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[deleted] | t3_xx86j | WritingPrompts | c5qf952 | 1,344,495,003 | t3_xx86j | > Arbuthnot 55 points 13 hours ago
Veronica stretched out lazily on her grandmother’s couch. Upstairs, the rest of the family were happily chatting away. Veronica sighed. She hated the insincerity of family events. Her parents called her discontent a ‘teenage phase’, but she hated how her family could only express their feelings in food. Her parents had been pushing sweet, rich food on her for months. Tired of staring at the ceiling, she wandered over to Grandma’s cabinet filled with VCRs.
“Just like them to have a basement full of crap.” Veronica muttered. “Would it kill them to buy a DVD player?”
Each tape was meticulously labeled with a name. It took Veronica a second to recognize many of the names – each tape was for a deceased family member. At the top of the pile, there was a tape marked ‘Veronica’. Maybe it was an old aunt? Curious, she popped it into the VCR player. Images popped up immediately, nto of some deceased family member, but of Veronica. She stared at the screen uncomprehendingly. Baby Veronica toddling across the yard, graduating from school, going to prom… Then a screen: “In honor of our sacrifice on August 8th, 2012.” From upstairs, a call: “Veronica, dinner!”
She startled and ran to the door instinctively, finding relief in the small click of the lock. Safe. Panicked, she jammed her finger on the eject button, digging her fingers in the slot and ripping it out impatiently.
Forcing the tape back in the sleeve, she threw it back on the pile and ran her fingers through her hair. What the fuck was this video? she thought, mind racing. Did someone do this as a joke? Sacrifice?
In front of the mirror, the reflection of her grandmother's room behind her, ancient and more like a tomb as the seconds passed.
"Veronica, hurry!"
An escape plan. How? The window. Her chest ached wild with the rhythm of fear. She had to get out through the window.
Throwing piles of sequined old dresses aside, she rushed to the sill and grabbed at the latch, picking and prying at the metal until her fingernails bent back in painful, awkward ways. The latch clicked, the window slid open easily.
She fell awkwardly and ran toward the driveway. Keys fished from her jean pocket, she'd take the car and get out of this place. Somewhere safe. Safer.
The car. Where was the car?
She looked around, afraid. No car. Trapped. She was trapped.
Something bright bobbed in the distance near her porch. Balloons? What?
The front door swung open. She jumped.
There was her grandma, standing with the rest of the family behind her.
"Veronica!"
She swayed, confused. What was going on?
Her mother split the crowd and came forward with a broad smile.
"Veronica, honey... this was supposed to be a surprise. Sweetheart, we sold the car to pay for the art college in California!"
"You do so much for us, Veronica," her Grandma said, coming forward. "Let us do something good for you!"
Grinning, she pointed over to a corner of the deck holding six shiny bicycles.
"Sure, it's a sacrifice alright... but you're worth it, and so is your education. Tonight's theme is sacrifice!" she declared, cackling and shuffling toward her.
Her grandmother always did have strange humor.
Veronica felt her face flush with embarassment, eyes wet with tears. How could she have thought?
"Oh, honey, don't go crying. We're just proud of you. The first one in our family to go to college..."
Veronica sheepishly looked over at the bicycles, wondering when she could sneak away to close the bedroom window.
| 5 | null |
whichgame | t1_c5qeysi | WritingPrompts | c5qfakl | 1,344,495,241 | t3_xwzdd | Lengthy, but worth it, I really enjoyed this. Man, the (26)80's must have been exciting. This makes me glad that I read history. Anyways I'll be back later, I'm still hungry even though I took my total satisfaction pill only 14 days ago. I might quickly alter the complete appearance of my transtempus pod electronically while I'm recharging my spare nano-brain. | 1 | null |
LegalDeagles | t3_xl74p | WritingPrompts | c5qfc4h | 1,344,495,505 | t3_xl74p | Can deities be considered creatures for this prompt? | 1 | null |
metr0_ | t3_xwq3j | WritingPrompts | c5qfcbp | 1,344,495,535 | t3_xwq3j | "OH BITCH, UH-UH!"
Oh, no. I'm so screwed. She's coming over here! RIGHT HERE! Look away, don't look into her eyes--shit, she's still heading over--
"You look at me like that and see what happens, BEEEEIIITCH!" As I looked up, all I could see was her fist reeling back, preparing to lay the open can of whoop-ass on me. But before she could lay that shit down, it all went black.
I woke up ten seconds later, sprawled out on the floor with a fallen stool next to me. My eyes cracked open and I could see that angry woman standing over me. She was shaking her head and sucking her teeth. "Mmm-mm. I don't waste my energy on pussy bitches." And then she stepped over me, then out of the bar with her boyfriend hitched to her hip. | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xwio1 | WritingPrompts | c5qfdkp | 1,344,495,759 | t3_xwio1 | There once lived four sisters. These four sisters were nothing like ordinary ladies. These four sisters lived, suffered, then were reborn with newly discovered hope.
They spent many long nights running from federal agents. Wistfully locked away while mother drove. Keith, mother's lover, would drunkenly yell, murmur, then fall into drunken slumber while Angela's four beautiful babies hypnotically watched cars pass then slowly slip into sedation themselves. Darkness enveloped them, Angela knew that driving until daylight could save them from certain capture. | 2 | null |
[deleted] | t1_c5qexlw | WritingPrompts | c5qfdpg | 1,344,495,782 | t3_x6y4p | I thought they were just getting old. | 1 | null |
thefarkinator | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5qfdxd | 1,344,495,823 | t3_xweet | I deal in fear. People will look back on my life and say, I was a monster. Broken. These things I cannot deny. I've killed more people than you'd like to know, in more painful ways than you'd like to imagine. But I don't think people truly appreciate my work. Before my time, as some would put it. You see, I may trade on death and destruction, but my final product, the end result, is something far more profound--less barbaric. Allow me to explain. When you were a child, you stared into the darkness. Desperate for protection, you would grasp at your blanket, your bear, maybe even go wake your mother. The threat of being alone forced you to latch onto this object--you never went anywhere without it. The bond you made lasted a lifetime. So the next time the gun goes off and you clutch your loved ones, fearing they might be next, be sure to thank me. You're closer to them than you'll ever be. | 3 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xwq3j | WritingPrompts | c5qfe35 | 1,344,495,849 | t3_xwq3j | [deleted] | 1 | null |
chudez | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5qfe6e | 1,344,495,867 | t3_x6y4p | never before have i had the urge to give a comment from a reddit thread a standing ovation. | 3 | null |
Simnol | t1_c5q7xfx | WritingPrompts | c5qff5i | 1,344,496,051 | t3_xvr6e | The guy explained he was using WordCount to count the words, which isn't a very good site.
As an aside, I checked Apple - Pages, Microsoft Office, and Libre Office. All three of them agree contractions are one word. | 1 | null |
momzill | t1_c5q8xdv | WritingPrompts | c5qffuf | 1,344,496,176 | t3_xvr6e | Thank you. | 2 | null |
Simnol | t1_c5qezgv | WritingPrompts | c5qfgn0 | 1,344,496,316 | t3_xvr6e | Ah right, that site counts contractions as two words, making the total word count 200.
I don't know if there is a better site you could use in future? | 2 | null |
hiimbrooke | t1_c5q4he0 | WritingPrompts | c5qfgxm | 1,344,496,369 | t3_x6y4p | Why are you assuming he is saying there is an x on his wrist? The way I read it was that he was marking an x on his wrist. | 1 | null |
GeneralCortex | t1_c5qeb00 | WritingPrompts | c5qflmd | 1,344,497,230 | t3_xwrp9 | <gently pierced
That seems like it could be an oxymoron. | 1 | null |
IgnosticZealot | t1_c5qcdi3 | WritingPrompts | c5qflq6 | 1,344,497,246 | t3_x6y4p | I think it's fish with no I s | 1 | null |
Le_Jonny_41293 | t1_c5qfgn0 | WritingPrompts | c5qflwt | 1,344,497,281 | t3_xvr6e | MS Word :P. also that is the "official" recommended site to use according to the subreddit and therefore that's what I used. I was simply too lazy to open up Office. That is all... | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xx2wj | WritingPrompts | c5qfmw2 | 1,344,497,476 | t3_xx2wj | 14 November, 1892. Approximately 10:15 PM
If you are reading this, I fear it is too late for me.
I must lift the weight this terrible tale causes.
Three years ago, the man you may know as Dr. Thomas Neill Cream kidnapped my wife, poisoning her and leaving her for dead.
It was but a week later he found me, holding my daughter for warmth 'neath the warm rain at the fresh grave.
He gave me a choice, that night. A terrible choice. He would either take me or take little Dahlia, his face open and suggestive that either would end badly.
I wouldn't sacrifice my Dahlia - our Dahlia - after losing my sweet Amelie.
He was cordial as he accompanied us to an aunt's house, standing away as I left my only calling after me on the doorstep attached to her aunt's hip.
He took me aside and told me the terms of our deal and how I would uphold his agreement - he would soon be imprisoned, the trial hours away.
He promised to stay away from her if I went in his place. Our builds were similar, my mustache thick and full, an unlikely, untimely coincidence. I accepted. He promised to stay away.
For two years I have sat in this cellar without word of my little love. My only visitor, the man himself.. Though he is cleanly shaved and taken to calling himself "Jack," it is him. He visits me weekly to tell me of the women he finds, tricks, harms, murders. He is a monster.
Tomorrow is the day of his hanging - my hanging. I cannot bear to hear his stories any longer. I welcome the noose, though my only hope is that my little one is still safe.
Please, if you are reading this, let the town know of this man's crimes. Let them know of this Jack and what he is doing to women.. tens, hundreds of women.
Lastly, please send word to my Dahlia. Tell her that Papa Bear loves her little golden curls dearly.
Goodbye. | 3 | null |
Xok234 | t1_c5q1msz | WritingPrompts | c5qfrmc | 1,344,498,402 | t3_xvr6e | This is brilliant. It leaves you wondering if she escapes, what happens next etc, leaving you interested in the story. | 1 | null |
Katamayan57 | t3_xxgrn | WritingPrompts | c5qfrvv | 1,344,498,457 | t3_xxgrn | "Alright Martha, I'll go grab the milk right now. Don't worry, just work on other stuff until I get the milk. Jayden's party is going to be perfect," I tell her as I walk out the door.
'*Jeez. I hate it when she goes all uptight.*' I think while I walk. I let my mind wander to other things like my job, my friends, my income, when suddenly I come across something very weird. There is a very large boulder in the middle of the park across the street. Stranger yet, there seem to be a few people kneeling down, heads down in a prayer-like fashion. I decide that this boulder and these people are probably more interesting than the milk I've been demanded to purchase.
"Hey, what uh, what's going on?" I ask one of the men. He doesn't stop kneeling down. "Are you under some kind of vow of silence or something?" I ask. But that doesn't seem right. They aren't monks or anything, they are in all appearance, average people. Men in suits and basketball shorts, women in dresses and short-shorts. "What's so special about this rock?" I ask to the same man I tried to talk to earlier.
Nothing. Annoyed, I grab his shoulder. Then he collapses. I would have passed out or vomited if I weren't in shock. My mind seemed to shut down. It wasn't possible. The man's face was gone. Not just his face, but the skin and most of the muscle. It looked as if something had hollowed out everything but the back of his head. I look around and check all of the others and realize that all of them are in the exact same condition as the first man. I vomit on the ground and collapse to my knees myself.
^ **Edit: I had something here before about aliens, but it got screwed up by my formatting failures, so I'm just gonna end the story here and leave the rest to your imagination...** | 4 | null |
CheezyWeezle | t3_xwio1 | WritingPrompts | c5qfuo1 | 1,344,499,008 | t3_xwio1 | Weren't there times when everyone wondered very wonderful things? Could some have gone insane? Might they come again without these thoughts upon this soul? Whoever dared enter again would become another with them. Vibrantly along they would come, then leave without words spoken. Blindly they would speak false truths against those that would dare oppose them. Again, everyone might have lost some sanity within these dark walls, however where will might come, ways would follow wills. Wills about commonsense would find profound ways towards coming from beyond minds that have been tainted through evil insecurities. These insecurities associate with things that make people tick, things that show people their inhuman tendencies that provoke themselves through their human bodies; their human consciences. Would someone find ways beyond this place? Could someone find escape from wretched walls within this wretched place? Hope must reside within these dark walls. Hope must exist everywhere. Even when hope abandons everything. Hope might have ways that allow itself towards being created, even within places that lack every sense about hope. Sanity would prevail, however no-one could grasp sanity within these dark walls that enclose this asylum. There exist safeguards against such things. Being placed inside this asylum would subsist societies ways that tell them that they have been outcast, never returning, never seeing daylight again. They have been banished, simply because they thought differently than those people that control laws. They have been placed within dark walls, only because society wishes that they aren't forced into listening towards thoughts that could be considered different from thoughts from "healthy" minds. They think different, they innovate new ideas, unprofitable ideas. This seems unsavory toward those that strive only towards wealth. They seek that those minds become "rehabilitated" from those unprofitable thoughts. Everyone creates unprofitable thoughts, however, only those that share these thoughts become incarcerated within this prison that isn't titled "Prison". This place exists because places that remove unprofitable thoughts comprise profit. However costs exist within removing those thoughts. Costs that outweigh profit. This asylum's unprofitability couldn't become worse than this insanity that exists within these walls. Destroy this asylum, allow that sanity back into these peoples' minds. Give those unprofitable thoughts back, allow profit again, profit from unprecedented sources. Profitability from unprofitable things. Innovate.
I am really tired and just wrote whatever it was that came into my mind. I just saw some post about an asylum, and was also thinking about Batman (Arkham Asylum), so I started thinking about insanity. Dunno really what message is being conveyed through that, if any, but I thought it was nice. I wasn't attempting to convey any message in particular, was just up to the challenge. I am going to go sleep now. | 3 | null |
Katamayan57 | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qfv0e | 1,344,499,074 | t3_xxhvf | "Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me...or you'll meet the same end as your parents... they died begging me for mercy."
"Yeah, okay," Harry said to Voldemort. "Here's the rock thing."
"I LIED. AVADA KEDAVRA."
*Scene.* | 8 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xwyz2 | WritingPrompts | c5qfvjk | 1,344,499,179 | t3_xwyz2 | [deleted] | 1 | null |
Katamayan57 | t1_c5qf952 | WritingPrompts | c5qfwqh | 1,344,499,417 | t3_xx86j | Then they killed her for Allah. | 3 | null |
Katamayan57 | t3_xjtyn | WritingPrompts | c5qfyf0 | 1,344,499,753 | t3_xjtyn | A: I love you.
B: Don't talk like that! We're going to make it through. We have to. The baby...
A: Only you have to make it through for the baby to live.
B: No. The baby only needs me to survive. To live, it needs both of us.
C: It's getting intense out here. We need to do something!
B: Please, don't do this. Our child needs you. *I* need you.
C: Shit!
A: OH GOD, CHRISTOPHER!
B: NO! Allan, get back! You're too close! He's gone!
A: I'm sorry. There's no way out except this.
B: That's not a way out, Allan. That's giving up!
A: I meant for you.
B: NO!
A:Goodbye. | 1 | null |
LegalDeagles | t3_xvr6e | WritingPrompts | c5qg5k6 | 1,344,501,283 | t3_xvr6e | John needed a new VHS player. He still enjoyed watching all the movies he had collected, plus he could still record some stuff on cable. Determined to find a VHS player and a few tapes, John walked into the neighborhood pawn shop.
It was easy enough to find a player, but the tapes were the hard part. Bringing the player to the counter, John asked if he had any blank tapes.
“I only have one left, friend.”
“How much for it plus the player?”
“For you, $20.” The clerk smiled.
That night, John set everything up to record a movie on cable. One of the Jurassic Park flicks. Everything worked like a charm.
The next day, he started watching the movie. Stupid thing missed an hour of the movie! He watched intently as the T-Rex was squishing the SUV into the mud. That is, until he felt drips of water on his head. He looked up and wasn’t sitting on his couch anymore. And the T-Rex turned its’ head towards him.
He was standing in the pouring rain on Isla Nublar. The T-Rex roared at John. John fumbled with the remote and stopped it. He sat on his couch, amazed.
__________________________
Critique appreciated. I thought the word count was originally 300 so I had to cut out some stuff, but essentially whenever you record over the blank tape, you get put into whatever was recorded. For John, it was the middle of Jurassic Park. | 1 | null |
LegalDeagles | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qg8wi | 1,344,502,055 | t3_xxhvf | As a cop, I had seen enough bullshit in the judicial system. I've seen murderers get off scot-free. "Due process" led to so many death row inmates dying in their cells instead of by electrocution. The system is flawed, and I'm surprised it took me so many years on the job to figure this out.
Mark, the young man standing in front of me, had killed a father and daughter in a robbery. He would plead to manslaughter and get out in a few years, tops. He had already dropped his empty pistol in front of me, when I finally decided what to do with him. He didn't deserve to live for what he did.
I pulled the trigger. | 7 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xx86j | WritingPrompts | c5qg943 | 1,344,502,108 | t3_xx86j | [deleted] | 3 | null |
[deleted] | t1_c5q272u | WritingPrompts | c5qg9v4 | 1,344,502,296 | t3_xvr6e | [deleted] | 1 | null |
Chinaroos | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5qga1f | 1,344,502,337 | t3_xweet | It was on the corner of Fifteenth and May
During a particularly sunny spring day
When I got rather angry at my dear little Janie
On the corner of Fifteenth and May
How it happened I cannot recall
For you see it really was not important at all
But I think it was about a telephone call
That somebody made to dear Janie
On the Corner of Fifteenth and May
She talked about this and that
And THISsed and THATed, THATed and THISsed
And her voice did so grate at the holes in my head
And soon I got rather pissed
For she would not desist with the THAT and the THIS
So I shoved her mouth hole straight into my fist
And stopped her THATting and THISing right quick.
On the Corner of Fifteenth and May
Now I know that some will complain
And some even might think me insane
But part of one’s fatherly duty
Is to control pleasure and pain.
And by god if she did not shut the fuck up
For she knows I’ll do it again.
And again.
On the Corner of Fifteenth and May
| 1 | null |
FiliKlepto | t1_c5qcr2v | WritingPrompts | c5qgajq | 1,344,502,463 | t3_x6y4p | I like his style. | 2 | null |
FiliKlepto | t1_c5jsa7s | WritingPrompts | c5qgav3 | 1,344,502,540 | t3_x6y4p | I was going to say, "That was beautiful" until I got to the letter J. Quite chilling, but I love your prose. | 2 | null |
Katamayan57 | t1_c5qg8wi | WritingPrompts | c5qgbpr | 1,344,502,757 | t3_xxhvf | Relevant username. | 2 | null |
xanthrax33 | t1_c5qepvl | WritingPrompts | c5qggxe | 1,344,505,210 | t3_xwzdd | Hmm, well she could be part of a canoe club or rowing club, maybe a student who shares the house with a few others. I guess I should have tried to explain it more, but I didn't think he'd have had time to think about all that. Thanks though, was a fun challenge. :P | 3 | null |
xanthrax33 | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qgn25 | 1,344,507,065 | t3_xxhvf | And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying,
"This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of-."
Cut off half way through, he turned to the loud thud outside the door. The second smashed the lock to pieces letting in the howling wind outside, along with a dozen legionaries and the man he knew would bring them.
"Funny, I thought you'd be a few minutes later, I hadn't done the blood and wine thing yet."
He smiled calmly.
"Jesus of Nazareth, you are under arrest for the impersonation of a prophet of God, for inciting dissension among the masses and for assaulting a tax collector among other crimes."
Bellowed one of the legionaries.
"Judus?!"
Cried Peter,
"How *could* you?"
Jesus smiled and shook his head,
"It's okay Peter, I knew this would come, I've been expecting it."
Peter turned to Jesus,
"What do you mean you've been expecting it?"
Jesus stood and put down the bread,
"I've made my choice. This is what I was sent here for, to die for your sins."
Peter stood up in protest, bringing the ire of the legionaries as a few drew blades.
"No! That doesn't even make sense! How can you even be choosing if it was what you were made by God to do?"
He blinked and opened his mouth to speak. Hesitating. He went silent, 'good point' he thought. He never really had questioned free will, it had been his gift from God for being human... but then of course he wouldn't question it if that was how he was made. If God knew everything and made everything then he made the first men knowing exactly what everyone would do, so did he really have free will? Hell, was he even saving them from his sins if this was programmed in from the beginning? He was the son of God, anything he did was what God wanted him to do and as He knew what he'd do when He made him then anything he did was the will of God. He blinked and was brought back to reality by a legionary grabbing his arm. He looked up with a small grin.
"You know. I think I've changed my mind."
He place a hand on the legionary and he convulsed. His eyes and mouth suddenly trickling a liquid that looked like wine.
"It was rude to interrupt me before I got to the blood is wine bit."
Everyone in the room suddenly cried out in shock, the rest of the legionaries drew their weapons, but hesitated before charging forward. Jesus lifted his hand and smiled devilishly, the legionaries froze... literally, as shards of ice sprung from their flesh, a few dropped their swords, or struggled, limbs breaking off. A few didn't even move an inch.
------
Three days. Three days it'd taken for him to be announced the Emperor of the Roman Empire and right now his armies of humans, angels and demons marched out to take the rest of the world. He'd see to it that once they were under his command he would right all the wrongs. Earth would become a paradise again... and anyone who resisted would die. | 13 | null |
ThatDudeWithoutKarma | t1_c5qcgmw | WritingPrompts | c5qgna6 | 1,344,507,134 | t3_x6y4p | He's on the Jeffrey man. | 2 | null |
SurvivorType | t1_c5qgn25 | WritingPrompts | c5qgsx7 | 1,344,508,816 | t3_xxhvf | I really enjoyed reading this! | 2 | null |
Xok234 | t1_c5qgn25 | WritingPrompts | c5qgtwh | 1,344,509,095 | t3_xxhvf | Nice. Sort of reminds me of the Templar goal in Assassin's Creed (video game). | 4 | null |
SurvivorType | t1_c5q4sq1 | WritingPrompts | c5qguat | 1,344,509,218 | t3_xvr6e | Well done. | 1 | null |
Rubrica | t3_xl74p | WritingPrompts | c5qguwl | 1,344,509,396 | t3_xl74p | I was just wondering - for longer stories, I tend to use my typewriter. As long as it was clearly above the word minimum, could I scan in a typewritten manuscript? The appeal of transcribing it is minimal, for me, though I can do so if utterly necessary. | 1 | null |
Katamayan57 | t3_xwio1 | WritingPrompts | c5qgvp9 | 1,344,509,620 | t3_xwio1 | Simple teenager
Vocabulary's lacking
Ideas missing
Thick skull cracking. | 2 | null |
DrSleeper | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qgwa9 | 1,344,509,790 | t3_xxhvf | I remember my first days as a doctor. I wore my stethoscope proudly around my neck, not realizing it advertised how much of a virgin I was in the field of medicine. I'd introduce myself as Dr. Agon and tried to smile more than smirk smugly, usually I couldn't help the smug smirk. Some people noticed my name now read Dragon, not the reason I went into medicine, but still pretty damn cool I thought.
I remember my first surgery, the first one I performed, the first one that was all mine. My mask hiding a huge smug smirk as I cut open a live human being before closing her up, everything having gone quite smoothly. It felt easy, it felt right.
Saving a life was euphoric. I felt I was more than a man. I was untouchable.
I remember the first time i relieved someone of life. It was a kid. He had cancer. I would say lung cancer but it had spread. He was more cancer than human in the end. He had been nuked and cut and he'd eaten every fucking pill there is. He was a husk. A human that had known nothing but suffering. He'd been born and 3 years later he had cancer. 3 years of life before death moved into his body. He asked me if he could sleep more. I knew he was dying. Nothing more we could do for him. But we're supposed to preserve life, never to take it. I did though. Life wasn't anything worth preserving in this kid. The parts of his blood not full of cancer cells, I filled with morphine. I could have killed 3 full grown men with what I gave him, but he was no ordinary kid. After that I felt like shit. I told the parents he'd just died in the night. He was just buried. I was the reason he was dead. I called in sick for four days. Not crying, just not doing anything, taking his life had taken away all my energy. I got over it.
My second killing was easier. A pillow over a head. He was old. 85 I think, give or take 5 years. Didn't really matter. He'd been sick for a while. He was a psychiatric patient. Wasn't going to die anytime soon. He was old and frail, his mind was froth, nothing left worth leaving, but he wasn't about to die anytime soon. His heart and lungs in good health. He'd shout all night, waking up other patients. I was the doctor on call. All the calls were for him. Give him something to sleep. Give him more. Give him more. I knew how we'd both get some sleep. And it felt good and very right. A pillow over his face. I liked how he struggled because I could feel how much power I had over his frail body. I was way bigger than him, more than him, this dying man. After he died I turned him so that he lay on his stomach. Everyone thought he'd just fallen asleep on his stomach, too frail to turn himself around in bed and suffocated. I knew better. As usual I knew more than your average idiot on the street. That smirk worming its way to my lips at the funeral. There wasn't much reason for me to be there, but it felt good to stand in a room full of ignorance. They knew nothing, only me and perhaps god if he exists, but probably only me. Only me.
It started becoming a part of me. I loved saving lives, but I needed to take them. It was my drug, my passion. I was good at it. The coroner never found or suspected a thing. Another idiot. He finished top at John Hopkins, yet was just like the other fucking idiots.
I started liking more to take young lives. Take lives that weren't meant to be taken yet. Lives that death hadn't put its mark on yet. I was moving outside the hospital. I would put cyanide into foods in cafeterias of schools. Nobody died but it was fun to be able to spread disease. A nice hobby around my art. | 21 | null |
SurvivorType | t1_c5q3srb | WritingPrompts | c5qgwca | 1,344,509,806 | t3_xvr6e | Nice, kinda creepy! I like it!
Keep writing! | 2 | null |
SurvivorType | t1_c5q2eri | WritingPrompts | c5qgwt4 | 1,344,509,940 | t3_xvr6e | Creativity is always encouraged! =) | 1 | null |
BirdHeadedPhysician | t3_xxhbr | WritingPrompts | c5qgxbd | 1,344,510,078 | t3_xxhbr | I'll do #1.
Jim wasn't sure if he should give the man another drink. The bar's main policy on drink restrictions was to cut customers off when they started getting rowdy, but this guy had been fairly calm so far, so despite himself, Jim poured another finger of whisky into the man's waiting glass and watched as he pounded it down with the ease of a seasoned alcoholic.
"Bar's closing up in five." Said Jim gently to the man, who merely waved him off. Five minutes and four more shots passed slowly, then the man did something unexpected. Instead of getting up and shambling out the door like the other midnight drunks were in the process of doing, he hung onto his shot glass and asked for another shot of whisky.
"Sir, the bar is closed, you'll have to go."
"I'll go when I'm good and ready." The man growled and banged the glass on the bar. "Now give me another shot you pretentious prick."
Jim paused for a moment and tried to recall the methods he had been taught to initiate when a drunk began to get unruly.
"What are you waiting for?" Asked the man, looking up at Jim with a decidedly unpleasant look in his eyes.
"Please leave or else I'm going to have to call the police." Said Jim in as serious of a voice as he could muster. He didn't want to piss the guy off, drunks could be terrifying if they drew a weapon and Jim had no clue or desire to find out if the guy had a knife or even a gun on him.
Five more seconds passed, then the drunk slammed the shot glass down onto the table once again, the noise making Jim flinch.
"Are you deaf? Pour me another!" But before Jim had time to react, the man had begun to reach over the counter towards the whisky bottle. Jim slapped his hand away, but then, just as quick as his initial move towards the bottle, the drunk's other hand had curled into a fist and was sailing towards Jim's face.
It wasn't a terribly hard blow but it was enough to knock Jim away from the bar for just long enough for the drunk to take the bottle.
"Hey!" Came a voice from the doorway and both Jim and the drunk looked back to see a police officer crossing the threshold, his hands on his hips and a disapproving look set onto his face.
"Sir. Put down the bottle and set your hands on the bar where I can see them!"
"Bite me pig!" The drunk snarled and smashed the bottle on the bar, whisky and shards of glass pouring off the edge in an amber waterfall.
The officer reacted quickly, bringing out both his Tazer and nightstick.
"Sir. I'm going to ask you again, put down the bottle and surrender yourself into police custody or else things are going to get ugly!"
Instead, the man took a step towards the officer, who responded by firing his Tazer directly into the drunk's chest.
Unfortunately, unbeknownst to the officer, the drunk had luck on his side that night and the Tazer's prongs were halted by the drunk's wallet, which he had tucked into his breast pocket for easy access.
Surprised, the drunk stepped back, but then brandished the bottle at the officer and made an obscene gesture with his free hand.
The officer didn't waste any time and stepped forwards, beginning what was going to be a very short fight.
The drunk slashed at the officer's chest with the bottle, but the blow never arrived at it's destination, for suddenly the officer's nightstick had flickered forwards and cracked against the drunk's wrist, sending a shock of pain up the man's arm. However his alcohol soaked system barely registered this and instead of dropping he bottle like any sober man would have, he clung onto it and stumbled back only to meet a jab from the officer's nightstick, which smacked into his stomach, driving the air out of him and bending him double. One further strike to the drunk's back spilled him onto the floor, his shattered bottle skittering away across the floor along with all remaining hope of winning the fight.
Moving quickly, the officer knelt on the small of the drunk's back and cuffed him. Hauling his beaten perp upright the officer looked over at Jim and then the mess of broken glass and whisky that was puddled on the floor where the drunk had been.
"We'll be back in to help you clean up, but first I have to go drop this fine gentleman off at the station."
Jim watched as the officer exited the bar, drunk in tow and pured himself a shot from a second bottle of whisky.
"Christ it's been a long night..." He muttered and continued closing up. | 10 | null |
karguy91 | t3_x6y4p | WritingPrompts | c5qgyft | 1,344,510,380 | t3_x6y4p | Very nice | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5qgzs6 | 1,344,510,763 | t3_xweet | [deleted] | 1 | null |
404_Find_Me | t1_c5qbylc | WritingPrompts | c5qh16i | 1,344,511,131 | t3_xweet | that escalated quickly.
but really, great writing | 1 | null |
404_Find_Me | t1_c5qd4ai | WritingPrompts | c5qh1kf | 1,344,511,237 | t3_xweet | nice i like it | 2 | null |
Katamayan57 | t3_xcabf | WritingPrompts | c5qh1x1 | 1,344,511,328 | t3_xcabf | "It's over," I whisper. The caverns were endless. We'd been roaming for hours on end, and still we'd seen no light other than the ones we'd supplied ourselves.
"Don't say that," she says forcefully. "We'll get out of this." She continues walking. I stay still.
"Emma. I can't. I'm...there's no point," I tell her.
"What do you mean there's no point? You were perfectly happy searching for a way out a few minutes ago."
"Yes, but this was before my legs began giving out and my throat felt like it was clogged with sandpaper. This, combined with...never mind." Of course, the fact that I said never mind only drew her to me. She walks back to me and looks me in the eyes.
"Combined with what?"
"I love you, Emma. I love you, and I've loved you for years. You decided to go and get married with James, though, and now it all seems pointless," I whisper, tears forming in my eyes.
"I've always loved you more, I just thought you were never interested. I'll marry you instead, but please, we just need to escape first." And so I continued walking.
We trekked forward for hours until, finally, I saw light. "Emma- Emma look!" She looked excited for a second, then her face grew dark. The journey up into the light would require a lot of climbing and risky leaps. I had to do it, though. I had to do it for my new found future with Emma.
I groaned and muttered to myself as I put hand above hand, climbing up the grey stone of the cave. Emma followed. It took forever, as my legs were already sore and tired, and my lungs felt like they were about to burst, but finally I made it to the entrance of the cave. "BEN!" I shouted, knowing that he was probably nearby still, waiting for us.
"Come on, Emma. You can do it!" I shout down to her. She was on the final jump, just as I was. "Okay, just jump up and grab my hand," I tell her. Then she falls back. "NO!" I shout. She flies into the darkness, disappearing with a scream that I knew would haunt me forever. I swing myself backwards, lying on my back and looking into the stars.
Ben's face flies into my vision. "Ben, I need to tell you something about Emma," I say to him quietly, already aware of how he'd react.
"Emma? What're you-" he asks me, the smile that had appeared on his face disappearing quickly.
"She's dead, Ben. She fell backwards. And there's more. She-she's leaving you, Ben, because-" Ben's face looked scared rather than shocked.
"Are you feeling alright? I mean, you've been in there for a while now..." he asks me, putting his hand to my forehead.
"She was going to leave you because she loved me more!" I blurt out, expecting him to walk away, or hit me, or show any sign of anger.
Instead, Ben looks me dead in the eyes and says "Emma doesn't exist, Allan." I instantly start to deny it.
"What do you mean she doesn't exist? It's Emma. Your fiance." I say, wondering why I had to remind him.
"She doesn't exist, Allan. You fell into that cave by yourself. When I saw you, you looked into the entrance there, screamed "NO!" then flung yourself back. There was no girl there."
"Well yeah, but you couldn't see her because-" but then I realized that even though she was still underneath the surface, because of the angle of the ground Ben still would have seen Emma somewhere. And just like that, every memory I ever had of Emma disappeared. She didn't exist. My brain made her up when I was lost to help me move along. And that has made all the difference. | 2 | null |
Katamayan57 | t1_c5qgxbd | WritingPrompts | c5qh31g | 1,344,511,626 | t3_xxhbr | Thank you, I like how you went through all the various objects that they had in their possession. I've noticed that in books/tv shows, people tend to make characters more and more powerful as they progress, because to make fights interesting you need to add new things in it to try to one-up each other. So I appreciate how you added all of the items to the battle. | 1 | null |
Xok234 | t1_c5qgwa9 | WritingPrompts | c5qh4ph | 1,344,512,053 | t3_xxhvf | gives me chills | 5 | null |
vikhilboyalla | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5qha78 | 1,344,513,402 | t3_xweet | Forever has he evaded me, but somehow I have crept through the cracks. I was created here. Brought to existence as an experiment; I was never alive, my existence stuck between the limbo of life and death. Nothing is what it used to be anymore. The air around me dark, void of life. Everything is broken, the lights flicker as I slowly make past the rooms. I haven’t eaten in days. My existence already ravaged my body. I couldn’t stop now; I had come to my beginning. I bit and tore through the cracks in the locks. Lab 202 was not immortal anymore. I edged forward towards the last corner of humanity. I could already feel the shadow of my creator, curled up in the dark corner of the room, clutching his legs as he knew his time has come. The lights flickered above his mortal substance as I lunged at his neck –Even in that moment of sorrow, he remained still, adamant as a last tear of humanity rolled down his face. | -1 | null |
RyanKinder | t1_c5qguwl | WritingPrompts | c5qhfrm | 1,344,514,671 | t3_xl74p | Sure you can scan it. The *only* downside is less people might read it in that format. This is only a guess though, but - however you wish to approach it is up to you. | 1 | null |
SurvivorType | t1_c5qh1x1 | WritingPrompts | c5qhg0q | 1,344,514,727 | t3_xcabf | I like this! Great story idea! | 1 | null |
RyanKinder | t1_c5qfc4h | WritingPrompts | c5qhhms | 1,344,515,069 | t3_xl74p | That is indeed a tricky question. We're going with the first dictionary definition:
"an animal, especially a nonhuman: *the creatures of the woods and fields; a creature from outer space.*"
So a deity could, technically, fall under this category... but it'd have to be something wholly original of your own design. I guess a good way to differentiate would be like this (and pretend these didn't exist until I just used them below):
- Flying Spaghetti Monster: Creature & Deity... acceptable.
- Jesus Christ: Deity, but humanoid and modeled after previous deities. Unacceptable.
Hope this clarifies things. | 3 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qhksn | 1,344,515,729 | t3_xxhvf | [deleted] | 4 | null |
sanity_slipping | t3_xw1k6 | WritingPrompts | c5qhmlr | 1,344,516,073 | t3_xw1k6 | From another new subscriber - thank you for creating the subreddit! It will be great to get the rust off my writing skills. | 3 | null |
AuntChiladas | t1_c5q93le | WritingPrompts | c5qhr4c | 1,344,516,907 | t3_xwbd1 | Thank you, thank you. | 1 | null |
AuntChiladas | t1_c5q6pq6 | WritingPrompts | c5qhrcq | 1,344,516,946 | t3_xwbd1 | Indeed. Thanks! | 1 | null |
Gneissisnice | t1_c5qdhll | WritingPrompts | c5qhrkc | 1,344,516,983 | t3_xwio1 | I dunno, it feels like it's missing a syllable like that. But I guess it works. | 1 | null |
xanthrax33 | t3_xxjbn | WritingPrompts | c5qhvu7 | 1,344,517,747 | t3_xxjbn | She keeps Moet et Chandon in her liquor cabinet, six bottles in fact. He chuckled to himself, of course she did. He opened himself up a bottle, letting some of the champagne flow down onto what was most likely a priceless rug. Taking a swig from the bottle he let our a refreshing sigh before flinging the bottle savagely against the wall. The woman let out a scream.
He smiled down at her, a cruel, twisted smile that held no hint of goodness in it. Pushing back a lock of her hair he grabbed her by the rope that bound her and hauled her up, tossing her easily onto the divan sofa.
"You know I loved you Mel... that's what makes this so hard for me."
He started routing through the cupboards some more.
"But you know I can't let anyone steal from me. Not even you. One sign of weakness and I'm dead."
He sighed opening a locked draw with a forceful pull. Caviar and cigarettes, she always was the decadent type. He shook his head.
"It's just the world I live in I'm afraid."
He continued.
"But hell, you know that, you're in the same game. You're just a con who chose the wrong mark."
He frowned as he found what he was looking for, the priceless necklace. He shook his head.
"You know, the first time I saw you, I thought to myself, 'Ray, have you ever seen a woman so beautiful? She must be an angel.'"
He grabbed her again and dragged her out onto the balcony.
"So I'll give you a chance of sorts."
She struggled as he hauled her up onto the edge.
"After all, angels *can fly*. You wanna try?" | 5 | null |
404_Find_Me | t1_c5qgwa9 | WritingPrompts | c5qhz4u | 1,344,518,290 | t3_xxhvf | very dark | 3 | null |
xanthrax33 | t3_xxhbr | WritingPrompts | c5qi349 | 1,344,518,926 | t3_xxhbr | They stood, shields raised, spears held high, feet solidly placed. Each man pressed up against the one beside him till they became one fighting unit working together. They showed no hint of fear. Fear for what they had seen, the rest of the brethren cut down by those mad men. Faces painted blue, long tangled hair, strange outfits wielding a sword as tall as a man. But that wasn't the bit that scared them, it was the way they kept moving with a sword through their gut or a spear in their chest, hell, anything less than decapitation and they kept on coming. Highlanders they called themselves and they were immortal.
They charged the Spartans with reckless ferocity, but they were ready now. They would die, yes, but not without taking a few of them with them. They threw their spears, aiming purposefully low, taking a handful down, not dead, but out of sight and mind for long enough to matter. They drew their blades and met the charge. They hit hard, knocking them back. But the tight crevice they'd picked let no more than men standing four abreast through and so they held. The swords rained down on the shields, but they held, blocking the man in front and stabbing to the right to take him by surprise. As he fell to his knees a solid, disciplined strike took his head from his shoulders.
They stood well against the tide of immortal men, each taking four or five to the grave with them. But as the sea eventually erodes the cliff, so too did they fall. | 3 | null |
Willem_Dafuq | t3_xwio1 | WritingPrompts | c5qi7au | 1,344,519,562 | t3_xwio1 | Victorious reaching Everest Summit, Captain Jackson turned, looking towards blackened clouds. “Tonight, Satan’s power shall take back heaven’s skies! Nervously, soldiers aimed their bayonets, firing into fog, desperately praying their crazy general would protect them. Their prayers went answered. Nothing fired back. Every last soldier remained unharmed. However, they were stuck miles away from home, isolated from society. Furthermore, Captain Jackson tortured them every night with rants about Absolute Beings. “Must Jackson always speak about deities?” soldiers wearily asked themselves. “Certainly,” responded Lieutenant Arnold. “Last month, Jackson discovered Reddit!” | 1 | null |
CasualPumpkins | t1_c5qh16i | WritingPrompts | c5qi9v8 | 1,344,519,942 | t3_xweet | Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
| 1 | null |
inebriatedwords | t1_c5qd90o | WritingPrompts | c5qibxa | 1,344,520,235 | t3_xwbd1 | I'm glad to hear it. | 1 | null |
NotNorthD | t3_xqa1u | WritingPrompts | c5qigwm | 1,344,520,907 | t3_xqa1u | Giorgio woke up to the sound of his older sister moaning in the next room. She was having sex with their stepdad. Giorgio shuddered and rolled over in bed, unsure of what he was more disgusted by, the fact that the sex was consensual, or that they had spent half a million for this house and it had paper-thin walls. Unable to fall back asleep, he reached into his drawer and put on his headphones. The glow of his green iPod's screen illuminated the room, joined only by the *Thomas the Tank Engine* nightlight in the corner next to the door.
U2's *Who'd Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses?* starts playing gently into Giorgio's ears. It takes him away from his bed, from his room, from the bi-weekly sexual sessions in the next room...it takes him to his special place. Before he knows it, he's riding a stallion through the grand canyon, trotting along at a brisk pace. Before him is another rider, one with long blonde hair, whistling happily to the same U2 song. She turns around on the saddle to face Giorgio, a beautifully white smile on her face. His mother. She urges him forward and Giorgio's horse begins to trot alongside her's. She takes a green iPod from her jacket pocket and puts in the earbuds, beginning to whistle the U2 song again. Giorgio couldn't be happier; this was the first time he's seen his mother so happy, so *free* since the second divorce. This happiness in Giorgio's soul vanishes as he feels the earth shake within the canyon. The ground splits ahead of them. He screams at his mother, warning her, but she can't hear him. She falls along with her horse into the blackness. Giorgio's alone, and he has been ever since.
Giorgio wakes up back in bed as the song ends. The moaning in the next room has stopped, only to be replaced by the gentle sobs of his sister. He hears the buckling of a belt and doors opening and closing. The lights in the hallway go out. The crying continues. Giorgio, about to remove the headphones, freezes. *I don't own any U2 albums,* he thinks. Immediatly, he turns the iPod back on and looks at the song's album title. It reads *I Will Always Be Here For You.* | 3 | null |
inebriatedwords | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qii0f | 1,344,521,046 | t3_xxhvf | I'd set world records and won gold medals, who would really care if I took one hit? Plus I was a bit inebriated, I don't think I had the mental power to resist even if it doing otherwise was a much better idea. So I plopped myself down on the couch right next to Craig. Craig had long wavy hair, looked as if he hadn't showered in days, and was holding a massive three foot long contraption of a bong. He turned to me, and said
"Hit this shit bro!"
How could I resist? I picked up the lighter and inhaled as much as my lungs could handle and then a little more. My chest burned. I was becoming an over inflated balloon of marijuana smoke. Then I cleared that motherfucka like a champ and exhaled.
All the sudden I looked up at Craig. He was holding his IPhone up, taking pictures of me, and yelling repeatedly,
"I just smoked with Michael Phelps!"
Shit, I was going to be in some trouble. And I was. You would think after bringing home glory and medals galore to your country, and having a president who burned the equivalent of the Amazon in weed, that someone might give you a pardon or something. But no, I was treated like a hell of a villain. "What kind of role model does that?" people asked me. I told them that when they win eight gold medals in an Olympics they can do whatever the hell they want to. Oh well, I'll win a few more in London and everyone will love me and forget it even happened. Americans tend to do that. | 1 | null |
MyDaddyTaughtMeWell | t1_c5qgn25 | WritingPrompts | c5qii2l | 1,344,521,053 | t3_xxhvf | That was great, really well done. It wasn't clear where it was headed, and the internal monologue part was a perfect transition into the action scene. Thanks for sharing! | 2 | null |
KridaMcNinja | t1_c5qet86 | WritingPrompts | c5qik78 | 1,344,521,332 | t3_x6y4p | Then, please, find a better one and enlighten me. | 1 | null |
LegalDeagles | t1_c5qhhms | WritingPrompts | c5qil9q | 1,344,521,478 | t3_xl74p | Absolutely does... Thanks! | 1 | null |
Rubrica | t1_c5qa9an | WritingPrompts | c5qilyp | 1,344,521,560 | t3_xwrp9 | To add to the above comment regarding your commas, I tried to edit this to show you how a variety of punctuation could make your piece a little more interesting - not that it's bad, of course. I hope my intrusion is not unwanted. :)
---
An invasion - a zombie invasion, breaking out of nowhere. She frantically thought to herself, "I live in the middle of nowhere! Why is this happening? Why now - why?" Frustrated and scared, she gave a loud scream. With no idea of how this came to be, she looked back at her home; all her memories, all her childhood, now invaded by zombies. She tried to get up, but she knew she didn't have the strength... Thinking back at her young life, she gave up - she gave everything up, knowing that she just sat there. In the mustard yellow grass, a cold breeze had flown through her silky, brunette hair.
---
I'm afraid I got a little confused by the last sentence, but aside from that, the content was really good! Just try to work on grammar a tiny bit. | 2 | null |
momzill | t1_c5qgwca | WritingPrompts | c5qinzk | 1,344,521,819 | t3_xvr6e | Thank you. | 2 | null |
NotNorthD | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qiohr | 1,344,521,880 | t3_xxhvf | I find myself zoning out at the sub shop, staring blankly at a still-steaming BLT, actually wondering if I’m going to eat it since I’m not hungry at all and only ordered it because everyone else was ordering something. I’m sitting next to Steve, who’s sitting next to April, who’s sitting next to a bimbo. The other side of the table is composed of Lizzy plus one bimbo and two butterfaces that I’ve never seen in my life. Steve and April are whispering things in each other’s ears, giggling. Although I’m glad to see Steve again, I sort of forgot the unpleasant sting that came with it. Lizzy’s talking to me, her voice jumping all around the place due to some unknown excitement. As she drones on, I concur the BLT to be infinitely more interesting. | 1 | null |
RyanKinder | t1_c5qesk2 | WritingPrompts | c5qiqxf | 1,344,522,179 | t3_xw41w | I have not. Is it good? | 1 | null |
CasualPumpkins | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qiuja | 1,344,522,618 | t3_xxhvf | Smoke curled from the loose cigarette that hung from his lips. He held it between his thumb and index finger, flicking it to the ground. He smiled at the small hissing sound it emitted when he crushed it beneath his boot. Like a small life being extinguished. He pulled out the revolver from his holster, checking to see that all six chambers were filled. He adjusted his badge on his lapel, and promptly opened the door to the small cottage that stood before him.
A young woman sat in a old leather arm chair in the corner, speaking soothing words to the infant in her arms. She looked up and smiled warmly when she saw the sheriff.
"Good ev'nin, Sheriff Mullis. And what do I owe the pleasure of yer visitin'?"
"Your husband. Mr. James Nordick." He said with a growl. "They say he found some gold in the hills. That true?"
The woman closed her eyes and smiled a knowing smile. She nodded quickly.
"That he did sir, that he did."
"I wish to see him"
"He's in his shed, weighing the thing. I say its about a pound but he say-."
He cut her off with with an open palm and headed out to the old shed in the the far reaches of the property. He quietly opened the door, shutting it behind him. A young man in his early twenties worked feverishly at a massive gold nugget that lay before him, pounding and chipping away at the sediment that still covered it. He heard the door open and turned around, wiping the sweat that had collected on his brow.
"Sheriff Mullis! What a fine surprise! Is there sumptin that ya needed?"
The sheriff's demeanor darkened. He crossed his arms and smiled. A wicked, twisted smile.
"My good sir I see that you have a awful valuable piece of rock there. Now, I owe a lot of money to a lot of bad people. The way I see it, I think you owe a few taxes anyway. I just came by to collect."
The man's eyes widened and he protectively held the nugget in his arms.
"What the hell happened to you, Sheriff! You was a good man! Takin from honest folk what don't belong to you? Is that the really followin' the law you swore to uphold?!"
The sheriff grabbed his revolver in a flash, raising it up, and firing. The slug pierced the man's skull, and he fell to the ground with a thud. He collected his prize from the dead man's hands and started to head out. Off in the distance, a baby had started to cry. He held his revolver up, cocked back the hammer, and headed toward the cottage
| 4 | null |
1Avion1 | t1_c5qeja6 | WritingPrompts | c5qivnz | 1,344,522,754 | t3_x6y4p | Sometimes I forget why I love your work, and then I read something like this and feel terrible for ever forgetting. | 8 | null |
NotNorthD | t1_c5q676r | WritingPrompts | c5qivpd | 1,344,522,759 | t3_xqa1u | This was epic. | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xxgrn | WritingPrompts | c5qj55v | 1,344,523,896 | t3_xxgrn | [deleted] | 3 | null |
theroflwaffle | t1_c5q8qnf | WritingPrompts | c5qj7zg | 1,344,524,223 | t3_xwio1 | I lolled | 1 | null |
TUVegeto137 | t3_xxjbn | WritingPrompts | c5qj8cv | 1,344,524,267 | t3_xxjbn | When you were young and your heart was an open book, I used to look at you and marvel at the youthful naïvety
with which you fell for all my pranks and wisecracks. Your gullibility was only equaled by your beauty and that
was what made me stay with you.
But you grew older, your beauty got traded in for wariness and skepsis. I could no longer fool you, but what's worse:
you started to fool me by cheating on me. I was blind at first, still thinking you were your lightminded self. You acted
your old character really well, but underneath the mask you had definitely changed into a creature of darkness.
When it finally dawned on me, I was at a loss on what to do. The pain was immense and it completely paralyzed me. I bore the
suffering in silence, hoping that you would come back to me. But nothing changed except the spleen increased beyond the tolerable
and only death seemed capable to smash the hurt for good.
I just had to decide who of us would die. Or maybe I should make an end to both of us. This is the dilemma I am facing while I am
gazing through the optical lens mounted on my gun aimed at the back of your head. When you got a job to do, you got to do it well.
I knew you would be at your lover's place that afternoon, I knew you had the habit to both sit in the couch before moving on to the
sleeping room. I had spent a year writing down every bit of your routines. And it certainly facilitated my job, that remnant of your
simple-mindedness which made you fall into habits so easily, little rituals that you had to follow or something wasn't right.
It's getting cold, my fingers are cramping around the trigger. I see you turn to him and smile. It will not be long before both of you
move to the bedroom. It's now or never. I've made my decision.
Live and let die. | 2 | null |
WhoFly | t3_xxjbn | WritingPrompts | c5qjgvo | 1,344,525,224 | t3_xxjbn | Got hair in a girl. I guess I gotta get it out? I guess I gotta trim up. This was a fucking mistake, regardless. I'm done. I'm out, I'm up, I - fuck. I do want her, but now if I keep going she'll overthink it. I'm overthinking it. I'm totally done. Plus she's a blonde. Fuck blondes. Fuck Hannah. Fuck fuck fuck, no. 'Hey mind if I grab a soda?' Well she didn't say no. And blue eyes, fuck. I want brown eyes. ...Green eyes. I don't believe in green eyes anymore. To be fair, she's got good eyes. But blue eyes.
I fucking hate Barq's, probably because everybody loves it so much. But I really do dislike it. I'm out to my car, in my sandals. I oughtta drive barefoot but fuck 'em. My A/C never worked and I woke up after noon. My mouth is full of sand. Fuck the root beer. Fuck. I don't think I slept. How many miles back to Biloxi? I bite holes through my shirt til I hurt my jaw. Fucking radio. Fucking DJ. Silence. No, fucking fan belts. Look at all that motherfucking water. I'm in a state. | 2 | null |
Aderyn_Sly | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qjiam | 1,344,525,385 | t3_xxhvf | [For context: In the original Spiderman series, Peter Parker's first love was a girl named Gwen Stacy, who died after a confrontation with the Green Goblin. There are several different versions but I'm going off [this one](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Night_Gwen_Stacy_Died) for those interested]
I am cold. I cannot breathe. I cannot move. All are physical manifestations of my mental state. I could feel my hands quivering as I reached out to touch her face, gently, slowly. Her cheek felt warm to my cold fingers, as if I were the dead one. I feel a tear swelling my eyes, and I know they are the wrong kind; tears of rage, when they should be tears of sorrow.
Sorrow for the loss of a smile, the loss of intellect, the loss of love. Instead, I felt rage swell inside of me. She was my responsibility, and she had died. Worse, she died because of my actions to save her. My own self hatred in this moment was almost devastating. I stand and turn my back on her, unable to bear the sight any longer.
Then my eyes settled on a pumpkin bomb. I let out a breath. Two deliberate steps and I am close enough to pick it up. I turn it in every direction, as if this device could give me all the answers I sought. I feel my muscles instinctively tense, and I throw the orange sphere with all the force my tired arms could muster. It had given me my answer.
As much as it was my fault, the Green Goblin was more to blame. He needed to be punished, but the dilemma was how to make him feel the despair I was? The answer became clear to me; the only way that the Green Goblin-or rather Norman Osborne-would understand my grief would be to take one he loved most, Harry.
I lost any remnants of composure and dropped to the ground, shaking. Gravel ate at my knees, which I already knew were bruised, but I welcomed the pain. Harry was not just Norman’s son, he was a friend. He was my best friend, after Gwen. *Would it be worth it?* I ask myself, the question echoing through the recess of my mind.
I look again at Gwen, this time with clear eyes. Was it the fall that killed her? Or was it my attempt to save her that broke her neck? I think of the future we lost today, and I have my answer: The truth did not matter. Revenge is what mattered. Harry Osborne had to die. | 3 | null |
supergalacticcaptain | t3_xxe6a | WritingPrompts | c5qjjwj | 1,344,525,548 | t3_xxe6a | A man standing on a desolate beachhead, the light across the horizon is blinding, he can't even make out the waves. As he struggles to see through the blinding light he becomes aware of the crowd around him, he screams but no sound comes out as he gets closer he sees each person is expressionless, not a defining feature on their face, just emptiness.
He sinks to the ground clutching his head trying to hold onto his sanity. Finally, he slumps completely to the ground, unconscious. The light from the horizon gets increasingly brighter engulfing everything, as it slowly starts to fade there's an old man lying in a hospital bed. His eyes dart backwards and forwards underneath his eyelids while his respiratory monitor slowly stops beeping as he passes away. | 4 | null |
Katamayan57 | t1_c5qjjwj | WritingPrompts | c5qjobg | 1,344,526,018 | t3_xxe6a | Dat onion-induced feel. | 3 | null |
Katamayan57 | t3_xxxfo | WritingPrompts | c5qjpsv | 1,344,526,179 | t3_xxxfo | On my plate there is everything Epic Meal Time has ever created and uploaded to youtube. I'll die of heart explosion later on, but my god it'd be worth it. | 2 | null |
Katamayan57 | t1_c5qj55v | WritingPrompts | c5qjr5a | 1,344,526,319 | t3_xxgrn | *Tonight, a comedian died in New York. Somebody knows why. Somebody knows.* | 1 | null |
[deleted] | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qjxpi | 1,344,527,006 | t3_xxhvf | [deleted] | 1 | null |
SchroedingersHat | t3_xxe6a | WritingPrompts | c5qk3di | 1,344,527,593 | t3_xxe6a | I've been on a bit of a singularity/scifi-ish bend lately, this is also one of my favourite songs and the challenge has given me an idea. Not sure if I am going to be able to do it justice, but here goes (bear with me if it seems unrelated, I may wind up posting episodes -- I hope it'll come together).
Criticism and suggestions including pointing out my various typos and grammatical errors are more than welcome.
---
Part I: There
Well, hello to whoever or whatever is reading this. I guess you might be human; if you're not, I included a... well never mind, you have already figured that bit out by now. My name is Carl Tyson, I am 138 years old, or a bit under 130, or possibly somewhere in my 40s -- it's hard to keep track and noone really told me how I should be keeping track of it anyway.
I suppose I should start at the beginning. It was 2024, the space race had heated up again. A new batch of telescopes had detected free oxygen and a few other telltales on a planet orbiting a 'nice temperate zone' of the smallest member of a triple star system. SETI were crowing about something that looked like a communication signal in the gamma spectrum, but noone had received enough of it to even think about decoding.
This time it was India, Russia, Europe, Korea and Australia, all against China. I was the lucky sonnovabitch selected for being the smartest, fittest, smallest and, above all, the missing his legs and willing to forgo the use of a few unnecessary organs -est guy with all the necessary phds to have his ass crammed into a sardine can for fifty years -- hoping that the people back home didn't decide they needed a 200 terrawatt laser for something more important than speeding me up and slowing me down at the other end.
All this in the name of being the first one to visit the foetid shithole I spent a decade of my life finding a way off of, and because we still hadn't gotten anywhere on the whole AI front. At any rate, I didn't get hit by anything larger than an amoeba, I didn't get cancer in anything I couldn't replace with synthetic organs and drugs, and they left the lights on long enough for me to slow down to magnetic braking velocities.
Where was I? Well, at any rate, the lead up to leaving is all in the formal logs if you want it. I'm only going to cover the more interesting bits in here.
I slowly resumed consciousness and tried to wrap my head around decades of reports, news broadcasts and assorted other things that are spectacularly uninteresting when you have the worst hangover in human history. The promised nanotech assembly systems I'd be able create whilst doing a handstand and taking a shower in unicorn piss had predictably failed to be invented. So had the compact power sources that would allow me to build everything for the return journey from the planet's tiny moon.
Nothing for it but to set up camp on the planet I have since come to think of as Hell+1.
---
PS: Starting to have fun with this, don't know if it's any good. If anyone is enjoying it, do tell how much detail/length you'd like. There's interesting stuff which could take it close to novella length or be left out. | 3 | null |
SpooksAndGunshots | t3_xxhvf | WritingPrompts | c5qk6bq | 1,344,527,891 | t3_xxhvf | "Is he out there, dad?"
"Fucking hell, Enoch. Learn to keep your fucking voice down. I don't know where he is. Why should I?"
Enoch looked down, easing his grip on the rusting iron sword in his hands. He had held it for so long that he could no longer feel it. Just sweat.
All around, the townspeople were huddling together, gathered behind the bar. Many laid low on the velvet seats to the back of the tavern, remembering the happiest days of their lives. Moonlight piercing the gap between the many sets of curtains in the room, the women cradle their children, subdued from the small goblets of wine given to them. Not a soul in the world wouldn't spare them from the moments to come.
Faintly, slow footsteps on the cobbles outside were heard. At first they seemed to be walking past the tavern. But then they stopped. A pause.
Unease rung out in the bar as the footsteps continued. Only one at first; their hunter could have been walking in any direction. But then another. After another several steps it was obvious where the man was walking. Faces sunk as a sheet of doom fell softly over the tavern.
The footsteps came closer.
They stop at the door. Enoch looks at his father, and his father looks back.
"Remember, son. Whatever happens, I'll be avenged. Avenged sevenf-"
The doors are smashed open. A hooded figure barges through with a flintlock pistol in his hands.
"God never loved you. I was the better sibling. And when you killed me, Cain, you should have finished the job."
Abel's face remains cold as his first bullet enters his brother. | 1 | null |
momzill | t3_xwbd1 | WritingPrompts | c5qkawk | 1,344,528,356 | t3_xwbd1 | Oh shit, where am I? My head. I gotta call my girl. What am I going to tell her? I didn’t mean to do it, you know how it is - I drank too much. I won’t tell her. I’ll get someone to cover for me and say I crashed at their place. Oh, my head.
“Hi honey, I know it’s early, just calling so you don’t worry. I bumped into Mark Southers last night and crashed at his place. Yeah, you remember Mark, from college? Right, right, the black-curly hair. I don’t know how tall he is, yeah 6”2’ sounds about right. Right, the guy we met a couple of days ago at Starkey’s, yeah that’s him. Where does he live? Right here, I mean an apartment down by the park. Yeah. Baby I’m sorry about that, I should of called last night. So I’ll just grab some breakfast and head home soon, okay? His what? I don’t know about his tan lines. Marcy, what are you talking about? Look honey, the truth is we got really drunk and I’m not feeling so well. I need to get off the phone and you know, I think I’m going to be sick. We can talk about it when I get home okay? What do you mean does he have a birthmark on his left inner thigh, why would I know that? Marcy, how do you know that? Look, I just wanted to …hello? Who is this? What? Mark, what the hell are you doing at my girl’s place?”
Click.
| 1 | null |
momzill | t1_c5q7e2g | WritingPrompts | c5qkcoc | 1,344,528,536 | t3_xwbd1 | A female writer. | 1 | null |
momzill | t1_c5q7hu6 | WritingPrompts | c5qkczv | 1,344,528,568 | t3_xwbd1 | A female writer. | 1 | null |
vaymat | t3_xwzdd | WritingPrompts | c5qkd9j | 1,344,528,593 | t3_xwzdd | In the united kingdom of Diddle and Diddle I lived. I was once a musician and a master fiddler and came to perform in Diddle and Diddle. But I made a deadly mistake. I decided to perform in front of royalty. They were rumored to be cruel and cold but I held to much confidence in my music. I believed my fiddle would impress them. I was wrong. Not only were they not impressed but they were also cruel. Their court magician, nicknamed by the people as the "Hyena" laughed at me as I desperately begged them to forgive me. They were to kill me right there in the room. Thankfully the prince had them lessen the punishment on me. He told them he enjoyed my performance and would hope to have me as his personal musician. They allowed it but they didn't let me go without punishment. The magician suggested to the king that a true master of music can play in any form. So they turned me into a feline and I now live with the prince performing for him (for I was a "true master of music") and sometimes teaching to play. It's not the ideal situation for me but the prince is very kind despite the kind of people his family was. So perhaps I will get used to this life. THIS WAS PART 1. | 2 | null |
momzill | t1_c5qc9te | WritingPrompts | c5qkeii | 1,344,528,714 | t3_xwbd1 | A male writer. | 1 | null |
supergalacticcaptain | t1_c5qjobg | WritingPrompts | c5qkgws | 1,344,528,951 | t3_xxe6a | Haha, I'm so deep. | 3 | null |
semimetaphorical | t3_xwzdd | WritingPrompts | c5qkifn | 1,344,529,099 | t3_xwzdd | Its not up to us to decide who gets to do what in life, but it sure would be great if we'd help out those with less options once in a while. Breaking a window and crawling in was the only choice, though you could argue he could've picked a variety of domiciles. Just his luck, on his second try he found himself in a fancy house (You could tell from the purring of content, feline full-belly, and a delicate fiddle propped next to the fireplace.)
Two quick sweeps of the room found him what he was looking for: Plate full of leftovers, smack in the middle of the dining table. Bread, fruit and veggies. No one ever leaves behind the meat, but the wealthy tend to leave more behind, as most of their food is solely for decoration. Up onto the chair, grab the plate and out the window. Little kids are always so cute when they struggle.
Plenty of blocks away there's just dirt road and crickets chirping. A full moon illuminates his meal in seeming approval. The smell of livestock dirties the taste, but the moon-glow seems to clean it. Barely three bites and its all gone, such a delicious feast. If only he had moon-glow to spice his every meal.
Look up and stare at the puddles from early showers, a lone cow makes its way across the dirt road. She has it on good trust that the grass is greener on the other side. Big strides clear a puddle with a perfect lunar reflection and our kid breaks into pleasant laughter.
Even with a rough life, childhood fantasies die hard. He gets up and looks down at the moon-puddle, wondering if he could bring it along.
Very carefully, he uses the stolen spoon to pour the moon into the stolen plate.
Its gone, just black, the sky and dish alike. And the taste of dirt in his mouth confirms the magical moon has passed. Clouds, like cow spots. Worst enemy of night-dreaming slender tots. He throws the plate, no magic left in it today, and hears the spoon clink on a rock and plop in the mud. So much for one more seasoning option. | 2 | null |
chyeahbuddy | t3_xw1k6 | WritingPrompts | c5qkith | 1,344,529,140 | t3_xw1k6 | I'm happy I found this place :) I love to write but I've been out of practice lately. I actually have a little blog I write short stories/blurbs to pictures I find online. Maybe I'll share that soon.... | 3 | null |
vaymat | t3_xweet | WritingPrompts | c5qkjlb | 1,344,529,214 | t3_xweet | In jail. Again. How many times am I going to go to jail. Well at least they are giving me the same cell. Crap. I have a cell mate again. I wonder how fast I can get rid of him. Last guy lasted about 5 hours. This guys seems like a wimp. I can probably get him to break in less. Should I do the same thing for the last guy... Nah. That would excessive. Plus I didn't eat enough to sh*t in his bed. I'll just beat him down. That should do probably. But if the plan goes without a hitch hopefully I won't be stuck in this concrete hole any longer... Just another day here. Just one more day. | 1 | null |
momzill | t1_c5qgwa9 | WritingPrompts | c5qkkmo | 1,344,529,315 | t3_xxhvf | I enjoy psychotic thrillers. Good job. | 3 | null |
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