. It was. Me? “Boss, take a look at this.” I walked over to the area of interest and noticed that there were paintings of all 4 of us scattered among the ground. There were even paintings of us entering the very complex we now stood in. What is this? “Let’s keep moving.” I said, unsure of the words as they came out. We made our way outside and moved cautiously. An elderly man was sitting down about half way down the grid. Interesting. He made no signal of noticing us, so we continued to move closer to him. When we were a mere 10 paces away, his eyes opened. “Welcome my friends, we can begin.” He pressed a button on what looked like a remote, dropped it and rose to his knees with his hands behind his back. The humming of the grid was replaced by complete silence. No one moved. For what now littered the night sky we hadn't seen in years. Stars.	This will probably get buried, I have been trying to get help for a few days. You see, when Josh shut down the power grid, I was responsible for bringing it back online. With all the redundancy in the system I was able to restore the power within a few minutes; it's possible that nobody even experienced a power drop. I had seen this kind of problem before and there was no reason at the time to suspect sabotage. Now it is all too clear how wrong I was; Josh came looking for me shortly after, and he put me here. There is no light pollution here at all, unless you count the trillions of stars which further envelop me as my eyes continue to adapt to the almost absolute darkness.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	Brent stood there, trembling, on the edge of wetting his pants. He was terrified and tired and so very, very stupid, he thought. What had he been thinking? He had never even held a gun before, but now he had it trained onto the three terrified men who sat before him in worn-out overalls and hardhats. And the one calm man in a business suit, a badge clipped to his lapel that displayed some alphabet soup of an agency's name on it; not EPA and not FBI, so it was one Brent had never heard of. "You're being unreasonable, Mr. Haywood," the man said in a voice calculated to relax. It was like a fingernail scraped up the back of his spine. "You can still get out of this with only a little jail time, and you can be back to your old life before you even realize it. Maybe you can get a book deal out of this, and, five years from now, you'll laugh about it all with your friends." The doctors had given Brent two months. That was a month ago, and he could feel the cancer eating away at him, the same way it had eaten his mother in his last year of grad school. She had died, withered and pitiful, and he had resolved not to go out the same as her. "It's a gift," He said--begged--hoping that the men would understand. "Just for a bit. A few minutes. Long enough for people to know." "But everyone needs this power, Mr. Haywood," the man continued, pouring words out with a calm that wore away at the hard edges of Brent's fear. He hadn't thought it would be this difficult when he started planning; it had never occurred to him, as he poured over hundreds of pages of documentation about how the Grand Coulee plant had replaced 98% of its staff with automated systems. Even when he had snuck onto the property three hours ago, the terror had only just started to grow. But now, everything was covered in a white haze of all-consuming dread, and the only anchor he had in all of that was that last image of his mother's shriveled, cancer-eaten husk while the hospital's machine screamed its flatline drone and a single sob tore itself from his father's throat as the long year of suffering was finally capped by the indignity of death. "Press. The. Button." The words came out of Brent like sobs of his own now, the gun shaky in his hand, but the distance close enough that a trigger pull would certainly end in a corpse. Not that he would pull the trigger; he wasn't even sure the safety on the pistol was off. He could never bring himself to kill a man right in front of him. Brent maintained no illusions of his own willingness, even at this desperate moment. His mother's love of the night sky had been what guided Brent to his chosen career, away from the lights that had distracted his peers. Screens held little interest to him when compared to the vastness of the starscape that he had learned while camping in the ever-shrinking wilderness of America. All he wanted was to share that wonder--to share his mother's passion--with the population of the Pacific Northwest. One of the men reached out slowly, finger hovering. They had stalled as long as they could while disabling the safety functions, until the man in the suit had shown up, heralded by the whirring blades of a helicopter and the police booming at him through bullhorns. The man had approached, showing no fear of Brent's gun, and tried to talk him down. But you can't talk down a dead man. The hum of the generators slowed, leaving an aching silence in the white noise that Brent had stopped noticing, conspicuous now only in its absence. The sluice gates began to shut on the great dam; it would take the better part of a quarter-hour to safely reopen them, even if they started immediately. Not that it mattered. The gun clattered to the floor, the three workers flinching away from it, but Brent was already sprinting, running, panting with an exhausted, near-sexual release as the tension flooded out of him. He half-slammed into the plexiglass window that comprised the office's western wall, face smashed up against it as he strained his eyes skyward. Even now, the lights in Grand Coulee and Electric City were blinking out, and soon the lights of Brewster and Ellensberg and Hood River would join them. A sweeping wave of darkness as the grid struggled at the sudden drought of power, automated systems rerouting what little energy was still limping into the grid, prioritizing hospitals and police stations and the stations where emergency vehicles were left to charge. America's modern, computer-controlled infrastructure would make sure that nothing too terrible happened when the clawing reach of darkness found Seattle and Portland, or when it made it as far east as Bozeman. "Look up," Brent whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he did so himself. He could feel the presence of the man in the suit coming up behind him. And there, brilliant and glorious, was the luminous wonderland of the starry s- Several stars winked out. Several more. Then dozens. Hundreds. Like a rolling blackout, a massive swath of the sky darkened, until the luminous tapestry of stars surrounded a square-sided patch of darkness that had to have dominated a tenth of the night overhead. Brent tried to say something, to ask, to shout, to beg. Nothing came as his knees weakened, making him slide towards the ground on trembling legs. Outside, the police had ceased their constant, megaphone-magnified squawking. Even they were transfixed by the sight of that illimitable blackness; ignorant as they were of what a true night should be, the wrongness of what loomed above was inescapable. "Well," the agent said with only the slightest hint of resignation in his voice, "You've gone and done it now."	This will probably get buried, I have been trying to get help for a few days. You see, when Josh shut down the power grid, I was responsible for bringing it back online. With all the redundancy in the system I was able to restore the power within a few minutes; it's possible that nobody even experienced a power drop. I had seen this kind of problem before and there was no reason at the time to suspect sabotage. Now it is all too clear how wrong I was; Josh came looking for me shortly after, and he put me here. There is no light pollution here at all, unless you count the trillions of stars which further envelop me as my eyes continue to adapt to the almost absolute darkness.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Are uh... are 'y'all sure about that, Earnie?" The portly man asked, giving his bearded chin a scratch. If someone were to put this fellow into a category, it would most certainly be "redneck". Of course, the man did not care much for labels or titles; he was taught very well by his mother (rest her peaceful soul) that the only titles a man had were the ones god gave to you. While the chubby electrician was certainly no fool, and he had years of experience in his field (it was a family tradition to fix things that the rich folks did not know needed to work), he was a bit worried about the plausibility of this job. He'd known Earnie for years, and had a lot of respect for the man; he'd done more for his family than anyone. But this one seemed a bit off. A little dangerous. "Earnie, you can't just cut the power to the whole of San Antonio," the fat electrician chided, dabbing at his head with the strap on his overalls. "It ain't gonna happen, even for a few minutes. There's people who need the lights at night. There will be accidents. What about the hospitals..." Earnie sat up a bit and slammed his hand down on the table in front of him. "Now, old friend, you know that there is a backup in place. I've known how it works decades less than you, and even I understand that. It'll be about two minutes before the power comes back, and there are backup generators for public service. You know..." Earnie then broke into a coughing fit, but steadied himself, muttering about how the weather was awful here, before continuing, "you know that the only danger is to your pride, and that's why you are so afraid." The electrician, of course, realized that the danger was also to his job, and his family, and the rest of his existence outside of prison for manslaughter, but he said nothing. Earnie was a great friend, and he knew that. "Just this once, old chap. I'll never ask again." He realized that was probably true. ---------------------------------------------------- Our blue-collar hero set out on his certainly unheroic deed the next morning. He knew a lot of people in the business, and knew exactly who would help and who would ruin the plan, and adjusted his list of friends accordingly. He realized that Earnie would be of absolutely no help, but was pleasantly surprised when Earnie called in a few of his big-wig friends to help with the deed. They were not without challenges. At least twice, our overall-wearing friend was found tampering with important electrical equipment on the main power grid, gear far above his pay grade. However, Earnie always had a backup plan, and through extreme countersuing measures (things that went against a good-old boys values, but they had to happen) his sabotage was kept secret. A month passed, and Earnie wondered if there would even be time to finish it. Hope prevailed, however, as the chubby electrical engineer finally had re-routed, re-wired, and re-furnished his way to industrial espionage. With the flick of a giant switch, the power in the residential district of San Antonio would be dark... for a little bit. The engineer took a quick look at his handiwork. It was a little past two in the morning, one of the least active times of the day. He hoped that there would be very little trouble with traffic. He had sort of went against the plan, and kept the business district lit up. While he didn't know a lot about how light worked (despite making it for forty years) he knew that going dark would cause a lot of problems, and hopes that it wouldn't pollute the starry sky too much. He took a final glance at the switch, and gave Earnie a call. After a short bout of cursing for calling at such an hour(which he expected nowadays), Earnie finally calmed down enough to realize that the deed was to be done. "Y... y'know, it ain't the end of the world, Earnie. There's a lot of... of other options." The electrician said, his voice giving way a bit towards the end. "You've got a lot. Don't give up on it, pal." Earnie would only say, "I'm tired. Get it over with." The electrician sighed. He figured there was another reason behind this, something he was never told about. Probably tax fraud. He had a sneaking suspicion that Earnie was a criminal, but never said it out of respect. He had a lot of respect for him;he'd done more for his family than anyone else. He wanted to say goodbye before he hung up,but knew Earnie would hate it. He wasn't a very emotional man. So he just told him to enjoy the stargazing, and let him go. ---------------------------------------------------- About a kilometer across town, Earnie looked happily out his bedside window. It was still the same bland darkness he had come to expect over the years, with the same view he had known since the diagnosis, at least that's what he thought. If Earnie was a hateful man, he'd have cursed his parents genes. But he didn't remember how to hate anyways. A moment later, the neighbor lost power. He heard them yell at their late-night LAN party being suddenly cancelled. He heard a car screech to a stop outside. He saw shadows suddenly running in the street. Around him, monotone beeping slowly drones into silence, and he suddenly felt very tired as the machine helping his body survive stopped. Earnie sat up in bed, the best he could, and looked out at the sky. It took a few agonizing moments before the first star showed itself. More began to come out of their blankets, showing themselves to the world. Suddenly, a cacophony of light, an opera of beauty filled the sky, light blues and whites being connected by celestial dust. A painter wiped his brush across the sky, and made a painting just for Earnie. He could hear the excitement outside as his awful neighbors went outside and took a look at the view. It made him smile, to see the next generation interested in something, just as he was when he was young and could still live. This was how his nurse found him only a few minutes later, when his vitals signature came back on to a flat line and alerted the system. Smiling.	This will probably get buried, I have been trying to get help for a few days. You see, when Josh shut down the power grid, I was responsible for bringing it back online. With all the redundancy in the system I was able to restore the power within a few minutes; it's possible that nobody even experienced a power drop. I had seen this kind of problem before and there was no reason at the time to suspect sabotage. Now it is all too clear how wrong I was; Josh came looking for me shortly after, and he put me here. There is no light pollution here at all, unless you count the trillions of stars which further envelop me as my eyes continue to adapt to the almost absolute darkness.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Power's out." My father struck a match and lit another candle as he said this to me, as if I somehow wasn't aware already. I sighed. “Yeah, dad, I know.” He dragged a wicker chair across the porch and sat down next to me. “They say some fella in Columbus did it. Something about seeing stars. I'd like to make him see stars, I've got meat thawing in the freezer because of him.” “I know, dad.” We sat together on the porch in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “I get it, though. It's nice to see the stars. Shame it's about to fuckin' rain for two weeks straight.” “I know, dad.” We looked up into the sky together, and saw nothing but the rain rolling over our awning. Inside our increasingly warm freezers, the meat continued to thaw.	This will probably get buried, I have been trying to get help for a few days. You see, when Josh shut down the power grid, I was responsible for bringing it back online. With all the redundancy in the system I was able to restore the power within a few minutes; it's possible that nobody even experienced a power drop. I had seen this kind of problem before and there was no reason at the time to suspect sabotage. Now it is all too clear how wrong I was; Josh came looking for me shortly after, and he put me here. There is no light pollution here at all, unless you count the trillions of stars which further envelop me as my eyes continue to adapt to the almost absolute darkness.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	This will probably get buried, I have been trying to get help for a few days. You see, when Josh shut down the power grid, I was responsible for bringing it back online. With all the redundancy in the system I was able to restore the power within a few minutes; it's possible that nobody even experienced a power drop. I had seen this kind of problem before and there was no reason at the time to suspect sabotage. Now it is all too clear how wrong I was; Josh came looking for me shortly after, and he put me here. There is no light pollution here at all, unless you count the trillions of stars which further envelop me as my eyes continue to adapt to the almost absolute darkness.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	Brent stood there, trembling, on the edge of wetting his pants. He was terrified and tired and so very, very stupid, he thought. What had he been thinking? He had never even held a gun before, but now he had it trained onto the three terrified men who sat before him in worn-out overalls and hardhats. And the one calm man in a business suit, a badge clipped to his lapel that displayed some alphabet soup of an agency's name on it; not EPA and not FBI, so it was one Brent had never heard of. "You're being unreasonable, Mr. Haywood," the man said in a voice calculated to relax. It was like a fingernail scraped up the back of his spine. "You can still get out of this with only a little jail time, and you can be back to your old life before you even realize it. Maybe you can get a book deal out of this, and, five years from now, you'll laugh about it all with your friends." The doctors had given Brent two months. That was a month ago, and he could feel the cancer eating away at him, the same way it had eaten his mother in his last year of grad school. She had died, withered and pitiful, and he had resolved not to go out the same as her. "It's a gift," He said--begged--hoping that the men would understand. "Just for a bit. A few minutes. Long enough for people to know." "But everyone needs this power, Mr. Haywood," the man continued, pouring words out with a calm that wore away at the hard edges of Brent's fear. He hadn't thought it would be this difficult when he started planning; it had never occurred to him, as he poured over hundreds of pages of documentation about how the Grand Coulee plant had replaced 98% of its staff with automated systems. Even when he had snuck onto the property three hours ago, the terror had only just started to grow. But now, everything was covered in a white haze of all-consuming dread, and the only anchor he had in all of that was that last image of his mother's shriveled, cancer-eaten husk while the hospital's machine screamed its flatline drone and a single sob tore itself from his father's throat as the long year of suffering was finally capped by the indignity of death. "Press. The. Button." The words came out of Brent like sobs of his own now, the gun shaky in his hand, but the distance close enough that a trigger pull would certainly end in a corpse. Not that he would pull the trigger; he wasn't even sure the safety on the pistol was off. He could never bring himself to kill a man right in front of him. Brent maintained no illusions of his own willingness, even at this desperate moment. His mother's love of the night sky had been what guided Brent to his chosen career, away from the lights that had distracted his peers. Screens held little interest to him when compared to the vastness of the starscape that he had learned while camping in the ever-shrinking wilderness of America. All he wanted was to share that wonder--to share his mother's passion--with the population of the Pacific Northwest. One of the men reached out slowly, finger hovering. They had stalled as long as they could while disabling the safety functions, until the man in the suit had shown up, heralded by the whirring blades of a helicopter and the police booming at him through bullhorns. The man had approached, showing no fear of Brent's gun, and tried to talk him down. But you can't talk down a dead man. The hum of the generators slowed, leaving an aching silence in the white noise that Brent had stopped noticing, conspicuous now only in its absence. The sluice gates began to shut on the great dam; it would take the better part of a quarter-hour to safely reopen them, even if they started immediately. Not that it mattered. The gun clattered to the floor, the three workers flinching away from it, but Brent was already sprinting, running, panting with an exhausted, near-sexual release as the tension flooded out of him. He half-slammed into the plexiglass window that comprised the office's western wall, face smashed up against it as he strained his eyes skyward. Even now, the lights in Grand Coulee and Electric City were blinking out, and soon the lights of Brewster and Ellensberg and Hood River would join them. A sweeping wave of darkness as the grid struggled at the sudden drought of power, automated systems rerouting what little energy was still limping into the grid, prioritizing hospitals and police stations and the stations where emergency vehicles were left to charge. America's modern, computer-controlled infrastructure would make sure that nothing too terrible happened when the clawing reach of darkness found Seattle and Portland, or when it made it as far east as Bozeman. "Look up," Brent whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he did so himself. He could feel the presence of the man in the suit coming up behind him. And there, brilliant and glorious, was the luminous wonderland of the starry s- Several stars winked out. Several more. Then dozens. Hundreds. Like a rolling blackout, a massive swath of the sky darkened, until the luminous tapestry of stars surrounded a square-sided patch of darkness that had to have dominated a tenth of the night overhead. Brent tried to say something, to ask, to shout, to beg. Nothing came as his knees weakened, making him slide towards the ground on trembling legs. Outside, the police had ceased their constant, megaphone-magnified squawking. Even they were transfixed by the sight of that illimitable blackness; ignorant as they were of what a true night should be, the wrongness of what loomed above was inescapable. "Well," the agent said with only the slightest hint of resignation in his voice, "You've gone and done it now."	As soon as his plan to shutdown the grid suceeded, the astronomer ran outside, just in time to see lights coming back on from backup generators. People coming out of their houses shining flash lights and smartphones to see what is going on. People turned on their car headlights to light the streets back up. As briefly as they appeared, the stars faded out again. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo" shouted the mad astronomer.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	As soon as his plan to shutdown the grid suceeded, the astronomer ran outside, just in time to see lights coming back on from backup generators. People coming out of their houses shining flash lights and smartphones to see what is going on. People turned on their car headlights to light the streets back up. As briefly as they appeared, the stars faded out again. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo" shouted the mad astronomer.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	Brent stood there, trembling, on the edge of wetting his pants. He was terrified and tired and so very, very stupid, he thought. What had he been thinking? He had never even held a gun before, but now he had it trained onto the three terrified men who sat before him in worn-out overalls and hardhats. And the one calm man in a business suit, a badge clipped to his lapel that displayed some alphabet soup of an agency's name on it; not EPA and not FBI, so it was one Brent had never heard of. "You're being unreasonable, Mr. Haywood," the man said in a voice calculated to relax. It was like a fingernail scraped up the back of his spine. "You can still get out of this with only a little jail time, and you can be back to your old life before you even realize it. Maybe you can get a book deal out of this, and, five years from now, you'll laugh about it all with your friends." The doctors had given Brent two months. That was a month ago, and he could feel the cancer eating away at him, the same way it had eaten his mother in his last year of grad school. She had died, withered and pitiful, and he had resolved not to go out the same as her. "It's a gift," He said--begged--hoping that the men would understand. "Just for a bit. A few minutes. Long enough for people to know." "But everyone needs this power, Mr. Haywood," the man continued, pouring words out with a calm that wore away at the hard edges of Brent's fear. He hadn't thought it would be this difficult when he started planning; it had never occurred to him, as he poured over hundreds of pages of documentation about how the Grand Coulee plant had replaced 98% of its staff with automated systems. Even when he had snuck onto the property three hours ago, the terror had only just started to grow. But now, everything was covered in a white haze of all-consuming dread, and the only anchor he had in all of that was that last image of his mother's shriveled, cancer-eaten husk while the hospital's machine screamed its flatline drone and a single sob tore itself from his father's throat as the long year of suffering was finally capped by the indignity of death. "Press. The. Button." The words came out of Brent like sobs of his own now, the gun shaky in his hand, but the distance close enough that a trigger pull would certainly end in a corpse. Not that he would pull the trigger; he wasn't even sure the safety on the pistol was off. He could never bring himself to kill a man right in front of him. Brent maintained no illusions of his own willingness, even at this desperate moment. His mother's love of the night sky had been what guided Brent to his chosen career, away from the lights that had distracted his peers. Screens held little interest to him when compared to the vastness of the starscape that he had learned while camping in the ever-shrinking wilderness of America. All he wanted was to share that wonder--to share his mother's passion--with the population of the Pacific Northwest. One of the men reached out slowly, finger hovering. They had stalled as long as they could while disabling the safety functions, until the man in the suit had shown up, heralded by the whirring blades of a helicopter and the police booming at him through bullhorns. The man had approached, showing no fear of Brent's gun, and tried to talk him down. But you can't talk down a dead man. The hum of the generators slowed, leaving an aching silence in the white noise that Brent had stopped noticing, conspicuous now only in its absence. The sluice gates began to shut on the great dam; it would take the better part of a quarter-hour to safely reopen them, even if they started immediately. Not that it mattered. The gun clattered to the floor, the three workers flinching away from it, but Brent was already sprinting, running, panting with an exhausted, near-sexual release as the tension flooded out of him. He half-slammed into the plexiglass window that comprised the office's western wall, face smashed up against it as he strained his eyes skyward. Even now, the lights in Grand Coulee and Electric City were blinking out, and soon the lights of Brewster and Ellensberg and Hood River would join them. A sweeping wave of darkness as the grid struggled at the sudden drought of power, automated systems rerouting what little energy was still limping into the grid, prioritizing hospitals and police stations and the stations where emergency vehicles were left to charge. America's modern, computer-controlled infrastructure would make sure that nothing too terrible happened when the clawing reach of darkness found Seattle and Portland, or when it made it as far east as Bozeman. "Look up," Brent whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he did so himself. He could feel the presence of the man in the suit coming up behind him. And there, brilliant and glorious, was the luminous wonderland of the starry s- Several stars winked out. Several more. Then dozens. Hundreds. Like a rolling blackout, a massive swath of the sky darkened, until the luminous tapestry of stars surrounded a square-sided patch of darkness that had to have dominated a tenth of the night overhead. Brent tried to say something, to ask, to shout, to beg. Nothing came as his knees weakened, making him slide towards the ground on trembling legs. Outside, the police had ceased their constant, megaphone-magnified squawking. Even they were transfixed by the sight of that illimitable blackness; ignorant as they were of what a true night should be, the wrongness of what loomed above was inescapable. "Well," the agent said with only the slightest hint of resignation in his voice, "You've gone and done it now."
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Are uh... are 'y'all sure about that, Earnie?" The portly man asked, giving his bearded chin a scratch. If someone were to put this fellow into a category, it would most certainly be "redneck". Of course, the man did not care much for labels or titles; he was taught very well by his mother (rest her peaceful soul) that the only titles a man had were the ones god gave to you. While the chubby electrician was certainly no fool, and he had years of experience in his field (it was a family tradition to fix things that the rich folks did not know needed to work), he was a bit worried about the plausibility of this job. He'd known Earnie for years, and had a lot of respect for the man; he'd done more for his family than anyone. But this one seemed a bit off. A little dangerous. "Earnie, you can't just cut the power to the whole of San Antonio," the fat electrician chided, dabbing at his head with the strap on his overalls. "It ain't gonna happen, even for a few minutes. There's people who need the lights at night. There will be accidents. What about the hospitals..." Earnie sat up a bit and slammed his hand down on the table in front of him. "Now, old friend, you know that there is a backup in place. I've known how it works decades less than you, and even I understand that. It'll be about two minutes before the power comes back, and there are backup generators for public service. You know..." Earnie then broke into a coughing fit, but steadied himself, muttering about how the weather was awful here, before continuing, "you know that the only danger is to your pride, and that's why you are so afraid." The electrician, of course, realized that the danger was also to his job, and his family, and the rest of his existence outside of prison for manslaughter, but he said nothing. Earnie was a great friend, and he knew that. "Just this once, old chap. I'll never ask again." He realized that was probably true. ---------------------------------------------------- Our blue-collar hero set out on his certainly unheroic deed the next morning. He knew a lot of people in the business, and knew exactly who would help and who would ruin the plan, and adjusted his list of friends accordingly. He realized that Earnie would be of absolutely no help, but was pleasantly surprised when Earnie called in a few of his big-wig friends to help with the deed. They were not without challenges. At least twice, our overall-wearing friend was found tampering with important electrical equipment on the main power grid, gear far above his pay grade. However, Earnie always had a backup plan, and through extreme countersuing measures (things that went against a good-old boys values, but they had to happen) his sabotage was kept secret. A month passed, and Earnie wondered if there would even be time to finish it. Hope prevailed, however, as the chubby electrical engineer finally had re-routed, re-wired, and re-furnished his way to industrial espionage. With the flick of a giant switch, the power in the residential district of San Antonio would be dark... for a little bit. The engineer took a quick look at his handiwork. It was a little past two in the morning, one of the least active times of the day. He hoped that there would be very little trouble with traffic. He had sort of went against the plan, and kept the business district lit up. While he didn't know a lot about how light worked (despite making it for forty years) he knew that going dark would cause a lot of problems, and hopes that it wouldn't pollute the starry sky too much. He took a final glance at the switch, and gave Earnie a call. After a short bout of cursing for calling at such an hour(which he expected nowadays), Earnie finally calmed down enough to realize that the deed was to be done. "Y... y'know, it ain't the end of the world, Earnie. There's a lot of... of other options." The electrician said, his voice giving way a bit towards the end. "You've got a lot. Don't give up on it, pal." Earnie would only say, "I'm tired. Get it over with." The electrician sighed. He figured there was another reason behind this, something he was never told about. Probably tax fraud. He had a sneaking suspicion that Earnie was a criminal, but never said it out of respect. He had a lot of respect for him;he'd done more for his family than anyone else. He wanted to say goodbye before he hung up,but knew Earnie would hate it. He wasn't a very emotional man. So he just told him to enjoy the stargazing, and let him go. ---------------------------------------------------- About a kilometer across town, Earnie looked happily out his bedside window. It was still the same bland darkness he had come to expect over the years, with the same view he had known since the diagnosis, at least that's what he thought. If Earnie was a hateful man, he'd have cursed his parents genes. But he didn't remember how to hate anyways. A moment later, the neighbor lost power. He heard them yell at their late-night LAN party being suddenly cancelled. He heard a car screech to a stop outside. He saw shadows suddenly running in the street. Around him, monotone beeping slowly drones into silence, and he suddenly felt very tired as the machine helping his body survive stopped. Earnie sat up in bed, the best he could, and looked out at the sky. It took a few agonizing moments before the first star showed itself. More began to come out of their blankets, showing themselves to the world. Suddenly, a cacophony of light, an opera of beauty filled the sky, light blues and whites being connected by celestial dust. A painter wiped his brush across the sky, and made a painting just for Earnie. He could hear the excitement outside as his awful neighbors went outside and took a look at the view. It made him smile, to see the next generation interested in something, just as he was when he was young and could still live. This was how his nurse found him only a few minutes later, when his vitals signature came back on to a flat line and alerted the system. Smiling.	When I heard the mad astronomer When the proofs, the figures, failed to interest me When I went about my day without a thought for what's above, When I listened to him rant and pull out his hair "but you've never even seen them!" How disinterested I was of his obsession Til the city lights went out at his hand In the mystical moist night air, I finally understood His love of the perfect silence of the stars Edit ; formatting
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Power's out." My father struck a match and lit another candle as he said this to me, as if I somehow wasn't aware already. I sighed. “Yeah, dad, I know.” He dragged a wicker chair across the porch and sat down next to me. “They say some fella in Columbus did it. Something about seeing stars. I'd like to make him see stars, I've got meat thawing in the freezer because of him.” “I know, dad.” We sat together on the porch in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “I get it, though. It's nice to see the stars. Shame it's about to fuckin' rain for two weeks straight.” “I know, dad.” We looked up into the sky together, and saw nothing but the rain rolling over our awning. Inside our increasingly warm freezers, the meat continued to thaw.	When I heard the mad astronomer When the proofs, the figures, failed to interest me When I went about my day without a thought for what's above, When I listened to him rant and pull out his hair "but you've never even seen them!" How disinterested I was of his obsession Til the city lights went out at his hand In the mystical moist night air, I finally understood His love of the perfect silence of the stars Edit ; formatting
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	John checked his clock. It read 21:27. In just 3 minutes the group of hackers he had hired would shut down the power grid for the entire state of North Carolina. He just wished he could have done it for the entire United States, however their services were not coming cheap. John knew that lack of perspective was behind many of the worlds greatest issues; people being overly self-important and acting in selfish ways detrimental to others. A lack of unity and solidarity between neighbours, neighbouring nations and the human race as a whole. 'If only people would realise how insignificant we truly are, tiny organisms floating through a cold and stark but also beautiful universe' james had thought in the weeks prior. It was then that this plan started to form, this stroke of genius. He had figured that if people were not willing to travel out of cities and witness the beauty of the great expanse above and gain the self perspective that he has, then he would have to take it to them. Sure, people had seen stars before and seen the moon but the true enormity of the universe can only be appreciated when the sky is truly filled with stars. Layers upon layers of stars, hundreds, thousands, millions. The lights of john's apartment turned off, only the glow of the lit candles remained. The clock read 21:30. He had seen the night sky countless times but never had he been as excited to see it as he was now, reaching for the door handle to his balcony. He turned the handle and flung open the door, ready and eager to share this phenomenal view with his fellow statesmen in their various towns and cities. As he looked up his jaw dropped at the sight before him. There was nothing but cloud. E: go easy on me, haven't done any creative writing in ages and wrote this on my phone on the train. Hope you enjoy it regardless	When I heard the mad astronomer When the proofs, the figures, failed to interest me When I went about my day without a thought for what's above, When I listened to him rant and pull out his hair "but you've never even seen them!" How disinterested I was of his obsession Til the city lights went out at his hand In the mystical moist night air, I finally understood His love of the perfect silence of the stars Edit ; formatting
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	When I heard the mad astronomer When the proofs, the figures, failed to interest me When I went about my day without a thought for what's above, When I listened to him rant and pull out his hair "but you've never even seen them!" How disinterested I was of his obsession Til the city lights went out at his hand In the mystical moist night air, I finally understood His love of the perfect silence of the stars Edit ; formatting
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Power's out." My father struck a match and lit another candle as he said this to me, as if I somehow wasn't aware already. I sighed. “Yeah, dad, I know.” He dragged a wicker chair across the porch and sat down next to me. “They say some fella in Columbus did it. Something about seeing stars. I'd like to make him see stars, I've got meat thawing in the freezer because of him.” “I know, dad.” We sat together on the porch in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “I get it, though. It's nice to see the stars. Shame it's about to fuckin' rain for two weeks straight.” “I know, dad.” We looked up into the sky together, and saw nothing but the rain rolling over our awning. Inside our increasingly warm freezers, the meat continued to thaw.	Yellow, brown, yellow, brown! It doesn't take a fucking genius to realize that the light pollution has obviously gotten out of hand. I dare you to look into the decaying night sky on a clear Chicago night, and attempt to see anything but yellow and brown. It's a stain on nature. A cloud over a cloudless city. Living in Chicago within itself is uptight, quick, and leaves little time for observation, and at the base level the inhabitants are already disregarding the beauty in the architecture. It doesn't come as much surprise that little to no attention is being payed to one of the most gorgeous sights an individual can rest their eyes upon, the ever unwinding cosmos. Sure, some may be terrified to rest their eyes upon the one sobering image that may immediately confirm in their little sycophantic minds that they are nothing, perhaps that reality check is needed. Years upon years of campaigning for some kind of light reform has given me a permanent migraine, having to sonically assault the ears of the drooling public has taken it's toll. It confounds me to even consider the minute possibility that maybe, just maybe, they don't fucking care. If that's the case, I'm going to make them fucking care if it's the last thing I do. Now of course being in the field of astronomy has it's many perks, like an cough cough appreciation for the marvelous BIG outside, the BIG outside of course being the "unwinding cosmos" or whatever pretentious bullshit I can spew out to try and get someone interested. Oh, I also know some people, who know some people and guess the fuck what, it seems like I have set in motion a plan of elaborate events that will make EVERYONE appreciate the BIG outside. I can't give away too many details right now of course, who ever wants to hear a spoiler? Do keep in mind this: soon you will begin to realize that there are two things that are out of your control; the ability to neglect the wonderous sights that could potentially be right before your very eyes, and the concept that you can't tune out a brilliant mind. Sit back, and step out into the BIG outside.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	There was once a crazed astronomer Who led an engineer astray From his duties at the electronomer His plan failed, dismay! Day 2, he thought a second chance at last to give the public a view of a night as clear as glass Day 3, behold, he exclaimed Pointing to his telescope A magnificent instrument That magnifies the stars No one would join him, looking through it He begged, he pleaded, "That view is our's!" Day 4, defeated, he packed his bags and left He hoped that the sight of stars wouldn't be turned into a memory left to forget As he climbed over mountains, northwards, looking for salvation His face lit up in rejuvenation The sight of lights dazzling from the heavens He almost believed his eyes to lie When he saw how bright they shine He knew the memory would never die.	Yellow, brown, yellow, brown! It doesn't take a fucking genius to realize that the light pollution has obviously gotten out of hand. I dare you to look into the decaying night sky on a clear Chicago night, and attempt to see anything but yellow and brown. It's a stain on nature. A cloud over a cloudless city. Living in Chicago within itself is uptight, quick, and leaves little time for observation, and at the base level the inhabitants are already disregarding the beauty in the architecture. It doesn't come as much surprise that little to no attention is being payed to one of the most gorgeous sights an individual can rest their eyes upon, the ever unwinding cosmos. Sure, some may be terrified to rest their eyes upon the one sobering image that may immediately confirm in their little sycophantic minds that they are nothing, perhaps that reality check is needed. Years upon years of campaigning for some kind of light reform has given me a permanent migraine, having to sonically assault the ears of the drooling public has taken it's toll. It confounds me to even consider the minute possibility that maybe, just maybe, they don't fucking care. If that's the case, I'm going to make them fucking care if it's the last thing I do. Now of course being in the field of astronomy has it's many perks, like an cough cough appreciation for the marvelous BIG outside, the BIG outside of course being the "unwinding cosmos" or whatever pretentious bullshit I can spew out to try and get someone interested. Oh, I also know some people, who know some people and guess the fuck what, it seems like I have set in motion a plan of elaborate events that will make EVERYONE appreciate the BIG outside. I can't give away too many details right now of course, who ever wants to hear a spoiler? Do keep in mind this: soon you will begin to realize that there are two things that are out of your control; the ability to neglect the wonderous sights that could potentially be right before your very eyes, and the concept that you can't tune out a brilliant mind. Sit back, and step out into the BIG outside.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	John checked his clock. It read 21:27. In just 3 minutes the group of hackers he had hired would shut down the power grid for the entire state of North Carolina. He just wished he could have done it for the entire United States, however their services were not coming cheap. John knew that lack of perspective was behind many of the worlds greatest issues; people being overly self-important and acting in selfish ways detrimental to others. A lack of unity and solidarity between neighbours, neighbouring nations and the human race as a whole. 'If only people would realise how insignificant we truly are, tiny organisms floating through a cold and stark but also beautiful universe' james had thought in the weeks prior. It was then that this plan started to form, this stroke of genius. He had figured that if people were not willing to travel out of cities and witness the beauty of the great expanse above and gain the self perspective that he has, then he would have to take it to them. Sure, people had seen stars before and seen the moon but the true enormity of the universe can only be appreciated when the sky is truly filled with stars. Layers upon layers of stars, hundreds, thousands, millions. The lights of john's apartment turned off, only the glow of the lit candles remained. The clock read 21:30. He had seen the night sky countless times but never had he been as excited to see it as he was now, reaching for the door handle to his balcony. He turned the handle and flung open the door, ready and eager to share this phenomenal view with his fellow statesmen in their various towns and cities. As he looked up his jaw dropped at the sight before him. There was nothing but cloud. E: go easy on me, haven't done any creative writing in ages and wrote this on my phone on the train. Hope you enjoy it regardless	Yellow, brown, yellow, brown! It doesn't take a fucking genius to realize that the light pollution has obviously gotten out of hand. I dare you to look into the decaying night sky on a clear Chicago night, and attempt to see anything but yellow and brown. It's a stain on nature. A cloud over a cloudless city. Living in Chicago within itself is uptight, quick, and leaves little time for observation, and at the base level the inhabitants are already disregarding the beauty in the architecture. It doesn't come as much surprise that little to no attention is being payed to one of the most gorgeous sights an individual can rest their eyes upon, the ever unwinding cosmos. Sure, some may be terrified to rest their eyes upon the one sobering image that may immediately confirm in their little sycophantic minds that they are nothing, perhaps that reality check is needed. Years upon years of campaigning for some kind of light reform has given me a permanent migraine, having to sonically assault the ears of the drooling public has taken it's toll. It confounds me to even consider the minute possibility that maybe, just maybe, they don't fucking care. If that's the case, I'm going to make them fucking care if it's the last thing I do. Now of course being in the field of astronomy has it's many perks, like an cough cough appreciation for the marvelous BIG outside, the BIG outside of course being the "unwinding cosmos" or whatever pretentious bullshit I can spew out to try and get someone interested. Oh, I also know some people, who know some people and guess the fuck what, it seems like I have set in motion a plan of elaborate events that will make EVERYONE appreciate the BIG outside. I can't give away too many details right now of course, who ever wants to hear a spoiler? Do keep in mind this: soon you will begin to realize that there are two things that are out of your control; the ability to neglect the wonderous sights that could potentially be right before your very eyes, and the concept that you can't tune out a brilliant mind. Sit back, and step out into the BIG outside.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	Yellow, brown, yellow, brown! It doesn't take a fucking genius to realize that the light pollution has obviously gotten out of hand. I dare you to look into the decaying night sky on a clear Chicago night, and attempt to see anything but yellow and brown. It's a stain on nature. A cloud over a cloudless city. Living in Chicago within itself is uptight, quick, and leaves little time for observation, and at the base level the inhabitants are already disregarding the beauty in the architecture. It doesn't come as much surprise that little to no attention is being payed to one of the most gorgeous sights an individual can rest their eyes upon, the ever unwinding cosmos. Sure, some may be terrified to rest their eyes upon the one sobering image that may immediately confirm in their little sycophantic minds that they are nothing, perhaps that reality check is needed. Years upon years of campaigning for some kind of light reform has given me a permanent migraine, having to sonically assault the ears of the drooling public has taken it's toll. It confounds me to even consider the minute possibility that maybe, just maybe, they don't fucking care. If that's the case, I'm going to make them fucking care if it's the last thing I do. Now of course being in the field of astronomy has it's many perks, like an cough cough appreciation for the marvelous BIG outside, the BIG outside of course being the "unwinding cosmos" or whatever pretentious bullshit I can spew out to try and get someone interested. Oh, I also know some people, who know some people and guess the fuck what, it seems like I have set in motion a plan of elaborate events that will make EVERYONE appreciate the BIG outside. I can't give away too many details right now of course, who ever wants to hear a spoiler? Do keep in mind this: soon you will begin to realize that there are two things that are out of your control; the ability to neglect the wonderous sights that could potentially be right before your very eyes, and the concept that you can't tune out a brilliant mind. Sit back, and step out into the BIG outside.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	"Are uh... are 'y'all sure about that, Earnie?" The portly man asked, giving his bearded chin a scratch. If someone were to put this fellow into a category, it would most certainly be "redneck". Of course, the man did not care much for labels or titles; he was taught very well by his mother (rest her peaceful soul) that the only titles a man had were the ones god gave to you. While the chubby electrician was certainly no fool, and he had years of experience in his field (it was a family tradition to fix things that the rich folks did not know needed to work), he was a bit worried about the plausibility of this job. He'd known Earnie for years, and had a lot of respect for the man; he'd done more for his family than anyone. But this one seemed a bit off. A little dangerous. "Earnie, you can't just cut the power to the whole of San Antonio," the fat electrician chided, dabbing at his head with the strap on his overalls. "It ain't gonna happen, even for a few minutes. There's people who need the lights at night. There will be accidents. What about the hospitals..." Earnie sat up a bit and slammed his hand down on the table in front of him. "Now, old friend, you know that there is a backup in place. I've known how it works decades less than you, and even I understand that. It'll be about two minutes before the power comes back, and there are backup generators for public service. You know..." Earnie then broke into a coughing fit, but steadied himself, muttering about how the weather was awful here, before continuing, "you know that the only danger is to your pride, and that's why you are so afraid." The electrician, of course, realized that the danger was also to his job, and his family, and the rest of his existence outside of prison for manslaughter, but he said nothing. Earnie was a great friend, and he knew that. "Just this once, old chap. I'll never ask again." He realized that was probably true. ---------------------------------------------------- Our blue-collar hero set out on his certainly unheroic deed the next morning. He knew a lot of people in the business, and knew exactly who would help and who would ruin the plan, and adjusted his list of friends accordingly. He realized that Earnie would be of absolutely no help, but was pleasantly surprised when Earnie called in a few of his big-wig friends to help with the deed. They were not without challenges. At least twice, our overall-wearing friend was found tampering with important electrical equipment on the main power grid, gear far above his pay grade. However, Earnie always had a backup plan, and through extreme countersuing measures (things that went against a good-old boys values, but they had to happen) his sabotage was kept secret. A month passed, and Earnie wondered if there would even be time to finish it. Hope prevailed, however, as the chubby electrical engineer finally had re-routed, re-wired, and re-furnished his way to industrial espionage. With the flick of a giant switch, the power in the residential district of San Antonio would be dark... for a little bit. The engineer took a quick look at his handiwork. It was a little past two in the morning, one of the least active times of the day. He hoped that there would be very little trouble with traffic. He had sort of went against the plan, and kept the business district lit up. While he didn't know a lot about how light worked (despite making it for forty years) he knew that going dark would cause a lot of problems, and hopes that it wouldn't pollute the starry sky too much. He took a final glance at the switch, and gave Earnie a call. After a short bout of cursing for calling at such an hour(which he expected nowadays), Earnie finally calmed down enough to realize that the deed was to be done. "Y... y'know, it ain't the end of the world, Earnie. There's a lot of... of other options." The electrician said, his voice giving way a bit towards the end. "You've got a lot. Don't give up on it, pal." Earnie would only say, "I'm tired. Get it over with." The electrician sighed. He figured there was another reason behind this, something he was never told about. Probably tax fraud. He had a sneaking suspicion that Earnie was a criminal, but never said it out of respect. He had a lot of respect for him;he'd done more for his family than anyone else. He wanted to say goodbye before he hung up,but knew Earnie would hate it. He wasn't a very emotional man. So he just told him to enjoy the stargazing, and let him go. ---------------------------------------------------- About a kilometer across town, Earnie looked happily out his bedside window. It was still the same bland darkness he had come to expect over the years, with the same view he had known since the diagnosis, at least that's what he thought. If Earnie was a hateful man, he'd have cursed his parents genes. But he didn't remember how to hate anyways. A moment later, the neighbor lost power. He heard them yell at their late-night LAN party being suddenly cancelled. He heard a car screech to a stop outside. He saw shadows suddenly running in the street. Around him, monotone beeping slowly drones into silence, and he suddenly felt very tired as the machine helping his body survive stopped. Earnie sat up in bed, the best he could, and looked out at the sky. It took a few agonizing moments before the first star showed itself. More began to come out of their blankets, showing themselves to the world. Suddenly, a cacophony of light, an opera of beauty filled the sky, light blues and whites being connected by celestial dust. A painter wiped his brush across the sky, and made a painting just for Earnie. He could hear the excitement outside as his awful neighbors went outside and took a look at the view. It made him smile, to see the next generation interested in something, just as he was when he was young and could still live. This was how his nurse found him only a few minutes later, when his vitals signature came back on to a flat line and alerted the system. Smiling.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	"Power's out." My father struck a match and lit another candle as he said this to me, as if I somehow wasn't aware already. I sighed. “Yeah, dad, I know.” He dragged a wicker chair across the porch and sat down next to me. “They say some fella in Columbus did it. Something about seeing stars. I'd like to make him see stars, I've got meat thawing in the freezer because of him.” “I know, dad.” We sat together on the porch in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “I get it, though. It's nice to see the stars. Shame it's about to fuckin' rain for two weeks straight.” “I know, dad.” We looked up into the sky together, and saw nothing but the rain rolling over our awning. Inside our increasingly warm freezers, the meat continued to thaw.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	There was once a crazed astronomer Who led an engineer astray From his duties at the electronomer His plan failed, dismay! Day 2, he thought a second chance at last to give the public a view of a night as clear as glass Day 3, behold, he exclaimed Pointing to his telescope A magnificent instrument That magnifies the stars No one would join him, looking through it He begged, he pleaded, "That view is our's!" Day 4, defeated, he packed his bags and left He hoped that the sight of stars wouldn't be turned into a memory left to forget As he climbed over mountains, northwards, looking for salvation His face lit up in rejuvenation The sight of lights dazzling from the heavens He almost believed his eyes to lie When he saw how bright they shine He knew the memory would never die.
	[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.	"Astronomer here!" I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach! "Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!" Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!" The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power. I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"	John checked his clock. It read 21:27. In just 3 minutes the group of hackers he had hired would shut down the power grid for the entire state of North Carolina. He just wished he could have done it for the entire United States, however their services were not coming cheap. John knew that lack of perspective was behind many of the worlds greatest issues; people being overly self-important and acting in selfish ways detrimental to others. A lack of unity and solidarity between neighbours, neighbouring nations and the human race as a whole. 'If only people would realise how insignificant we truly are, tiny organisms floating through a cold and stark but also beautiful universe' james had thought in the weeks prior. It was then that this plan started to form, this stroke of genius. He had figured that if people were not willing to travel out of cities and witness the beauty of the great expanse above and gain the self perspective that he has, then he would have to take it to them. Sure, people had seen stars before and seen the moon but the true enormity of the universe can only be appreciated when the sky is truly filled with stars. Layers upon layers of stars, hundreds, thousands, millions. The lights of john's apartment turned off, only the glow of the lit candles remained. The clock read 21:30. He had seen the night sky countless times but never had he been as excited to see it as he was now, reaching for the door handle to his balcony. He turned the handle and flung open the door, ready and eager to share this phenomenal view with his fellow statesmen in their various towns and cities. As he looked up his jaw dropped at the sight before him. There was nothing but cloud. E: go easy on me, haven't done any creative writing in ages and wrote this on my phone on the train. Hope you enjoy it regardless
	[WP] extroverts get their energy from the people around them, introverts get their energy from within. Extroverts have started to farm introverts and harvest their energy, and you've just been put in charge.	"It was 'The Matrix' that gave me the idea," I told the reporter as we strolled through endless rows of bookshelves. Literally endless. The reporter scribbled in his notebook, pausing only to push his crooked glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "We need the energy we can harvest from introverts. But I don't want the introverts to suffer. So I asked myself, 'Where would an introvert be happiest?'" "A library, of course," the reporter breathed, finishing my sentence. "Yes, but not just any library. An infinite library. The Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges imagined an infinite library that contains every book that was ever written, or could ever be written. It was just a story, back in the 20th century. But now, we have artificial intelligence and quantum computers capable of simulating anything. So I simulated the infinite library." The reporter paused, yanking a paperback book off the shelf. "'The Lovely End' by Raymond Chandler? I've never heard of that one..." "That's because it doesn't exist," I laughed. "In reality. But in here, it does exist. It can only exist in here, in my simulated infinite library. Do you want to read it?" "Yes I said yes I will yes," the reporter whispered. He sank to the floor, completely absorbed in the imaginary paperback. His notebook clattered to the floor and his pen rolled away. "I'll just leave you to it," I told him. "Operator!" I commanded, "take me home!" Suddenly, the infinite library shelves dissolved to a scrolling wall of computer code. Then I was outside the simulation, back in the real world. I pulled off my virtual-reality goggles, and I saw the introverted newspaper reporter strapped tightly into his chair. His virtual reality goggles would be attached for the rest of his life. A happy life, spent reading books in my infinite library. He had gladly signed the release form when I told him he would have infinite time to read infinite books inside an infinite library. I made sure that the extraction helmet was securely fastened to his head, the energy vacuum sucking his precious introvert energy through a tube. The machine hummed quietly. Perfect. I closed the door to his cubicle, walking down hallways that stretched as long as several football fields. This was Introvert Energy Harvest Warehouse 23. I still needed to inspect a power outage in the Infinite Videogame Console simulation in Warehouse 77 and debug some code in the Infinite Movie Theater simulation in warehouse 42. It was a traditionally dirty business, extracting the energy that extroverts need to survive. But I built the most humane Introvert Harvesting Corporation on earth. We didn't have an infinite supply of introverts, but we had found plenty of volunteers...	"Thank you Mr President. I realise how important this endeavour is." "Thank you sir, yes communicating like this, without seeing you face to face is tiring to me as well." "I'd love that, sir. I've never been to the White House, even on a tour party." "Looking forward to it, I'll bring a couple of dozen of my closest friends. Just a small group. We'll lead a brainstorm and discussion with your advisory committee. We can come up with some ideas about maximising the power we can make available to the United Socialising Americas." The phone went dead with a click. I savoured the silence for the fraction of a second that I knew was all I had. As the door burst open I didn't have to work hard to affect a tired face, and hunched frame. 7 of my closest colleagues exploded into the room in an avalance of noise and questions. How was I, how was the President, how could I stand to talk to someone without seeing them, how could I stand to be alone in a room for so long without anyone else. Bringing my energy levels back up to team interaction levels was much harder. I'd had a lot of practice though. You don't get to a position like mine in the USA without loving being around people. If you want a job, any authority or the chance to have children you better hope you are an extrovert. Decades of preference for outgoing, go-getting, take no prisoners behaviour had eventually led to a personality test administered as a child. Initially just to help with streaming, or setting up education and jobs towards your preferences in this area. Gradually though it became a two tier system. Fortunately for me and my sister, I had 'passed'. "Thanks for the recharge guys," I said with a bright smile, "I need to head over to a quick plenary with the engineering corps before the big switch on. Keep the discussion going here, and I'll link in via comms so I can keep across the themes." "OK boss," they chorused, "see you at the wrap party!" I stepped through the door at the back of my office, into my home. No-one lived away from work now really, it was an Intro behaviour. Why would you want to have privacy from the hustle and bustle of your work group? You could just bring any other social groups into the workplace as well. Or family. Everyone loved having children running around, chattering and asking questions. Society was closer and more inclusive than ever before. Unless. My work mates think I'm an only child because my parents died when I was young. Having no siblings was not something that was acceptable any more. "Hi sis," I said as I thumbed the door control to her room at the back of my home. Harriet, looked up briefly from her work. She didn't feel she needed to respond. As the door closed behind me, I physically slumped. The puppeteer had released the strings. She came over to me and laid her hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. "Do you need recharging?" "I don't know if I can handle the intro. I'm struggling to stay ahead of it today of all days, and I've got a lot of meetings ahead." "Its just one more day. You need the power to fake it until we make it unnecessary." "You're right, of course. OK." Harriet connected herself to the neural headset, and put one on my head as well. She closed her eyes, every muscle in her body in her body tensing. Her jaw locked, she began to shake as the energy flowed from her Introverted mind to mine. "What are you doing?" Her eyes flashed with mischief, before she looked down. "I dunno", she said. "It just feels like there should be more drama. Not just connect the headsets and it happens". "You doofus." "You OK? Not too much?" "No, I think its OK. How are we looking for the switch on?" "Looking good." She turned back to her view screen. "The introvert concentration camps are on-line. The power is going to be off the charts". I saw the pain in her artificially illuminated face as she said that. "Farms. They prefer to call them farms. Just one more day, like you said, then we change the world". She smiled a weak smile. "Good luck, Harry". "Thanks", I said as I left the room again, heading towards Engineering. "They'll never see it coming until they are dragged along". ______________________________________________________________ The hubbub across New York rose and rose. The city that never sleeps, now also never stopped talking. Tonight was a special night. Tonight was the night that the Intro farms power came online. The key to maximising Extro efficiency and propelling the USA to greater and greater action orientation. Cities across the continent were at a standstill. Huge crowds gathered to share the connection to the neural network. Energy like being the centre of attention at the hottest party, and available on tap whenever they wanted it. Not me though, and certainly not Harriet. If they caught her out on the street, she'd be interred before she could muster up a protest. I was important enough that everyone assumed I would have a bigger and better party to be at than the one they were at, except for those at the biggest party, who didn't care who was there as long as they were surrounded by likeminded others. So the two of us stood in silence in her room as the countdown progressed. The crowd counting backwards like the ball was about to drop on New Years. 10 A frenzied group mind chanting. 9 Not considering the human cost of this power they craved. 8 Not even considering that there was a human cost, just some worthless Intro's. 7 They would soon feel differently though. 6 They would know what I had hidden. Fronting my sisters work all these years, building to this moment. 5 Something the Extroverts in government once restricted and then forgot. 4 That there are no Intros or Extros. That we are all on spectrum. That even some identified Extro's harbour Intro tendancies as I do. 3 That connection to the power thrown off by an Intro, changes you. 2 Drags you along the spectrum towards introversion. 1 Soon they would all have Intro tendancies. Soon my sister, and the millions in the camps would be free. 0 The cheering stopped suddenly. ___________________________________________________________ /r/TallerestTales
	[WP] extroverts get their energy from the people around them, introverts get their energy from within. Extroverts have started to farm introverts and harvest their energy, and you've just been put in charge.	I had just sat down in my office when Laura poked her head into the doorway, grinning broadly. "Morning, Ray," she said. "How was the gala last night?" I smiled back as I sorted out the reports on my desk. "Perfect. I think we won't have to worry about funding for a while now. Our results over the last eight months have exceeded everyone's expectations." She clapped her hands—despite being a matronly looking woman in her fifties, her mannerisms carried a childish delight in them. "What's next for us, then, boss?" Ah, there was the unspoken question about rewards. "Honestly, Laura, without your team we couldn't have done it. But it's a bit too soon to talk about bonuses and such." Her smile became a little more frozen at the words. "We're still expected to operate on a really tight budget for the next four months." "Sure, of course. You're the boss," she said. "Hey, wanna come over to the lounge for a while? We're having a little party to celebrate Dan's engagement." "Sorry, I need to head down to the lab. In fact, I need you to be there too. Think it's time for us to check on Source Omega again. How quickly can you escape from the party?" "Oh, I don't really have to be there," she said. "Perfect." We headed to the elevators, located some distance away at the end of a corridor. Due to the location's remoteness, the facility we worked at contained—alongside open work spaces—dormitories, recreational centers, restaurants, auto workshops and even movie theaters, some of which we glimpsed on the way. Our colleagues greeted us cheerily, many wanting a quick conversation. I was impatient to begin my day, but kept it out of my tone. Laura, on the other hand, seemed rather distracted, constantly tapping away on her phone. When we finally began our descent into the sub-levels, she said, "Any plans for the weekend? Robson's organizing a get-together at his place." "You okay? You look a little clammy—having a fever?" She shook her head. "Take the day off if you want to. I can manage," I said, when we stepped out into the lab. Laura let me lead as we went down the left corridor, passing by several empty observation chambers. Lab A2, usually the busiest due to its size, was strangely deserted too. Perhaps the team was up at the party. In time, we arrived at a series of rooms, built next to one another. The glass windows here were one-way. Each room contained a man or woman at least twenty-one years old. They came from all nations, but one thing they had in common—a metal band fastened around their neck, from which extended three thick cables that went through a hole in the ceiling. Long enough to allow them unrestricted movement throughout the room. Not that they were unhappy or anything. Most of them were on computers; playing games, watching movies. Some read. Others painted or wrote. If we hung around for long enough, some less-than-savory activities would also emerge—fortunately, we also had the option of dimming the glass from the outside. "All fully operational. We're extracting the maximum energy possible," Laura pointed out unnecessarily when I could see the small gauge next to each door, showing a healthy green color. I smiled. "These days, I'm more worried about our machinery and the supply system to the cities malfunctioning than about our herd. Note to self—talk to the engineers and figure out why the output's been dipping below fifty percent every other week." Laura shrugged in response. By then, we had arrived at a room marked with a yellow door. Source Omega was a female in her mid-thirties, somewhat average-looking and diminutive in stature. She was sitting at her desk, back turned to us, likely working on her eighth novel. I had heard the seventh one was a bestseller—the Accounting team were fans, and had been organizing a weekly book club to dissect her books. This woman's gauge was a little different though. The markings went all the way up to one thousand percent. Currently, it read about seven hundred. "How's the accumulation pattern?" I said. "Steady. We're on track to hit a thousand in time for New Year's Day across the country." I nodded in satisfaction. "Keep interactions with her to a minimum." "As usual, boss." Laura smiled faintly, but her expression quickly grew serious. "Can I show you something? A recent finding of ours?" I arched an eyebrow, but made no comment as I followed her to one of the habitats. It was unoccupied—furniture new, floor swept, glass polished, all ready for a new resident. "In here?" I said. When she nodded, I stepped into the room. "What's up?" In response, she took the hanging collector band and snapped it shut over my neck. "What in God's name are you doing?" I said. I tugged on it, but the band refused to budge. Laura dodged my swiping hands, returning to the hallway outside and shutting the door behind her. She gave me a sad smile, as a man in military uniform appeared in front of the observation glass next to her. "What's the meaning of this?" I recognized him as one of the guests from last night—General Poiter. "Have you gone insane?" "Had to be done," General Poiter said, sounding sincerely regretful. "Laura's research was too convincing. A literal breakthrough—she's discovered that with sufficient energy, human limits can be surpassed! Our military needs this facility to move faster, but she made it clear that you would never approve her plan." It suddenly dawned on me what they were doing. The signs had been there. I should've seen them! "General, it's inhumane to harvest extroverts. We don't generate our own energy—we have no internal source! What you're doing will kill me." "No it won't," Laura said. "Believe me, boss, we've been testing for months now. Those dips in energy output? We were redirecting them to our test subjects. That's why our ultimate harvest has been spiking lately—energy-starved extroverts multiply introverted gains." Her words sounded straight from a nightmare. "This can't be happening to me," I said. I banged on the glass—neither of them flinched. "Let me out! Damn it, I'll see you both arrested for this." "All for a good cause," the general rumbled. "My own staff will take over this facility. Don't worry, Ray. You'll be treated well in there." With that, Laura pressed a button and the wall turned into a mirror. I screamed and pounded my fists on it, but it didn't yield. No one was coming for me. * By the third week, I stopped counting the days. Stopped caring. The clock's hands ticked and spun, but the hours meant nothing to me. I hadn't talked to anyone in all that time. The food came through a chute. New reading materials were delivered the same way. My computer had no internet access. The silence, more than anything, made me want to kill myself. I'd tried. The band itself, though uncomfortable, added a layer of self-preservation I didn't want. Sometimes, I perceived movement and conversation outside my room. I banged on the wall and cried for help, but nobody answered. More days passed in endless monotony. I stopped talking, even to myself. I slept for hours, and even when awake, lay in bed doing nothing. They fed me my first cattle almost a month later. First, they put me to sleep with gas. When I woke up, I found an elderly man, all nervous shuffling and shifty eyes, standing by my bed. I almost leaped at him in joy. For hours, I talked and talked, asking him about himself, sharing about my injustice, swearing to bring an end to this facility. He listened and asked polite questions, but as time wore on, I could tell our interaction was draining. By the time they knocked us both out with another bout of gas, the man was ready to keel over. On the other hand, I'd never felt more energetic. It didn't last, however. The band drained it all by the second day. But this time, I turned my thoughts toward escape. Another lonely fortnight came before they sent another introvert to me. And then a week later. From then on, I counted the days. Above all else, I started to practice holding my breath. When I was confident that the next harvest was here, I lay in bed awaiting the tell-tale hiss of gas. When it started, I sucked in a deep breath and buried my face in my pillow. Minutes later, when the blood was pounding hard in my brain, and my lungs beginning to ache, I heard the whoosh of the ventilator's vacuum function. The door swung open. Not waiting for another second, I jumped off my bed, ran for it, and tackled the scientist outside. We crashed into the wall, his head smacking hard against the metal paneling. Standing nearby, stunned, was a young woman, likely my intended companion. The scientist groaned as I dragged him to the panel by the door. A touch of his fingertips unlocked the metal band, which I kicked as far as I could away from me before I dashed off. A blind rush in this place would get me nowhere, but I had a plan, one that I'd spent a long time theorizing. If the military was planning to use harvested energy to augment their troops, then perhaps ... perhaps my best hope lay in an introvert. I pushed open the door to Source Omega's room. She spun around from her desk, eyes going wide behind her wide-rimmed glasses. "Dr. Verdasco? Is something the matter?" "No time to talk, sorry." I strode across the room, grabbed her in my arms, and kissed her deeply. She tensed immediately, trying to pull away, but I held on. I apologized to her mentally—this wasn't okay, whether or not she was an introvert, but I had no other choice then. The moment stretched into an eternity, until I broke away. She blinked at me with tears in her eyes. "I don't understand," she said, touching her lips uncertainly. In demonstration, I drove my fist into the glass wall, shattering it entirely. The skin over my knuckles wasn't even cut. A smile grew on my face as I stormed out of the habitat. * Thank you for reading. Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you liked this!	"Thank you Mr President. I realise how important this endeavour is." "Thank you sir, yes communicating like this, without seeing you face to face is tiring to me as well." "I'd love that, sir. I've never been to the White House, even on a tour party." "Looking forward to it, I'll bring a couple of dozen of my closest friends. Just a small group. We'll lead a brainstorm and discussion with your advisory committee. We can come up with some ideas about maximising the power we can make available to the United Socialising Americas." The phone went dead with a click. I savoured the silence for the fraction of a second that I knew was all I had. As the door burst open I didn't have to work hard to affect a tired face, and hunched frame. 7 of my closest colleagues exploded into the room in an avalance of noise and questions. How was I, how was the President, how could I stand to talk to someone without seeing them, how could I stand to be alone in a room for so long without anyone else. Bringing my energy levels back up to team interaction levels was much harder. I'd had a lot of practice though. You don't get to a position like mine in the USA without loving being around people. If you want a job, any authority or the chance to have children you better hope you are an extrovert. Decades of preference for outgoing, go-getting, take no prisoners behaviour had eventually led to a personality test administered as a child. Initially just to help with streaming, or setting up education and jobs towards your preferences in this area. Gradually though it became a two tier system. Fortunately for me and my sister, I had 'passed'. "Thanks for the recharge guys," I said with a bright smile, "I need to head over to a quick plenary with the engineering corps before the big switch on. Keep the discussion going here, and I'll link in via comms so I can keep across the themes." "OK boss," they chorused, "see you at the wrap party!" I stepped through the door at the back of my office, into my home. No-one lived away from work now really, it was an Intro behaviour. Why would you want to have privacy from the hustle and bustle of your work group? You could just bring any other social groups into the workplace as well. Or family. Everyone loved having children running around, chattering and asking questions. Society was closer and more inclusive than ever before. Unless. My work mates think I'm an only child because my parents died when I was young. Having no siblings was not something that was acceptable any more. "Hi sis," I said as I thumbed the door control to her room at the back of my home. Harriet, looked up briefly from her work. She didn't feel she needed to respond. As the door closed behind me, I physically slumped. The puppeteer had released the strings. She came over to me and laid her hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. "Do you need recharging?" "I don't know if I can handle the intro. I'm struggling to stay ahead of it today of all days, and I've got a lot of meetings ahead." "Its just one more day. You need the power to fake it until we make it unnecessary." "You're right, of course. OK." Harriet connected herself to the neural headset, and put one on my head as well. She closed her eyes, every muscle in her body in her body tensing. Her jaw locked, she began to shake as the energy flowed from her Introverted mind to mine. "What are you doing?" Her eyes flashed with mischief, before she looked down. "I dunno", she said. "It just feels like there should be more drama. Not just connect the headsets and it happens". "You doofus." "You OK? Not too much?" "No, I think its OK. How are we looking for the switch on?" "Looking good." She turned back to her view screen. "The introvert concentration camps are on-line. The power is going to be off the charts". I saw the pain in her artificially illuminated face as she said that. "Farms. They prefer to call them farms. Just one more day, like you said, then we change the world". She smiled a weak smile. "Good luck, Harry". "Thanks", I said as I left the room again, heading towards Engineering. "They'll never see it coming until they are dragged along". ______________________________________________________________ The hubbub across New York rose and rose. The city that never sleeps, now also never stopped talking. Tonight was a special night. Tonight was the night that the Intro farms power came online. The key to maximising Extro efficiency and propelling the USA to greater and greater action orientation. Cities across the continent were at a standstill. Huge crowds gathered to share the connection to the neural network. Energy like being the centre of attention at the hottest party, and available on tap whenever they wanted it. Not me though, and certainly not Harriet. If they caught her out on the street, she'd be interred before she could muster up a protest. I was important enough that everyone assumed I would have a bigger and better party to be at than the one they were at, except for those at the biggest party, who didn't care who was there as long as they were surrounded by likeminded others. So the two of us stood in silence in her room as the countdown progressed. The crowd counting backwards like the ball was about to drop on New Years. 10 A frenzied group mind chanting. 9 Not considering the human cost of this power they craved. 8 Not even considering that there was a human cost, just some worthless Intro's. 7 They would soon feel differently though. 6 They would know what I had hidden. Fronting my sisters work all these years, building to this moment. 5 Something the Extroverts in government once restricted and then forgot. 4 That there are no Intros or Extros. That we are all on spectrum. That even some identified Extro's harbour Intro tendancies as I do. 3 That connection to the power thrown off by an Intro, changes you. 2 Drags you along the spectrum towards introversion. 1 Soon they would all have Intro tendancies. Soon my sister, and the millions in the camps would be free. 0 The cheering stopped suddenly. ___________________________________________________________ /r/TallerestTales
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	"Hey...this is...ah shit. I can't even remember my fucking name. Well you see, I guess I only get one call and, well you were the one person I could think of. I just wanted to let you know that for the time I was there your chipper smile every morning on your way to get coffee was the only sense of caring I'd felt. Thanks for the few bucks every now and then. Sincerely, the corner of 9th and broadway"	The phone rang. Hello. I say Hey, my name is Alex. And apparently when you die, you get to have a single phone call to whoever you want. They say. Okay. So yeah, sadly I'm dead. That's bad. Yeah. How'd you die? You murdered me you bastard! he said shouting into the phone. So instead of using your phone call to tell a police officer my name, you waste it on calling your killer? Shit! I hang up
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	Part 1 of 3 The phone starts ringing. After years of work blocking telemarketing numbers and finally getting off debt collection lists for the deadbeat that owned this number ten years ago I had finally become one of those houses in which the land line never rings. Keeping all business matters to my mobile phone I plan to keep it that way. Life is just easier when you don't have to worry about being woken up on your day off because someone is trying to sell you something. Good the phone stopped ringing before I mustarded for the annoyance. Luckily the vodka hasn't reached the stage from drunk to head ache. I won't have any trouble getting back to sleep. The phone starts ringing again. The night before this morning was pretty average routine as of late. I stay at work longer than required and make sure a lot of the tasks for the stores weekend part timers is done. That way the weekend crew has it easy even if someone calls in sick, all while making me too close to over time to be any pay greedy manager's first choice to call in to work. I don't mind doing more than is expected of me, but at 8 dollars an hour with a bachelors degree to work on my day off at a retail job, I draw the line. So like usual I come home alone in my quiet apartment; I open up a single bottle of micro beer Jabber-talker, a beer that I only bought because of its goofy name, and pour up a half litter worth of 10 dollar name not important vodka in a cup with ice. This is my Friday, every Friday. Sitting on my couch watching the weeks worth of DVR shows and Youtube recaps with a cat rubbing against my feet sipping a beer I hate and chasing it down with harsh yet frosty vodka. I'm not even sure what time I feel asleep. But I know it feels like only two or three hours of sleep. Hello, Before you get started this is my emergency line. This is my day off. It is 8: er 12 in the morning and I was asleep on my couch in my work cloths so please take me off what ever list you have me on. I am hang-- "Harvey Waters! Don't hang up." A voice quickly chimed in. The voice didn't sound like the usual debt collector and didn't have that scripted desperation all sales calls have. Who ever this sale person was, he was good. They actually kept me on the line long enough even though I expected it just to be a clever lure. "What is this call pertaining too?" "Well I choose you as my goodbye call.", The voice replied. "I'm sorry I don't recognize your voice; I have never had one of these calls before. Do voices sound the same when you die? Who is this? Dad?" "No, I'm sorry I hadn't introduced myself. My name is Frank and I didn't know who to call. They had a few lists available in these cases. Lists of people you have wronged, lists of people that have wronged you. A way you can make things right. You were on one of my lists." "I was, I'm sorry I don't know any Franks and I don't remember doing anything terrible to anyone to deserve to be a focus on a list." "Actually you were on my list twice, and you did nothing wrong it was I who wronged you. Which is why I picked you. It said one time a 20 dollar bill fell out of your pocket when you were standing in line at a gas station and I slowly picked it up so you wouldn't notice. I had just got kicked out of my house and was so hungry, and 20 dollars was like winning the lottery. " "And the other?" "The other you were broken down on a country road and you were trying to wave someone down and I passed you. It says you missed an important job interview because you ran out of gas." "I remember that day. I had just bought the car for 500 dollars that day and was driving into town and had no idea the gas gauge has off by half a tank. Those are really the things you called about?" "Well in sorts."	The phone rang. Hello. I say Hey, my name is Alex. And apparently when you die, you get to have a single phone call to whoever you want. They say. Okay. So yeah, sadly I'm dead. That's bad. Yeah. How'd you die? You murdered me you bastard! he said shouting into the phone. So instead of using your phone call to tell a police officer my name, you waste it on calling your killer? Shit! I hang up
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	"Hello?" Even through that, I could only think about the stack of applications mounting on my desk and all of the mailboxes burying my resume beneath other aspirations and ambitions, all of which more deserving than mine. Still, one should project a little more confidence within their voice, where faces are missing, and where tone and timbre reflect an entire philosophy and eclipse size and stature for better or for worse. "Did I reach Mike Park?" "Yes..... Yeah-Yes, this is him. What can I help you with? I'm currently not in the office right now, but I can help you first thing this Thursday. If it's an urgent matter, someone at Community Outreach can help you first thing tomorrow morning." "Oh no," the voice chuckled, "That won't be necessary. I can't be helped." The voice sounded exhausted, as if it's spoken through every hardship and for every aftermath. The voice sounded spent and stripped of all identity, yet strangely satisfied in purpose. Shit, what am I supposed to do? I haven't been trained for this. I'm not a certified professional for this type of situation. "Hold on, I can transfer you to another line. Just wait and you can be helped." The voice chuckled again. "Like I said, that won't be necessary. I quite literally can't be helped." "Excuse me, but this line is for serious matters only, and, as I've said, any serious matters which I am not qualified to handle, I will transfer you to a professional. I can-" The voice chuckled again. "It's alright. Maybe I should have rephrased it? Maybe I should have emphasized that I can't be helped because I already have been. You really ought to finish listening before speaking, but I suppose that's what I've always loved about you because it's what makes you honest in your emotions and intentions-" The voice paused. What's going on with this person? I'm really not ready for this. "Well, there are rules to this, but I just wanted to call you to say thank you. Thank you Mike. Thank you for saving me. And, what else can I say?" "Who is this?" "I have to go soon, but I was told that there are rules to this and I know you'll understand the reason some day." "Rules to what? Rules for-" "Appreciate the time you'll have and don't regret the time you'll have spent. Some things just can't be changed." "I asked, who is this?" The voice chuckled again. "Mike, you already know me... or I think you'll get to know me in due time? Again, I'm not sure exactly how this works and details get a little unclear as time goes on." "Hello?!! Just give me some information. I can help you." The voice chuckled again. "There's no way I can be helped. Hopefully I'm not breaking any rules by saying this, but there really is no way you can help me." The voice paused. "You see, I can't be helped because..... I'm dead." The voice paused again. "I've got to go now Mike, but as I've said before, I know you'll understand in time. Remember what I've said and goodbye." Silence rang from the phone and the inevitable dial tone couldn't have been more deafening.	The phone rang. Hello. I say Hey, my name is Alex. And apparently when you die, you get to have a single phone call to whoever you want. They say. Okay. So yeah, sadly I'm dead. That's bad. Yeah. How'd you die? You murdered me you bastard! he said shouting into the phone. So instead of using your phone call to tell a police officer my name, you waste it on calling your killer? Shit! I hang up
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	This party was just too much, I just had to take a step outside and breathe in some fresh air. The silence only lasted for a minute before it was interrupted by the ringing of my phone, must be Kelly, again, I thought as I picked up my phone. "Hello, Hello," a tired voice called out. "hello," I asked in a hesitated tone. "James, James, I'm glad you answered." realizing the error, I replied, "No, you must have the wrong-" "I tried calling your parents, but they wouldn't pick up. And then I tried calling your siblings but I couldn't reach them either," she interrupted, "they almost didn't let me make the other calls after the first one didn't go through". "look my name's Nath-" "I'm really hope they're okay, I haven't heard from any of you in while, you're still mad at me for accidentally buying you the wrong game for your fifteenth birthday, aren't you?" "look, I'm not who you thin-" "I'm sorry, That was the month your grandfather past away, and I had to take care of the funeral arrangements. I'll buy you the next one as soon as my check comes in the mail." "sure," was all I could muster out. Surely, playing along couldn't hurt. "So, have you finally asked that girl from high school out," she asked after a while as she had to think about it. "I did, and I even got married to her!" "I - I - I , can't believe it. Did I miss the ceremony?" "No, you were there, it was the same place you and grandpa met" "you mean, the Scarlot Lot?" "yes, that's the place" "well, honey their telling me I have to go now, it was really nice talking to someone again." "good bye grandma" "good bye, James," she said in a tired but satisfied tone.	The phone rang. Hello. I say Hey, my name is Alex. And apparently when you die, you get to have a single phone call to whoever you want. They say. Okay. So yeah, sadly I'm dead. That's bad. Yeah. How'd you die? You murdered me you bastard! he said shouting into the phone. So instead of using your phone call to tell a police officer my name, you waste it on calling your killer? Shit! I hang up
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	Hello, this is Morgan Freeman. Whoa, for real? This is really Morgan Freeman? Its like you have heard my voice before. (Soft, dry chuckle with shake of head) May I ask who is calling? My name is Steve. I just died, and well it looks like you get a phone call from Heaven after you die. You think I don't know that, Steve? I spend four weeks in Heaven researching my role as God in Bruce Almighty. I know about the phone booth you're in. It smells like cotton candy, am I right? Yes! Anyways, I didn't really have anyone to call so I just dialed one of the LA area code then spelled out WANT BOOBS and you answered. Lucky guess! And yes, that was intentional. So what can I do for you? Well... nothing I guess. Anything you wanna ask me? No, I'm on set of my new movie and I have to go now. Oh. What's your new movie? Well, remember that movie where me and three other old actors went to Vegas and got laid? (shudders) Yeah. Oh God, my mouth tastes weird all of a sudden. Well we are making a sequel. I'm sure it's gonna be terrible, but as you now know, you CAN take it with you. Yeah, I didn't expect to be charged for my robe, harp, wings, and that afterlife tax.... That's where they get you in Heaven. And I made the mistake of telling DeNiro, which is why he does seven lousy movies a year, most of which are roles I could also play. He's taking away my afterlife funds. Yeah, I've got... $34 left. That's not gonna last an eternity. No shit, Easy Reader. Why am I still talking to you? This call is eating up the rest of my cash. (hangs up) (weary chuckle) You know, some folks say a man is only as good as his words but I've never heard a man say he will work for his reputation instead. That doesn't make much sense, but you read it in my voice, didn't you? This is Morgan Freeman signing off. See you at the movies	The phone rang. Hello. I say Hey, my name is Alex. And apparently when you die, you get to have a single phone call to whoever you want. They say. Okay. So yeah, sadly I'm dead. That's bad. Yeah. How'd you die? You murdered me you bastard! he said shouting into the phone. So instead of using your phone call to tell a police officer my name, you waste it on calling your killer? Shit! I hang up
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	I was going about my day off as usual. Sleeping in, making a decent breakfast, catching up on shows and just shooting the breeze. It was one of those slow days where it feels like the day drags on and nothing really seems interesting anymore. I wasn't tired enough to nap so that was out of the question. I had already checked my social media to the point that refreshing the pages did nothing. It was just one of those slow days. Until my phone rang. Unknown numbers weren't uncommon and I usually picked up to see what kind of vacation I had won or how to fix my computer that was apparently riddled with viruses. But this time, it was different. My phone rang, I picked it up and looked at the odd combination of numbers. Unfamiliar area code, the usual. I picked up and just said "Hello" to try and trigger the automatic recording that was surely going to start soon. But that didn't happen. Almost immediately a voice spoke up. One I didn't recognize but one that didn't sound robotic. "Hello, is this Mr. Fredrick?" I stood there a bit confused, not really sure how to proceed. "Yes, this is he. Can I help you?" "Well, you kinda already have. You see, you're my one call. And I wanted to thank you." At this point, my head started to race a bit. I knew about the one phone call after death but I hadn't gotten a call in years. I tried to pinpoint the voice but I couldn't. I pressed on hoping to get an answer. "I'm not really sure who you are. Or why you're thanking me for that matter." "I understand your confusion. You don't know me personally, nor I you, but you saved my life. Several years ago, I was riding the bus and I had been fired. I was feeling very depressed as I was already having a very bad week and me getting fired was the icing on the cake. You, Mr. Frederick, you saw me and told me not to give up. You. Who had no idea what I was going through. What had happened or who I was. You looked at me and told me that things will get better and to not give up. Do you remember that?" I was speechless and barely managed to utter out a near silent "yeah." I had nearly forgot about that day on the bus but it came back to me in perfect clarity even though it had been so many years since. The look of hopelessness on this young mans face. His desperation. Me, knowing what it was like, and feeling so bad for someone so young to experience such sorrow. I remember what I told him before I got off that bus. My eyes had started to water at the thought of that day and he continued. "I had had such an awful week. I had planned to kill myself when I got home. I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't know how or with what I would have done it with, all I knew at that moment was that I wanted it all to end. All the pain. All the disappointment. All of it. But your words helped me realize that it would get better. That there is hope and that killing myself wouldn't solve anything. When I got home, I started looking for other jobs. I got back up with a new passion and a more positive outlook. I got a job, rose through the ranks, bettered myself, and saw life through new eyes. All because of you." Tears were streaming down my face. I was stunned and couldn't say anything. I just sat there with my phone pressed against my ear. "I just wanted to thank you Mr. Frederick. I found my true potential and didn't end my life prematurely. Thanks to you. I have lived a full life and truly understand what it's like to exist fully. So thank you." And with that last line, he was gone. Edit: Thank you very much for the gold. I'm glad you enjoyed my reply :)	The phone rang. Hello. I say Hey, my name is Alex. And apparently when you die, you get to have a single phone call to whoever you want. They say. Okay. So yeah, sadly I'm dead. That's bad. Yeah. How'd you die? You murdered me you bastard! he said shouting into the phone. So instead of using your phone call to tell a police officer my name, you waste it on calling your killer? Shit! I hang up
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	> Incoming call: Afterlife This was the first time John had gotten this call. A few people around him had died but nobody had called him, choosing spouses, soul mates or children instead. He figured he would eventually get called by someone but as far as he knew all of his closest friends and family were still alive. Being only nineteen he hadn't expected to get a call for quite some time. Perhaps someone had been in an accident? His hands trembled as he picked up his phone and accepted the call. "he-...hello?" It felt weird starting this conversation in such a mundane fashion but then again what do you say to someone who's dead? A shaky and unfamiliar voice answered. "Eh, hey. Thank you for picking up. Who is this?" John took his phone from his ear and looked at it in confusion. >ongoing call: > Afterlife > 00:15 It really was the afterlife. He hadn't heard of someone from beyond ever calling a wrong number, was that even possible? "I'm John Bucket, who are you?" "Hayden Palmer. And before you ask, no we don't know each other." John closed his mouth, he had been about to ask just that. "Let me explain" Hayden continued, "When I got up here they told me there's a condition on living in heaven. Apparently you have to be remembered, someone needs to know you." "So why not call someone you know?" John asked, still confused. "The problem is that I've been a bit of a recluse. Well, not just a bit of a recluse really. I actually bought an old oil platform and lived most of my life there. I don't really know all that many people." Hayden said. "There's the few people that delivered my food from time to time, but other than that nearly everybody I knew forgot about me, and most of the rest already passed away." "Why didn't you call one of them? They at least knew your name before you called them" "They do know my name. They called me "that old crazy hermit" though, and that was one of the kinder names too. They aren't people that would care to know the real me." John was silent for a while, trying to figure out what to say. Clearly Hayden had the same problem as he too remained quiet, until he cleared his throat and started talking again. "But it seems that that is the catch; people have to know you. Not know of you. They told me it's a mechanism put in place to keep Heaven from overcrowding, once you're forgotten you fade away. And well. Nobody knows me. Nobody remembers the life I lead before I bought the oil rig, or knows of the things I did in my childhood." Hayden chuckled, but it had a bitter edge to it. "It was painful when they told me that, that I've already been forgotten." He sighed and John thought he could hear a sob on the other side before Hayden started talking again. "So that's why I'm calling you. I'm hoping you could listen to my story for a bit. Perhaps after sharing my life with you, sharing all of it, the good and the bad, perhaps then they will let me stay here for a while." "I guess I, eh. Alright." John stammered. Hayden laughed, a genuine and relieved laugh. "Thank you John. Make yourself comfortable, I've lived a long life."	The phone rang. Hello. I say Hey, my name is Alex. And apparently when you die, you get to have a single phone call to whoever you want. They say. Okay. So yeah, sadly I'm dead. That's bad. Yeah. How'd you die? You murdered me you bastard! he said shouting into the phone. So instead of using your phone call to tell a police officer my name, you waste it on calling your killer? Shit! I hang up
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	Part 1 of 3 The phone starts ringing. After years of work blocking telemarketing numbers and finally getting off debt collection lists for the deadbeat that owned this number ten years ago I had finally become one of those houses in which the land line never rings. Keeping all business matters to my mobile phone I plan to keep it that way. Life is just easier when you don't have to worry about being woken up on your day off because someone is trying to sell you something. Good the phone stopped ringing before I mustarded for the annoyance. Luckily the vodka hasn't reached the stage from drunk to head ache. I won't have any trouble getting back to sleep. The phone starts ringing again. The night before this morning was pretty average routine as of late. I stay at work longer than required and make sure a lot of the tasks for the stores weekend part timers is done. That way the weekend crew has it easy even if someone calls in sick, all while making me too close to over time to be any pay greedy manager's first choice to call in to work. I don't mind doing more than is expected of me, but at 8 dollars an hour with a bachelors degree to work on my day off at a retail job, I draw the line. So like usual I come home alone in my quiet apartment; I open up a single bottle of micro beer Jabber-talker, a beer that I only bought because of its goofy name, and pour up a half litter worth of 10 dollar name not important vodka in a cup with ice. This is my Friday, every Friday. Sitting on my couch watching the weeks worth of DVR shows and Youtube recaps with a cat rubbing against my feet sipping a beer I hate and chasing it down with harsh yet frosty vodka. I'm not even sure what time I feel asleep. But I know it feels like only two or three hours of sleep. Hello, Before you get started this is my emergency line. This is my day off. It is 8: er 12 in the morning and I was asleep on my couch in my work cloths so please take me off what ever list you have me on. I am hang-- "Harvey Waters! Don't hang up." A voice quickly chimed in. The voice didn't sound like the usual debt collector and didn't have that scripted desperation all sales calls have. Who ever this sale person was, he was good. They actually kept me on the line long enough even though I expected it just to be a clever lure. "What is this call pertaining too?" "Well I choose you as my goodbye call.", The voice replied. "I'm sorry I don't recognize your voice; I have never had one of these calls before. Do voices sound the same when you die? Who is this? Dad?" "No, I'm sorry I hadn't introduced myself. My name is Frank and I didn't know who to call. They had a few lists available in these cases. Lists of people you have wronged, lists of people that have wronged you. A way you can make things right. You were on one of my lists." "I was, I'm sorry I don't know any Franks and I don't remember doing anything terrible to anyone to deserve to be a focus on a list." "Actually you were on my list twice, and you did nothing wrong it was I who wronged you. Which is why I picked you. It said one time a 20 dollar bill fell out of your pocket when you were standing in line at a gas station and I slowly picked it up so you wouldn't notice. I had just got kicked out of my house and was so hungry, and 20 dollars was like winning the lottery. " "And the other?" "The other you were broken down on a country road and you were trying to wave someone down and I passed you. It says you missed an important job interview because you ran out of gas." "I remember that day. I had just bought the car for 500 dollars that day and was driving into town and had no idea the gas gauge has off by half a tank. Those are really the things you called about?" "Well in sorts."	The call came in as the sun was rising. I hadn’t even gotten to my coffee yet, its wispy tendrils of heat rising in curled strands as I reached beside it to grab my phone. Triple seven. -Oh.- My heart sank, as this could only mean one thing. I accepted the call with my stomach attempting to escape through my throat, “H-hello?” I croaked. “You don’t know me.” A female voice started. I was already trying to place the name, maybe it was my father, my mother, or younger sister, but my heart rate began to slow down as I realized I had no idea who this person was, “What can I do for you?” Was all I could ask. “My daughter,” she began, “My daughter I’ve left behind. I have no one and she’s not one for talking much but… I need your help. My name is Martha, and you’re my one call.” Martha. I’d never known a Martha personally, and didn’t recognize her voice at all, but I was her -one,- and with that I felt an obligation to at least listen, even if I couldn’t help. Martha’s voice echoed in my ear again, “Ever since her father passed, she’s been very distant. I would have called her but I don’t think she could handle this. She’s only twenty-two just this Spring. So, I need you, Mark. I need you to break it to her that I’m gone.” “Tell me about your daughter, where can I find her?” I had no idea why I was already so invested. A dead woman’s wish must have that effect, at least that’s all I could guess. “Her name is Eileen, and she used to be the most kind-hearted, bubbly girl you could ever meet. Her eyes always shined with light and happiness. When Richard was taken from us, its like the light went out in her. She holed herself away. In fact, I’m pretty sure that she won’t even realize that I’m gone until you get there. Eileen is too taken with her video games and internet now that my not coming home won’t really be a big deal to her. She never really came to visit anyway. She lives in the apartment just above mine…But let me tell you some more, let me tell you about her from the very beginning so that you know why I chose you, Mark.” I was listening, and I’d continue to listen for hours. Before I’d know it, I’d be cradling the dearest thing in my life in my arms, and she wouldn’t even know who I was.
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	Part 1 of 3 The phone starts ringing. After years of work blocking telemarketing numbers and finally getting off debt collection lists for the deadbeat that owned this number ten years ago I had finally become one of those houses in which the land line never rings. Keeping all business matters to my mobile phone I plan to keep it that way. Life is just easier when you don't have to worry about being woken up on your day off because someone is trying to sell you something. Good the phone stopped ringing before I mustarded for the annoyance. Luckily the vodka hasn't reached the stage from drunk to head ache. I won't have any trouble getting back to sleep. The phone starts ringing again. The night before this morning was pretty average routine as of late. I stay at work longer than required and make sure a lot of the tasks for the stores weekend part timers is done. That way the weekend crew has it easy even if someone calls in sick, all while making me too close to over time to be any pay greedy manager's first choice to call in to work. I don't mind doing more than is expected of me, but at 8 dollars an hour with a bachelors degree to work on my day off at a retail job, I draw the line. So like usual I come home alone in my quiet apartment; I open up a single bottle of micro beer Jabber-talker, a beer that I only bought because of its goofy name, and pour up a half litter worth of 10 dollar name not important vodka in a cup with ice. This is my Friday, every Friday. Sitting on my couch watching the weeks worth of DVR shows and Youtube recaps with a cat rubbing against my feet sipping a beer I hate and chasing it down with harsh yet frosty vodka. I'm not even sure what time I feel asleep. But I know it feels like only two or three hours of sleep. Hello, Before you get started this is my emergency line. This is my day off. It is 8: er 12 in the morning and I was asleep on my couch in my work cloths so please take me off what ever list you have me on. I am hang-- "Harvey Waters! Don't hang up." A voice quickly chimed in. The voice didn't sound like the usual debt collector and didn't have that scripted desperation all sales calls have. Who ever this sale person was, he was good. They actually kept me on the line long enough even though I expected it just to be a clever lure. "What is this call pertaining too?" "Well I choose you as my goodbye call.", The voice replied. "I'm sorry I don't recognize your voice; I have never had one of these calls before. Do voices sound the same when you die? Who is this? Dad?" "No, I'm sorry I hadn't introduced myself. My name is Frank and I didn't know who to call. They had a few lists available in these cases. Lists of people you have wronged, lists of people that have wronged you. A way you can make things right. You were on one of my lists." "I was, I'm sorry I don't know any Franks and I don't remember doing anything terrible to anyone to deserve to be a focus on a list." "Actually you were on my list twice, and you did nothing wrong it was I who wronged you. Which is why I picked you. It said one time a 20 dollar bill fell out of your pocket when you were standing in line at a gas station and I slowly picked it up so you wouldn't notice. I had just got kicked out of my house and was so hungry, and 20 dollars was like winning the lottery. " "And the other?" "The other you were broken down on a country road and you were trying to wave someone down and I passed you. It says you missed an important job interview because you ran out of gas." "I remember that day. I had just bought the car for 500 dollars that day and was driving into town and had no idea the gas gauge has off by half a tank. Those are really the things you called about?" "Well in sorts."	I have been plagued by scam calls for a very long time, or at least so I thought... Since a young age I have been engrained by my parents to not answer a call from an unrecognized number and the few times I have, mostly with local area code numbers, they were all scams or recordings. This, on top off all the random number calls that actually left a voicemail which also were obvious scare tactic scams trying to get me to call back to repay a debt I owe even though I have never had any debt or saying a lawsuit was filed against me when I have never wronged anyone. After coming to the conclusion that random numbers were not worth answering from advice and my own personal experience with them, I resolved to never answer another again. I figured, if someone needed to talk to me bad enough, they would either keep calling or leave me a convincing voicemail that actually could possibly apply to me to get me to call back. This cycle has continued for many years throughout my life, no matter how many numbers I blocked, declined, or ignored, I continued to receive dozens sometimes even hundreds of calls from random numbers every day. This cycle continued until recently when I pulled my phone out of my pocket as I was doing dishes at work to see who was calling me in case it was the rare instance it may be important, when my phone slipped out of my soapy wet hands and out of instinct, I saved it from colliding with the hard tile floor. It just so happened that I grabbed it while simultaneously hitting the accept call button. When I heard a little girls voice speaking from a distance, my curiosity and empathy got the best of me as I put the phone to my ear to listen... The young girl's voice spoke innocently yet firmly as it said, "I know you don't know me, but after I know what I know now, there is no one else I want to call and talk to more. I am from a family of 5, my mom, dad, two older brothers, and I were just in a car accident and I was the only one to die on impact because I had secretly unbuckled my seat belt in the secluded third row seat of our SUV to lay down comfortably. I was ejected from the vehicle as an 18-wheeler ran a stop light and T-boned us from the side sending our car rolling. This is not my reason for calling though; I know now that you are mankind's last hope just as we all do when we perish. Instead of using my one and only call after death to contact and speak with any of my loved ones, I used my call on you because of that, even after being informed that you never answer, I refuse to lose hope in you. You already know what you need to do, just as you always have. Do not get distracted please, everyone in life and in death is depending on you. My time is up and it is my time to move on, I love you and I am sorry if I have ever let you down." Call ends. I still am so curious as to what this call was about and what I am supposed to do. I am nothing special, I have no extra ordinary power, if anything I am mediocre compared to the standards of society as I know it. Yet, something in me feels certain this was not just some scam call, I cannot shake this feeling. Am I just choosing the path of ignorance to keep from having to deal with some burden only I can carry because it is the easy way out? Or is this just some cruel joke to appeal to my ego and feel like I am some "chosen one" and that I am actually "special". I still have no idea who that was or what that call was really about, but I know I will never answer or listen to another random number again...
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	Part 1 of 3 The phone starts ringing. After years of work blocking telemarketing numbers and finally getting off debt collection lists for the deadbeat that owned this number ten years ago I had finally become one of those houses in which the land line never rings. Keeping all business matters to my mobile phone I plan to keep it that way. Life is just easier when you don't have to worry about being woken up on your day off because someone is trying to sell you something. Good the phone stopped ringing before I mustarded for the annoyance. Luckily the vodka hasn't reached the stage from drunk to head ache. I won't have any trouble getting back to sleep. The phone starts ringing again. The night before this morning was pretty average routine as of late. I stay at work longer than required and make sure a lot of the tasks for the stores weekend part timers is done. That way the weekend crew has it easy even if someone calls in sick, all while making me too close to over time to be any pay greedy manager's first choice to call in to work. I don't mind doing more than is expected of me, but at 8 dollars an hour with a bachelors degree to work on my day off at a retail job, I draw the line. So like usual I come home alone in my quiet apartment; I open up a single bottle of micro beer Jabber-talker, a beer that I only bought because of its goofy name, and pour up a half litter worth of 10 dollar name not important vodka in a cup with ice. This is my Friday, every Friday. Sitting on my couch watching the weeks worth of DVR shows and Youtube recaps with a cat rubbing against my feet sipping a beer I hate and chasing it down with harsh yet frosty vodka. I'm not even sure what time I feel asleep. But I know it feels like only two or three hours of sleep. Hello, Before you get started this is my emergency line. This is my day off. It is 8: er 12 in the morning and I was asleep on my couch in my work cloths so please take me off what ever list you have me on. I am hang-- "Harvey Waters! Don't hang up." A voice quickly chimed in. The voice didn't sound like the usual debt collector and didn't have that scripted desperation all sales calls have. Who ever this sale person was, he was good. They actually kept me on the line long enough even though I expected it just to be a clever lure. "What is this call pertaining too?" "Well I choose you as my goodbye call.", The voice replied. "I'm sorry I don't recognize your voice; I have never had one of these calls before. Do voices sound the same when you die? Who is this? Dad?" "No, I'm sorry I hadn't introduced myself. My name is Frank and I didn't know who to call. They had a few lists available in these cases. Lists of people you have wronged, lists of people that have wronged you. A way you can make things right. You were on one of my lists." "I was, I'm sorry I don't know any Franks and I don't remember doing anything terrible to anyone to deserve to be a focus on a list." "Actually you were on my list twice, and you did nothing wrong it was I who wronged you. Which is why I picked you. It said one time a 20 dollar bill fell out of your pocket when you were standing in line at a gas station and I slowly picked it up so you wouldn't notice. I had just got kicked out of my house and was so hungry, and 20 dollars was like winning the lottery. " "And the other?" "The other you were broken down on a country road and you were trying to wave someone down and I passed you. It says you missed an important job interview because you ran out of gas." "I remember that day. I had just bought the car for 500 dollars that day and was driving into town and had no idea the gas gauge has off by half a tank. Those are really the things you called about?" "Well in sorts."	Dammit, who the hell is calling this late? "Hello?" ... "Hello?" ... "You better have a damned good reason for waking me up in the middle of the fucking night!" Finally, a voice starts uttering some numbers, "3", "2", "6". He continues, "Bellingham Way." "326 Bellingham Way what the fuck are you talking about?" Click. What the hell was that all about? I scribbled the address down and headed back to bed. Ugh, another shitty night's sleep. I've gotta head over to the coffee shop. A bell jingles as I opened the door. "Woody!" shouted the barista. "The usual?" "Double it! Ring me up for this paper too." Meghan works the morning shifts. She likes to call me 'Woody.' My real name is Patrick Wood. I hopped into my favorite spot and started reading. November 22, 2017 Local cookout... More election bullshit... Charles King, 58, was found hanging from a tree outside of the Central Baptist Church. Damn, wasn't he that guy I met at the tavern a few weeks ago? What a shame. Enough of this, I need to get some more jokes written for this gig. I grabbed my notebook, it was still open from last night. 326 Bellingham Way, it said, written across the page. What could this be about? Should I go check it out? No, not now, I've got to work. Next page. A few hours have passed, my coffee is dry. I think I've exhausted my creativity today. "Seeya Meghan!", "Bye Pat." I hopped into my car. Alright, I've got to check this place out. I typed it in and drove away. "You will arrive at 326 Bellingham Way in 25 minutes." This sure is far out. Barely any buildings around. "Turn right" "Turn left" This looks like a driveway. Is it that building up on the left? It looks like a glorified shed. "You have arrived at your destination." I stepped out, and shouted, "Anybody here? Hello?" Waste of my fucking time. I walked up to the door. Knock, knock. Nothing... Much harder, I tried again. Knock, knock. The door squeaked open. "Hello?" I stepped inside. No windows, no light, I stumbled around looking for a switch. Something tickled my head. I reached up and grabbed it. A light chain! The room lit up, and fear fell before my eyes. Plastered on the wall, hundreds, maybe thousands of pictures. Close ups, at work, at home. Who took all these photos? Has somebody been following me? I looked to my right and froze from what appeared in front of my eyes. The wall was covered in blood, written in large letters across the room. PATRICK WOOD "What the fuck is going on?", I shouted. It's time to leave. I ran towards the door. I don't remember closing it when I came in. The handle wouldn't turn. Am I locked in here now? I looked back, seeing a small table underneath the blood. I walked over to the table. Sitting atop it was a small notebook. The book was already spread open to a page with what appeared to be a list. 1\. Johnathan Smith, 1/23/1992 2\. Kelly Smith, 1/23/1992 3\. Michael Bick, 6/14/1992 ... 56\. Sheldon Waters, 4/26/2002 57\. William Hanks, 7/1/2002 ... 98\. Vincent Beck, 10/30/2017 99\. Charles King, 11/21/2017 100\. Patrick Wood, 11/22/2017 That's my name... That's today... What the hell is this? All these different names, 25 years. Wait a minute. Charles King? No it can't be. In a rage, I flung the book off of the table, and in the blink of an eye, everything went black. I opened up my eyes. What happened, where am I? What is this place? White walls, white chair, white desk. What happened to me? Am I dead? I sat down. Upon the table sat a piece of paper and a telephone. I picked up the paper and started reading. You have one call.
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	Hello, this is Morgan Freeman. Whoa, for real? This is really Morgan Freeman? Its like you have heard my voice before. (Soft, dry chuckle with shake of head) May I ask who is calling? My name is Steve. I just died, and well it looks like you get a phone call from Heaven after you die. You think I don't know that, Steve? I spend four weeks in Heaven researching my role as God in Bruce Almighty. I know about the phone booth you're in. It smells like cotton candy, am I right? Yes! Anyways, I didn't really have anyone to call so I just dialed one of the LA area code then spelled out WANT BOOBS and you answered. Lucky guess! And yes, that was intentional. So what can I do for you? Well... nothing I guess. Anything you wanna ask me? No, I'm on set of my new movie and I have to go now. Oh. What's your new movie? Well, remember that movie where me and three other old actors went to Vegas and got laid? (shudders) Yeah. Oh God, my mouth tastes weird all of a sudden. Well we are making a sequel. I'm sure it's gonna be terrible, but as you now know, you CAN take it with you. Yeah, I didn't expect to be charged for my robe, harp, wings, and that afterlife tax.... That's where they get you in Heaven. And I made the mistake of telling DeNiro, which is why he does seven lousy movies a year, most of which are roles I could also play. He's taking away my afterlife funds. Yeah, I've got... $34 left. That's not gonna last an eternity. No shit, Easy Reader. Why am I still talking to you? This call is eating up the rest of my cash. (hangs up) (weary chuckle) You know, some folks say a man is only as good as his words but I've never heard a man say he will work for his reputation instead. That doesn't make much sense, but you read it in my voice, didn't you? This is Morgan Freeman signing off. See you at the movies	"Hello?" Even through that, I could only think about the stack of applications mounting on my desk and all of the mailboxes burying my resume beneath other aspirations and ambitions, all of which more deserving than mine. Still, one should project a little more confidence within their voice, where faces are missing, and where tone and timbre reflect an entire philosophy and eclipse size and stature for better or for worse. "Did I reach Mike Park?" "Yes..... Yeah-Yes, this is him. What can I help you with? I'm currently not in the office right now, but I can help you first thing this Thursday. If it's an urgent matter, someone at Community Outreach can help you first thing tomorrow morning." "Oh no," the voice chuckled, "That won't be necessary. I can't be helped." The voice sounded exhausted, as if it's spoken through every hardship and for every aftermath. The voice sounded spent and stripped of all identity, yet strangely satisfied in purpose. Shit, what am I supposed to do? I haven't been trained for this. I'm not a certified professional for this type of situation. "Hold on, I can transfer you to another line. Just wait and you can be helped." The voice chuckled again. "Like I said, that won't be necessary. I quite literally can't be helped." "Excuse me, but this line is for serious matters only, and, as I've said, any serious matters which I am not qualified to handle, I will transfer you to a professional. I can-" The voice chuckled again. "It's alright. Maybe I should have rephrased it? Maybe I should have emphasized that I can't be helped because I already have been. You really ought to finish listening before speaking, but I suppose that's what I've always loved about you because it's what makes you honest in your emotions and intentions-" The voice paused. What's going on with this person? I'm really not ready for this. "Well, there are rules to this, but I just wanted to call you to say thank you. Thank you Mike. Thank you for saving me. And, what else can I say?" "Who is this?" "I have to go soon, but I was told that there are rules to this and I know you'll understand the reason some day." "Rules to what? Rules for-" "Appreciate the time you'll have and don't regret the time you'll have spent. Some things just can't be changed." "I asked, who is this?" The voice chuckled again. "Mike, you already know me... or I think you'll get to know me in due time? Again, I'm not sure exactly how this works and details get a little unclear as time goes on." "Hello?!! Just give me some information. I can help you." The voice chuckled again. "There's no way I can be helped. Hopefully I'm not breaking any rules by saying this, but there really is no way you can help me." The voice paused. "You see, I can't be helped because..... I'm dead." The voice paused again. "I've got to go now Mike, but as I've said before, I know you'll understand in time. Remember what I've said and goodbye." Silence rang from the phone and the inevitable dial tone couldn't have been more deafening.
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	I was going about my day off as usual. Sleeping in, making a decent breakfast, catching up on shows and just shooting the breeze. It was one of those slow days where it feels like the day drags on and nothing really seems interesting anymore. I wasn't tired enough to nap so that was out of the question. I had already checked my social media to the point that refreshing the pages did nothing. It was just one of those slow days. Until my phone rang. Unknown numbers weren't uncommon and I usually picked up to see what kind of vacation I had won or how to fix my computer that was apparently riddled with viruses. But this time, it was different. My phone rang, I picked it up and looked at the odd combination of numbers. Unfamiliar area code, the usual. I picked up and just said "Hello" to try and trigger the automatic recording that was surely going to start soon. But that didn't happen. Almost immediately a voice spoke up. One I didn't recognize but one that didn't sound robotic. "Hello, is this Mr. Fredrick?" I stood there a bit confused, not really sure how to proceed. "Yes, this is he. Can I help you?" "Well, you kinda already have. You see, you're my one call. And I wanted to thank you." At this point, my head started to race a bit. I knew about the one phone call after death but I hadn't gotten a call in years. I tried to pinpoint the voice but I couldn't. I pressed on hoping to get an answer. "I'm not really sure who you are. Or why you're thanking me for that matter." "I understand your confusion. You don't know me personally, nor I you, but you saved my life. Several years ago, I was riding the bus and I had been fired. I was feeling very depressed as I was already having a very bad week and me getting fired was the icing on the cake. You, Mr. Frederick, you saw me and told me not to give up. You. Who had no idea what I was going through. What had happened or who I was. You looked at me and told me that things will get better and to not give up. Do you remember that?" I was speechless and barely managed to utter out a near silent "yeah." I had nearly forgot about that day on the bus but it came back to me in perfect clarity even though it had been so many years since. The look of hopelessness on this young mans face. His desperation. Me, knowing what it was like, and feeling so bad for someone so young to experience such sorrow. I remember what I told him before I got off that bus. My eyes had started to water at the thought of that day and he continued. "I had had such an awful week. I had planned to kill myself when I got home. I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't know how or with what I would have done it with, all I knew at that moment was that I wanted it all to end. All the pain. All the disappointment. All of it. But your words helped me realize that it would get better. That there is hope and that killing myself wouldn't solve anything. When I got home, I started looking for other jobs. I got back up with a new passion and a more positive outlook. I got a job, rose through the ranks, bettered myself, and saw life through new eyes. All because of you." Tears were streaming down my face. I was stunned and couldn't say anything. I just sat there with my phone pressed against my ear. "I just wanted to thank you Mr. Frederick. I found my true potential and didn't end my life prematurely. Thanks to you. I have lived a full life and truly understand what it's like to exist fully. So thank you." And with that last line, he was gone. Edit: Thank you very much for the gold. I'm glad you enjoyed my reply :)	"Hello?" Even through that, I could only think about the stack of applications mounting on my desk and all of the mailboxes burying my resume beneath other aspirations and ambitions, all of which more deserving than mine. Still, one should project a little more confidence within their voice, where faces are missing, and where tone and timbre reflect an entire philosophy and eclipse size and stature for better or for worse. "Did I reach Mike Park?" "Yes..... Yeah-Yes, this is him. What can I help you with? I'm currently not in the office right now, but I can help you first thing this Thursday. If it's an urgent matter, someone at Community Outreach can help you first thing tomorrow morning." "Oh no," the voice chuckled, "That won't be necessary. I can't be helped." The voice sounded exhausted, as if it's spoken through every hardship and for every aftermath. The voice sounded spent and stripped of all identity, yet strangely satisfied in purpose. Shit, what am I supposed to do? I haven't been trained for this. I'm not a certified professional for this type of situation. "Hold on, I can transfer you to another line. Just wait and you can be helped." The voice chuckled again. "Like I said, that won't be necessary. I quite literally can't be helped." "Excuse me, but this line is for serious matters only, and, as I've said, any serious matters which I am not qualified to handle, I will transfer you to a professional. I can-" The voice chuckled again. "It's alright. Maybe I should have rephrased it? Maybe I should have emphasized that I can't be helped because I already have been. You really ought to finish listening before speaking, but I suppose that's what I've always loved about you because it's what makes you honest in your emotions and intentions-" The voice paused. What's going on with this person? I'm really not ready for this. "Well, there are rules to this, but I just wanted to call you to say thank you. Thank you Mike. Thank you for saving me. And, what else can I say?" "Who is this?" "I have to go soon, but I was told that there are rules to this and I know you'll understand the reason some day." "Rules to what? Rules for-" "Appreciate the time you'll have and don't regret the time you'll have spent. Some things just can't be changed." "I asked, who is this?" The voice chuckled again. "Mike, you already know me... or I think you'll get to know me in due time? Again, I'm not sure exactly how this works and details get a little unclear as time goes on." "Hello?!! Just give me some information. I can help you." The voice chuckled again. "There's no way I can be helped. Hopefully I'm not breaking any rules by saying this, but there really is no way you can help me." The voice paused. "You see, I can't be helped because..... I'm dead." The voice paused again. "I've got to go now Mike, but as I've said before, I know you'll understand in time. Remember what I've said and goodbye." Silence rang from the phone and the inevitable dial tone couldn't have been more deafening.
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	Hello, this is Morgan Freeman. Whoa, for real? This is really Morgan Freeman? Its like you have heard my voice before. (Soft, dry chuckle with shake of head) May I ask who is calling? My name is Steve. I just died, and well it looks like you get a phone call from Heaven after you die. You think I don't know that, Steve? I spend four weeks in Heaven researching my role as God in Bruce Almighty. I know about the phone booth you're in. It smells like cotton candy, am I right? Yes! Anyways, I didn't really have anyone to call so I just dialed one of the LA area code then spelled out WANT BOOBS and you answered. Lucky guess! And yes, that was intentional. So what can I do for you? Well... nothing I guess. Anything you wanna ask me? No, I'm on set of my new movie and I have to go now. Oh. What's your new movie? Well, remember that movie where me and three other old actors went to Vegas and got laid? (shudders) Yeah. Oh God, my mouth tastes weird all of a sudden. Well we are making a sequel. I'm sure it's gonna be terrible, but as you now know, you CAN take it with you. Yeah, I didn't expect to be charged for my robe, harp, wings, and that afterlife tax.... That's where they get you in Heaven. And I made the mistake of telling DeNiro, which is why he does seven lousy movies a year, most of which are roles I could also play. He's taking away my afterlife funds. Yeah, I've got... $34 left. That's not gonna last an eternity. No shit, Easy Reader. Why am I still talking to you? This call is eating up the rest of my cash. (hangs up) (weary chuckle) You know, some folks say a man is only as good as his words but I've never heard a man say he will work for his reputation instead. That doesn't make much sense, but you read it in my voice, didn't you? This is Morgan Freeman signing off. See you at the movies	This party was just too much, I just had to take a step outside and breathe in some fresh air. The silence only lasted for a minute before it was interrupted by the ringing of my phone, must be Kelly, again, I thought as I picked up my phone. "Hello, Hello," a tired voice called out. "hello," I asked in a hesitated tone. "James, James, I'm glad you answered." realizing the error, I replied, "No, you must have the wrong-" "I tried calling your parents, but they wouldn't pick up. And then I tried calling your siblings but I couldn't reach them either," she interrupted, "they almost didn't let me make the other calls after the first one didn't go through". "look my name's Nath-" "I'm really hope they're okay, I haven't heard from any of you in while, you're still mad at me for accidentally buying you the wrong game for your fifteenth birthday, aren't you?" "look, I'm not who you thin-" "I'm sorry, That was the month your grandfather past away, and I had to take care of the funeral arrangements. I'll buy you the next one as soon as my check comes in the mail." "sure," was all I could muster out. Surely, playing along couldn't hurt. "So, have you finally asked that girl from high school out," she asked after a while as she had to think about it. "I did, and I even got married to her!" "I - I - I , can't believe it. Did I miss the ceremony?" "No, you were there, it was the same place you and grandpa met" "you mean, the Scarlot Lot?" "yes, that's the place" "well, honey their telling me I have to go now, it was really nice talking to someone again." "good bye grandma" "good bye, James," she said in a tired but satisfied tone.
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	I was going about my day off as usual. Sleeping in, making a decent breakfast, catching up on shows and just shooting the breeze. It was one of those slow days where it feels like the day drags on and nothing really seems interesting anymore. I wasn't tired enough to nap so that was out of the question. I had already checked my social media to the point that refreshing the pages did nothing. It was just one of those slow days. Until my phone rang. Unknown numbers weren't uncommon and I usually picked up to see what kind of vacation I had won or how to fix my computer that was apparently riddled with viruses. But this time, it was different. My phone rang, I picked it up and looked at the odd combination of numbers. Unfamiliar area code, the usual. I picked up and just said "Hello" to try and trigger the automatic recording that was surely going to start soon. But that didn't happen. Almost immediately a voice spoke up. One I didn't recognize but one that didn't sound robotic. "Hello, is this Mr. Fredrick?" I stood there a bit confused, not really sure how to proceed. "Yes, this is he. Can I help you?" "Well, you kinda already have. You see, you're my one call. And I wanted to thank you." At this point, my head started to race a bit. I knew about the one phone call after death but I hadn't gotten a call in years. I tried to pinpoint the voice but I couldn't. I pressed on hoping to get an answer. "I'm not really sure who you are. Or why you're thanking me for that matter." "I understand your confusion. You don't know me personally, nor I you, but you saved my life. Several years ago, I was riding the bus and I had been fired. I was feeling very depressed as I was already having a very bad week and me getting fired was the icing on the cake. You, Mr. Frederick, you saw me and told me not to give up. You. Who had no idea what I was going through. What had happened or who I was. You looked at me and told me that things will get better and to not give up. Do you remember that?" I was speechless and barely managed to utter out a near silent "yeah." I had nearly forgot about that day on the bus but it came back to me in perfect clarity even though it had been so many years since. The look of hopelessness on this young mans face. His desperation. Me, knowing what it was like, and feeling so bad for someone so young to experience such sorrow. I remember what I told him before I got off that bus. My eyes had started to water at the thought of that day and he continued. "I had had such an awful week. I had planned to kill myself when I got home. I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't know how or with what I would have done it with, all I knew at that moment was that I wanted it all to end. All the pain. All the disappointment. All of it. But your words helped me realize that it would get better. That there is hope and that killing myself wouldn't solve anything. When I got home, I started looking for other jobs. I got back up with a new passion and a more positive outlook. I got a job, rose through the ranks, bettered myself, and saw life through new eyes. All because of you." Tears were streaming down my face. I was stunned and couldn't say anything. I just sat there with my phone pressed against my ear. "I just wanted to thank you Mr. Frederick. I found my true potential and didn't end my life prematurely. Thanks to you. I have lived a full life and truly understand what it's like to exist fully. So thank you." And with that last line, he was gone. Edit: Thank you very much for the gold. I'm glad you enjoyed my reply :)	This party was just too much, I just had to take a step outside and breathe in some fresh air. The silence only lasted for a minute before it was interrupted by the ringing of my phone, must be Kelly, again, I thought as I picked up my phone. "Hello, Hello," a tired voice called out. "hello," I asked in a hesitated tone. "James, James, I'm glad you answered." realizing the error, I replied, "No, you must have the wrong-" "I tried calling your parents, but they wouldn't pick up. And then I tried calling your siblings but I couldn't reach them either," she interrupted, "they almost didn't let me make the other calls after the first one didn't go through". "look my name's Nath-" "I'm really hope they're okay, I haven't heard from any of you in while, you're still mad at me for accidentally buying you the wrong game for your fifteenth birthday, aren't you?" "look, I'm not who you thin-" "I'm sorry, That was the month your grandfather past away, and I had to take care of the funeral arrangements. I'll buy you the next one as soon as my check comes in the mail." "sure," was all I could muster out. Surely, playing along couldn't hurt. "So, have you finally asked that girl from high school out," she asked after a while as she had to think about it. "I did, and I even got married to her!" "I - I - I , can't believe it. Did I miss the ceremony?" "No, you were there, it was the same place you and grandpa met" "you mean, the Scarlot Lot?" "yes, that's the place" "well, honey their telling me I have to go now, it was really nice talking to someone again." "good bye grandma" "good bye, James," she said in a tired but satisfied tone.
	[WP] When a person dies, they get a final phone call from the afterlife to one person who is still living. Most of the deceased will call their close family or friends. One day, you’re called by a stranger.	I was going about my day off as usual. Sleeping in, making a decent breakfast, catching up on shows and just shooting the breeze. It was one of those slow days where it feels like the day drags on and nothing really seems interesting anymore. I wasn't tired enough to nap so that was out of the question. I had already checked my social media to the point that refreshing the pages did nothing. It was just one of those slow days. Until my phone rang. Unknown numbers weren't uncommon and I usually picked up to see what kind of vacation I had won or how to fix my computer that was apparently riddled with viruses. But this time, it was different. My phone rang, I picked it up and looked at the odd combination of numbers. Unfamiliar area code, the usual. I picked up and just said "Hello" to try and trigger the automatic recording that was surely going to start soon. But that didn't happen. Almost immediately a voice spoke up. One I didn't recognize but one that didn't sound robotic. "Hello, is this Mr. Fredrick?" I stood there a bit confused, not really sure how to proceed. "Yes, this is he. Can I help you?" "Well, you kinda already have. You see, you're my one call. And I wanted to thank you." At this point, my head started to race a bit. I knew about the one phone call after death but I hadn't gotten a call in years. I tried to pinpoint the voice but I couldn't. I pressed on hoping to get an answer. "I'm not really sure who you are. Or why you're thanking me for that matter." "I understand your confusion. You don't know me personally, nor I you, but you saved my life. Several years ago, I was riding the bus and I had been fired. I was feeling very depressed as I was already having a very bad week and me getting fired was the icing on the cake. You, Mr. Frederick, you saw me and told me not to give up. You. Who had no idea what I was going through. What had happened or who I was. You looked at me and told me that things will get better and to not give up. Do you remember that?" I was speechless and barely managed to utter out a near silent "yeah." I had nearly forgot about that day on the bus but it came back to me in perfect clarity even though it had been so many years since. The look of hopelessness on this young mans face. His desperation. Me, knowing what it was like, and feeling so bad for someone so young to experience such sorrow. I remember what I told him before I got off that bus. My eyes had started to water at the thought of that day and he continued. "I had had such an awful week. I had planned to kill myself when I got home. I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't know how or with what I would have done it with, all I knew at that moment was that I wanted it all to end. All the pain. All the disappointment. All of it. But your words helped me realize that it would get better. That there is hope and that killing myself wouldn't solve anything. When I got home, I started looking for other jobs. I got back up with a new passion and a more positive outlook. I got a job, rose through the ranks, bettered myself, and saw life through new eyes. All because of you." Tears were streaming down my face. I was stunned and couldn't say anything. I just sat there with my phone pressed against my ear. "I just wanted to thank you Mr. Frederick. I found my true potential and didn't end my life prematurely. Thanks to you. I have lived a full life and truly understand what it's like to exist fully. So thank you." And with that last line, he was gone. Edit: Thank you very much for the gold. I'm glad you enjoyed my reply :)	Hello, this is Morgan Freeman. Whoa, for real? This is really Morgan Freeman? Its like you have heard my voice before. (Soft, dry chuckle with shake of head) May I ask who is calling? My name is Steve. I just died, and well it looks like you get a phone call from Heaven after you die. You think I don't know that, Steve? I spend four weeks in Heaven researching my role as God in Bruce Almighty. I know about the phone booth you're in. It smells like cotton candy, am I right? Yes! Anyways, I didn't really have anyone to call so I just dialed one of the LA area code then spelled out WANT BOOBS and you answered. Lucky guess! And yes, that was intentional. So what can I do for you? Well... nothing I guess. Anything you wanna ask me? No, I'm on set of my new movie and I have to go now. Oh. What's your new movie? Well, remember that movie where me and three other old actors went to Vegas and got laid? (shudders) Yeah. Oh God, my mouth tastes weird all of a sudden. Well we are making a sequel. I'm sure it's gonna be terrible, but as you now know, you CAN take it with you. Yeah, I didn't expect to be charged for my robe, harp, wings, and that afterlife tax.... That's where they get you in Heaven. And I made the mistake of telling DeNiro, which is why he does seven lousy movies a year, most of which are roles I could also play. He's taking away my afterlife funds. Yeah, I've got... $34 left. That's not gonna last an eternity. No shit, Easy Reader. Why am I still talking to you? This call is eating up the rest of my cash. (hangs up) (weary chuckle) You know, some folks say a man is only as good as his words but I've never heard a man say he will work for his reputation instead. That doesn't make much sense, but you read it in my voice, didn't you? This is Morgan Freeman signing off. See you at the movies
	[WP] Life and Death show up to the same hospital room.	Ahura was looking down on the hospital bed. She was stricken, and I couldn't blame her. We generally never cross paths any more, and usually when we did it was going to be an awful day. This was absolutely one of those. A girl of only seventeen lay there. She was pretty, almost sylvan in appearance. She had short auburn hair that fanned out around her head like the halo around a street lamp on a foggy day. Her breath and pulse were both weak, but steady. The anesthetic had put her to sleep, and she would have even looked restful if it wasn't for the wounds from the car accident she had received a few hours previously. One particularly nasty gash crossed from her shoulder to her sternum. It was still seeping, slowly soaking through the sheets, and presumably staining the mattress beneath. Nurses were flitting about the room, continuing to try and stabilize her failing body. Ahura reached out and placed her hand on the girl's stomach. One of us was going to have to take the infant that kicked inches below her palm, and the other would take the girl. It was time to decide who each was going to be. Time stopped and every movement around the room suddenly quieted as Ahura locked eyes with me and shot a glare frigid as the pressing void she had been warring with since the first microbes manifested from the murk where the fires of the earth, and the solemnity of the sea met. Our intertwined existence became much more complex at that beginning. A part of me missed the simplicity of the clockwork universe we both inhabited beforehand. From the time we decided to agitate the darkness to see what would emerge until that first life, we were one. We drifted through our creation, watching wonders unfold before us. It was infinitely spectacular at every turn, but she wanted more. It was moments like this that I wish she had never gotten it. I wished that our little plane had remained simple. That I wasn't forced to be the reviled custodian of her mess. "You know you can only take one of them." I pulled my lips tight in sympathy. I didn't enjoy this job, but it had to be done. "Do not presume to think that that fact has escaped my attention for a second, Angra." The fire that sparked in her eyes burned with the ferocity of a dying sun, "I want the child. The promise of fresh life is boundless. It is the greatest embodiment of hope, and this world needs as much of it as it can get." "Ahura when will you see that hope lies only in the living? You crave something fresh to play with, to mold to your liking. When plans do not follow your intentions you immediately move on to your next toy, and I am left to carry away all you've lost. I bear every mind you've leave behind. As I lay them in the aether I am the one that watches those memories and dreams fade to the nothing from whence they were born. This poor girl has made many mistakes in her life, but she is alive. That baby is a tabula rasa, nothing more than a hopeful dream." "Hope is always better than a dead end. If you had your way, my children would still be nothing but a curious quirk of chemistry. The most meaningful thing this girl has ever done is accidentally get knocked up by a silver-tongued jock. She likely has no real future, but this child still has near infinite possibility. There are so many paths that life has yet to take, and this new human could take any one of those! Never condescend me Angra. I am manifest complexity. Everything is possible through me, and all of it starts with an iteration of this 'dream' that you so easily dismiss as irrelevant ." Ahura stood with a finger extended, gesturing towards the girl's distended stomach. I couldn't even rise to anger any more. A near eternity of ferrying the dead to their silent peace had taken that kind of passion from me. "You claim to be the champion of hope, and yet you can't bring yourself to risk anything for what that represents. What is to become of this infant once it enters the world? It will be thrown into the chaos of this country's adoption agency to be raised in who knows what circumstances. There is a good chance that it will be nothing more than its mother, if not much worse. It doesn't even know what hope is at this point. The girl in front of us has had her entire life to dream of it. And yes, she has made mistakes, but you want to wipe away all of the goodness that comes with it. Every dream of going to university to become a therapist in order help guide those like her towards a better life becomes less than dust. Every grueling dance lesson she has endured to have the capability of doing something beautiful becomes worthless. Every memory of trekking into the woods to see a new sight that perhaps she is the only one who will ever experience will fade away, and the world will be a poorer place for it. Place your hope in those who are already living, for it is they that are the sole constituents of existence, and it is solely they who bring meaning to it." Ahura was quiet for a second as she thought, and then without saying a word she stroked the girl's cheek. For a moment I wished that everything would just freeze so that what came next never had to. I placed my hand firmly on her stomach and lifted up. A spark came with it, flickering and faint. I closed my fist around it and both me and Ahura vanished from the room. ... The girl opened her eyes to the sight of her family. Her parents' faces lit up at the sight, and both of them began to weep with relieved smiles on their faces. She smiled too, but it faded as she realized something was wrong. She felt so empty. The doctor she hadn't noticed until then saw, and stepped forward. The doctor said, "You were in a very bad accident, and we did everything we could to save both of you, but in the end we had to make a choice, and we chose you. I know how difficult this is going to be, but just know that you have your entire life to live. You will always be capable of having another child if you so choose, but sacrificing this one was is the only chance you had to be able to make that choice." The girl felt tears flowing down her cheeks and sobbed, "I was going to name her Hope." "Hope was still just a a dream child, and I could never do anything to take that away from you. Nothing can."	"Well now. What are the odds?" "Quite high. We're in a hospital, after all, and it seems these days we're always meeting each other in hospitals." "I suppose that's true. Either way, it's good to see you again. I wish the circumstances were different..." "Yeah, it's nice to have a chat with you. It's pretty lonely work otherwise." "Agreed. Oh, she's about to start, let's get ready. Wouldn't want to miss it. Do you have some time after this? I'd love to catch up." "Sure, I've got a few minutes to spare. I am curious, though. Are you here for the mother or the newborn?"
	[WP]You work at an air traffic control tower. A plane that disappeared 12 years ago has contacted you on the radio to let you know they'll be landing at the airport in 15 minutes.	"Control, this is Flight 103 requesting permission to land, over." "Sir could you please repeat your flight number?" "Flight 103, Sir. Requesting permission to land." Something was wrong. I could feel it. "Flight 103, this Control. Permission not yet granted." I looked at the radar. It showed a dot the size only one plane could have. The Boeing 747. Without hesitation I grabbed the phone and called my boss. "Sir I have a plane requesting permission to land. The captain identified the flight as Flight 103 and acc-" "Hold on. Did you just say Flight 103?" "Yes. Why?" "The last time Flight 103 was supposed to land here was the 22nd of December twelve years ago." "You mean the Lockerbie incident?" "Exactly." "Then what am I supposed to do?" "Let them land. I'll cancel all departures and Mr. Johnson will contact any other incoming flight and tell them to divert somewhere else." "Yes, Sir" This couldn't be. There is no way the Clipper Maid of the Seas had survived the Semtex explosion. But why else would the captain contact us now, twelve years later?" "Flight 103, this is Control. Permission to land granted. ETA is 15 minutes." "Control, this is Flight 103. We will land at runway 13L-31R." --- 15 minutes later --- The plane should land any second now. As I glanced over to 13L-31R I spotted her in all her glory. The white fuselage with its blue stripe, the Pan American Airways logo on her vertical stabilizer and her name written below her cockpit "[Clipper Maid of the Seas](https://i.imgur.com/QRufO06.jpg)" "Wait a minute, why are there black lines all around the plane?" Sadly I didn't get an answer to my question. I decided I should call my boss again. Bit I didn't have to. He came to the to talk with me personally. "Mr. Smith, do you have an idea what these lines are?" "Well as far as I know the lines are supposed to represent the meridians and the equator with its parallels." "This is no time for jokes Smith! I'm talking about the black lines all around the plane!" "I have no idea what they show us or what they represent."	I got this job because it was calm, and semi-useful, even though all I did basically was make sure the little blips on the CRT in front of me were not wrong or on collision courses or whatever, and if they did i just pushed a button and the plane flew itself on the right course. I was bored, that was until I heard a noise on the radio, which wasn't even the airports, they just let me bring it for dealing with "Outdated enthusiasts," what people called anyone that flew a plane manually. A voice emerged from the static, "Control tower, this is American Airlines Flight 722, we are low on fuel and have sustained damage to our left engine, request permission to land!" American Airlines Flight 722? That flight was lost twelve years ago over Scotland! the chances of that thing surviving are slim...unless...no, that couldn't be! I glimpse the plane over the horizon, hastily repaired, falling apart. I have no time to ponder though, because if that thing does land, there ain't anything to clean the runway, or to stop the plane from colliding with another, I have to alert the firefighters, but the only way to is by computer or manually, and by the time the mainframe sends the message, that plane will be burning on the runway... here we go...
	[WP]You work at an air traffic control tower. A plane that disappeared 12 years ago has contacted you on the radio to let you know they'll be landing at the airport in 15 minutes.	I shoved my way past the double doors into Howard's office. Thankfully, the phone to his ear prevented him from chewing me out as I caught my breath. "Sir? Northern Airlines Flight 70 is requesting permission to land." "I'm going to have to call you back." He hung up, but didn't drop the glare. "I swear, if this is a prank-" "It's not." I looked him dead in the eye. "The military have already been alerted. I thought you should know. Let's go to the control tower." We pushed our way past the press and security waved us through. The tower was in a state of chaos, with phones ringing and workers barking orders. We pushed our way to a group of high-ranking officers at a microphone. "I asked you a question, flight 70! Explain your situation!" The one at the mic barked. "I need to talk to flight 70," Howard shouted over the chaos, grabbing his shoulder when he didn't turn. "Now." The officer turned red in the face and began shouting some lecture about important military business and respect for a decorated officer. "You don't seem to be getting anywhere. And his father was on that flight," I said, and he shut up. "Make it quick. Maybe you'll have better luck than the rest of us," he muttered, and stood aside. Howard took the mic. "Control tower to flight 70. Do you copy?" Howard asked. "Flight 70 to control. We will be landing in 15 minutes," crackled back over the radio. "That's all they've said! No matter what we ask, that's all they repeat!" Another officer said. He was a younger man, with broad shoulders and a gruff voice. "What do we do?" "Control tower to flight 70. May I speak with the passenger named Ford Jackson?" Howard said, choking up. "Flight 70 to control. We will be landing in 14 minutes." Was all he got back in response. "Sir! Infrared shows one hundred and nine heat signatures on the flight!" A frantic voice came through on the officer's radio. "Flight 70 disappeared with one hundred and seven passengers, a pilot, and a copilot. We think this is the real deal!" "Flight 70 to control. We will be landing in-" The voice on the radio was interrupted by the loudest, most terrible static interference I'd ever heard in my career. This shouldn't have been possible, with the technology we employed. "Howard! It's you, isn't it!" A different voice came over the radio. "DAD!" Howard called, as he began to cry. "Dad, it's really you!" "Howard! Listen to me! You cannot let this flight land! We aren't the same! I repeat, do not let us-" He was interrupted by another loud burst of static- "land! I love you." More static. "-ten minutes." The voice from before completed. The officers stared at the mic. The stuffy room suddenly felt remarkably cold. Howard just sat there, staring at the mic in disbelief. The officer picked up the radio. "This is General Hutchinson. Shoot it down." "Affirmative." The radio returned. "Are you mad? There's a hundred and nine people on there!" The first officer, who'd been quiet the whole time, finally blurted out. Howard shook his head as he got up from the mic. "I don't know what was on that flight. But those weren't people." _________________________________________________________ [more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)	[Edit] Submitted only the first half accidentally. It was 9am on a Monday. I started work at 6am and was just getting ready to swap with Leo to go and get my bait out of the fridge when I heard a voice cry out in my ears. I pulled the headphones off them in order to listen without going death. 'This is flight 623 do you copy over? Mayday mayday. Do you read!?' I looked at the display and sure enough flight 623 was there. It appeared from nowhere. Leo tapped me on the shoulder but I threw up my hand signalling him to wait. I made contact. 'Flight 623, this is control, we copy. Can you tell me your status? Over.' There was a moment of silence. I managed to get Leo's attention by pointing at the display. He already looked confused after I read out the flight number. He was about to tell me something when the voice cried back. 'Control this is Floght 623. Where there he'll have you guys been? We're low on fuel and need to land in 15 minutes or less! Over!' 'Flight 623, this is control, please standby.' I flung off my headphones and stood up looking at the headline displayed on Leo's phone. It was the flight number. The headline read: 'Plane Disappears minutes before landing.' The first sentence of the article read: 'A British Airways airliner, flight 623, reportedly went missing on 12th June at 08:59 am.' Kieth, the control room supervisor, was stood beside Leo looking at me. I couldn't determine his expression but he certainly didn't say anything about neither of us not being in command. 'Sir, are you aware of this?' 'Dale, wether this is a hoax or not, you're going to keep talking. If that plane is up there it needs to land' said Kieth My stomach grumbled. I hadn't eaten well yesterday and right now my gut was telling me to fill it up. 'Yes sir. Leo could you get my bait out of the fridge?' I asked. 'I'll do that. Leo, ring HQ. Tell them of the situation. After that come back here and help Dale with the situation. I'll have to call law enforcement.' Kieth said. 'Yes sir' Leo said. He dropped his phone on the table beside me and yanked up the red telephone receiver. I looked at the display. The plane icon was moving towards us. ETA 11minutes. I grabbed my headphones and made contact again. 'Flight 623, this is control, do you read? Over' 'This is 623, receiving. Control what's going on down there. Are we clear for landing or not? Over.' I looked over to John. It was his job to oversee the traffic and keep us updated. He was already looking at me. He nodded whilst still listening to our conversation as well as those of other flights in proximity to the tower. 'Flight 623, this is control. You are clear to land. Over.' 'Control, this is Flight 623. About god damn time. Standby.' 'Flight 623, this is control. Roger that.' Leo was still on the phone. He was flustered. HQ must be thinking irrationally. I looked around the room. I caught Keith talking to a lieutenant. She must've been called up by him. The moment Kieth stopped talking she left. He came over to me. 'The police are send two squads to the runway. John I want you to stall all the other airborn traffic.' Kieth said. 'Yes sir' John said and immediately I could hear him talking away in the background. 'Dale, if this flight is the same one that's been missing for over a decade we're going to have to find out the welfare of its passengers. I need you to ask the pilot what day he thinks it is. Listen carefully. If this is a hoax, he'll respond with confidence in his throat because the facts would be known. If he sounds confused this could be legit.' Kieth said. Leo slammed the phone down. 'Fuckwits. Absolute fuckwits. They think I'm making this up!' Leo cried. 'Get out of the way, I'll handle this.' Kieth said as he too yanked the receiver up in the air. I hadn't realised at first but Kieth had dropped my bait bag on my lap. I dived in and grabbed a sandwich. I ate one slice as quick as I could and then pulled out my water and took a swig. I felt less nervous now. I proceed to follow my orders. 'Flight 623, this is control. Do you copy? We need to ask a couple security questions, over.' 'This is flight 623, go ahead control. Over.' I glanced at the display. ETA 7 minutes. They should be visible from here. But I didn't stand up. I continued on. 'Flight 623, this is control, can you tell me the current time and date. Over.' There was a pause. It felt too long. Was the speaker frightened? Had we let on to his dangerous game? I jumped up out of the seat and leaned over the equipment to see outside for myself. I saw the lights of a plane in the sky. It was coming in to land. Why I was asking these questions now. It could have waited. 'Control, this is flight 623, time to land don't you think? Standby' The control room went silent. We all stood staring at the runway. We witnessed B.A. Flight 623 flight land. I saw all the emergency services speed onto the runway catching to up the decelerating plane. It landed well. I looked back and Kieth still held the receiver by his ear but he too was looking out. I sat back down and waited. 'Flight 623, this is control. Do you copy? Over' Silence. I stood back up and seen the plane motionless at the south end of the runway. I hadn't noticed the army vehicles earlier but they had come closest to the plane. At that very moment, the door opened up out onto the mobile stairway that was setup in time. A flight attendant and a pilot exited with arms above their heads. Soldiers had hurried up the steps with guns pointed towards them. 'Kieth did you request the army?' Leo asked. 'No, HQ did. They think this might be a terrorist plot.' Kieth replied. 'What group of terrorists hijack a place years ago and make a textbook landing today?' I asked. 'Not very good terrorists' John murmured. We all stood for ten minutes watching the scene unfold. By then Kieth got us back in our positions. 'Right that's enough. This is a control tower not a zoo. Let's get back in the game men!' And just like that we continued working. It was lunchtime when I finally was allowed to leave my desk. As I walked over to sit down on the sofa, over by the entrance entered a security guard and a pilot. He caught all of our attention. Kieth walked over to meet him. The pilot spoke to him. Shortly Kieth was laughing his head off and the three men were smiling. Kieth look over and waved me over. I got up, feeling unsure about what was happening and cautiously walked over. 'This is the pilot you were speaking to Dale.' Kieth said. 'Fred Smith' said Fred as he held out a hand. I shook it, 'We meet at last.' 'Today is the twelfth of June, Monday. You contacted us at nine this morning. The year is 2017. We've been missing for twelve years.' He began to laugh. To be honest I began to laugh myself. None of it made any sense. I suppose that's what was so funny about it. Suddenly I got shock from a loud voice behind me. 'Dale what's so fucking funny man?' said Jim. 'There's no one here!' I laughed. 'You're losing it!' 'We've been flying this tin can around the world for years and no one is anywhere. We're all that's left!' I continued to laugh. 'People don't just disappear from the face of the Earth Dale. Come on, let's get out to fuel up.' Jim stood up and left the cockpit. I picked up my headphones and spoke into the mike. 'Control this is Flight 623, requesting permission to fuel up? Over' I said. 'Flight 623, this is control. Request confirmed. Over.' I said. 'Control this is Flight 623. Roger that. Over and out.'
	[WP]You work at an air traffic control tower. A plane that disappeared 12 years ago has contacted you on the radio to let you know they'll be landing at the airport in 15 minutes.	At 2 am on our small, country airfield, the soft sprinkle of rain against the control tower windows played in my ears like a lullaby. If it weren't for my 4th cup of coffee, and my three colleagues, I would have been long sunken into sleep. The gentle glow of our worn out desk lamps were our only means of lighting the card game we occupied ourselves with. The night shift was slow, and we liked it that way. Wed been working it together for around 8 months, the other three had been here almost a year. I came in late to the show, transferring out of a major airport where the workload was much heavier and therefore, much more stressful. I needed the change of scenery. I had lost the last three hands and was coming up on my fourth. Dramatically I slapped my cards down, and stood to go grab another cigarette from my desk. As I lit it and took a drag, the splatter of rain began flashing green. Below, the radar had detected a blip, and it was circling our tower. I stared, then turned to the window. There was no sound of a plane, and certainly no lights. “Hey”, I called to the 3. They turned their heads. “There's a plane here”. They scanned the perimeter of the tower and turned back to me. “Uh, nope”. “The radar says-” the radio scrambles on two desks away, cutting me off. A man's voice breaks through. “This is Captain Morgan of flight 3403 requesting landing, over.” We say nothing. We stare at eachother, then the radio. The voice comes through again. “This is Captain Morgan of flight 3403 from Chicago requesting clearance to land, over”. I walk over to the radio and raise the mic to my mouth, gripping the PTT button. “3403 this is control” -I look for the plane once more- “uh, we have you circling us on the radar but we can't seem to locate your plane outside. Your lights are on, correct? Over”. The radio scrambles, the calm voice responds. “I imagine you couldn't see us, we're still 15 minutes out“- I look to the crew- “Are we clear, Control? Over”. I look to the radar. There's now 3 blips circling our tower. “We weren't expecting an incoming flight tonight, over”. No response. White noise. “Yes, yes, you're clear to land, over”. I drop the radio. My colleagues head to their desks and equipment. “Can someone please look up that flight number?”, I call out. The blips are multiplying constantly, nearly the entire radar had gone neon green. “Uh, Perry?” I head over to my colleague's desk. “So, this actually is flight 3403’s destination”. “Why isn't it in the incoming log then”. He pulls up a registrar of our company's past flights. “It was… supposed to arrive 12 years ago.” I say nothing. “I… I ran the flight number and it's in our logs but it never arrived. It was expected 12 years ago but never arrived.” I went back to the radio. “Flight 3403, this is Control, over” Nothing. “Flight 3403, this is Control, over” Not even white noise. I look back to the radar. It shows no incoming planes. “Flight 3403, this is Control….”	The air traffic control room was silent one second, and pandemonium the next. Red phones were being taken off their hooks and top secret clearances were being used. Me? I just sat and stared at my computer absolutely dumbfounded. Airway 8793 had disappeared twelve years ago to the day, and yet here they were calling us. There was no way; it had to be a hoax. I heard the pilot buzz in. "Air traffic control, do you copy? Airway 8793 is fifteen minutes out, are we cleared for landing?" "T-That, uh. Well, um. Y-yeah. Copy, 8793. You are cleared for landing." I managed to get out, looking at my supervisor, Frank, for help. He was shaking his head, staring at me. He was in the same boat. Awesome. Frank did turn to another controller, however, "I want the airway shut down. Cancel all flights in and out. Divert everyone. Call the authorities, NOW." He screamed the last part before yanking out his cigarettes and lighting up right there. Not that anyone blamed him. The next fifteen minutes were agonizing. It felt like an entire lifetime before we could see the plane coming in. Sure as shit it was 8793. I wanted to vomit all of my breakfast and lunch onto the floor, but that wouldn't help anyone. Instead, I drank some water to calm down. The runway was silent except for the black SUVs pulling up. Finally, the plane landed. It stopped. It felt like everyone held their breath as maintenance rolled up with the stairs, no terminal access for this plane. We could practically hear the seal breaking from the tower as all eyes were on the plane. The new girl had her cellphone out, filming; not that it did any good. The entire area was without internet right now. All signals were shut off. The tick, tick, tick of the clock was brutal as we waited for someone to emerge. And she did. A small, slight flight attendant emerged at last. She looked terrified, and I'm sure she was, everything probably looked different. A collective breath was released as she was escorted down. Time resumed. Everyone was evacuated from the plane, one by one, and placed into custody for who knows what. Maybe experimentation, maybe something else. I'm not paid enough to know that shit. My phone went off and I opened it up to see the latest news article: Last humans finally rounded up. All alternate dimensions are now human free. Work is cancelled for the next week, effective immediately. It looks like we finally got the last ones. They had been flying around for decades, escaping us at every turn. A few times they had managed to go backwards in time and warn humanity, but we always won. This is what they get for broadcasting themselves into space like a bunch of neanderthals as they say.
	[WP] "Look, even the paranormal society thinks investigating that place is a bad idea. Why is it so important to you anyway?"	"Look, even the paranormal society thinks that investigating that place is a bad idea. Why is it so important to you anyway?" "Because I can't remember what it looks like." "Huh? That makes no sense, it's right there in the pictures." "No, the inside. I used to dream about the place. Every morning I would wake up and remember things that happened inside that house. I knew every inch of it. For years I dreamed of it, no matter how far fetched, it always took place inside that house. Sometimes there would be changes based on the dream, once their was a river flowing out from the basement, for example, and another time it had no roof and we were flying kites, but aside from those types of things every single wall outlet and light switch was always in the same place. Then one day it stopped. It was gone. Not just the dreams, but my memories of those dreams too. I knew I used to dream of a house, but I couldn't remember anything about it. I just assumed in was my childhood house; after all, why would I be dreaming of a house I'd never been to?" "So... you want to go to a dangerous place because you used to dream about it?" "It's not just that. And I didn't just dream about it, I dreamed about it every night for years. That's not just a coincidence. But then the memories were gone. I had forgotten the dreams, I had forgotten the house, all at once. It happened when I was around 11 years old. And then I saw the house in the news, I remembered everything. I come to find out it's in Russia of all places! I've never seen it in person. I dreamed about a house I'd never seen or been to for years, and then it turns up in the news in a story about Russian paranormal activity. As soon as I saw the story I remembered the house. I remembered the dreams. It all came back. There were even changes in the house over years, one time a rose bush appeared in the back yard, another time there was a crack in the bathroom ceiling. These changes stayed, my dreams of this house changed as the house must of changed. Maybe I changed the house by dreaming about it. I don't know. All I know is I need to go back there." "That sounds like the exact reason not to go back there. This shit is creepy. Assuming you aren't just bullshitting me-and if you are I'm going to pay you back in ways that take longer to plan than simple threats can express-then you're saying that this house is evil. It almost sounds like.. in Russia, house haunts you."	"Fuck the Paranormal Society." I could almost hear Tasha rolling her eyes behind me. "They don't want you to die, Jason. That's all." "I know, Tash, I know." I sit down hard on the leather chair. Tasha pulls a stopper from a crystal decanter, and I smell the sharp, sweet, gorgeous, smell of expensive brandy. She hands me a glass, vines of frost forming on the outside as she holds it, and I breathe deep before taking a slow pull. "Fuck me. That's good. I love knowing rich people." I lean back and let the smells of old leather, good pipe tobacco, and wood calm my nerves. "Thank you, for that." "No worries, kid. So, spill it. Why are you so hell bent on exploring the Voregal House?" She sits next to me, her chair just out of reach, but close enough I can smell her perfume. It mingles pleasantly with the rest of her study. I take a moment to look her over, wondering for the hundredth time who, and what, she really is. Her eyes are icy blue, and her pupils seem to drink in the light in a striking, somewhat unsettling contrast. Her irises are too large, take up too much of her almond shaped eyes. A casual observer would think she was simply a very fit, gorgeous, Chinese woman in her early thirties, but my eyes are trained for this. THE REST LATER GOTTA GO TO WORK
	[WP] "Look, even the paranormal society thinks investigating that place is a bad idea. Why is it so important to you anyway?"	"It's none of your... I'm sorry. I'm just... Look, do you owe me one or not?" I sighed as I looked up at her. Grey circles stretched under her bloodshot eyes . Her face and arms were covered in small scratches, her once bright green T-shirt now ragged, torn, and an oily grey, her pants covered in dried. At least the quiver full of arrows and bow slung across her back looked to be in good condition. "Can we at least wait a few days? You're in no shape-" "No." I sighed. "So. To summarize. You're half-dead, armed with nothing but a bow, planning to storm a cursed house that everyone from the most powerful witches in these woods to the greediest reality TV shows won't come within twenty miles of." "Yes." "Why me?! I'm a failed sorcerer who doesn't even remember half the spells he failed to-" "Because you're trustworthy, have an incredible talent for spell-casting and teaching, were the first to kill a demon in four hundred years, and because I saved your life. Twice. Look, I'm going. You can come with me or you can live with the guilt of sending me to my death." She spun around and strolled out, closing the door with her foot. What an exit. I looked around my cramped room. A work computer, a neat pile of tax forms, my freshly folded and pressed suit, a briefcase, a new bag of ballpoint pens... but that was work stuff. Real life stuff. Most of the space was taken up by what could have been: shelves filled with old spellbooks and scrolls, dusty statuettes, a cracked crystal ball, my old staff, and in the one sunlit corner of the room, a letter of gratitude from Archmage Cerrunnos himself, a shiny golden medal, a certificate certifying my knighthood, and a photo of all of us heroes. The Saviors of England. Leo, Quinn, Aélia, Chris (me), and Rachel. Ah, Rachel. The girl I had a crush on my first year at the university. The girl that tried to raise a dragon and was somehow not expelled for it. The girl that almost got us killed exploring the tunnels underneath the old Alchemy. The girl that saved my life. Twice. The girl that just dramatically delivered an ultimatum. The girl that wanted me to go with her to a mysteriously cursed house on a Sunday night. With one final sigh, I stood up and started packing. *** The Uber driver warned me repeatedly not to go. I managed to leave my apartment without alerting anyone, somehow didn't get nagged at by my mom about this endeavor (I told her just in case), and then the Uber driver got on my case. As if I needed enough temptation to get the hell out of dodge. Instead, I politely smiled my way through her warnings and explained that yes, I would be fine. She dropped me off at the house's driveway with one final, "Well, if you're sure..." and floored out of there down the gravel road. I don't even know why she was so scared. Sure, the gate said "Enter and Die" and then the wooden fence stretching out for miles around the property had skulls on each fencepost and the woods were filled with dead trees and the sky was ominously cloudy and the house looked like it be the dictionary entry for a haunted house. But other than that, this place wasn't so bad. I swung the gate upon - of course there was an overly loud creaak - and began my trek down the driveway. Crows (or ravens? who cares) fluttered between the trees above me, cawing furiously. I wonder what they were shouting. "Caw caw! What a loser! Those jeans went out of style a century ago!" "CAW! What is that staff? Does he think he's a wizard? How embarrassing!" "Caw caw caw! What's in that purse? Tissues to stop his crying when he gets scared? Caw!" Actually there was bottled water and all the artifacts that still seemed to be working in the bag (not purse). And the jeans and jacket were for functionality, not style. Idiots. Yup. I just had an imaginary conversation with some crows. Luckily, that was the only interesting event during the five minutes walk. Maybe the house wasn't cursed at all! It sprawled over me, horribly massive, windows either boarded up or too dusty to see through, stone gargoyles bulging their eyes out at me, railings sticking out from every balcony and edge. Nothing moved. The crows had completely stopped cawing. The silence was eerie. I feverishly went over every possibility. Wraiths - I could banish them and had moon dust in my bag. Undead - I could conjure fire to keep them at bay. Banshees - I could protect myself as well. Goblins - I was just wasting time. Rachel was probably already in there and here I was, trying to work up the courage to just walk up these steps - see, that wasn't so bad - and pound on this knocker - the booms echoed around the house - and wait. My heart may or may not have been going at two hundred miles per hour. The doors swung open. I looked inside... and froze. Not due to fear, but due to making eye contact with a pair of brilliant blue eyes across the room. A pair of icy eyes that glowed like a twin pair of moons, that sent my staff clattering to the ground, that felt like they were digging into my soul... that belonged to a dragon. A dragon, living in a house. Well, that explained why no one came here. "Hello, Chris" a voice whispered inside my head, everywhere and nowhere, deafeningly loud and menacingly quiet. "Hello," I mechanically replied, my voice small and terrified. My consciousness folded itself into a corner of my brain, relinquishing all control of my body. It was a fascinating feeling, but also terrifying. Luckily, I couldn't scream like a little girl even though I really wanted to. "Do you know who this young lady is?" My head turned to look at a girl standing fifteen or so feet ahead of me, trembling like a reed caught in the wind, fists clenched, bow, arrows, and quiver slung over her back, before my gaze snapped back to the dragon's eyes. "Rachel," I replied. "Oh? And she wants?" "No idea. She asked me to come." "Hmm. And of course she is able to resist -" I blinked. I looked around. What just -? I could move again. I hurriedly picked up my staff, keeping my head down, and ran to Rachel who had fallen to her knees. "What is going on?" I whispered furiously, not daring to look up. "Did you know there was going to be a dragon?" She was covered in sweat, her eyes somehow even more bloodshot than before. But even though she looked like she was gonna pass out she was smiling. "I wasn't sure, but I had my suspicions. It's safe to look, by the way." I glanced up, raising my staff in anticipation. She was staring up above us, shrunk back, wings tucked behind her dark blue body, claws nervously scratching up the tiled floor. "What could scare a dragon so badly?" I asked nervously. Then my eyes widened in realization as I spun towards Rachel. "You... you didn't..." "I did." "You... Everyone told you it was a bad idea, you know how dangerous they are, it's one of the most illegal-" A loud woosh stopped me from finishing my sentence as a second dragon swooped into the hall, a bloody stag clutched in his mouth. He spun over us with an elaborate twirl and fluttered down before the house's owner, dropping the stag with a loud thump. Oh gods. "What breed?" I asked. "Royal dragon." Oh gods. The most powerful by far. "Three weeks old." Even with my limited knowledge of dragons he looked like a baby. Short, stubby legs, barely grown wings, brown scaleless skin, tiny horns and claws... Not at all like what a royal dragon looked like. "When does he-" "Two months after birth. They shed their skin, triple in size, and gain all their powers." The two dragons began talking softly. "Why am I here?" "To introduce yourself. I can't raise him alone." "Why not?" "Because when he awakens he's going to see me and realize that I'm not useful and kill me." "... So-" "Because if I'm his link to you - a powerful sorcerer who can teach him magic - and if you're a link to whoever else you can find in around a month - then maybe we'll be allies worthy of keeping alive." "So you want me to find people stupid enough to want to train a royal dragon, keeping all of this secret from the government who will torture and kill me without a second thought about this, just so I can present myself in front of him and maybe not die?" "No, so you can be allies with the first royal dragon born in millennia, so you can be by the side of the one of the most powerful creatures in the world, so you can help me do anything and everything either of us could want. With a royal dragon by our side, we would be unstoppable." I started off towards the front door. I couldn't believe she would have the audacity to - "He knows who you are now, you know that? He knows your smell and what you look like. He'll find you." I whipped around, aghast, "You trick me into coming here and now you're threatening me?" "I doing what I have to to survive! I will die if I don't find enough allies! But I genuinely believe you can help me, I wouldn't involve you if I thought it would just get you killed!" I threw my hands up, exasperated. Why couldn't she have explained this before... "You could have also just not gotten a royal dragon egg!" "I don't give up on my dreams." Ouch. I had half a mind to just blow her to smithereens right then and there - my anger stirred up a dozen half-forgotten spells that would do just fine - but if she was telling the truth and she always did then now I needed her just as much as she needed me. So I was in, one way or another. In that case, no point in remaining mad. Yeah, somehow that didn't really calm me down. I plodded back over to her, gritting my teeth. "Where did you even get the egg?" "The Royal Pyramids in Egypt. Yeah, I know, it was-" She stopped herself, spinning around. I gulped. The dragon was finally coming towards us, sniffing the air curiously, tail slowly whipping back and forth behind its back, tongue flicking out to taste the air. It was time to introduce myself to my potential killer. Thanks Rachel.	"Fuck the Paranormal Society." I could almost hear Tasha rolling her eyes behind me. "They don't want you to die, Jason. That's all." "I know, Tash, I know." I sit down hard on the leather chair. Tasha pulls a stopper from a crystal decanter, and I smell the sharp, sweet, gorgeous, smell of expensive brandy. She hands me a glass, vines of frost forming on the outside as she holds it, and I breathe deep before taking a slow pull. "Fuck me. That's good. I love knowing rich people." I lean back and let the smells of old leather, good pipe tobacco, and wood calm my nerves. "Thank you, for that." "No worries, kid. So, spill it. Why are you so hell bent on exploring the Voregal House?" She sits next to me, her chair just out of reach, but close enough I can smell her perfume. It mingles pleasantly with the rest of her study. I take a moment to look her over, wondering for the hundredth time who, and what, she really is. Her eyes are icy blue, and her pupils seem to drink in the light in a striking, somewhat unsettling contrast. Her irises are too large, take up too much of her almond shaped eyes. A casual observer would think she was simply a very fit, gorgeous, Chinese woman in her early thirties, but my eyes are trained for this. THE REST LATER GOTTA GO TO WORK
	[WP] You are regular employee at the superhuman registration office. Explain a day in the life.	"Name?" "Darkphantom!" Jean sighed. "Name.", she said, not trying to contain her impatience. Her left hand instinctively reached for the stack of information pamphlets on her desk. "Um.. Nick Michelson" "Thank you, your powers?" "Super-intelligence." Yeah, right. Nick saw the look on her face and interjected. "I know, you must get a bunch of kids who took an IQ test online and think they're the next Starmaster. I assure you, I'm the real deal." Jean rolled her eyes. He wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean much. Most people knew a friend or two who had come to the agency to see if they're special. Most weren't - usually the super-intelligent ones go villain, and you'll never see them register. In fact, we could use some more super-intelligence's on the good side. She cleared her throat, and did her best to hide her annoyance. "You're in luck - the wait time to get tested is actually pretty low today. Take off your headgear, I'll take your photo, and you can start on the paperwork while you wait. When they call your name, just head through the red door" Jean set up the camera, while Nick started to take off his mask and helmet. He hesitated and fumbled, like a high school boy trying to pin a corsage on his date. She smiled at her own fond memories, but was quickly taken aback when the image appeared on her screen. This boy couldn't have been older than 11 or 12! "You know, you're going to need your parents permission for this. Anyone under 16-" "No," Nick interrupted. "I have this." Jean was surprised by his voice, no longer distored by the mask, which gave away his youth just as quickly as his appearance. Nick handed her a set of papers, which identified him as an emancipated minor. Jean didn't know what to say. That is, she didn't know how to speak to the boy. Do I treat him like an applicant or a kid? For someone this young to be emancipated, something terrible must have happened to his parents. She started to ask, when Nick spoke up again "After the test, you'll get the full story in the background check. Assuming I pass, of course." He was feeling less nervous, that's good. She gave him a warm smile, and looked over the paper carefully. In her peripheral, she saw him put the mask and goggles back on. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on him, she thought. A kid this young on his own, it's only natural he'd feel special. Once she was assured everything was in order, she handed him a clipboard and a set of forms, and watched him sit down at the nearest empty seat. She found herself wishing she could access the background check. Was she just curious? Is it because he's a little boy without any parents? But he would have to pass first. She imagined a typical 12-year-old boy in the test chamber, trying to solve the puzzle, or organize the fleet, or dismantle the bomb, or whatever his test would be. She had tried it herself, of course. How could anyone resist? But she had always failed spectacularly, her co-workers poking fun at her and bragging about how much further they got. A young boy, vision obstructed by his goggles, trying to accomplish some impossibly complex task, while avoiding whatever disaster they always throw into the intelligence tests. She smiled, but she found herself unable to laugh. She couldn't see his face anymore, but there was something about his body language. Confidence? Arrogance? She tried to remember who was running the tests today. "Ahem". She looked up. The next man in line was already standing at her counter, scowling and wearing a ridiculous outfit. "Name?" "Shadow Blaster!" Jean sighed.	Hello! Welcome to the superhuman registration office. What superhuman ability are you claiming? Invincibility? Alright sir I have to advise you that he test for this ability is 100% deadly if you're not actually invincible. Alright sir have a nice day! 17th troll today. For fucks sake people it's only 10:00am
Something like 'trespassers will be prostituted' etc.	[WP]You ignore a seemingly mis-spelt sign but later realise to your horror that there was no mistake made.	"BRIDGE HEAD" the sign says as you approach the river crossing. It's probably a mistake you wouldn't even have noticed if you weren't going slower than a sandpaper snake along these old dirt roads, but with rain and age these roads are known to be treacherous to the unwary traveler. As your headlights pass over it you can make out some additional details through the dark gloom, the sign isn't the normal sort you'd see from a highway department. It's cast in metal, but has a handmade quality to it, like the letters were formed out of old horse shoes. It's weather worn and has a good layer of rust around the edges. It looks like something a backwoods blacksmith would make to try and mimic the style of "big city" signs, maybe the A fell off at some point. The bridge it speaks of hasn't come into sight yet, but you hope it doesn't have the same ramshackle qualities as the sign, but your fears are confirmed as you round the crest of the swampy reed covered hill. It's an old colonial style covered bridge made from wood that had been dead longer than most trees had been alive, and looked more like the shipwreck of some Spanish galleon floating a few feet above the water more so than a functional piece of infrastructure. You decide to take it slowly and move the car forward by inches to see how the bridge reacts. The bridge creeks and groans as you slowly putter along but so far it seems t be holding the weight of your car, but as you reach the half way point of the bridge you notice that some of the boards are missing from the bottom of the bridge preventing you from going further. You put the car in reverse and you turn around to check to be sure no boards fell out of the bridge, and all of them are gone. The only pieces of wood still in the bridge are the ones you and your car are sitting on. You open the car door and scuttle out to assess the situation and as you get out you notice a human head sitting on the wooden railing of the bridge. You leap back in surprise, but it's cramped between the car and the railing so you end up spraining your back, denting the car and smashing your funny bone in your alarm. As you grasp at your arm in pain the head speaks to you in a southern drawl. "Howdy there traveler, how fare ya'll this good night?" "W-w-w-w-what the hell, who are you?" "I'm the bridge head, didn't you see the sign?" The face comes into focus, it's the head of an incredibly pale man with facial hair that looks like some sort of damn civil war general. He looks at you with eyes that look like two black earth worms fighting over a pearl. Underneath the pallid skin you see the occasional hints of crawling and seething. "What the hell is a bridge head?" "Suffice to say your people and my people made a pact a long time ago, I keep the crossings safe, and in return you pay my toll. I assume you saw the sign, did you bring a toll?" "I'm sorry." You manage to squek out in a hoarse high pitched panicked voice. "I had no idea about any of this, I didn't bring anything, I have no idea what you want. I have money, I have one hundred dollars in my wallet is that enough?" The words tumble out in one long jumble as you hope to find the right words to appease this creature. "Sorry but we deal in the currency of the old times, the times of the primal and the animal. We deal in bone, blood and flesh here" It's then that you realize that the pale head of the unknown southern gentlemen is connected to something. A writhing mass of slimy black tendrils pumping with black blood. It looked like those diagrams of the circulatory system in the old biology text books, veins twisting and turn forming some sort of shape but without any skin to cover it up. The tendrils brought the head closer to your face. "And by the sound of it, you didn't bring nothin to pay the toll with did ya?" "I'm not sure what you mean by blood and bone or whatever, what are you asking for?" "Well most people bring me an animal, like a goat, or a cow, the smallest I'll accept is a chicken, they pay in flesh." It's head whips and drifts around and eyes you as it speaks, sizing you up for the choicest parts. "What I'm getting at is since far as i can tell you didn't bring anything like that along, you'll have to pay your pound of flesh from a more personal reserve." You try hard not to let the sheer horror of the situation flood your thoughts, but you feel like the dam you've got your finger in is abut to crumble. "Well you're right I don't have anything like that at all, but I'll tell ya what I'll turn around right now, and buy you a whole cow or something and bring it back here just for you. D-d-does that sound fair?." "I'm so sorry pardner, but you're already half way across. You've already used my services, and i can't risk you going back on our transaction. You've got to pay for what you already used, and I see you eyeing the river, thinking of jumping in to swim away in dereliction of your obligation." As he says that thousands of tendrils whip around in the water causing it to froth like a pool of piranhas. "The head you're speaking to is the head of the last man who tried to go back on a deal. So let's get down to brass tacks shall we? I consider myself to be a fairly reasonable entity, the smallest thing I'll accept is a chicken, so you'll have to give me a chicken's worth of meat. If I take your buttocks and a bit of you're thigh I bet we can cover the cost. Does that sound fair?" It takes you a moment for the realization of what he's asking to dawn on you "WHAT!? No, please no, look I'll get you fifty chickens. I'll buy you a chicken farm, just please don't hurt me. I'll come back with whatever you want." "People don't realize how vulnerable they really are on a bridge, what all could go wrong, what convenience they've been given. I could take from the heel to the knee but you wouldn't have much of a leg left. Maybe a breast and some of your forearm? That looks quite meaty. I recommend the buttocks and the belly, most people want to lose that anyways, but the drive home I suspect will be quite unpleasant. I'll let you choose though, it's only fair." You try to fight back the panic, in the back of your mind all sorts of first aid and half remembered advice from TV hospital shows about where arteries are and what wounds are survivable. "I guess my left butt cheek, and then you'll let me go?" "Oh no, I'm quite sorry but for you, it's gonna have to be both butt cheeks. Ain't no way one of your cheeks by its lonesome is gonna weigh 8 pounds." You're suddenly filled with regret about all that work you put into your beach body. You weigh your options once more. You look into the river and see the water frothing with the movement of the tendrils. You see draped over the roof of the bridge even more tendrils. They're all connected together as one like a big slimy spider web. The butt cheeks don't have much muscle on them. No arteries as far as you can remember. It's either this or dying. You don't have any other choice. You stand up, close your eyes, grit your teeth and feel every muscle in your body clench in fear. You say through gritted teeth "I guess take them both then" and wait to feel some bite, or rip or tearing or burning. Ready to scream in pain and drive away to a hospital as fast as you can. You feel a sharp snap on your butt and scream out in panic, you instinctively clutch at your butt and realize it's still there. "I'm just having a bit of fun at your expense traveler. I'll let you pass and pay later. Ain't much good for business to eat the flesh off our customers is it? But you'd best come back with a goat or something larger fore the next full moon or you'll come to regret it, understand?" "YES!" you shout as you slam your body into the car seat, and lock the door. As your shaking hands fumble with the keys you see the planks of the bridge being lifted back into place to allow you to pass. You speed away and drive for a few more hours to the nearest hotel. You pass out on the bed. The next day you refuse to take any chances and pay top dollar for the biggest goat carcass at the local market. You drive back to the bridge and see no sign of the creature. You throw the goat in the river and vow to only fly to where you need to go from now on.	> *Welcome to Wizardin'!* > PARKING FOR PRIVATE MEMBERS ONLY. > All others will be toad. I gave a tired laugh as I saw the sign outside the old building. Wizardin'... Wizards' Inn. Man, these folks really liked their wordplay, huh? Well, the place can't be too bad. I've been on the road for seven hours, I think I'll spend the night here. I stopped the car in front of the gate and walked in, ignoring the sign. No one traveled on this deserted out-of-the-way country road, and how would they get a truck here to tow away my car anyway? There was no one at the desk. I rang the bell. After a while, an old man shuffled in from a doorway at the back of the room. He looked weird, draped in old brown cloth with embroidered patterns. He gave me a crooked grin. "How may I help you today, sir?" he asked. "I'd like a place to stay for the night." "Ah... Well, let's see... Room 4 is empt-" He stopped suddenly. His face grew thunderous. I followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at my car out of the glass door. "Is that your car?" he asked quietly. "Ehm... yeah..." I froze as he pulled a long black wand out of his robe and pointed it at me and sneered. "Did you think we were kidding?" . . . <croak> ------ ^(This is really crappy, I'll be back to improve it later...)
Something like 'trespassers will be prostituted' etc.	[WP]You ignore a seemingly mis-spelt sign but later realise to your horror that there was no mistake made.	The signs were as clear as day. That's why I packed my things and left. The bag felt stuffed between my calloused fingers, leather handle riding an indent in the hard flesh. She wanted this. That's what got me walking down Great Road, the longest stretch in the country. Dying would be bliss right about now. The heat left sweat patches on my lower back, under my armpits, and in my briefs, and that was only after ten minutes on the road. She didn't care and that meant no one did. So I walked, hoping for a reason to go back. It started with the arguments. The price of beer had become too steep in favour of fish oil capsules. Those things were half a Benjamin a cannister. You could get a beer and a bit for a pop. Talking about it seemed like riding nails on a chalkboard, so I took my drinks at the bar instead. Being absent replaced beer currency as our late night debate. Nancy said she couldn't get me sober for a minute, around her I didn't want to be. The heat kissed my head now. Enough sweat had beaded that it was like boiling water trying to cool down a hot mug. Only the headache had already set behind my eyes and left my throat feeling like sandpaper. But I still had my peace, something I didn't get with daily wars. Arguments were only the beginning. Nancy could put up a fight like a pack of street dogs. And she fought dirty. The past was never out of reach. There'd be the gentle reminder of suspected infidelity and how I'd taken so long to let her stick around. She figured I could up and leave any day. That gave birth to a plot. Talking turned to door slamming, door slamming became plate smashing, and before violence on dishes became violence on people, I dipped. It left my heart feeling all beat up and bruised. But I'd rather my heart go than her body. I wiped my brow with a handkerchief. Crossroads lined the way ahead. One sign read Mavelle Town, the other read Bill's Farm. Hiring workers. Get screwed and get lucky. Bundle of joy's, buy one get one free. The picture showed a stack of hay and a tractor. It was an odd sign, to say the least, but it was better than Mavelle. I'd just left a town, the same old wasn't going to cut it. I let out a hot breath and started my walk. It must have gone on for thirty minutes, without a farm in sight. An approaching car caught my attention. It slowed down and pulled over in front. It was then, that I realised, the brown hatchback was mine. Nancy stumbled from the driver's seat, her face beetroot red, features as wild as a storm. "The hell are you doing, Tom?" My heart pounded. The headache was already getting worse. "The hell do you think I'm doing?" "Honestly, you're such an idiot. Get in the car." She rushed toward me, grappling for the suitcase. "Leave me be." Just the sight of her was enough to make my blood boil. It had been like this every minute, day in day out. I held the suitcase tighter, even as she wedged her fingers in. "I've got better things to do!" I said. "So you're going to just leave us?" "There's been no us since you went mad." Nancy bit down on her teeth and let a groan escape her. I thought she might go mad for real and take a bite at me. The signs were all there. I relented my grip a little on the case handle, but not enough to give it up. "I'm not talking about us," Nancy said, her eyes clouding with dampness. I let my grip drop a little more, pausing to make sure I'd heard right. "Say that again?" Nancy bit her bottom lip, glancing away, at the dirt. "Is there something you need to tell me?" My voice wasn't much more than a whisper. Nancy looked at me, clearly fighting back tears. "There's going to be another one of us soon. I should have . . ." She sighed and covered her face with her hands. "I should have. . ." "You should have said something." It all came crashing down at once, and I couldn't think, I couldn't move. Nancy swallowed. "I tried." I pulled her in close. "You'll come home, won't you?" Nancy asked. I gripped the suitcase handle in one hand and her shoulder with the other. I should have known. The signs were as clear as day.	> *Welcome to Wizardin'!* > PARKING FOR PRIVATE MEMBERS ONLY. > All others will be toad. I gave a tired laugh as I saw the sign outside the old building. Wizardin'... Wizards' Inn. Man, these folks really liked their wordplay, huh? Well, the place can't be too bad. I've been on the road for seven hours, I think I'll spend the night here. I stopped the car in front of the gate and walked in, ignoring the sign. No one traveled on this deserted out-of-the-way country road, and how would they get a truck here to tow away my car anyway? There was no one at the desk. I rang the bell. After a while, an old man shuffled in from a doorway at the back of the room. He looked weird, draped in old brown cloth with embroidered patterns. He gave me a crooked grin. "How may I help you today, sir?" he asked. "I'd like a place to stay for the night." "Ah... Well, let's see... Room 4 is empt-" He stopped suddenly. His face grew thunderous. I followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at my car out of the glass door. "Is that your car?" he asked quietly. "Ehm... yeah..." I froze as he pulled a long black wand out of his robe and pointed it at me and sneered. "Did you think we were kidding?" . . . <croak> ------ ^(This is really crappy, I'll be back to improve it later...)

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