author stringlengths 3 22 | parent_id stringlengths 8 10 | subreddit stringclasses 1 value | id stringlengths 7 7 | created_utc int64 1.28B 1.67B | link_id stringlengths 8 10 | body stringlengths 0 39.5k | score int64 -1,101 23.1k | permalink stringlengths 44 93 ⌀ |
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canadiancam33 | t3_xu4f0 | WritingPrompts | c5q545j | 1,344,455,559 | t3_xu4f0 | It was quick, sudden, and devestating. Geico was the first to discover him. The man made of money. He was featured in a commercial, and many believed he was simply the result of special effects, but it was soon discovered otherwise. It was mystifying and inexplicable, this man was simply made of money. Once the story broke the news, nothing could stop the masses. The people descended upon him like starved lions upon a helpless lamb. His source of money seemed to be limitless, and for every dollar taken from him, there was another dollar sprouting out from his head, hands, or neck to take its place.
It wasn't long before chaos overtook order, and the human race faltered. Money was useless, the rich had nothing to protect themselves, except for possessions for barter, but suddenly luxury cars were not valuable. The power and safety of a pickup truck was much preferred. Houses were looted, and revenge was taken in the wet dream of Occupy Wall Street. The south turned into a safe-haven with the right connections, and a desolate land of death for those without them.
The government managed to hold itself together, and the president holed up in the White House with enough weapons, supplies, and manpower to survive for a long time. They waited there, and plotted, trying to form some plan for long term recovery.
After a few weeks, the country began to right itself. The human race had regressed, but would survive. Farming was suddenly the most important priority, after that it was warmth. Luckily there was enough shelter remaining for the world to survive.
Years passed and a hybrid way of life took over. The nation began to revert to its old self, with new currency, and a new status quo. People had changed for the better. They were, in general, kinder, and had a greater sense of community.
Then the man made of money had his first kid.
Shit | 2 | null |
mightymous6020 | t3_xudzp | WritingPrompts | c5q54wt | 1,344,455,629 | t3_xudzp | I write mostly to stay sane. I lost my parents years ago and kind of lost touch with reality. Its is so easy to become disconnected and fall into the vacuum that loss has left behind. I have moved around a lot and have somewhat figured out a steady way to take care of the basic needs, food and shelter and all of that. But after being alone and in survival mode for so long I don't really know how to talk to people, so I write instead. | 2 | null |
the_zechman | t3_xjtyn | WritingPrompts | c5q56n0 | 1,344,455,786 | t3_xjtyn | J- Dude, you're an asshole
M- Come on, it wasn't that bad man!
J- You shit on his desk! How is that not that bad?
M- Well *I* thought it was hilarious
J- Dude, that's never funny. What if you had a desk, and someone just went and shit on it?
M- Negatory Broseph. Why would I have a desk? I want to be a pilot, pilots don't have desks. They're too cool for desks, they fly FUCKING **PLANES** MAN
J- Okay....so they shit in the cockpit then.
M- Also impossible. My cockpit will be voice activated. Only I can get in.
J- THEN THEY SHIT ON THE WINDOW OF THE PLANE!!
M- Well I'd have to applaud them. The window is about 20 feet off the ground.
J- Fuck...you're useless man.
M- Nuh uh! Im a fucking plane! /Runs off making plane sounds/
J- Wait up! | 2 | null |
marrch | t3_xw3xk | WritingPrompts | c5q56rl | 1,344,455,799 | t3_xw3xk | His foot slipped on a wet spot and he clasped the upper rung, narrowly catching himself. He forced a tired leg up the next few steps and stopped. The moonlight caught his face and illuminated his body. The wind gusted east, sending his long hair in front of his eyes. The toolbox linked to his body by the sturdy carabineer clanged against the metal steps and echoed against the wind.
He was the silken tassel on the medal of a colossal soldier.
He’d made note to stop and look at the glowing sphere every hundred feet or so to watch it as it rose and shrunk into the sky. He thought about how far away it was. That he could walk on it. That it had gravity.
Two hundred and thirty-eight thousand miles away, moon dust was shifting. And there was no sound.
He returned his focus to the climb. The toolbox was still ringing against the metal bars. And with every exhausted step, another bead of sweat rolled down into his eyes, stinging as he pushed on. Breathing heavily, mouth agape, he ascended up what looked to be the final leg of his journey.
The platform was marked by a mere narrowing of the ladder. When he’d reached it, he threw his arms down onto the caged floor of the platform, squinting and grunting, the clanging now inaudible by the wind.
With a few pulls on the yellow nylon cord, he pulled his toolbox up and set it on the cage. He considered resting, but decided that he didn’t want to be out all night and would rather get it done with.
He checked the carabineer, flicked it to make sure the spring was still working, and then continued up the last sixty feet to the top.
And as he climbed over that top platform, swinging his leg up and balancing himself with his hands. One great final pull brought him up as he high-stepped over the railing.
And opened his toolbox and unlatched the large black rustoleum-coated panel, he felt his point of view drift away from his body. Like a camera zooming out as he worked, silhouetted against the orange pastel moon.
And with one simple connection the current returned.
And the light went on. | 3 | null |
ZorroOfDoom | t1_c5q39jc | WritingPrompts | c5q57dc | 1,344,455,857 | t3_x6y4p | Xylem, that would have been mind-blowing use of x! | 11 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xwbd1 | WritingPrompts | c5q57e5 | 1,344,455,857 | t3_xwbd1 | [deleted] | 1 | null |
mynameisrichandiama | t1_c5ka1ht | WritingPrompts | c5q57ki | 1,344,455,875 | t3_x6y4p | what kind of plants are they? | 40 | null |
[deleted] | t1_c5q0gnz | WritingPrompts | c5q57o8 | 1,344,455,885 | t3_x6y4p | What about lmnop? | 18 | null |
mikeypipes | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5q58pv | 1,344,455,985 | t3_x6y4p | Honestly, this doesn't seem hard at all. | 2 | null |
DoWhatYouWill23 | t3_xo6tl | WritingPrompts | c5q59fb | 1,344,456,053 | t3_xo6tl | Oh Darth Maul how you wait there
Steady as you go, raised on your plastic pride rock
Your name etched in gold, worn away by hopeful hands
You're dual saber, down to one
You intimidating face, fades to black
You're still
** My Darth Maul Bank that i got, but is broken haha
EDIT: Sorry for formatting | 2 | null |
primavera_24 | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5q5br6 | 1,344,456,276 | t3_x6y4p | That was a joy to read. Please continue writing | 2 | null |
MDamadoran | t1_c5q522w | WritingPrompts | c5q5brk | 1,344,456,277 | t3_xvr6e | Technically correct: the best kind of correct. | 2 | null |
missbenelli | t3_xw1k6 | WritingPrompts | c5q5cb0 | 1,344,456,327 | t3_xw1k6 | New, non-native speaker and probably going to stick to reading for quite some time, just wanted to say hurro and thanks for an amazing and super-entertaining subreddit. | 2 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xvvs1 | WritingPrompts | c5q5cgg | 1,344,456,342 | t3_xvvs1 | Do you know what this picture is of/where it is?
[](http://imgur.com/a/n3rvp#4) | 1 | null |
iruleatants | t3_xwbd1 | WritingPrompts | c5q5com | 1,344,456,362 | t3_xwbd1 | I closed my eyes, trying my hardest to fight back the tears. I slowly open my eyes to look at you once again. The deep look of pain in your face sends a stab of pain and guilt to mine. "II'm s-s-sorry" I manager to stammer, looking down at my feet before looking back up. "Why" you ask with a voice so broken that I feel myself falling into a pit of despair. Somewhere deep in the back of my heard, I know that I am doing the right thing, but seeing you now, like this, hurts me more than anything, and I start to question if it's the right thing to do. "I don't know, I can't explain it. I just can't do this anymore". You reach out to touch me, and I take a step back. I know that if you grab me, if you hold me in your arms again, all of my strength will leave me, and it will all be over. That is when the tears begin to fall. | 6 | null |
LadyKiwi | t3_xw41w | WritingPrompts | c5q5cqj | 1,344,456,368 | t3_xw41w | Smokey studied the flickering candles, memories whirring through his head. He knew today was supposed to be a day of celebration, but he simply could not muster any joy in his heart. Letting go a soft mrrow of sadness, Smokey looked around for his beloved master. Old hands now wrinkled after the many years, gently caressed Smokey’s head. His owner’s tired eyes met Smokey’s sad ones. Smokey let out a broken purr, his heart growing ever heavier.
“Well hey there Smokey, come to see this old timers birthday party? I see my daughter dressed you in your best clothes.” Master’s rough voice echoed through Smokey ears. Smokey hardly understood what his master was saying, but he purred harder, trying to express his love for this kind man. Smokey could feel that everything would soon change. It was as if he could taste it in the air. Smokey recalled the day he was rescued. As a kitten he wandered, partially blind from the city grit. His master, this wonderful man, saved him. And now it was almost his master’s time. Pressing his ears tightly against his head, Smokey looked back at the consuming flame. This would be the last birthday party for master, Smokey was positive. As the old man blew out his candles, Smokey laid a paw on his master’s hand.
| 6 | null |
fshfshfsh | t1_c5q4kqg | WritingPrompts | c5q5dp3 | 1,344,456,460 | t3_x6y4p | Is mine close enough? | 195 | null |
zamzauzzy | t1_c5q4kqg | WritingPrompts | c5q5dvt | 1,344,456,479 | t3_x6y4p | triplefish? | 2 | null |
inebriatedwords | t3_xwbd1 | WritingPrompts | c5q5f2o | 1,344,456,593 | t3_xwbd1 | I woke up to the incessant screeching of my alarm clock. I was groggy and my head hurt. The noise was sharp against my ears. Shit, I felt hungover. I hadn't drank in days though. I rolled over and turned the alarm off. It read 7:30, usually I had it set for 6:30. I knew I was going to be late. This was a bad morning. Then I stood up. Where the hell was I? This wasn't my bed, my alarm, my lamp, nor my room. And what was that weight on my chest. Boobs. I had boobs.
This was getting weirder by the moment.
I quickly decided there was no way I was going into work today, it just wasn't an option. So I stayed home and fingerbanged myself while listening to Adele. | 16 | null |
marie_aldwell | t3_xw3xk | WritingPrompts | c5q5gkt | 1,344,456,738 | t3_xw3xk | The binoculars were next to useless.
She yielded them to the ledge, laced her fingers and nested her head inside palms. Beautiful, perhaps, but treacherous, the moon. From her aerie across from the tower, she could see nothing for the glow of the moon.
The radio crackled, buzzed.
*... contact?* it demanded. *Repeat, have you made contact?*
Instead of giving reply, she leaned forward. Lifted the binoculars, instead. The tower, suddenly nearer, rose sharp and stiff. Obstinate. Yet despite narrowed eyes, despite tweaking and fiddling dials, no shadows made themselves more distinct. She saw only the tower: stark and dark.
Treacherous, the moon. It cast feigned shadows. Tricked the eye. Reflected glare into lens and then to iris.
There. There! Movement – behind steel rampart, gray figure, fluid movement. The tower would give up its secrets, she knew, despite the trickster moon. She would wait, then, wait while the shadow darted along pathways, ducked behind railing. The shadow in the tower had its part to play, and she was patient.
The binoculars now hung around her neck. The radio had muttered to life three times, each without answer. The shadow had paused at two, three, now four stations about the dark, stark tower. She had seen all it through half-lidded eyes while the moon stole higher.
It was through the scope that she watched him, now. A sharper image, a closer one; the shadow's long sleeves, the shadow's gray gloves. But nothing more. Nothing to betray the man himself.
Not until he turned away from the console on the tower's catwalk. Not until it seemed he was looking straight back at the woman herself. And the shadow lifted an arm.
That was when she saw the second shape. Above the other. The dull glow gilded his dark clothes, bathing him in gold, his body low and prone and a lean, angry rifle in his grip.
She saw him, though not quickly enough. She lunged, her own rifle tumbling from her grasp with a metallic shock and peal. She threw herself for the trapdoor of the aerie. The radio stammered to life and a tinny voice rattled desperately, *... compromised...!*
She saw him, though not quickly enough. The shot rang loud, and the moonlight puddled on the floor as dark, black blood. And that traitor moon glinted bright and keen off the lenses of her binoculars.
**Word count**: 395 | 1 | null |
stealthfiction | t1_c5q5f2o | WritingPrompts | c5q5imd | 1,344,456,928 | t3_xwbd1 | Bravo. A man who got a breast implant while drunk off his ass, written by a woman (or a man who woke up with a breast implant.) | 7 | null |
Willem_Dafuq | t3_x6y4p | WritingPrompts | c5q5jei | 1,344,457,001 | t3_x6y4p | I know I'm late, but:
A teenage boy walked into my shop the other day. Beastly in appearance, he approached my counter with a bottle of soda and a candy bar. “Can I also purchase a pack of Marlboros”, he sheepishly asked with a quiver in a voice.
“Do you have ID?” I responded. Every time this situation plays out, it plays out exactly the same way. First, the obviously underage “customer” fumbles around in his pocket for a minute. Gesturing that he doesn’t have it, he gives some lame excuse, like he forgot it, or it’s in his other pants’ pocket. Here, the situation started to play out again, just as it has the last hundred times or so. I was surprised at what happened next, though.
“Just gimme the cigarettes or I’ll shoot!” yelled the kid as he pulled out a shiny, black pistol. Killing someone over a pack of cigarettes seemed a little extreme, so I complied with his demands. Little did I know at the time that I hadn’t actually had any cigarettes to sell. Maneuvering around behind the counter, all I could find were empty boxes and cases of chewing gum. Not all would-be robbers could be bribed with Big League Chew, but perhaps this one was different.
On second thought, I decided a less comical, more straightforward approach would be best. Picking the best approach was a delicate matter. Quivering myself, I told him we were actually out of Marlboros, and Newports and Parliaments for that matter. Racing through my head were thoughts of panic, accented with the anxiety knowing full well I may never see my friends or family again and that this very well was the end of my life. So it depended upon the indulgence of an immature kid wielding a weapon of death. Though the next few seconds were but a blur in my mind, I’ll try to recall them the best I can. Under my counter was the silent alarm. Very smoothly, I pressed my finger on the alarm button. When the kid saw my finger slide under the counter, he panicked too. “X marks the spot!” he shouted and fired his gun at me. Young people never think about the consequences of their actions. Zen filled my mind as I looked down and saw a bullet wound where my right lung used to be and the gunman run off. | 4 | null |
gotrees | t1_c5q4kqg | WritingPrompts | c5q5jw5 | 1,344,457,048 | t3_x6y4p | [](/a27) Sucks, bro. | 4 | null |
TheLonePooper | t1_c5q57o8 | WritingPrompts | c5q5kdv | 1,344,457,093 | t3_x6y4p | *elemenop | 14 | null |
CarmenTS | t3_x6y4p | WritingPrompts | c5q5m1q | 1,344,457,240 | t3_x6y4p | (Less of a story, more of a narrative, and the best part is it's all TRUE which made it even harder to write!!! Took about an hour.)
All I’ve ever dreamed to do is perform. Broadway has always beckoned me. Call me crazy, but I’ve always considered that as “making it’… not L.A. Day after day they perform the same songs, same script which some would say is monotonous. Even so, it still calls to me. Frankly, I find L.A. too fake. Grabbing the attention of short, fat & ugly men in that industry with sex instead of talent is detestable to me. Hollywood types can take all of that and keep it for themselves. It happens on Broadway, too, I’m sure, but if you can’t act and you can’t sing to begin with, you won’t make it. Just take a look at some current Broadway stars… not the best looking bunch of people in the world, but their TALENT? Knock you off your feel AMAZING. Let me know where else you see people whose jobs are based in repetition but can still deliver every night just like they did the first. “Miss Saigon” was the first Broadway show I ever saw back in the 90’s. Never seen “Cats” or Phantom, which is weird. Of course I’ve seen “Les Miserables”, too… 3 or 4 times!
Particularly, one show stands out in my mind when I think of my dream of being on Broadway. Queer as it will sound when I tell you the name, it still means so much to me. Reborn from a horrible 80’s cult classic, I worked behind the scenes for this Broadway show and saw it about 3 times a week for almost a year. Silly, hilarious and inspiring (literally)… the show taught me that with a little love and support, we can dream big, be who we want to be, and create beautiful art in various forms. To this day in my own mind, I still cast myself as one of the Muses, or as one of the mythical creatures singing to the God of the Gods on Mount Olympus. Unbeknownst to my friends and family around me, I sing and dance in my head all day to adoring audiences who I perform for with enthusiasm night after night. Vying for their admiration, I sing my heart out, charm them with my perfectly delivered comedic lines and make them realize the importance of inspiration from the things and people we love. What is this show? Xanadu… where love and the creation of art go hand in hand. You can call me crazy, and that’s fine. Zeus will undoubtedly grant me the gift of Xanadu when the time is right but for now, the dream stays in my head. | 3 | null |
mystikraven | t1_c5q4kqg | WritingPrompts | c5q5nlv | 1,344,457,374 | t3_x6y4p | [](/a23)Woo! First time using the plugin, I see your comment in all its glory! | 7 | null |
hereticjones | t1_c5q5com | WritingPrompts | c5q5nuj | 1,344,457,396 | t3_xwbd1 | My guess is the character is a woman. | 3 | null |
Desc3000 | t1_c5q39rn | WritingPrompts | c5q5o4a | 1,344,457,421 | t3_xvvs1 | Yeah I got a lot of them from reddit over the past few months. Great minds think alike, I suppose! ;) | 2 | null |
iruleatants | t3_xu4f0 | WritingPrompts | c5q5odx | 1,344,457,445 | t3_xu4f0 | John woke up to his alarm clock, shutting it off and heading to the shower. His morning routine was always the same. He would wake up, shower, eat, go to work, come home, eat, and then sleep again. He remembered a time before, when he did more things, when he tried harder. That was a time when there was a currency, a method of money. Then that concept was lost, stolen away from them. Everyone could remember what it used to be, some kind of object that everyone put value in, but they could no longer force themselves to put value in it. Several groups had tried to put value on different objects, but no one took to it, and so they just gave up. The government had stepped in to prevent chaos, and thank god that they had. A new system was designed within a week. entertainment jobs no longer existed, everything that anyone did was to provide a benefit for someone else. There was no reason to try harder, everyone went to work just the same, contributed just the same amount, and was given the same amount of food. there was no more tv to watch shows on, no more websites to visit as no one could make a profit from it. No one seemed to care anymore. you went to work, made some machinery, or worked a field, and then you came home and ate and slept. There wasn't really anything left to do. Nothing new was invented, as no one could make money from it, and no one seemed to want to spend a lot of extra time doing something that wouldn't benefit them at all. Everyone just spent long periods of time working, eating, and sleeping. | 2 | null |
iruleatants | t1_c5q5nuj | WritingPrompts | c5q5oph | 1,344,457,472 | t3_xwbd1 | Bingo | 2 | null |
Simnol | t1_c5q52ml | WritingPrompts | c5q5p3b | 1,344,457,507 | t3_xvr6e | I get 200 for this one, where are you getting the extra 8 from?
Edit: Oooh, you're counting contractions as two words, why? | 5 | null |
iruleatants | t1_c5q5imd | WritingPrompts | c5q5q8t | 1,344,457,611 | t3_xwbd1 | Pretty sure that its a man who is writing about a man who woke up as a woman, hence the "fingerbanged myself while listening to Adele". That's not the only thing that a woman does, but that's certainly what a man would do if he turned into a woman. | 11 | null |
TorchicBlaziken | t1_c5q4kqg | WritingPrompts | c5q5rhc | 1,344,457,728 | t3_x6y4p | It's OK, /u/fishfishfish has been taken long before you joined, anyway. | 6 | null |
CarmenTS | t1_c5q4bsw | WritingPrompts | c5q5s11 | 1,344,457,780 | t3_x6y4p | LOL!!! I think everyone's did!!! | 1 | null |
marrch | t1_c5q522w | WritingPrompts | c5q5t8d | 1,344,457,890 | t3_xvr6e | Do contractions count? MSWord had it at 200 even. I can always trim a few words. | 1 | null |
CarmenTS | t1_c5q2ywt | WritingPrompts | c5q5uk2 | 1,344,458,008 | t3_x6y4p | Daniel. Fuckin. Honeydew. | 6 | null |
CarmenTS | t1_c5q5uk2 | WritingPrompts | c5q5uof | 1,344,458,020 | t3_x6y4p | How does this not have more upvotes?! | 4 | null |
degree_of_respect | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5q5ura | 1,344,458,027 | t3_x6y4p | The improv ABC gods are pleased. Drew Carey be with you. | 3 | null |
Simnol | t1_c5q5brk | WritingPrompts | c5q5wjy | 1,344,458,191 | t3_xvr6e | Well it really depends on whether you consider contractions to be one word or two.
Personally I consider it one. | 2 | null |
CoffeeSipper | t3_xw3xk | WritingPrompts | c5q5wmy | 1,344,458,200 | t3_xw3xk | They say that once every 11 years, the moon would glow bright red and a tower would burst out of the ground and into the skies. Known as the ghost of the Christmas shadows, this tower usually wrecked havoc for a few hours and disappeared by dawn. But tonight something unusual occurred. Rather than simply popping out of the ground for all to see, the tower ran around the village and attacked everyone in sight while the moon laughed until it was out of tears. | 2 | null |
CarmenTS | t1_c5q0sg8 | WritingPrompts | c5q5wq6 | 1,344,458,207 | t3_x6y4p | Geez. Did Xavier's boss molest Carter?!
Also, you needed to have put a comma instead of a period after "he urged." because you start your next sentence with the letter "U" when it should be an "M". | 3 | null |
The_Vizier | t1_c5q5dp3 | WritingPrompts | c5q5wyz | 1,344,458,230 | t3_x6y4p | >18 days old
I shall allow this. | 103 | null |
AlaskanFeesh | t1_c5q4kqg | WritingPrompts | c5q5y2x | 1,344,458,335 | t3_x6y4p | Damn! | 2 | null |
nowordforit | t3_xvr6e | WritingPrompts | c5q5yo2 | 1,344,458,389 | t3_xvr6e | She hadn’t been looking for it. Sitting innocently in an unmarked box, was an old VHS tape. They were moving soon. All of the important things had been boxed up – all of his things. She wiped some of the dust away from the tape’s surface, before going downstairs where an outdated VCR was still plugged in.
A young boy happily bounced on a small stage, wearing tights and carrying a foil sword. She frowned, before recognition hit. It was him, from ten years ago. He had been cast as Peter Pan in his school’s play. Her hand reached up to the screen, her index finger hovering over his face, his silly smile.
On screen, he waved to her in the audience. She couldn’t help but wave back.
The police had taken the tape, after.
The sound of applause filled the room, as he took a bow with the other children. “You were great,” she whispered. “So great.”
| 3 | null |
stealthfiction | t1_c5q5q8t | WritingPrompts | c5q5yrd | 1,344,458,398 | t3_xwbd1 | Either that part was a ninja edit or I'm going crazy. You're right. | 3 | null |
heymister | t3_xvr6e | WritingPrompts | c5q5zgy | 1,344,458,465 | t3_xvr6e | **10¢**
Garage sale yesterday. Got rid of everything not rotten from the garage, the attic, the closets. Wanted to see if anyone was willing to pay for the jerry-rigged VW bus, but it's a family thing, and it was requested I keep it running 'til another garage sale.
Sold the VCR and a box of tapes we haven't watched since we first got married (and from when we borrowed that videocamera from Uncle Bruce). Made sure to grab out all the unlabeled stuff and just chuck it, because I didn't have time to watch through it all and relabel it. Besides, half of it was videos from a me-back-in-high-school, staying up late and recording the world premier of a video on MTV. Not too interesting these days.
Think a few family memories went into the trash as well. Guess that's what happens when technologies change and when you're too lazy to label your memories -- you just toss 'em out and hope the ground eats them.
Remembered this morning the tape labeled "Weekend at Bernies 2 / Free willy / True Romance" was something I long ago told my wife I'd thrown away. | 1 | null |
CarmenTS | t1_c5jwapj | WritingPrompts | c5q5zxe | 1,344,458,506 | t3_x6y4p | :-( | 2 | null |
giant_enemy_spycrab | t3_xudzp | WritingPrompts | c5q60ze | 1,344,458,596 | t3_xudzp | A slew of errant thoughts and a vocabulary too big for it's own good. | 2 | null |
AuntChiladas | t3_xwbd1 | WritingPrompts | c5q63aa | 1,344,458,807 | t3_xwbd1 |
People who smoke are addicted to the pack, not the single cigarette. That's why I would accurately describe myself as one. A single tube filled with harmful substances and bad decisions. A cigarette is smoked once and then thrown away much like dignity, passion or success. I can't be recycled. Instead I'm discarded and people sneer when they see me, or people like me, laying around. There is no care. There is no regard. There is only a request for someone to pick this trash up; If you're a user, can't you have the common decency to put it in the garbage when you're done? | 9 | null |
Medium_Well_Soyuz_1 | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5q63d4 | 1,344,458,813 | t3_xweet | As the waters of the Atlantic crashed over the South Carolinian shore, I sat in my tent. The camp had long since fallen silent. However, I was awake, poring over maps by candlelight. The lives of my men are far more important than sleep. Besides, the thought of my men suffering prevented any attempts to sleep.
The Yanks are camped just a few miles west. In a pitched battle, we would have little trouble overtaking them. Their commanders know that, and so they will continue to harass our supply lines and our stray patrols. Each time we make attempts to engage them, they simply melt away and flee into their pathetic squats in the woods. It infuriates me and that is likely exactly what the Yankees want. They will soon pay for their foolishness. Not yet, though. I will first make the people of this colony suffer.
Yes! That's it! I must bring the fight to the citizens, not the militia. That will either demoralize the men into dispersing or draw them into a real battle. They will feel my wrath, and the wrath of my men, who have been forced to subsist on embarrassingly small rations, as half of our foodstuffs are commandeered by those damn militiamen. Yes, no matter how unbecoming of a gentleman it is, it is my duty to both the Crown and my men to destroy these insolent "soldiers." Soon the world will know and fear the name Banastre Tarleton | 5 | null |
Bamboo_Razorwhip | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5q63uc | 1,344,458,856 | t3_x6y4p | Well done, sir | 2 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xw1k6 | WritingPrompts | c5q65d5 | 1,344,458,993 | t3_xw1k6 | [deleted] | 5 | null |
jrwagner17 | t3_xqa1u | WritingPrompts | c5q676r | 1,344,459,162 | t3_xqa1u | Lights flashed in the main cabin, bringing adrenaline to the heads of the crew. A ship was getting ready to dock with theirs without any type of warning or permission. Henry, the captain, ordered two hands to check the docking bay, but it was probably nothing. Just a drifter or something.
The relatively young privateers were patrolling the Parsius Sector for Alliance ships carrying what they needed. Supplies, food, anything they could find to send to their destitute families back on Earth. They had already had quite a haul from a three-ship trade caravan, but they still hadn't filled their limit.
The crew were close, relatives, but not by blood. They had a common goal, a common enemy, and the means to carry out their mission. Each relied on one another with not only their life, but also their family's lives. Nothing could have forged a stronger bond. Their ship was the newest technology, stolen from a wealthy adventurer a few years back. This beautifully crafted vessel won them a place in the League of Pioneers, which was just a nicely crafted name for a band of space pirates. They had their reasons, though. The Captain and his crew were driven by a specific and righteous goal, in their minds, and prior to setting out, Henry made sure to only enlist those with the purest of intentions.
This didn't mean that some didn't stray from their goals once out in the nothingness of space. While Earthside, Henry and his family were living in squalor due to horribly alienating economic laws enacted by the government. He and his brother watched as his mother was robbed and beaten for their family's rations one week. She resisted, showing resilience and courage. She'd be damned if someone made her babies go hungry.
"Just give me the food, and you won't get hurt, lady!" The robber's glossy eyes shined in the sun, with almost enough moisture gathering to form a tear. He didn't want to do this, he needed to.
She didn't say a word as she fought back. She tried to speak but couldn't when she was bleeding from a stab wound. There was no husband to fight for her, he had left years ago. She rubbed Henry's head lovingly and with all her might she blew a kiss to his brother, Peter.
Henry would never forget. He was sure Peter wouldn't either. From that moment on, they were the providers for their baby sister, Amelia, and their grandmother. After years of scraping by, they had a chance to board a privateer's ship as lowly hands, enticed by the thought of becoming rich for each other, and for Amelia. The first things they took were communicators, able to send messages over long distances in space over a unique radio frequency. They worked their way up, with determination and the thought of their family at home. Eventually they each got their own ships, making the communicators invaluable while they teamed up against larger trade ships. Sending just enough back for their family to live comfortably turned into sending them well in excess, and both brothers were finally able to enjoy life. Henry rationally wanted to keep growing the operation, but Peter didn't agree.
Being a pirate got to be boring for him. He needed something new, something more reliable than stealing. There were paradises waiting to be found, utopias waiting to be explored.
"Our family could be safe somewhere, permanently safe. Along with everyone else in the slums on Earth. We can start a new planet! The perfect society!" Peter said to Henry on day, as Henry shook his head.
"We can't just leave them in the dust, Peter!"
"Well, I'm going. You can stay and keep providing while I search for what I know is out there."
That was the last time Henry saw Peter. Those of Peter's crew still wanting to provide for their families remained with Henry and Peter set out towards Alpha Centauri with a rugged crew who had nothing to live for, nothing to lose.
The two hands arrived in the docking center and through the plasma window they saw an escape pod guiding itself to the bay. Once attached, the chamber between the two ships pressurized and made an intense hissing sound. The doors opened slowly and there was nobody inside.
"Oi, Henry, sir, you might want to come check this out. Neither of us have seen something like this before."
"What is it?"
"Well, it's empty."
"What d'you mean its empty?"
"The pod...It's empty."
Henry raced down to the lower deck, knowing there was only one way for an escape pod to come empty to another ship. He arrived to the docking center to see the two hands peering around the corner of the docking chamber, scared of what might come out of the pod, but curious enough to look.
"Someone must know our coordinates or signature. Lets just hope it's not an Alliance threat."
Henry walked in the pod and saw Peter's communicator hooked up to the guidance system. A piece of paper sat on the seat with only coordinates scribbled on its lines.
"These coordinates aren't even in this system. Did he...?" Henry looked out the escape pod's windows, bewildered. | 4 | null |
creative_solus | t3_xjtyn | WritingPrompts | c5q6819 | 1,344,459,240 | t3_xjtyn | 1) Darling, why are we here?
2) Do you not remember this place?
1) We've been here before? Why would I bring you here, to this dump of all places?
2) This place, I can't stop thinking about it, it rests in my mind, I walk it my dreams, I can't stop coming back.
1) You sound like you've been obsessing over it.
2) I have, for a while now, but I wanted to show it to you
1) Well, what can I say, its a dump, a part of town that no one wants to live in and everyone wants to get out of.
2) And you did, didn't you my dear, you found means to escape.
1) What do you know of this!!! I've never told you anything!
2) Ha ha, do you not remember me? I recognized you straight away, the day we first met, but I kept quiet, wanted you to realise by yourself, and now it has come to this.
1) You're saying we met before? Here? When?
2) 14 years ago, it was a dark night, a light rain, and I was the girl walking home
1) Oh, I do remember, but you see...
2) 'I see'?!?!? 14 years and all you can say is 'but'?!?!! No apologies, no nothing?!? You monster!! You do what you did and think nothing of it?!!? How do you live wit...
1) I never did tell you what I do for a living did I? How long have we been dating now? Mmm, I would tell you but by now you can feel the effects of my trade.
2) *Gasps*
1) I was rather enjoying our time together, such a pity it has come to this, if only you had kept quiet, I might
have thought that you'd forgotten, still, the cops won't notice one more body in the morning. Before we part my dear, know this..
2).... ...... ... ...
1) The first fuck was the best
2)... .... ..
1) Farewell
2) .. .. | 1 | null |
ismoketabacco | t1_c5q4vat | WritingPrompts | c5q68mu | 1,344,459,296 | t3_xw1k6 | Yeah, I figured.
I guess if I can find enough people, I'd do that. Thank you for the idea, though! | 1 | null |
The_Realest_Realism | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5q69in | 1,344,459,379 | t3_x6y4p | I couldn't focus on the story as much as I wanted. I was looking for the next letter. | 3 | null |
StockPhotosOfFruit | t3_xw3xk | WritingPrompts | c5q69nq | 1,344,459,393 | t3_xw3xk | At the cusp of night, all that flourished in thought was the gaze of his wife's eyes, the depths of the ocean he was sailing on, and the breath of time. Hope wasn't gone. Hope was simply the memory he saw, amidst the fogginess of the harbor. As he sailed in on bay, he saw the twinkle of night life in the far distance. But what is there to be comforted when you are in the zone of comfort? The psuedo-excitement of nightlife was nothing he wished of. As he walked to the top of a quiet hill, facing the harbor he was just sailing on, with not a single soul in sight, he lay down, and fell asleep, only to be carried away by the fog. | 2 | null |
HirschyKiss | t3_xw3xk | WritingPrompts | c5q69vl | 1,344,459,412 | t3_xw3xk | In the middle of a desert, near a small town, the Dark Tower stood tall in the night sky. Almost as black as the backdrop of space it stood against, this was not a sight one would want to go seeing. Moonlight shied away from its inky exterior, as if scared of getting too close. Everyone knew about the tower, yet it was alien in respect to the fact that nobody knew where it came from, or what its purpose was. A faint outline of a door could be traced if you stood close enough. But this door had no lock, no knob, nor anyplace where one would put a key, not that many had tried to open it in the first place. People who spent too much time in close proximity to the tower tended to have terribly bad luck, and eventually most people just took the hint and stayed away.
But this didn't stop little boy David. He'd been reading some books he found running around in the local caves. Books containing tales from times long since past. Books about the tower. They told of a way to open the door, and an easy one at that. All you had to do was promise to give the tower what it wanted, and it would let you in. This item was never specified, but David speculated he'd just ask the tower itself once he got inside. Under cover of darkness he snuck away from his room and ran to the tower. Once there he walked up to it and politely explained his willingness to do whatever it took to see what was inside.
It really is amazing what inhuman noises we humans can create when under the sharp knife of pain.
Three pieces. That was the shape David's body was in when the sheriff found him in the morning. His skin was a ghostly white, his head was void of hair and his eyes were completely dark. It looked almost like an empty socket.
After failing in an attempt to keep down his lunch, the sheriff ran back into town to get the mayor. In his haste, he failed to notice the tower was looking a little different today. The door was open.
The mayor, the sheriff and an armed party of 5 trekked back to the tower, prepared to deal with whatever maimed the boy. Seven people, a good number...a holy number. But it wouldn't be enough. Not even close.
When they finally noticed the door, or lack thereof, the party's reactions were varied. Three tried to scream but couldn't, two almost choked on their own tongues, one fainted and the last said a silent prayer. After much deliberation a decision was made. One man, the god-fearing man who prayed, would go back to town to warn everyone. The rest would go inside. Curiosity can cause even the most clear headed men to make bad decisions. As the sixth man entered, the door shut behind them, leaving them with one path. Up. | 1 | null |
Giant-Midget | t1_c5q1eqr | WritingPrompts | c5q6a5r | 1,344,459,440 | t3_x6y4p | Hwhere do you get off? | 9 | null |
garishbourne | t3_x6y4p | WritingPrompts | c5q6a5v | 1,344,459,438 | t3_x6y4p | Here we go.
Another day was passing by like any other. Blackness surrounded everything he did and saw now. Cool winds swept through the leaves outside and tossed them around playfully. Despite the joyous dancing, he could only see their crinkled brown skin breaking. Everything was less beautiful.
For a period of time, he had trapped himself inside. Garbage piled up in the corner attracting flies. His hamper had overflowed deep into his room, both in capacity and smell.
Indifference marked him now. Jamming his toe on the corner of his bed a week ago was the most emotion he had felt in months. Kneeling down to coddle the wound, he broke down into tears. Lament for his toe, for himself, for everything really. Melancholy overcame him and he felt the pain he had been holding back for so long. Not now though, now he watched the leaves perform the Nutcracker out his window.
Oliver finally rose lazily from his daze. Perfectly alone, he turned to find something to eat. Quietly, he went through cupboards and drawers before finally settling on the refrigerator. Remnants of crumbs from long forgotten meals littered the thing. Salad dressing and a half empty bottle of Coca Cola were the only things that remained. Torn, he went to the Coke first. Unscrewing the cap, he found an unsurprising lack of a hiss. Vapors of syrup were distinctly missing from the now flat drink. With a motion that would make a sloth seem quick, he put back the cola and picked up the bottle of dressing. Xanthan gum, glucono delta-lactone, lactic acid, spices, phosphoric acid read the back ingredients panel. "You sound like a sci-fi book," he said in a degrading tone. Zillions of moments of silence had been broken so, startled, he closed the refrigerator door, grabbed his jacket, and went for a walk outside. | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t1_c5q1msz | WritingPrompts | c5q6ajh | 1,344,459,477 | t3_xvr6e | I love how it switches from a totally overplayed teenage angst story to a horrifying one in one sentence. Very interesting! | 8 | null |
[deleted] | t1_c5q5kdv | WritingPrompts | c5q6bst | 1,344,459,597 | t3_x6y4p | [deleted] | 29 | null |
iruleatants | t1_c5q5yrd | WritingPrompts | c5q6cnj | 1,344,459,679 | t3_xwbd1 | I read it 1 minute after it was posted, so you might be crazy :) | 3 | null |
pomo | t1_c5q4hv0 | WritingPrompts | c5q6dnb | 1,344,459,780 | t3_x6y4p | Lithuanian uses "uo"
U as in "who" o as in "lot". Gives oo-o, close enough. | 1 | null |
PoeDancer | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5q6e1p | 1,344,459,820 | t3_xweet | He appeared on my island one day in a flurry of storm, lightning, and churning waves, a small bundle of child in one arm, and a chest of frayed tomes in his other. Despite the tempest raging, not a drop of moisture landed on him, so I thought of him as a god. And as a mere mortal, was it not my place to worship him? I showed my idol all the fruits and blossoms of my mother's isle. I brought him the coolest spring water to quench his thirst, fresh pheasant to fill his stomach. A simpleminded creature, I did not understand speech. I smiled when he called me a stupid fool, and was pleased when he called me heathen.
*The Wise One is talking to me.*
Years passed, and the little thing so securely placed in its father's arms started to grow. It became a dazzling young woman, who laughed in wonder at every new thing. She became my new playmate, and taught me the human magic of words. But that magic became a curse. I could now understand when Prospero, as I learned his name to be, called me things. Things no one deserved to be called. He called me un-human, dirty slave, ugly in appearance as in heart, even as I did nothing but what he ordered.
*Humans are the ugly ones.*
I decided there needed to be more of me. One Caliban was not enough to defeat a Prospero, but perhaps ten could. So I hatched a plan to have Miranda carry my offspring. I would carry them into the world untouched by storm as Prospero had their mother.
I told my kind playmate these things, and she stiffened, eyes suddenly harsh. She disappeared without a word, only to return with an angry Prospero in tow.
"You dare try to dirty my daughter, you filthy slave. I give you the hospitality of my island home, yet you betray my trust. Your deeds will not go unpunished; I shall chain you to this boulder."
So here I sit, year after year, betrayed by both father figure and friend. Imprisoned due to my own naivete. *I did not betray your trust, you betrayed mine.* | 4 | null |
JungleSumTimes | t3_xw1k6 | WritingPrompts | c5q6ebh | 1,344,459,848 | t3_xw1k6 | Gaerhold grunted heavily, "hooph". His heavy breath erupting a misty shroud into the clearing. The low sun instantly rendered it yellow as the dew clinging to the stretching blades of meadow grass. Soon the noon sun would rise and render the dew and mist as dead as the stag on their pole.
"Have you good hold, or shall I fetch a maiden to bear the burden in your stead?", his brother japed. In his view, only Magnus' blonde mane jutted out from the back of his hunting cap. But Gaerhold knew only too well the mocking smirk that would be surely on his mug. Magnus always won. Even now, as the boys hoisted the trophy to the air, a sturdy pole lashed through, Magnus held the lead and the younger one held proximity to the gory end of the carcass and the sickening smells flowing from the recently evacuated gut cavity.
"I should be leading, brother, I slayed him!" Gaerhold protested.
"But I spied him." Magnus shot back. "And besides, you are a lumbering fool who would surely stumble and break a tine. This one is to be skinned with great care and delivered to Mikkaeld and prepared for hanging on the firewall of the Great Hall. I will see to it myself. He is a majesty."
*Again* thought Gaerhold, *he is laying claim to what is mine.*
"Also, you are squat and round, so that if by chance we meet another hunting party, then this regal rack will be more prominently available for their compliments. Now shut your rattletrap and *hie*! We've only a few hours to escape this wald and cross the plain of Doors before the noon sun fries us like scrumpets."
"Hmpph" was all Gaerhold could muster, but he imagined himself one day casting a powerful trance-manche on his future lord. Transforming him into a donkey, perhaps a mute imp or a serving wench, and ruling all of the waldlands and plains himself with no further smirking disrespect from the one once known as Magnus.
These musings carried him forward and soon they had crossed the small wald and the plain and were back in the cool, moist air of the Tanswald. Home.
Cries from the Lookers echoed through the trees to signal their approach. Soon pounding hoofbeats in the distance, growing stronger as the riders neared. And then before them Mikkaeld himself and his daughter Vellyn, reining up close to Gaerhold on her spotted pony. Her smile was bright and her eyes seemed to tell Gaerhold that she was very impressed and proud of him. This stag was like no other she had seen, its rack virtually erupted into a swirling tangle of tines, seemingly without end to number.
Mikkaeld was transfixed and silent, slowly taking it in. "A gewirrstag", he finally whispered. "Very rare. And what a fine one you two have brought back! Your father will be very proud of your capture. Magnus, tell me of the chase."
"I shot him!" Gaerhold announced breathlessly. "Not on the first try. I missed. Then I took the breath as you showed me and kept my left eye open when your voice came after the breath. And he fell as a bag of stones would."
"Indeed. I see the mark. A shot worthy a hero," the huntsman praised. Vellyns eyes softened and she turned her attention onto Gaerhold. Mikkaeld continued, "This one will need to be treated with great care. Upon your Father's return, I shall have him proudly hung on the firewall. We must make haste with the skinning, as the leather will tan sturdy and the hide will shine more brightly. We will hoist him to the wellspring and as the slayer, then you Gaerhold will keep the honor and skin him. Take my horse by the rein and I will carry your portion to the wellspring. Vellyn, be a dear and fetch the knives."
Vellyn gave another glance of approval on Gaerhold and spun her pony and trotted off.
Now at the pole, Mikkaeld urged, "On Magnus."
Gaerhold grew giddy as the significance of what he'd accomplished began to set in. He imagined himself seated below the mount in the great hall as the far doors flung open and his father appeared within, to lay eyes on the magnificent Gewirrstag that his younger son had bagged in the forewald, a wald even commonly accepted as being haunted. What a fantastic accomplishment from such an unlikely source. Gaerhold the great. He liked the sound of that.
Gaerhold and Magnus drank heartily from the wellspring, the water sweet and cold. Vellyn arrived shortly with the knives and gave a slight kneel as she presented the oak case to Gaerhold. "My lord", she offered and removed the clasp and drew back the lid before him.
*Gads. So many!*, he thought as the display was revealed. Shiny forged steel blades mirrored the bright sky in a multitude of sizes and shapes and features. Some curved, some hooked, some pointed like needles, even those with sawtooth edges for cutting through bone. It seemed to him a puzzling array of mysterious implements worthy of a surgeon or a clock master.
"Nervous, boy?" Magnus chided.
"Step aside and learn." Gaerhold faked.
Gaerhold had watched enough skinnings to know the first blade to choose. He had usually lost interest in his previous viewings to know what came after, but for now it felt good to shut Magnus up. He hefted the large opener by the carved bone handle, curved like a scythe. With a few thrusts in the air like a swordsman, he levelled the blade at his brother, chin level.
"And be quiet about it." he warned.
"Skin the buck, son. Not your brother." chided the huntsman. "Start upon the gash left by the bleeding and begin a cape that follows the brunt of the shoulder on each side."
Gaerhold was amazed at how swiftly and delicately the knife sliced through the thick hide. The heat of life still trapped between the fat below the leather and the red muscle below that. He was careful to get below all of the fat and not pierce the transparent layer that filmed the muscle. He was aware of Vellyn and her soft breathing calmed him. He had never felt more like a man in his entire life. Powerful yet skilled. The focus of all attention. And mastering it.
He had finished one side of the cape to the leg joint, when he had the others roll the carcass to expose the other. Still armed with the scythe blade, he began the second cut when the blade was held fast only a few inches into the cut. It was as though cutting a cooked steak and encountering a tough piece of gristle. He withdrew the blade and felt the area with his free hand. Tough. A hardened lump or bump much like a callous. He sliced again to continue the cut, but the blade deflected and went off course.
"Careful, boy!" Mikkaeld warned. "What is the problem?"
"Master there is something wrong. The fat below has ceased and replaced by something else. It's as if there is bone there." Gaerhold reported.
"Switch to the serrated cleaver and saw along the cut line, after parting the hide." the teacher advised.
The saw blade seemed to make fair way, as Gaerhold progressed deeper through the tough gristle. The steel had fairly reached the depth of the adjoining cut when Gaerhold felt the bone handle rumble and a new sound of metal on bone was heard. Or different. Perhaps metal on rock? Yes. It was like metal on rock. He kept sawing and the noise grew louder.
"Wait." Mikkaeld urged. "What in hells domain have you gotten into?"
Gaerhold had no idea what it was, so he simply shrugged. At that, he was handed the dagger-like blade with a flat end with its own sharp edge. Gaerhold traded with the saw and felt around with the end of the new blade until it tapped on the hard portion. With a trust of both hands he was able to slide the steel down an inch or two along the side of the solid piece and into the meat below. A trickle of crimson blood welled up in the incision and he slid the knife further in. He caught a glimpse of black inside the wound. Black but shiny, like a black pearl. Gaerhold felt that the object may be able to be dislodged, like removing a stone from the post holes he had dug for his chore. And so with some prying on, and use of another blade's handle to form a lever, the object began to slowly emerge from the quarry's hold on it.
The four knelt in wonderment as Gaerhold liberated a treasure. Onyx black, shiny mica surface that glittered all the spectrum of colors. Set within the host - a hundred irridescent gems both vivid in color and translucent as well. So that each colored mineral could be viewed alone or though the lens of another, or many. It was an explosion of color but held fast in a solid matrix of black, in a way that defied each viewer's imagination. It was the most intense and singularly most beautiful object Gaerhold had ever seen.
They all gasped in unison and just sat in wonderment, their eyes held fast by the treasure. Finally Mikkaeld broke the silence.
"When I was but a lad younger than you, Gaerhold, my great uncle told me stories of the ancient ones who had such things. Things that have all supposedly vanished with the sands of time. Things so powerful and magical that a man would be loathe to heed his daily chore or vocation, for the chance to just stare at the beauty and magic within. His greatest and most beautiful lovers would lay waiting for him, wanton for love. Even then the man would be so bewitched and entranced as to simply look on, ignoring all and those he once held dear."
The boy had also once heard the story, long ago. Still intently staring at the treasure, Gaerhold asked "Is this one of the *reddits*, then?"
"Nay," Mikkaeld returned. "Even more rare and powerful, lad. For you have uncovered for us, on this glorious day, a *subreddit!*"
**EDIT** - paragraphs = achilles heel | 3 | null |
PinkieThingie | t1_c5q4at3 | WritingPrompts | c5q6egf | 1,344,459,861 | t3_x6y4p | UUafflef* | 9 | null |
Jaboaflame | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5q6ewc | 1,344,459,902 | t3_xweet | It isn't me committing these acts. It isn't me. It isn't me. I'm a normal guy, I thought while posting the pictures of my latest slain upon my shrine. My offering to those recently deceased. It isn't my fault that I have to honor the dead. They are dead. And *someone* has to honor them. Since they'll never be found. Since that psycho ended their lives so viciously, so violently. That psycho who isn't me.
He isn't me. I am not me. Am I?
No. I muttered a short prayer to Rupert Murrow, whose face will remained pinned to the wall indefinitely. I scanned the wall filled with the masses of people who will never be found. I stepped back. The eyes of the dead are watching me. The eyes of the dead are on me. I smiled. This pleasure isn't perverse. It's not me.
I exhaled a long, shaky breath, reminding me of the breaths so many of the poor, innocent victims release. Those poor people. What kind of person does these things? Not me. The long last breath is much more satisfying than the stuttered gasps of strangulation or the disgusting gurgles of regurgitated blood.
Disgusting. Humans are disgusting. Someone should take care of them.
But not me. It's not me. | 3 | null |
[deleted] | t3_x6y4p | WritingPrompts | c5q6fvn | 1,344,459,995 | t3_x6y4p | [deleted] | 6 | null |
AdjustedUniverse | t1_c5pzs0t | WritingPrompts | c5q6g6l | 1,344,460,021 | t3_x6y4p | [Weightlessness... | 13 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xw1k6 | WritingPrompts | c5q6ibl | 1,344,460,223 | t3_xw1k6 | I like this! Just what I needed. | 2 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xw1k6 | WritingPrompts | c5q6iwd | 1,344,460,277 | t3_xw1k6 | I'm very glad I found this subreddit. I've been suffering from a writer's block for Maker knows how long. Hopefully this subreddit will help me move in the right direction. :) | 2 | null |
AnalStain | t1_c5pzx55 | WritingPrompts | c5q6lzm | 1,344,460,575 | t3_x6y4p | Weightlessness? | -2 | null |
damnthesenames | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5q6o2i | 1,344,460,772 | t3_x6y4p | Is it just me or is this not a story but just a bunch of sentences without any connection, one after another.
MISERABLE JOB! | -2 | null |
Rysona | t1_c5q63aa | WritingPrompts | c5q6pq6 | 1,344,460,938 | t3_xwbd1 | Female writer? | 3 | null |
Mats_The_Beggar | t1_c5q57ki | WritingPrompts | c5q6r7z | 1,344,461,077 | t3_x6y4p | Obviously potato plants, and this is obviously in Russia. Prescious potato. Po-ta-to. | 61 | null |
apintofplain | t3_xw3xk | WritingPrompts | c5q6s92 | 1,344,461,177 | t3_xw3xk | I was on the balcony watching him down below when she asked me ”Do you ever see letters in things?” He had been standing by the traffic light for about twenty minutes and by my count he had managed to get thirty-two cigarettes from stopped cars.
“I mean, buildings or landscape or whatever? The beach down the road from my Dad’s house, you know the long one, that’s always looked like a J to me.”
I was too high up to hear what he said but I could make out their hands poking through the windows and him performing an exaggerated bow before shuffling back to the pavement.
“There’s a technical name for it, I can’t remember it now...”
Cigarettes were so cheap here too and you could even buy them individually from tobacconists.
She came out and said “Ha! Look! The moon and the Eiffel Tower, it makes a P.”
“Sort of,” I mustered, still far more interested in the little entrepreneur below.
“What are the chances of that though, me bringing up the topic and then the most famous landmark in the city exactly proving my point?”
Was there a quota at which he stopped, when he decided he had enough for the night and could go back to whatever he usually did? Were there certain junctions at certain hours which were the most profitable? Was there a knowledge shared by les SDF of Paris regarding the best spots? Did you come to own a spot by seniority or violence or opportunism?
“Are you ready to go?”
As we walked through the atrium, the guy who had checked us in earlier wished us a lovely evening. We both smiled and thanked him.
“I never know whether or not to say that back to people when they’re at work. It feels like I’m pointing out that they’re toiling away while we’re off to a restaurant.”
At the entrance, she moved right and I went left.
“It’s this way, isn’t it?”
“I know but we went that way earlier. Let’s loop around and see a new bit.”
“Ok,” she grumbled.
When we were quite close I took out my Camels. I fumbled with them awkwardly so I’d still have them open as we passed him. The light turned green and he stepped back off the street. I finally pulled one out, pushed it between my lips and brought the lighter to my face. I tried to predict how he would ask for it, the particular phrase which had worked so well on all those drivers, spoken with the quixotic gruffness that sleeping rough in Paris lends to a voice. And then we were a step in front of him and then we were alongside him and he was just standing there and then we were past him and he hadn’t said a word. | 1 | null |
kersey79 | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5q6sgq | 1,344,461,198 | t3_x6y4p | Merely using the letter "X" is a lame cop out. | -2 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xw1k6 | WritingPrompts | c5q6t7g | 1,344,461,269 | t3_xw1k6 | I'm looking forward to getting into writing again - so excited to make use of this subreddit. | 2 | null |
thelizardofodd | t3_xfc9t | WritingPrompts | c5q6uo9 | 1,344,461,404 | t3_xfc9t | *(Sorry it's quite long...inspiration kept it going for a while. Hope you enjoy!)*
Tiny, stiff needles nipped at the hem of her light summer dress like little kitten's paws, inspiring her to twirl away free of the hedge and more into the center of the path. Her feet danced lightly over the soft green earth, and the world spun a moment longer in her eyes once she stopped. The young girl giggled, lifting a hand to brush along the green wall as she walked. In some areas the needles were soft with new growth, but mostly they were coarse and stiff, and felt rather like the stiff bristles on the horse brushes in the stables. Or really, she thought, perhaps the brushes merely felt like the hedge.
The hedge walls towered above her, blotting out the sun all hours but noon, and stretched on with apparent endless twists and turns to any who could not find their way. Her smile widened in memory of the young boy from two weeks ago, some nasally noble's son who had lived far too pampered a youth, as he boasted his way into the labyrinth and cried as he was lead out, after having been lost within for two hours on a hot afternoon.
But not Lily, she never got lost in the maze. It was *her* maze. When she was not eating, sleeping, or sat forcibly down for her lessons, she inevitably traversed the long green halls, singing and dancing with all manner of imagined companions. The maids warned that such wild behavior was not befitting of a lady of her birth, but she did not care. Her father was ever so busy and cared only that she was both out from underfoot and suitably happy. When he did take care in her affairs and attempt to be stern, her smile disarmed him and soon she was back in the labyrinth.
The gardeners who kept close care of the hedge did their duty every day, but even they did not know why she loved the maze more than anything she had ever owned. More than toys and kittens, more than pretty dresses and fine desserts, more even than the beautiful white pony her father had given her on her last birthday. The labyrinth was *hers*, but what awaited her at the center could never belong to anything but the magics and mysteries of the unknown, as distant as the stars but as close as her own heart. At the center of the labyrinth, awaiting her arrival each day and bidding her fair well with each departure, was the Minotaur.
She turned the familiar turns, followed the path long memorized and came soon to the path which changed. She had told her father once that the Minotaur sometimes liked to change the path for her, to give her a challenge, but he merely smiled and commented on her imagination to their disapproving maids. She never bothered to insist he believe her, it was better that her stories remained mere stories to his ears. That way the maze, the true heart of it, would always remain hers.
It was different today. The path narrowed, stray branches grew thick and forced her to push her way through. The air grew thick and heavy and damp, with moisture brimming on the edge of each leaf. She lifted the machete and hacked a few vines aside, the dipping songs of colorful birds and hoots of monkeys filling her ears as the thick hedges gave way to steaming jungle.
She came upon an opening to her left and passed beneath a broad, moss-covered branch and found a jaguar blocking the way. It stood with its nose high in the air, alternating between staring intently and sorting out what it could of her scent.
"Though my father might find use of your coat, I have no desire to harm you." She informed the jaguar.
It hissed and took a step back.
"Now none of that! Step aside that I might pass, kitty. Go on." She shooed the beast with her machete, and it turned, darting into the undergrowth with a disgruntled growl. The shining dappled fur of the cat blended into the jungle almost instantly.
She continued forward and soon found another path to the right, and another right, around the great trunk of an ancient tree and into the dark. She had to turn sideways to fit through the small crevasse in the rock, but the cave beyond was plenty spacious and filled with enough beauty to chase away all thoughts of claustrophobia. Glittering veins of crystal wound their way in curious spiral patterns, occasionally bursting forth from the stone like flowers on a vine. In the center of the circular hall was a pool, from which more crystals sprouted, these in the shapes of lilies and pads. She padded quietly on bare toes to the shoreline, inching her way into the icy water in order to pluck one of the delicate white lilies. It snapped off into her hand and there twinkled, catching the light from her torch and reflecting it into her eyes. She sniffed it, inhaling deep the smell of the earth and what its incredible pressure had wrought for her, then placed the delicate flower in the small bag at her side.
Continuing from the cave she explored a ravine in the tundra and said hello to a mammoth, wound her way through the creaking wooden underbelly of a ship full of drunken, cavorting pirates, and, a few gold coins richer, snuck her way back out into the shadow of the hedges.
"I enjoyed the caves very much, and can honestly say I had never met a mammoth before today." She said lightly as she turned into the center.
The Minotaur sat comfortably in an overstuffed (and oversized) chair, hooves crossed and fingers placed delicately together beneath his bearded chin. He smiled, inclining his head gently in greeting. His sweeping horns made the subtle movement more broad and, somehow, dignified. His fur was immaculately brushed and trimmed, as always, but today he had woven a few new braids from his mane.
"The jaguar was entirely less than sociable, however." She took her customary seat across from him. Whereas his chair was huge and soft, hers was small and metal, a delicate thing made of white-painted tubes woven into the shapes of hearts and birds and butterflies. He hunched down over the table, just slightly too high for her comfort but far too low for his, and poured her a cup of tea, two lumps, a blot of milk, with great care. She took the china cup and sipped, smiling as he did the same. A sip, for him, drained the cup.
"Fine tea, as ever. Thank you, Mr. Minotaur."
He inclined his head once again, a faint smile on his bovine face.
When she returned to the house, she found her father speaking with Professor Antoine Durant, who was both the local scholar and her tutor, and a regular visitor for dinner on Saturday evenings.
"Afternoon, Lilly dear. Have a nice time in the maze?" Her father smiled kindly.
"Good afternoon father, I did sir. Thank you." She hugged him, then turned to the professor. "Professor Durant! Sir, did you know that woolly mammoths are not brown? They are actually blonde. Strawberry blonde!"
Her father turned a quizzical look to the professor, who looked equal parts perplexed and amused. He answered her father's unspoken question before responding to her. "We were learning about prehistoric beasts today." He habitually slid his glasses back up his nose as he looked down at the girl. "But I believe you remember that fact incorrectly, dear. Mammoths had great, brown shaggy coats, which absorbed more warmth from the sun."
"No, sir! You see, I met one today, in the labyrinth. He had strawberry blonde fur, and great tusks which curled almost back to his trunk. He was quite nice, I shook his trunk."
The two older men laughed, but insisted she keep her imaginings to herself should the continue to contradict facts. It was important to remain grounded in reality, even if our minds should take us into the heavens themselves, her father lectured. She nodded and agreed, but only in words.
That evening, after a meal of leek soup, baked trout, roots and a fine brazed shank of pig, all followed by crispy fruit pastries glazed with honey (her favorite part), she lay in bed and stared out at the stars. They seemed to shine brighter than usual that night, but they looked ever more beautiful still when shining through the clear, beautiful pedals of the crystal lily which she held aloft.
| 2 | null |
jungling | t3_x6y4p | WritingPrompts | c5q6v9j | 1,344,461,463 | t3_x6y4p | Here is my shot at this, not at all my best, but I usually don't write constrained by alphabet letters :)
Another day has come again and shown its version of reality
Bravely I try to face it, knowing how much it will take from me
Could there have been another way?
Did she have to die that day?
Either way, her life has come and gone
Fate stole her from us before we knew something was wrong
Gathering ourselves and standing up tall
Holding each others hands so we do not fall
I cannot bear the thought of life without her
Joined by my father and brother, we struggle to leave this moment
Knowing after this she won't be part of our lives any longer
My mother is gone, and because of this my family fractured
Nothing can fix us, we all feel lost without her
Our words are whispers, our tears are silent
Prayers are said that she may find peace and comfort
Questions asked with every prayers
Reasons pleaded so we could understand why this happened, why we are alone without her
Silence is the only response that we get, the words of friends do nothing to fill the voids of understanding in our heads
Tempers flare and we scream and cry at those who are not at fault
Understanding that we are hurt and we lash out because the pain just overflows
Very carefully we slowly take our steps
Walking from a moment we don't want to leave, but wish we could forget
"X" off each day on the calendar as time goes by
Yearning for each happy memory of her to stay alive
Zero strength to make the next step and plan the rest of my life with her not involved
| 2 | null |
giant_enemy_spycrab | t3_xu4f0 | WritingPrompts | c5q6vdj | 1,344,461,474 | t3_xu4f0 | You wake up. Groggy, as usual. Go through the motions. Get out of bed. Brush teeth. Take shower. Eat something. Drink coffee; ah, that's better. Your head begins to clear as the caffeine hits your bloodstream. Your thoughts start to organize themselves; the world comes into focus. Finish the routine. Get dressed. Grab keys. Phone. Wallet. Hm. Something's off. Wallet feels lighter than usual. You shrug it off and get to your car. Your neighbor is out on the lawn yelling about something. Hm. Get in, turn key, put in gear, back out. There are overturned garbage cans in the street, spilling their contents on the asphalt. Hm. Garbage man's usually come and gone by this time. You make your way through the debris as best you can, though you suspect something's stuck to your tires. Streets are pretty empty otherwise. You think you see something on fire in the distance, but you're not sure. This is certainly good; you're making much better time than you usually are. As you pass the gas station, you notice some people who appear to be trying to uproot the gas pump. Still more have climbed through the shattered window and are grabbing as many snacks and cigarettes as they can. You turn on the radio. No music, just some news anchor talking about something. Hm. There's usually music on this station. You turn the radio off. You keep driving. There's certainly less traffic than usual, but the debris field is making it more difficult to drive. You arrive at work five minutes early; you sit in your car for a few minutes and daydream. You step out, and barely miss a computer monitor hurled from a fifth story window. Hm. You climb the stairs to your office. It's quieter than usual. You spend the day typing up a report. Come five o' clock, you leave, and head back home. The streets are considerably busier now. There are a lot of people and things on fire. You drive around them as best you can, though you suspect something's stuck to your tires. Hm. | 5 | null |
JD_Dragon | t3_xw41w | WritingPrompts | c5q72bt | 1,344,462,152 | t3_xw41w | It's been a full year now. One orbital period of the sun moving around the Earth. Each day worse then the next. Each breath more painful then the last. When did my life start its downward spiral into hell. Was it when I lost my favourite toy Mr. Chuckles. Or when I was left outside in the middle of nowhere by my horrible master, forced to walk weeks on my own. Or when Luna died.
Luna. How long has it been since I last saw your beautiful smile. The smile the would utterly destroy all of my inner barriers and defences. The smile that always made me think if I died right now, I would die happy. The eyes that were more perfect then any gem and shines far brighter then the moon. A voice so smooth that can cream any singer's any day. Oh Luna.
One year. It's been one year since I last saw you. One year of regret. One year of disgust. One year of hate. One year of nothingness. God you cruel heartless bastard. Oh Luna.
You said that it was your time. Your time to leave this world. Your time to explore the next. I can never except that. You would tell me not to cry after you passed on but I've cried everyday since you left. Its been one year since your death. Today is our anniversary of our marriage and your death. Till tomorrow. Good bye Luna, you will always be missed. | 1 | null |
KilgoreTroutFunf | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5q72j3 | 1,344,462,171 | t3_xweet | We were only taking orders.
To kill and to exterminate, they were only orders. But were they followed reluctantly? That I am not sure of. When I heard the sick and weary cries they made when they were kicked and shot and beaten was I detested of them or of the soldier who followed orders?
To this day I shall never know.
I remember myself in the snow. I worked restlessly, containing the prisoners, punishing the prisoners and exterminating the prisoners. Behind the iron fences that were electrified. Was I the bad man here? I took orders! Yes...
It was all him! The leader. I just took orders. Never thinking, for if you think you will be shot, or imprisoned. What could I do? Escape?
No...
Not even German soldiers escape Dachau. | 4 | null |
eyecite | t1_c5q304b | WritingPrompts | c5q72tq | 1,344,462,198 | t3_x6y4p | Now BACKWARDS! | 3 | null |
JeffRSmall | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5q733w | 1,344,462,225 | t3_x6y4p | [Seriously...](http://i.qkme.me/3qejn3.jpg) | 5 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5q753y | 1,344,462,421 | t3_xweet | They have no idea what's coming. These people surround me and they think they are so noble and powerful. Feeding the children wants of materialistic items. These people disgust me. They feel as though they can disgrace me and my people? No. Not anymore. I need to make a statement. Should I go through with this? Is this the right thing? Of course it is. I pledged myself for this day. This hour. This moment. For these moments, the world will have their eyes on me. These greedy men and women will look to me in angst and wish they would have seen the warnings.
My seat is uncomfortable. The feels of anxiety and excitement rush through my veins. I look down to the other side and I see one of my partners. He looks at me with deep eyes. He has a family at home. He is leaving behind his wife and children for this. Is this the right thing to do? Of course it is. We must go through with this.
I hear a ringing in my ears in flashing before my eyes. It's almost time. My heart is racing within my chest. I close my eyes and think of my mother and father. They have so much faith in me and my mission. I suddenly open my eyes to the sound of a man talking.
"Ladies and gentlemen we are cruising at a perfect 30,000 feet and we will be arriving in arriving in Los Angels in about 6 hours. So kick back and have a great flight. Thank you for choosing American Airlines."
I look over. I get a nod. I slowly stand up ready to make history. To show these people that we are the true power of the world. I must not let him down. I must go through with this. Praise Allah. | 10 | null |
Buzzboy | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5q77py | 1,344,462,672 | t3_xweet | Here I am.
Beautiful night. Waters calm.
Oh hello. How are you?
Wait a minute.
What are you doing?
Please be careful.
Ouch! Are you okay?
Oh no. Please get up.
Goodbye ship.
What a beautiful night. | 37 | null |
Mufahaha | t1_c5q6r7z | WritingPrompts | c5q783b | 1,344,462,711 | t3_x6y4p | Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew! | 93 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xw41w | WritingPrompts | c5q7axf | 1,344,462,986 | t3_xw41w | Julius never liked birthdays. He always had some kind of *thing* against them. Maybe it was all the attention. He was far from the star of the show. He preferred to stay in the shadows and observe. Birthdays always came with the idea of "it's your day". Julius never felt as though it was *his* day. It was just another day of the year that happened to fall on the day of his birth. People got excited and wished Julius a happy birthday. Julius put on a fake smile and with a pessimistic attitude thanked them. His mother would always insist on having a party. She was the type of feline that just liked to be with friends and family. Julius always thought he was adopted. His mother would prepare a idealistic cake for a young kitty like Julius. She would put in several hours to make the perfect cake for her kitten. When she brought the cake out, everyone would sing and pur to Julius. Although he would sit there with a blank face on trying his best not to ruin the day for others. None the less, Julius did **not** like birthdays. | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t1_c5pzx55 | WritingPrompts | c5q7dkg | 1,344,463,243 | t3_x6y4p | [deleted] | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xwbd1 | WritingPrompts | c5q7e2g | 1,344,463,291 | t3_xwbd1 | Look at me! Chicken legs, a gut, and stretch marks from where I **used** to be fit... Looking at myself in the mirror while wearing nothing but my underwear makes me question why anyone would ever find me attractive. *Shut up!* I turn the music up and pick up the weight sitting on the floor. *One...* How did I ever let myself get so out of shape? *Two...* I mean, I used to be so muscular. This is pathetic. *Three...* Sure there are worse looking people than me, but no one stops to look at me on the subway. *Four...* There was that one girl the other day, but I don't think she was looking at me. *Five...* Maybe she was, I did look pretty good in a suit. *Six...* Actually, I looked really good. I had a new shirt on and everything. *Seven...* I'm really not that bad. I just need to exercise more often. *Eight...* Maybe if I exercised three times a week instead of two. *Nine...* I hear the water shut off in the bathroom and see you walk out followed by a cloud of steam. Dripping wet you kiss me on the cheek, "Hey, sexy..." *Ten...* Nah, two times is fine. I look good. | 5 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xwbd1 | WritingPrompts | c5q7e65 | 1,344,463,306 | t3_xwbd1 | [deleted] | 1 | null |
DragonFire43 | t3_x6y4p | WritingPrompts | c5q7hbh | 1,344,463,618 | t3_x6y4p | FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fuck my life. I had a story written out about how this awesome dragon takes over a kingdom and I was on U and I was planning for the dragon to move on and die after 30,000 years but then someone hit the "home page button". THEY WILL DIE!!!!!! | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xwbd1 | WritingPrompts | c5q7hu6 | 1,344,463,668 | t3_xwbd1 | [deleted] | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xw3xk | WritingPrompts | c5q7i1a | 1,344,463,687 | t3_xw3xk | I hate Paris. I alway have. But then I met you, and you're in Paris and I love you. I don't hate Paris anymore. Now, I loathe it. | 1 | null |
CloneDeath | t1_c5q0u0x | WritingPrompts | c5q7iqp | 1,344,463,756 | t3_x6y4p | Actually, W comes from two v's. At some point, U and V diverged. In other latin origin countries, W is pronounces Double V. | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t1_c5q4kqg | WritingPrompts | c5q7jjm | 1,344,463,836 | t3_x6y4p | [deleted] | 1 | null |
Bince82 | t1_c5q4iab | WritingPrompts | c5q7jvv | 1,344,463,872 | t3_xw41w | Have more pride! I loved this post. Reminded me of The Witches by Ral Dahl. | 2 | null |
este_hombre | t3_xw1k6 | WritingPrompts | c5q7k99 | 1,344,463,910 | t3_xw1k6 | I think you got all the subs from the /bestof post. That is where I cam from to find this awesome subreddit. | 3 | null |
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