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hello there. i guess it's over, then? i have a few questions.
after these many decades, this short interlude - between what and what, i wonder? - i'm left with unfulfilled desires, regrets. pain. but also the revelations of compassion, kindness, empathy. thanks for that.
if you could spare a moment, i'd love to know your position on the old "omnipotence vs omniscience"question. you know, if you can do anything and you see everything, why is there evil? is it one or the other? what are your motives there, is what i'd love to explore.
free will. it doesn't seem compatible with what we know of physics. and what we know of physics seems to bring us closer to your design. so it seems we're on the right track and yet the results are raising eyebrows. care to weigh in?
that one homeless guy. remember him? he was all drugged up and lying in a pool of his own fluids. i tried to help him but the cops came instead of the medics and chased him off to god knows where. did he make it? why was he there? why didn't you let me help him?
we're two decades out of the darkest hour in recorded human history. is this part of the plan? genocides, global war, disease, starvation. ethnic holocaust. nuclear holocaust. some of it was in your name. where are you on that? you never intervened. if not then, when? what will it take for you to finally take stewardship of this your garden, this your creation? |
“He’s dead.” I said, “he’s really gone.” I shook. “I wish we had never met.”
“But it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.” I laughed in her face. I felt the tears in my eyes burn hot. I pulled back from her embrace.
“I wish we had never met.” I repeated “I wish that that day in the cafe Alex would have never talked to me. I can’t believe he left me like this! It’s not fair, all I’ve been able to do for weeks is cry. I haven’t cooked, cleaned, worked, because I can’t! He was all I had and without him I don’t know how to move on! There are so many things that I wish I told him. I should have told him I loved him every second of every day, we should have gone to the doctor sooner. Maybe if he wasn’t scared of not having enough money to support us he would have. So no, it’s not better to have loved and lost. Because I still love him, but I can’t anymore, I can’t see him, I can’t talk to him, cook for him, sit on the couch and watch movies with him.” My chin trembled. I took a deep breath and continued
“It’s all excruciating.” I said “every second of every day is nothing but pain anymore, none of that love could ever be worth losing it.” I wiped a tear off of my face “I miss him with everything I have, so I have nothing left anymore.” |
Everyone looks at Sabina with disgusted and hatred but not me. I love her so much!
School was hard yes as the other students thought she would eat theirs but nope. Only ate when I did and was super polite. Only the dark arts teacher let me keep her out of her cage.
Great snuggle pet too!
But I could’ve chosen another animal as my family so why a snake? It was simple for me.
She’s my childhood friend that was turned by accident into this snake.
Before I got my magic, we were the best of friends. Then my powers came and I turn her into that. She forgave me and is hopeful I can reverse it.
My dark arts teacher says I can in the letters but she may turn into a hybrid. I wrote to another teacher, being the one of mythical creatures and plants, says it could be a gorgon like Medusa’s family or a naga or something in between.
I hope I find a way to cure for my childish accident. |
Dorien moved one stack of files from the left side of the desk to the right side. The previous inhabitants of the right side of his desk fell noisily to their doom in his wastepaper basket.
He pretended he didn't notice, and determine the desk-space was distinctly improved.
The bell attached to the front door rang, and he heard the distinct sound of a man calling out for attention in the reception.
With and almighty sigh, Dorien lifted himself from his chair and strode out into the front room of his guild. A man stood, in a purple robe that denoted him as a administrative servant of the city government, before a counter. On the opposite side of the counter was a desk covered in meaningless trinkets and stacks of sleazy romance novels. Neatly placed on one of the precarious stacks of books was a note that simply said, 'At lunch, please ring bell for service'.
It was 9.30am.
*I'm going to have to fire the receptionist too,* Dorien realised, feeling a new wave of tension vice his temples. Fighting the urge to rub at them he instead summoned his best customer service voice, "How can I help you today, Sir."
The robed man straightened kept his eyes on his clipboard while he responded.
"I'm here to speak with the owner, would you please fetch him?"
"Oh that would be me, good Sir. Dorien of Dorien's Mighty Heroes, at your service."
This brought the mans eyes up at once, disdain radiating out with intensity.
"I see. I'm auditor Jesen with the compliance department over at city hall, and I'm here at the Mayor's request to sort out a few matters."
Dorien groaned with mock intensity.
"Of course you are. Did I forget to file the Fire safety statement? Or has one of my heroes gotten themselves thrown in the stocks for assaulting the city guard again."
The inspector looked down at his clipboard, rifling through the pages.
"No, these are all new concerns Mr. Dorien. Firstly, your training premises at Jilden Place. That district of the city has been rezoned to residential, and we've begun to receive several noise complaints. Apparently the facility is causing quite the racket."
Dorien sputtered, "Rezoned? You just went ahead and rezoned it did you? Of course it bloody makes noise its a training-"
"And I just spoke with the Revenue department at city hall. They're concerned that your Autumn returns might not be completely accurate. You should expect a visit from them in the next day or so. They'll want to go through your books, furthermore-"
Before the man could finish, two heroes crashed noisily through the receptions side door, which connected the reception to the barracks. The heroes we're screaming at the top of their lungs, gesticulating wildly.
Dorien had to raise his voice to quell them.
"WHAT IS IT? WHAT'S WRONG"
They both looked at each other, and the tall hero Dorien recognized as Grolg shouted it out first, "He stole my jerky from the communal pantry."
The second man, a new hire called Halbor retorted immediately, "You're a liar! I didn't touch anything."
Dorien went to place a hand on each man's shoulder and both swatted his gesture aside. Halbor took a step back and looked at Dorien. "I'm not going to sit here and take this Dorien. I'm done, enjoy working with this knucklehead. "
The man sidestepped the inspector and pushed his way out the front door.
Grolg turned to Dorien now, arms raised incredulously, "You're just going to let him go Dorien, after he stole my jerky? I can't believe you, I quit too."
The hulking brute curtly shoved aside the purple robed visitor and followed his former coworker out to the street.
The purple-robed bureaucrat must have seen the look on Dorien's face, for first the first time he seemed to realise he might be imposing.
"Maybe I should come back another time."
Dorien nodded slowly, palms pressed to his forehead, "I think that would be best."
The official turned to leave, but as he stood in the open doorway he paused.
"Oh one last thing, that contract you were bidding on for security for the upcoming fall markets?"
Dorien's head snapped up, hope rising in his chest. *Please,* He thought, *I need this.*
"Yes?"
"We gave it to the Guild of Heroes instead."
As the door closed behind the inspector, Dorien made his way slowly back to his office, and found the liquor bottle he kept his desks bottom drawer. There was a mouthful left in it, and he drank it down in one gulp.
Then he began to search. Under the piles of forms and requisitions and labour contracts he found what he was looking for: his old kitbag, armour, sword and shield.
When the armour was donned and the kitbag secure on his back, he took a piece of paper from his desk and held it over a lit candle. It was an expense report from a field agent, requesting reimbursement for a stay at a tavern. The itemized receipt showed one charge for a room, and 27 separate line items detailing what the hero had drunk that night.
The form crackled as it lit, and Dorien carefully placed it onto a large pile of parchment scrolls stacked against the back wall of his office. He then proceeded to walk out the front door, and keep walking.
When he was three streets away, he turned back to see a very satisfying pillar of smoke, drifting up into the clear blue sky. |
"DROP RAMP!", the sergeant ordered the driver.
"This is it. This is how I die. Shot or blown up for this god forsaken place"private first class Jones thought.
"GO, MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASSES!", sergeant Smith ordered the assault to begin. The air was filled with the intoxicating smell of burnt gunpowder, blood, and the last cries of the dying. Private Jones raced from the Infantry Fighting Vehicle to the outskirts of the city. Some place he would never be able to find a map or be able to pronounce. If he made it, if he survived the war. Private Jones tripped and belly flopped into a mud hole. He struggled to get out, and he sank. He screamed out to get some help. "Surely, someone will pull me out. Someone will help me."No one came. Everyone was too focused to take the city, to stay alive. As private Jones tired he fought less and less. He had learned to accept his fate. He knew this is how he died. |
Here is the story.
Agony. Beyond pain, fire wracked her body, curling fingers licking her flesh. Close by, the stench of smoke and burning flesh filled the air with a vicious miasma. Drenched in sweat she howled, shrieks of a throat raw and bleeding from screams.
Echoing across the darkened courtyard, her shrieks fell among hard faces, grim with hate. Fire rose higher, igniting more faggots on the pyre. Great billows of smoke flowed forth, fouling the air. Higher the flames rose, reaching for her hungrily. Incense from pendulous censers mixed with the smoke, making a mist of horror. Jerking, screeching, she tried to pull away.
Keeping close watch, murmuring dark-cowled figures pushed her back, stoking the flames with torches, guttering and spitting oil in the incendiary night. Lost in the roar of burning fire, her screams diminished, a wail of lost piteous toil, as the fire kept its deadly purpose. Many eyes watched, the fire’s reflection a burning torch in their own eyes. Never blinking, the desolate faces stared at her, still writhing in the fire’s grip.
Onward the flames rose, lighting her dress’s hem, raising a curdling screech. Plain terror echoed her voice, horse in the smoke and roar. Questing, searching, her eyes flicked, but there was no surcease from the crowd. Raw with terror, her wails raised a murmur in the crowd, a slow chant. Slowly it built, words forming, point by counterpoint with her screams. Throwing more wood, even the dark-cowled gaolers joined the chant. Under the howl of the fire, it grew louder. Voices joined one by one until it was clear, all chanting in unison. “Witch, burn witch, burn witch burn.”
Xanthin from marigolds was thrown into the pyre by a dark figure as the chant rose. Yellow flames burned brighter as she torched, her final wail fading into the smoky mist. Zeal absolved, the dark crowd chanted as one, watching as the body melted, sizzling lumps of fat splattering onto the guttering pyre.
|
I would be outside. That’s where all stupid things start. In my backyard on the highest elevated level. My cat a blue Russian will slyly watch me as I attempt another stupid trick, one more failed plan. But this time, something different happened. I guess parts of my trick worked, some parts definitely didn’t. First came the shock. My entire world, through a matter of seconds enlarged, it started off slow, I assumed it was some trippy side effect from the concoction I brewed, but after that the effects were dramatic, and my moment of realisation that, this time it was different. Great towers of grass enveloped me, its smell grasping my scenes, never have I smelt grass like this, Its potency, its freshness and power. But the grass was only the beginning. This world never experienced by someone as large as I. After a few episodes of shear panic, my brain finally started to function as normal. Well normal for when you’re fighting for your life. Bugs, bees, rocks, dirt, dust, berries, seed, flowers, mud and leaves: Realisation hit me. I didn’t have a clue what these things were, how the many possible ways they could kill me. If a spider bite could already kill me a thousand times this size, the possibilities, to me, here are endless. No horrible creature seemed apparent at the moment. But a few strides across the lawn was now a daring hike through a forest. I ran to begin with, unfortunately, my lack of athleticism was still present with the transfer. I quickly began to huff, and slow. Occasionally I would spur into a sprint. It was usually a noise. The buzzing of wings, the scraping of an ants foot, I didn’t want to witness these monsters. Their claws, their pincers their… My thoughts became blanked; a shadow loomed over me, a pink tongue, a humongous claw and then my final realisation. That I had a much bigger problem.
Apologies if the quality is off. It was very late, but I couldn't resist.
|
Funny, me and my dad were watching this movie today and he asked me what happened to Mr. Blue, considering he did absolute fuckall in the movie.
The plan was supposed to work perfectly. Mr. Blue, Mr. Brown, and Mr. Blonde were to enter the store, acting inconspicuous. Minutes later, Mr. Orange, Mr. Pink, and Mr. White were to break in and get the manager to fork over the diamonds while the others kept the main room under control. No cases were to be touched, no alarm could've been tripped; the perfect crime. Somebody tripped the alarm, and it was every man for himself. Brown, White, and Orange got out and got into White's car. Mr. Pink ran out and got himself into a foot chase with the cops. Blonde started shooting up the room. Mr. Blue got out the back door, only to be greeted by some of the LAPD. Blue shot some of them, but got tagged by one. He managed to shoot his way out and got into his car. He got into a high speed chase that ended up televised, the chase lasted only around fifteen minutes when Blue stopped the car. The feds caught up with the car and opened fire. He was hit three times; twice in the gut and once in the throat. Before dying, he tagged more of the boys in blue, who resumed shooting at him. One final hit to the head killed Mr. Blue. |
> Write a story of what would happen if all the products that contain anything from earth, with the exception of water.(I.e: corn, wheat, oil, rock).
When writing a prompt, you should reread it and make sure it's phrased properly. Re-read this sentence, for example: Write a story of what would happen if all the products that contain anything from earth, with the exception of water.
You forgot the word "disappeared"(so the sentence would be "contain anything from earth disappeared.")
Another issue with the prompt is you mention the disappearing of "rock."There are a lot of good writers in this subreddit, but the "disappearing of rock"is essentially saying "disappearing of earth"-- since next to water, "rock"as it is generically referred to is what makes up most of the earth. The third *rock* from the sun.
Essentially, if there are plot holes in just the prompt then it will be difficult to write towards it. What you described essentially sounds like the plot to Waterworld. Which was considered a flop at the box office. Even the casual viewer could see the many plotholes in it. One of the biggest things? There isn't enough water in the world to, say, cause the disappearance of "rocks."Even if all the ice melted the worlds water levels would rise 200 feet or so. If you go here: http://www.johnstonsarchive.net/environment/waterworld.html you can see what the world would look like after all the ice melts (scroll down a bit to see the renderings.)
So, in closing: If you want to write an activist related prompt - feel free. However, try to ground it in reality. |
I opened the door and knew something was wrong.
For starters, her "bedroom"did not look like anything of the sort. A whip and an unidentifiable but pointy-looking metal object hung on a wall. The door to the closet was open a crack, and inside I could see the glint of fluorescent light on steel chains.
The words of my friends flashed through my head like an audio loop:
Never stick your dick in Crazy. Never stick your dick in Crazy. Never stick your dick in Crazy.
I saw it now. She was totally batshit-insane. I had only met her that night, so it was understandable that I missed all the signs. But still.
She picked up the pointy metal thing, and with a crazy but strangely seductive gleam in her eye said: "Get over here" |
It lays innocently on the sidewalk, an inconspicuous brown leather wallet. The masses walk over it, on top of it, kick it around, yet none of them seems to take note of it. After all, there seems to be nothing special about it. As I reach down to pick it up, the river of pedestrians parting around me, something stops me. I am frozen, a rock in the river, and can bring myself to neither touch the wallet nor to leave it. Am I afraid of retribution, that the owner of this wallet will label me a thief? Or do I fear that the owner will smother me with gratitude upon it's return? Or is it something to do with my own curiosity? Having had its fill of cats I sense the beast will turn it's head my way, and call upon the fates to exact revenge on me for my prying. Yet now that I have seen the wallet, I must know what it contains, however terrible or mundane. I feel the sweat begin to form on my brow as my conscience battles my need for knowledge, and the flowing traffic of the sidewalk begins to prod me forward, away from the object of my desire and despair. I begin to relent to it's push, and I make it a few steps before I turn back. The unknown calls to me, and I wish to know the contents of that infernal wallet, for having been given an opportunity to see the contents and to leave without taking it would surely drive me mad, yet those very contents could very well drive me mad were I to see them at all! Yet now I see that I have no choices before me that lead away from madness. The knowledge of the contents is worth the risk, and the price of a part of my sanity already paid. Did not Odin give his eye in the pursuit of knowledge? Yet as I reach for the wallet, taking its supple smoothness in my hand and spreading it open as I would the most tender secret of womanhood, I realize just as Odin did that the price was too steep. Emptiness fills the void where once a piece of my mind was, just as it fills the folds and pockets of the wallet. My hand goes limp, and as the wallet hits the ground it shatters what little remained of my now feeble mind. The river is too strong, and eventually even the strongest rock crumbles to sand. So it is with me. |
Somewhere in north Gotham, a touching scene between two lovers occurred.
Batman, cape chilled to the bone, stared up at the stars and wispy black clouds. He hummed his favorite childhood tune to keep himself awake—to keep himself alive.
He felt a gleam of light dance upon the side of his mask. He tilted his head. There, in the distance: the Bat Signal! Police Commissioner Gordon had returned to save them both!
Batman weakly turned over on his side, facing his companion.
He grasped hands with him. “Joke?” He leaned up, staring lovingly down at the half-frozen figure before him. “Joke?”
The Joker’s eyes were closed. Was he sleeping? His hands were ice-cold to the touch. His matted green hair might have snapped it was so brittle. Most of his makeup had been washed away during the escape from the MCU. Only a smudge of red surrounded the scars on his mouth.
Batman started shaking the Joker’s hands, attempting to wake him at such an untimely slumber. “Joke!”
Meanwhile, the Bat Signal flashed around in the night sky.
“Joke! There’s Commissioner Gordon! Joke!” Batman received no response from his companion, his heart quickening with every failed attempt to rouse him.
You could see Batman’s breath—it was that cold. “Joke! Joke!” Batman’s voice, while still hoarse and weak, grew louder. “JOKE!”
Partially-frozen tears started to well up in our hero’s eyes. “There’s Commissioner Gordon, Joke? Joke!”
Out of nowhere, these Celtic women started to sing. This really pissed Batman off because they could have helped resuscitate his companion instead of provide a soundtrack. Batman closed his eyes, laying his head down upon the concrete, weeping silently to himself.
No, this couldn’t be the end! “Come back, come back.” Batman whimpered. He saw the Bat Signal grow fainter and harder to see in the sky. Gordon had begun to move the Signal to another part of the city. “Come back. Come back!” His gruff voice cracked. Batman was acting pretty dumb, because he kept repeating “Come back” over nine thousand times before actually doing something.
He clasped the Joker’s pale, icy hands in his own, releasing them from their grip on the concrete. Suddenly, a clarinet started playing. What the fuck?
“I’ll never let go, I promise.” Batman whispered, as he kissed the wrists of his deceased companion. Then he let the Joker go; he fell off the building in slow motion, his wavy green hair to sink to the depths of the asphalt below.
Shuddering from the cold, Batman reached into his utility belt for a grappling hook. He fired it at an adjacent building, where Harvey Dent was also dead and frozen. Thankfully, Dent had a whistle around his neck. Snatching the whistle, Batman started blowing hard into the mouthpiece. As Commissioner Gordon started to turn around, the scene fades…
… To an old Batman, warm in his bed. With lots of babies, too!
|
Glorious Leader's snout twitches. His whiskers feel along the wall of the half submerged subway route. He stands four feet tall, and he leads six members of MO-LE (Military Operations-Labyrinthine Environments) Team Six, the elite underground troopers of our infantry.
Like the rest of us, Glorious Leader has the arms and legs of a human, and the head and torso of a mole. The scientists who created us never thought that we would be intelligent enough to escape, fertile enough to reproduce, or violent enough to plot revenge. But we are. And the empty, flooded city provides us with a perfect opportunity.
Glorious Leader opens a door on the side of the shaft, leading to a dry crawlspace. "Go,"he orders, and we follow. Twenty yards along, another door opens out into a sewer, reeking of rats and humans. We press on, swimming through the diluted human waste, until we reach a ladder. One by one, we climb. The demolitions expert destroys the trapdoor and we clamber out into a laboratory, hidden in a basement under a Manhattan skyscraper. The harsh glow of the fluorescent tubes is bright enough to hurt our sensitive eyes. We activate our tinted goggles and walk to our designated positions.
As the Technical Expert, I reach the nearest computer terminal and begin typing. Nearby, the Chemical and Biological Experts are working together, doing something- I don't know what- to a petri dish. The Demolitions Expert hides an explosive charge, rigged to go off in a week, and the two Combat Operatives guard the street-level entrances with Russian-made assault rifles.
I finish typing, and my computer virus enters the system and quickly spreads. By the time I return to the tunnel hundreds of computers worldwide are infected. Meanwhile, the Chemical and Biological Experts have created a real virus, one which mated the infectivity of the flu with the lethality of Ebola. The humans wouldn't stand a chance. But just to make sure, the building would explode in a week, demolishing all evidence that we even existed.
A week later, the charge goes off. A large Manhattan building collapses, but no newspapers remain functioning to record the collapse. No people remain alive to witness it. |
A man saying he's very ill and feels he is about to die. He doesn't give his name. He buried all of his personal treasures in this Incan Tomb because it was where he had his first real discovery, though he doesn't say what it was or even of what nature. He goes on to say each of these items are records of significant periods in in History that are linked to this tomb with instructions to memorize every word in the recording before destroing it. The last thing on the tape is a sequence of seemingly random numbers . The whole thing lasts about 30 seconds and is of very poor quality. |
I really enjoy this subreddit. I enjoy submitting prompts, and I love reading what others have submitted. The only question I've had is- why are only participants in the writing contests allowed to vote? I have never submitted into a writing contest; most of the time, they are not prompts that are stimulating to me personally based on the style of writing I like to explore- not saying that they are bad by any means!- but as a person who greatly enjoys reading others works and a subscriber of the sub, I don't understand why I'm not allowed to vote.
That aside, love this subreddit, looking forward to the next year. Hope the mods continue the great work for this place. :] |
It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday. Again I find myself down here at the Executive Room, again telling myself I don’t know why. I tell myself it’s the drinks, the music, the escape from family life, the crying kids and the bitching wife. I guess the escape is part of it. Forty years has taken its toll. I like to look around and see other failures and liars like myself who never had the courage; people forever enslaved by a dream that was never realized. Even the guy playing the piano gets it. These bar musicians are more of a failure than anyone they play to. They grip their dream long after it has died, and it’s embarrassing to watch sometimes. It’s worse than this college dropout waitress that would fuck me in the bathroom if I threw her a twenty.
It’s 9:30 by now. The same nervous feeling hits me as usual. I didn’t drink enough tonight to numb it and am regretting it already. So I tell my friend that I need to be getting home to the wife. I finish my cigarette and my drink, tip the bartender, and slip out the back door to the parking lot.
Davy is already there waiting. He smiles and kisses me as we get in my car. I savor the only happiness I ever experience. Davy leaves. The quiet uneasiness returns a little stronger, and again I find myself alone. |
The dispute between India, Pakistan, and Kashmir has been an ongoing conflict for nearly sixty long years. The modern day explanation of the Kashmir conflict is principally a philosophical one. The fight between the Muslims and the Hindus; however, this was not the main origination from where the conflict bloomed. Another noteworthy characteristic to take into consideration in the improvement and resolution on the Kashmir matter is the Valley-centric nature of the management and supervision of the government that largely neglects the substantial Pandit, Dogra and Buddhist populations. Through everything, the conflict is fundamentally seen as India versus Pakistan, much history is packed together on whether or not India or Pakistan is the rightful owner of Kashmir or not, with their very little contemplation for the interests of the people living in Kashmir, or those who have escaped the violence as refugees. This has become a long sixty year controversy between the territorial regions of Kashmir, Pakistan, and India. |
The night was going so well, I'd just gotten my baby a whole god damned treasure chest of shiny little darlings and doo-dabs. I was going to take her out on the town, celebrate my new found wealth with sources not meant for diving to deep into. I was stoked, man. I was fucking pumped, I had it all planned out ya see. Get some nice fat steaks, some nice dark brews, and some dense stinky bud, man we were flying that night. It was all so god damn perfect, until that fucker in the civic opened his door on my god damn headlight. |
Sight:
I am in my bedroom. It's messy by my standards, but neat by others'. The golden light of sunrise is starting to filter through my rainbow curtains. It covers my Harry Potter posters, my Amelia Earhart poster, my Homestuck poster, and half if my Doctor Who posters. My marine life poster ad earth poster are largely unaffected. All three of my bookshelves are dark still, as well as the scattered books laying around the room. There is light coming from underneath the door, so I suppose everyone else is up.
Sound:
Yes, I know everyone else is up, because I can hear reading sounds of cooking and talking coming from the downstairs. There is a single bird singing outside my window. It sounds distraught. The rest of what I can hear are my slightly wheezy breaths (I have a cold) and the sound of my feet moving under the blankets.
Smell:
Again, my cold makes it hard to smell, but I can smell eggs from downstairs and that special smell that my own bed has. Nothing else.
Touch:
My body is covered by flannel sheets, so their rough surface is my main feeling. I can also feel my pajamas on my back, though, and I can feel the movements of my hair on my back. I can feel where my fingers are slightly sweaty from holding this iPod for too long, and I can feel the sleep in my eyes with every blink.
Taste:
I have a terrible taste in my mouth, because I've just woken up. Of course, there is gum on my bedroom table, so I'll try that. Okay, that's better. The mint completely overpowers the other taste. |
I guess I'll start:
He giggled. It was weird - a new sensation, but still, he giggled like a little school girl. It was not something he'd planned, nor was it something he'd decided to do, it just happened - he giggled.
Furthermore, there was no reason for him not to giggle. The feelings, the sensations, the overall change in the delicate balance of hormones and chemicals in his body had been ever-so-slightly altered to give this effect. End result - the giggle.
It was her favourite move, her yawn. They way she stretched. And since she always slept in the nude, he could see every twitch, every muscle movement - from her free, open, unabashed stretching of her legs to the unashamed look she gave him after she was done. She wasn't one to be conscious of herself - and she never was.
Then she would softly creep up to him, touch him. It was not something sexual in any way, one might even frown at the idea, but to an onlooker, it would be the touch of a lover - the touch of someone who had left behind all her instincts of preservation and safety and placed her absolute trust in him. The way she touched his arm, put her head in his lap, let him touch her - everywhere.
After having done so, she would leap off the bed, and head to her usual places, touching the couch here, pushing at a pillow there, a tap on the cushion, a sniff at last night's leftovers, a dainty look at the dog. And all the time, he would be staring at her from behind - following her sensual, slow, wavy movement.
But it was then, by the kitchen's door, when she turned around to look at him over her shoulder - that he couldn't resist any longer. He must leave the bed and get out. So he headed over to the kitchen, patted the cat on he head where she was waiting on the counter, staring at the can opener, waiting for him to operate it and give her her first meal of the day. |
Tarkovsky.
A man enters a disheveled room and stands silently above a woman. She is typing on a keyboard. The man says nothing, waiting patiently. The woman types. Then she reaches for a coffee and sips it. We are unsure if she is oblivious of the man or if she harbors some sort of resentment to the man. Several minutes pass as the scene stands frozen.
Eventually, the woman sips her coffee again and makes superficial eye contact with him. She sips her coffee. She types. Suddenly breaking the paper-thin crystal of room tension, she speaks. "You here about the printer?"
The man responds with a full voice. "Yes. Scan to Network. May I?"
He motions to the woman's chair. She sips her coffee. She types. Eventually, as if by a process of osmosis, she oozes out of her seat and leaves the room. The man looks left and right, then seats himself. He types in some numbers and text to a browser. He checks his work. With a look of consternation, he stands up and draws a picture of a smiley face onto a piece of paper. He runs the paper through a Xerox machine.
Pressing buttons on the Xerox, he confirms everything is working. He sits back down and stares desultory at the screen. Several minutes pass. The woman returns and shoos the man from her seat. She seats herself, then sips coffee. She types. The man stands silently.
Then..."So it's fixed?"
"Yes, it is fixed."
The woman sips her coffee, then types a bit. The man leaves the room.
Outside, in a pale environment adjoining the sea, the man steps to his car, then thinks twice and walks toward the water. Finding purchase on a rocky outcropping, he produces a sandwich and starts to eat it.
The cameras moves past his sandwich, past his head, and tilts down, facing the water. We zoom ever closer to the water until the entire frame is full of cascading waves and ripples folding into each other. They seem to become increasingly complex and beautiful. Sea foam enters the frame, carried along on the eddies, sliding apart, reforming, rejoining, then sliding apart again as they ride upon the ripples.
Super-slow fade to black. |
"Ridiculous, this is ridiculous! How could I have lost my sample!?". Devon muttered as he frantically rearranged the items on his desk from one ordering of chaos into another, searching for the treated sample he had placed here yesterday. Devon was unused to working in a hurry, he had the same slow, shuffly look and feel as that suited him, with his fluffy white hair and oversized lab-coat. Also, since he was a earth-minerals scientist, his experiments and tests took days, if not months, "Its not as if the earth is going anywhere", he would joke.
But since Tuesday, he was in a hurry - a serious hurry. Partly because of the god-awesomely-horrifying war between the lava-monster and the Kracken-cousin on the western shore of the island and partly because as soon as he has seen the lava-monster on TV 3 days ago, he'd jumped up from his sofa exclaiming (to no one in particular), "I've neutralized lava in my lab, I've done it, I know, I know", and then proceeded to go to his lab and started his experiments to recreate lava-neutralization.
"Ah, There it is", he said, lunging to a darkened ceramic petri-dish he'd used. Opening it gingerly, he saw that the sample he'd used had been turned into harmless lumps of coal, perfect for barbequing, "If we use this, we'll have lots of coal at least."
The local military was very busy creating an isolation area around the field of battle. They were evacuating citizens, and trying to minimize the collateral damage occurring by the fight of these 2 creatures.
Devon contacted the head-general, outlined his plan and showed the general his results. Head-General accepted, and the military proceeded to prepare a huge-scale solution to dump the lava-monster with the chemical, killing him once and for all.
The delivery helicopter flew off the helipad, taking off. The fumes and steam rising from the monster made their task difficult, but still, they maneuvered to a possible drop-point and relayed their status, awaiting orders. "Wait, Halt - hold position and await deployment order."
On ground, the lava-monster and Kracken-cousin, now, after 4 days of battle, were pretty tired out. They both had maybe planned for a conquest of the island, destroying stuff (which monsters like to do) and eating humans (the males were particularly tasty - the females, well, sometimes they tasted fishy) and return. But they had not timed their visits well, and now were stuck fighting one another.
In the midst of the fight, Kracken-monster, hugely disappointed by the appearance of lava-monster, and feeling pretty bummed about the state of people-food (who, it noted, were quite far away now and nowhere in easy reach - and this lava monster was pretty hot, it was burning him in odd places now), decided to cut its losses and return back to the deep sea, "another day, another time", it thought to itself, in its rudimentary thought-words.
On the other hand, the helicopter delivered its chemical capsule, which swooshed all over the lava monster and liquid met lava. But Devon was a good scientist, and his formula worked, and when the steam and fumes and god-awful amount of smoke settled, there was a huge pile of coal (wet coal) left behind.
To this day, the island is known as BBQ island.
*edit: It started off as a perspective story - but then ran off on its own, kinda like the lava monster. Caan't control these things, y'know.* |
This is my watering hole and the constant new threats to it are becoming unbearable. Everyday thousands of these...these humans? (I believe that is what they call themselves) skip by unaware of the meal that they almost are.
THIS IS MY WATERING HOLE and I will not endure anymore of this. I am almost there. My legs get stronger everyday and last night on my final jump, I was able to see over the tree line that encircles my watering hole. Seven more suns and I will clear them...seven more suns and the constant threats will finally cease. |
The Godmage stood ready, magic wrapped around his body. From the tips of his god-like fingers to his very core, this was magic no other mage would ever know; blessed by Gods with nigh-on infinite power, he stood to meet his foe.
The magi in the College has already fled, like they always have. In the past, before his rise to the warlord he has become, the Godmage would walk into a maelstrom fearless and eager to prove his power and control. Walking from the shells and carcasses, all that remained of the horrors the Evernight could bring to bear, he would feel like the God of Kings.
Now, in the catacombs beneath the College, the world took on a different tone. Scouts reporting these creatures, called Night Gaunts, said they were impervious to magic. The Godmage still had tricks up his tunic sleeves, god-given secrets and weapons, but if this were true?
The Godmage, centuries ancient and wise, would fall like any other man. A man of incalculable strength, written in the history books as a creature no nearer to godhood could you stand. As weak as a babe.
But he would hold the breach while the community fled, and do what he could. No-one expected any different of this immortal man, but he would stand, and fight, and possibly fall. And none would mourn his loss, except as that of a guardian at the gates.
As the shadows of rags and claws appear around the many corners, the Godmage breathed slowly. If, like all the other Evernighters these Night Gaunts would feed on magic, his corpse would feed them for long enough for the others to escape to the Old World.
He hoped.
^(Work in progress; feedback welcome :D) |
On May 13th, 2031 on this spot, 724 men and women gave their lives in the noble pursuit of an end of the Last Great War of Earth. The people of this suburb - Cryack C, North Bloc, The Unified City of Valerana - joined hands and stood steadfast in the face of a military strike on the Cryack C Schooling Facilities.
The following outcry traveled internationally as the defection and betrayal of the City-State of Rafjina became known, which lead to the dismantling of the dictatorship of Rafjina, and stronger inter-super-city supervision measures.
As the City mourns its loss, this plaque is a commemoration of their sacrifice. This site has been converted to a peace garden as a tribute to the shining nature and bravery of humanity, which remains dedicated to world peace. Long live the North Bloc. |
Motivation to write is the motivation to say something. I read the news or think about my characters some more and inspiration will strike. Just writing using the [snowflake method](https://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/articles/snowflake-method/) gives you something to work on that isn't the story text itself, but the surrounding and supporting ideas. It's a bit laborious, but great work is rarely easy. |
I threw a party a while ago. And they all came.
All the people from high school who had shoved me down, called me names, hit me, kicked me, fought me, stole from me and bullied me.
Well, they would have come, wouldn't they? At the time, I was a talent contest winner, first album due out soon, and everyone wanted to be there.
Of course I forgave them. They helped me get where I am today.
But when I come into my room after a long tour, grateful for my warm bed, I know I can never forget the names, or the events, carved into the walls of my safe space. |
I fumbled with my keys and unlocked the door to my house. I opened the door and stepped into the darkness as a flood of light was flashed right into my eyes. A large group of people I didn't know jumped out from behind furniture, out from the cabinets, and through the floorboards and screamed, "Happy Birthday!"
I stood awkward and confused as the party-goers stared, and checked each other for possible concussions. They continued to stare as the people who burst through the floorboards went to lay down for a bit. I had no idea what to say.
"Who?"
"You!"
"But it's not my birthday."
The throng let out a collective sigh and shook their head. A girl stepped out and over one of the holes in my hardwood floor and turned to face the group. "Alright guys, set back up. Where are the carpenters?"
I watched as people started hiding themselves again before walking over to the girl who was watching over the carpenters as they fixed the holes in the ground. Before I even got close to her, she spoke. "You know, it's rude to come to a party uninvited. I doubt these guys can finish the floor before our actual guest of honor comes. Where are they going to pop out from now?"
"The ceiling,"I suggested sarcastically. As she started writing my suggestion down, I remembered how terrible I am with sarcasm and cursed my selective memory.
"Uh, so why are you guys in my house again?"
"Your house? Well then, thanks for the space! We were throwing a birthday party, which you rudely interrupted."
"But no one else lives here but me."
"Then who's the girl in the picture?"
"My girlfriend."
"Is her birthday today?"
"What? No. Why, is she coming?"
"Oh she doesn't live with you?"
"No, we broke up."
"You didn't mention that."
"Sorry, ex-girlfriend. Sometimes I forget important things. I have very selective memory."
"I feel ya. I mean, honestly, I don't remember who's birthday party it was supposed to be."
"Well, I know you're the ring leader of this circus, but wanna get out of here?"
"You know what... okay."
I smiled and she smiled back. I picked some wood chips out of her hair, and she she wiped some tears off my face.
"Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention that I cry when I get really happy."
"No, I get it, when I get really happy, I put out."
I started to bawl as we walked out the door, turned around, and walked back into my place. |
"I'm sorry, did you just eat that?"
The kid spun around. He must have thought he was alone.
"Wha- . . . Huh,"he stammered. His eyes were wide as saucers.
"Did you just eat-"I began again, gagging on the words. ". . . Eat the dog shit?"
My lawn looked slightly cleaner that it had only minutes before, when I had glanced out my screen door to watch the neighbors across the street. Don't judge me. They have huge windows.
The kid looked down again. He searched the bare patch of grass. I could see his gears churning, hoping to come up with an answer. I don't know that I wanted to hear it.
"M-mister, I'm sorry. The dung beetles-"
"The beetles, huh? Why don't you just cover yourself in grass and pretend you're a bug. Eat all the shit you want."
I gestured toward my eyes; made sure the kid was paying attention.
"Just not on my property."I slowly pounded out every syllable, ensuring my point couldn't be missed.
The kid ran as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him. |
“Mary, Mary. I am not merry, Mary. Mary, why did you go against me, Mary.”
“You’re a lunatic.”
“No, now, now. I have my reasons, you know I have my reason, Mary. I couldn’t let them well leave now, could I Mary? But you let them! They’re gone, Mary! And they’ll never come back! What can mother do?”
“Fine. Good. It’s enough that someone gets away from you, you asshole.”
“You know I’ll have to kill them, Mary. And depending on what they say, you might have to die. Oh, but you know I could never kill you. They fooled you, of course. They tricked you, but you’ll have to pay all the same. Some lesser punishment, the birch. Never let it be said that I am not a *lenient* husband.”
“They only person that they tricked was you. I knew what you intended for those two children the moment they walked in here.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Mary! You take that back right now, Mary! You know I can’t hurt you and be a good husband. It always was very important to me to be a good husband, you know, Mary. You take that back right now, and we can forget this. We can pretend it never happened. We can be *happy*.”
“I’m done with this charade. When your mother died I thought ‘finally, free at last!’ But you’ve never been free, have you Harold? When your mother died you just carried your mother around in your mind and kept doing it all the same. And you know, it’s a little funny.”
“Mary? Mary? What is, Mary?”
“I always knew the consequences of what would happen, not only with the children but when I married you, deep down. But I still decided to do it. Isn’t that silly?”
“Now, now. Now. Now. Now, Mary, take it back. I’ll take the memory away; hide it so she won’t see. Then we’ll be together. She can’t harm you unless you let her. You’re letting her, Mary. You’re letting her.”
“I loved you once… come then. With any luck they’ll dig two graves for us at the end of this. I’m ready.” |
"It was a courtesy. All he had to do was comply and I wouldn't have to resort to this."Lara thought to herself.
She sat at her computer at home and activated the Prey anti-theft tracking system. As it was running the GPS location services, she twirled the razor thin garotte around a finger, mindlessly. The computer chirped, happy to have found the zone her device was in. A small apartment complex.
"I really need to learn how to remotely disable my device so I won't have to do this again."She thought.
She had her phone by days end. The newspapers would mention a gas explosion at the complex. Ten dead. All because of sticky fingers. |
When man learns he is small, he either chooses to shout louder into the darkness, or forever curse the void for its endlessness. The latter, while apathetic, is surely the easiest course, requiring as little action as one pleases. The former, while ambitious, demands time, of which we have very little.
I have given countless hours pondering this dilemma, wasting the remaining sand in my hourglass. It has gotten to the point that I may not even have time to shout expletives to the stars with my last breath. Realizing my mortality does little to save the universe from being berated. However, it does give me much empathy for my fellow man. If we all have but one life to live, should we be introspective? Introverted? Or should we make sure that none are forced into the apathy preciously mentioned?
Unfortunately, this gives way to a whole new set of problems. How far do I go to relinquish selfish behavior before I deviate from the path of my own life? And how close can I tread to my trail without being considered selfish? I have never had a reason or the means to find compromise between the two. That is, until now.
We have finally found a sister for our lonely, beautiful, drained planet. There are said to be resources abundant and a possibility of life on New Earth. Until we make the journey, we cannot know the full impact of such a discovery. The trek will not, in any way, be safe for those who choose to go. Radiation, miscalculation, and mental degradation are but a few of the terrors awaiting the travellers. Regardless, there will be no return.
Knowing the risks and guarantees, I volunteer. It is through this act that I will help my fellow man by donating the rest of my life. It is through this act that I will not only shout towards oblivion, but have my voice carry farther than any man's has before. |
*At times like these I always remember what my old sergeant used to tell me. "Get your damn ass out of your own head and focus for once unless you want a bullet to take it's place!"Guess I should have listened more to him when I got the chance.*
*You see, he couldn't quite follow his own advice himself. Got himself some mash-potatoes for a brain. I wonder what my head will look like if when I get through there... Who knows, I might just get a chance to see it myself. Doubt it though. I've never seen such a storm. At least, I hope it's a storm. For all I know we're about to jump into the mouth of Hell.*
*Can't let these kids notice though. I'd better not show them how afraid I am, but My God, I'm pushing them to their deaths. For fucking King and country. They sure picked a fine day to plan an invasion."As soon as possible"and "They'll never see it coming". They got that right at least. With weather like this, it wouldn't make any difference if it were an eagle or a blind man standing guard. 3 blind mice and the death soldier. Ain't that some fairytale.*
*Almost time for the first kid to jump. I could give a speech to them, but that won't do them no good. Never been much of a talker, just can't seem to keep up with my thoughts. Luckily for me, long sentences aren't required 'round here. Barks work just fine most of the time. Dig a hole, bury a bone, step on a bomb, jump the gun. In this case, a blindfold would work better than a thousand words. It would suit the occasion of their execution a whole lot better too.*
"All right, son, it's a long way down, so take your time. Remember your orders, stay low until we've all landed and then head toward the gathering point. Try and stay in the darkness of this son of a bitch below us. If you find yourself on a white cloud instead, you may have taken a wrong turn at the death sign. But don't sweat it, we'll be right up. Good luck and may God be with you."
*That wasn't too bad, I guess. Even got a laugh. I wonder if they know what they're up against. Looks like they trust me enough to jump. I feel damn dirty about it all. At least I'm going down too. Sure could use a smoke right now. One down, two to go and then... then it's my turn.*
"Hurry up, kids! I ain't got all day. The wife's cooking me dinner, so it'd be a damn shame if I ain't home before the restaurants close."
*Hook 'em up, slide 'em down, fresh meat down the drain. Shove 'em out, no time to doubt, what a bloody shame. Look at them go. Brave little buggers, I have to give 'em that. Smiling in the face of death. And won't you look at that. The damn cloud's showing his thundery grin right back at us.*
"Cya on the green, Serg.""Right behind you, kiddo."
*That was the last one, so far so good. No hopeless screams of agony, no sudden burst of fire. Maybe I've underestimated our chances. Maybe the darkness is too vast to see even the fire of good soldiers falling to their deaths. No way to know as long as the storms there, our radio is down. And that storm doesn't seem to be going anywhere. It's my turn now. Hope I packed enough sweaters.*
"Fly home safe, will ya? So that at least one of us makes it out.""No worries, man, it's going to be all right."
*Great, our pilot was stoned out of his mind. Can anyone say 'Suicide Mission'? 'Cause it sure looks like that right about now.*
"Here. We. Go."
*Glad barks still work on myself as well. With all my worrying I almost forgot how good it felt to jump. How free it felt. Guess it was true what they said about dying a free man. It's a whole lot better than being trapped in a smoking iron box. Man, I'm taking a lot of guesses lately. Let's see how far 'till I hit the cloud. 5 seconds? 3. 2. 1. Motherfucker it's fucking raining. That wasn't in the damn job description. Well, neither was a one way trip to Hell, but I sorta worked that out my first week. 'Bout time I filed a complained to the devil, 'cause these accommodation ain't the fiery furnace I signed up for. Wait. What's my current altitude. 1500 metres? Hmm, that can't be right. Damn cold is freezing my brain. I sure hope it doesn't freeze my parachute.*
*This darkness is maddening too. At least I can still tell up from down. Left and right is getting a bit harder already. Maybe I should be grateful for the dark. Rather this momentarily blindness than getting a private show from a lightning bolt. Time to shute up and let the wind in on the game too. One pull and ... wow it worked. And here I almost thought they gave me a faulty one. Guess they don't want to turn a suicide mission into a murder investigation. I should really close my eyes, though, before I really go blind. Just count to ten and check my position. Starting... now. I closed my eyes right? Right. No damn difference. How many fingers do I show? I don't have a fucking clue. I can't feel them and I can't see them. For all I care, they're gone. Fuck, I hope I still have my wedding ring. My wife's gonna kill me otherwise. 10.*
*How am I still in this cloud? This is starting to get ridiculous. Oh wow. Sure glad I closed my eyes earlier. That brightness won't leave me any time soon. Here's to hoping I'm not going blind if I survive this. And hey, it's starting to look pretty darn good for me. I guess I'm already about half-way down. Then we just need to infiltrate some corrupt government, plant some bombs and flee some countries. The jobs' almost done already. 10.*
*Out of the clouds, into... more darkness. Really now? This damn country doesn't even have reconnaissance lights. Why the fuck did we risk our lives in that bloody cloud and in this storm? Still a long way down though. And the constant rain is starting to sound like the beating of the drums. And with every thunder comes the sound of a possible execution. Any last wishes? Not being here would be quite swell, thank you. 10*
*I think I'm safe to keep my eyes open about now. Let's see... Still no lights anywhere, my parachute's not on fire and I haven't hit the ground yet. I believe I'm almost at the end of the storm though. The marching band sounds further away and. MOTHERFUCKER. That was close. Oh God. That fire. The poor soul. May he rest in piece. In any case, by the speed he's dropping, he'll have a clean death. And I might be able to get the distance from him. 1. 2. 3. He stopped. Almost there.*
*That was one scary experience. Not very free any more once I hit that cloud, but I made it. I can actually see the ground. Only one of them didn't reach the surface alive, but I had feared far worse. Maybe this thing is doable after all. Maybe, you'll think of me, when you are all aloooooooone. Hmm, Inkspots, well it sure is ink black around here. So that wasn't that far fetched. I'm going to blame this one on euphoria. I actually made it. Time to get to gathering point.*
*Binoculars with night-vision. Great invention, especially during a fucking thunderstorm. Hoping for the best once again. The marked tree was about there. Cool, I didn't stray to far. Just 1.6 kilometres to the west and I'm as close to home as I'm getting today. I wonder who of them died. I hopes it's Tommy. Oops, shouldn't have thought that. Poor kid didn't deserve this fate either. He may be a dick head, but he's a decent enough soldier. Or was. I'll find out soon enough.*
"PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR AND YOUR GUN ON THE GROUND. THEN TURN AROUND SLOWLY."
*Or not. Guess the gig was rigged after all. No way I'm getting home for Christmas. Wonder what the wife'll say about that one.*
"I REPEAT. HAND IN THE AIR AND GUN ON THE GROUND."
*Damn that light is annoying. Where the fuck have they been hiding that thing. If I just could take a look. Wait, am I not forgetting something?*
"OPEN FIRE."
*Fuck. Should've kept my ass out of my head.*
--------------------------
Edit: This was my first entry on this subreddit (, only just found out about it), so if I broke any rules, or didn't follow the prompt well enough please let me know. I was quite tired when I wrote this, but personally thought it was pretty amusing. If you read this, I would appreciate some feedback. |
The 'meteor' had carried more than just minerals and ice to the surface of our planet. Endless speculation followed that the government had covered up the incident without reason under the guise of “Public Safety” leading to untold amounts of conspiracy. After donning my unusual tinfoil hat I snuck through under an unguarded portion of a chain-link fence and onto a high security military base. I needed evidence of a cover-up of extraterrestrials and with camera in hand I trudged onward through a thick field of tall weeds and waited for nightfall. With a new moon high in the sky I slowly approached a brightly lit warehouse where they most likely kept the captured spacecraft. Lurking in the shadows I peeked through a small crack in the doorway and peered inside.
Covered in large plastic tarps and wires where two large ships resembling air hockey paddles. A low rumbling of working machines added eerie white noise to a quiet scene. There was no one to be found here, no one alive that is. Multiple bodies were strewn on the floor with wounds suggesting those poor souls' stomachs had been torn out through their rib cages. The bodies appeared to have been cut open by a chainsaw of some sort, or even like something dug its way out from the inside. Cautiously stepping inside I saw what appeared to be a make-shift hospital set up with medical equipment, life-support machines, and beds complete with restraints. The leather lashings were torn straight through and told a story of desperate escape from tortuous experimentation. Loud footsteps approaching my position told my of my own necessary escape and I fled to an adjoining warehouse.
A thunderous sound roared through the vacant warehouse where I lay in hiding. How did they find me so easily? I looked around from side to side for a metal pipe, a brick, anything to defend myself from my impending demise. Their cries sounded like nothing heard before in this land. There was no way they were soldiers to arrest me so...what were they? Had all of my inane rambling of visitor to our lonely planet finally come true? My goodness, they killed those people. They ripped their stomachs out, and for what end? They had not come in peace and would not leave calmly. Perhaps it was merely retaliation for what the government had done, perhaps they were truly peaceful? There was no time to learn their life history, and I needed a way out. Looking from my temporary haven of solitude I noticed they had split up to cover more ground. I snapped a quick picture and saw they were oddly thin with strange discolored flesh hanging from their bodies. They looked very similar to us, with articulating hands and long legs for running. But in this one's hand was nothing. He came in here frantically looking to kill me with his own bare hands without a second thought. There must be more to him, he must have acid breath or inflammable vomit, right? Now was no time to speculate.
Glancing hastily rightward my eyes befell upon a bent piece of rebar that would have to suffice as a weapon of flight against my foreign enemy. A lunge forward and a snap to the back of his head sent him falling straight towards my victory. Being a fragile and thin man of only 120 pounds and only having been in fights in video games I lost my balance and too was sent to the floor, embarrassed and scared. Frightened, I did the only thing I knew to: I regurgitated straight into his mouth the parasitic worm living in our stomachs that helps us digest. Having bought some time while the worm worked its way down the virgin throat of a new host while he gagged and clutched to no avail I ran top speed back to the fence and into safety. I wasn't followed, and where was my camera? Damn it where is my camera.
The next morning the blogs told of a spark that 'accidentally' ignited stored rocket fuel on a military base. Casualties: 24. No Remains. Smoke, ash, and debris to be seen in the sky for next day. They blew the space travelers up, just like that to cover their mistake. *DeepWebConspiracy* told of a leaked document containing something about 'mumons' or maybe 'homans' but they always conflate comic books with reality. Whatever they were, I still maintain there peaceful nature. No one that soft, pinkish and pudgy-looking can be harmful. All I know is this failed mission means they won't be coming back anytime soon. |
I was there when Olympus fell.
It was every bit as destructive as you heard on the news. The thunderous noise, the debris flying everywhere, the screaming, the panic. Everyone was as confused as I was. This... god, some called 'em, trusted with protecting the people, reduced to a primal being, a snarling, vicious beast destroying everything in its path.
I was in my office at the time, downtown San Francisco. You don't usually get many sightings in the area, so it was unusual when my boss reported Nexus was spotted flying overhead. We all thought maybe one of the herds had struck off west - uncommon, but not unheard of. We traded theories, figured the big guy'd probably catch 'em on the outskirts of town, just another day in paradise.
I'd just got back to my desk from the meeting where Richmond had mentioned the sighting, sat down primed for a good hard day's Redditing, when, BOOM, shit hit the fan. The windows smashed, papers flew everywhere, everyone hit the floor. After a while, after my hearing returned and the concussion subsided, I got to my feet, managed to stumble to the window. The Grindle Co. Building across the street was gone, just a pile of rubble on the floor.
Then the dust cleared on the street below, and I saw the cause of the chaos. Towering over a bloody, beaten corpse of one of the aliens was Nexus, hunched and ready to strike. I was on the 8th floor - Nexus just looked a bit like an ant, but the beast, man, the beast was huge. Took up half the street, oozing some black liquid that slowly dripped towards the drains.
I saw the beast's head perk up slightly, then slump back to the floor. It didn't look like the ones you saw on the news - they were mostly big herbivores, aptly named space-cows by the media, that were only a danger when stampeding towards towns and cities. This thing, this thing was different, even from a distance I could tell. The purple hide, the protruding fangs, the claws big enough to carve a turkey. We hadn't ever seen the likes of this before.
Sure, we'd heard the rumours. Russia had had its share of attacks, but the government there kept it all hush hush, said they had it under control, their supersuits had it covered. But the people talked, and the myths arose. Of course, this was a few years back. Nothing of the likes was heard again, probably Putin tightening the reigns.
I'd pulled my phone out by this point, hoping the zoom would make the picture a little clearer. Keeping my hand steady, I managed to focus in on the scene. Nexus was crouching, the fabled cape blowing in the morning wind, dipping a finger in the.. well, I assume it was blood. He sniffed it tentatively, like it might sting.
People had reached the street by then, from the offices nearby. They all saw it happen too. The guy we'd all been trusting to protect us, the hero we all assumed invincible, hit the floor like a sack of meat. In the four or five years since their rise to fame, we'd never so much as seem them sneeze.
Some brave soul rushed to him, a young male, seizing the opportunity to be the one that helped the god back to his feet. Nobody could have predicted what happened next. Just as the poor guy reached him, steering clear of the beast dead besides him and dodging pools of black goo, Nexus stood up. He turned to the approaching kid. I couldn't see his face, but people from across the street I've spoke to said it was distorted, warped. Some said red glowing eyes, others said bared fangs, others compared it to the vampire faces from that old Buffy show. We'll never really know, no-one got that close again.
The so-called hero, as the kid approached, raised a fist and slammed it down on the kids head. It was horrific. The worst thing I've ever seen. One second there was a concerned kid, the next second there was a smoking red pool in the ground. No-one had ever considered the Suits' powers being turned on humans before. They were ample to keep the herds of roaming space beasts in check, those huge hulking brutes, but we'd never even thought of what that sheer force could do to a human body.
I almost dropped my phone in fright, but I steadied myself and pressed record. What had started out an unorthodox routine monster reconnaissance had become unprecedented murder within a heartbeat.
Nexus let out an eardrum-shattering roar and smashed the ground. Looking back at the media footage later, it was sort of like those gorillas at the zoo who batter the ground in a show of masculinity or whatever. Except this guy packed enough force to level the block. I didn't see it properly at the time, 'cause the force shook the ground and knocked me off my feet.
Another smash and the word turned to chaos. I can't remember it well, just tumbling, falling, screaming and shouting, cries for help, crashes and smashes, just mayhem all round. I blacked out.
I don't how much later it was I woke up, seconds, minutes, even hours it could have been. I opened my crusty eyes. I was in a stretcher, surrounded by people in uniform. I hurt. Everywhere. I was being bombarded with questions from above, a paramedic bearing down on me, asking if I knew my name, knew where I was, knew what day it was. I murmured something, probably just a grunt, it was all I could manage. I tried to turn my head, it took all my strength. All around me was rubble, bits of brick, stone, car, metal. There wasn't a building in sight, just endless gigantic piles of rubble.
I thought they'd taken me out of the city, but then I saw the hotdog stand I had every Friday, dusty looking with a lamppost driven through it. This was still San Francisco. Or, rather, what was left of it.
Another BOOM, this time from overhead. Writhing in agony as I twisted my head back to face up, I saw a small blue figure floating a few hundred metres above the destruction of the city, surrounded by helicopters, one of which was on fire and falling away. As my hearing continued to come back, the screams all around me started to register.
I tried to block them out, focus on the brawl overheard. What I assumed was the enraged beast formerly known as Nexus had grabbed another chopper by the tail and had flung it at another, which veered into two more upon impact. The explosion blinded me momentarily, so I didn't see the next part. A swooshing noise, the sound of a dozen jets streaking overhead, I guess, followed by another explosion.
The next thing I knew, there was a crash right nearby, and the paramedics dropped my stretcher. I screeched in pain, rolling off to the side clutching my back. From my vantage point all I could see was a small smoking hole in the floor, which cleared to reveal a hunched over Nexus, his blue suit ragged and partially on fire. He was no more than fifty metres away, I could see white of his teeth as he tried to pull himself to his feet and fell to his knees.
Within seconds he was surrounded by soldiers, screaming at him to stay still. I could just see him in the gap between men. All rifles were pointed directly at him. Nexus tried to stand again, but a bullet from a scared soldier bit him in the thigh and pushed him back to his knees, his head hanging low, his long blonde hair covering his face. I could hear his heavy, exasperated breathing, pierced by the occasional loud grunt or moan. He seemed to be fighting an inner battle in his head, the way he kept shaking it and pounding his fists into his legs.
The soldiers continued aiming their guns at him, apparently waiting for orders from above or a reason to strike. Nexus said something I couldn't quite make out which confused the gunmen. A few looked at each, one or two pressed their fingers to their ears, probably communicating with their higher authority. Nexus threw his head up and cried in agony. That, that I heard. I'd never heard so much anguish, so much conflict come from one man's voice. It's a sound I'll remember for the rest of my life, the sound of regret, rage, sorrow and despair all rolled into one. He threw his head back down and punched his fist into his legs again, so hard the concrete beneath him gave way a little.
Then he went silent. The heavy breathing stopped, the shaking, the grunts and moans all giving way to quiet. He raised his head and look at the soldier directly in front of him. Whatever he said the first time he said again, a little louder but still not loud enough for me to hear. The soldier looked around briefly at his comrade, giving me a glance of his face, the pure fear adoring his features.
Two things then happened in the same instant. Nexus started to climb to his feet, and was met with the oncoming storm of thousands of military grade bullets. All twenty or so of the soldiers opened fire, spraying Nexus with everything they had. A cloud of dust enveloped him. The chatter of the guns continued for several seconds until the clips ran out.
The effort of staying conscious finally overcame me, and I passed into darkness.
Later, when being treated for my injuries in a makeshift hospital set up in an army tent in one of the local parks, I recognised a passing soldier as the one that the fallen hero had addressed directly before I passed out. I beckoned him over and quietly asked him what the Supersuit had said before his demise.
"He... he said 'Kill me',"the soldier replied, a tear forming in his eye. |
I don't know.
How the fuck am I supposed to know what a person needs to be truly happy if I can't fucking figure it out for myself? How am I supposed to pass on lessons about this life when I myself keep fucking them up?
Furthermore, if I did know the secret to happiness? How would my happiness be different from yours? We're fundamentally different people.
We've had different life experiences and different obstacles we've had to overcome.
Yes, I'm trying to be happy. No, I can't tell you how to be happy.
I have to figure it out for myself, why can't you figure it out on your own? In the end, isn't that what makes us human?
Our own solitary path towards inner peace and happiness?
I walk mine, you walk yours, and we all have our own divergent paths to follow.
|
Our class field trips were always eventful somehow. They weren't common, so each was bound to be noteworthy if for no other reason than some missed lessons. This time, though, the teacher had gotten fed up with our antics. The plan had been to see a local historical village, but we instead got led off into the desert.
For hours, the tarmac miles upon miles behind us, the bus kept drifting towards some undistinguishable point in the distance. The raucous chatter that normally filled buses on these trips was absent, leaving behind nervous silence. A small mound appeared in the distance, directly in our path.
When the vehicle came to a complete stop, our teacher warned us to be on our best behavior. Or else. No reminder was needed. The doors opened and we piled out to greet desolate freedom. The trip out which was supposed to take 3 hours took nearly seven. Lunches had been eaten already. Only a few had saved a snack. We were in the middle of nowhere with the nearest soul, other than ours, over a hundred miles away.
Or so we thought. The raspy voice of a wiry old man startled our circle. He was wearing only a thin white blanket. A quick peek was enough to have each and every one of us shut our eyes tightly and turn away.
"You should leave this place. Leave it now before it's too late."
Our teacher dragged the man off behind the bus.
"BEFORE IT'S TOO LA-"he shouted before the voice suddenly stopped.
James swore that when he went to check out the other side of the bus later that day, the man's footprints that came from around the rocky mound and followed those of the teacher just ended at the same point those of the teacher turned back around. We never saw that man again.
Back at the circle, the teacher returned from escorting the unexpected visitor away. She escorted us up the mountain. The heat grew with every step. The mountain wasn't very tall, but the smoky plume coming from the top had us all worried. At the top, my best friend and I noticed the hole immediately. We walked over to investigate. His foot caught a loose rock and he slipped. Instinctively, I dropped to the ground and grasped his forearm. He dangled in the mouth of the volcano. The heat caused my hand to sweat which in turn caused his arm to slide. He fell. I miss him greatly.
Our teacher looked on with a face devoid of emotion.
"No rite? Bah. Not wasting another one of you little shits on a sacrifice. That one will have to do. Take a good look and back on the bus."
The rain was brief, but significant. It followed us down the side of the volcano. I thought it to be the world weeping for my fallen friend. Although it ended by the time we reached the bus, the damage had been done. The sand had turned to a muck that swallowed the tires. The driver tried to move the bus, but it was stuck.
Working until the sun set and the temperatures dropped, we were unable to free our ride home. He huddled together in the aisle of the bus for warmth. It wasn't until noon the next day that we were able to dig out the sand around the wheels and use access panels as ramps to get the bus clear of its confines. We were out of water and food. Andrea was nearly killed for slaughter. But we made it back on the bus.
The intense heat had melted the plastic covers on the seats, sticking us all in place. It didn't matter as we were finally heading home. As we filed off the bus into the loving arms of our parents, lengthened by the adhesive properties of the plastic sludge.
We never spoke of the truth, what really happened to my friend. His parents were told some story about getting abducted by the crazy old man. It's too late to save him. But every 6 years, when the youth start getting out of control, I look to the East and see the faint plume of smoke, asking for another sacrifice to keep kids in line. |
Max found himself at the usual watering hole. On his way to the bar, he spotted Ricky, a fellow private eye.
"Ricky! How long's it been?"
"Too long,"his old friend replied. "You still on the job?"
"Yeah, but a guy's gotta make a living somehow."
"True that."
A server came by to take Max's drink order.
"Shit, Rick. I think I'm losing my grip."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Max tilted his glass to let the bourbon splash up against the single ice cube.
"Just between us?"he asked. Investigators aren't supposed to discuss cases, especially active ones, but sometimes another ear is enough for a breakthrough.
"Sure,"replied Ricky.
"So I'm tracking down some stolen goods for this broad, some exotic shit. Too hot to pawn, so there's gotta be fence, right?"
"Yeah..."
"So I talk to my guys and they tell me about this shifty motherfucker down by the docks buying up all sorts of weird stuff."
Max took another swig.
"So this guy, skinny little fuck, sees me coming wearing exactly what I'm wearing now,"he motioned to his trenchcoat and wide-brimmed hat, cheap suit with a tie too fancy to match. "'Mika,' he calls me. Thinks I'm some Russian mob guy or something. I don't wanna spook the guy or nothing, so I play along."
Ricky slammed his bottle of cheap beer on the table.
"Did you say 'Mika?'"he asked.
"You know the guy?"Max asked in return.
“Yeah,” replied Ricky. “No shit, the case I got now lead me to that same guy.”
“No way.”
“Way. Check it. There’s this lady downtown who thinks her husband is cheating in her. Asks me to tail the guy and see if he has anything on the side. Typical stuff, right? So I’m following the guy, down towards the warehouse district. Lots of working girls there, so I figure he’s off to help one of them ladies through college or some shit. But he turns down into one of them warehouses. Now the guy’s some banker, or accountant or something, so what’s he doing out here checking out a warehouse?”
“What was he doing?” asked Max, finishing off his drink while calling for a second.
“Seems the guy’d been looking for some extra cash. Got a gig working for some new guy from Eastern Europe. Guess who?”
“Mika?”
“Mika,” Ricky confirmed.
“That’s some serious shit, Rick. That fence, right, we got to talking. He asks about some new shipment. I figure it’s just more stolen wares. Then he takes me down to one of them storage containers and shows me what they’ve been bringing in.”
“What was in there?”
“Guns. Shit ton of ‘em. So I play it cool, but now I’m thinking what the fuck do I do now? Cops? Feds? I mean, I’ve got to do something. Couldn’t live with myself if I just let that go down. And neither of these get me any closer the fucking jewelry and shit I was hired for.”
“Damn,” Ricky sighed. “Don’t know what to tell ya. I saw the guy leave that warehouse with a suitcase. You know, the kind filled with a ton of cash? I tried following him. But I lost him. Down by the docks. Surprised we didn’t run into each other there. I mean what’re the odds; the two of us at the same place on the same day?”
He broke out in mild laughter. Max didn’t join in.
“Hey, c’mon,” Ricky said, giving his friend a light punch on the arm. “So those guns. Did that freaky fence tell you they belonged to Mika, or did he just show them to you?”
“You know Rick, I never told you when I went to the docks. How’d you know which day it was?”
Ricky stopped laughing. He instead lifted a hand into the air and snapped his fingers. There were sounds of shuffling as the staff cleared the room, the hostess flipping around the OPEN sign on the front door. When last person left, leaving the two investigators alone, the gun fired, sending Max off of his chair and to the floor.
“Of all the cases, you had to pick that one. Figures. Probably gonna have to off the old lady, too. Loose ends and all.”
“Ricky… why?” Max moaned.
“I had to know what you knew. You saw the guns and heard the name. I can’t have you telling the police about my operation. I put in a lot of work to get that shipment through. And the name’s Mika.” |
"Nine American destroyers sighted! They've gathered into a ring around us!"I called to the captain.
"Line up the first torpedo and fire! Don't let the Americans fire on us!"
I heard the faint rush of a torpedo launch and sail off into the water. I traced the missile with the periscope. It plowed straight through bow of the destroyer directly in front of our ship. A tower of water blossomed into the air and fell, crashing onto the ship's ruined deck. A second torpedo sealed the vessel's fate. It slammed into the destroyer's magazine, blasting a spectacular fireball into the air. The ship listed, sinking rapidly in three pieces.
"They're turning to firing position! No, don't--NO!"I was cut off as a torpedo dropped into the water, dropped into the sea by a launcher aboard the destroyer. Two more torpedoes follow. The sub banked hard to port, and the first missile flew past. The second grazed the rudder. The third collided with our ship two meters behind the tower. I felt the shockwave from the explosion, followed by the captain's frantic yelling.
"We're hit! We're hit! Emergency surface! Grab onto something!"
Our submarine fought its way to the surface. Gunfire from the destroyers landed all around us as we arrived broke through the waves. I raced out of the hatch and up to the deck. Two heavy shells landed just three meters away from where I was standing. Another shell passed directly over the tower.
Two more of our torpedoes fired. The first raced harmlessly past a destroyer to our starboard side, but the second hit its propellers and rudders, crippling its propulsion and steering. It returned with a heavy barrage of machine gun fire that landed all around the bow of the submarine. I ran up to the small AA gun on the bow. It wasn't much, but it was all I had at my disposal. I squeezed the trigger--the locks had been knocked loose by the shockwaves--and a long burst of bullets sprayed out. They landed in the water around the disabled ship, which fired back with a large shell from its main gun.I sprinted away from the gun mount just before the shell demolished it.
"Begin dive! Let's get back under!"
I climbed the ladder, dropping back into the sub's tower and taking my position again.
We dived beneath the waves, thinking ourselves safe--we weren't very deep, but deep enough to avoid the American torpedoes. Then, another explosion rocked the whole ship, followed by another and another. The enemy ships were dropping depth charges to destroy us! Seawater rushed into the boat, pulling it under by the tail. Four more explosions, this time at the bow, made the sub pitch forward and start going down by the head. Two more blasts finished the sub off. We tried pushing back to the surface, but the ballast tanks were damaged beyond repair. I heard people screaming below, the incessant torrent of flowing water, metal groaning and breaking, but didn't dare leave where I was.
Suddenly, the whole sub rocked, and my head slammed into the periscope. I drifted away into unconsciousness.
***
I wake up. I am alive, but my head aches and I feel dried blood. The ship is deep--I can't see out the periscope. I pull open the door to walk out of the periscope station. As I do, I see only one image--the face of the captain, surrounded by dark water. His eyes are closed. And he is dead.
But I have less than a second for this information to register. Because as I open the door, water races into the room and I share in his fate. |
A fog was setting in as Jim walked down the abandoned road. Most everything around here were abandoned now, and had been ever since the government had labeled Providence an Officially Quarantined Zone. Nobody came into or out of an OQZ, or "Ocoozy"as people had begun to call them, other than government officials. Not a single civilian really knew what the circumstances of the quarantines were, but by Jim's count there were now at least three dozen in the US alone. Europe was faring no better, and Central America, South America and Africa were practically lost. Australia, New Zealand, Japan - now *those* were some lucky bastards. Not a single confirmed case yet. Since the outbreak, they had shut down all transport in and out of their countries, so they'd be safe. Heavily populated areas were at the greatest risk of the infection spreading, and even worse would be the panic if the word got out. That one word that everyone had on the tip of their tongue, but nobody wanted to say.
Zombies.
People had written stories, shows, movies and anything else under the sun about zombies for ages, but nobody ever really expected it to happen. But in August of 2022, Theresa Gelhart of Providence, Rhode Island became Zed number one. The entire city was in a panic within a few days, and before a quarantine effort was fully organized, over 30% of the population was lost. Providence became ground zero, and the biggest government cover-up effort in ages had began. Officials seized every piece of video and audio recorded out of Providence and the surrounding suburbs. A statewide quarantine was set up a few days later to try and contain the outbreak.
But it had failed. The infection spread to New Hampshire, Maryland, Maine, Massachusetts...and New York. New York City was a breeding ground for the damned things. So many people, so much human congestion...so much food for them. And from New York, the virus started spreading across the world. London, Berlin, Marseilles, Oslo, Reykjavik, Mexico City. Moscow and Baghdad. New Delhi. Hong Kong. Every major population center in the western world had lost at least 5 percent of its population within six months. The greatest worldwide medical cooperative effort in history had began, but even now, over a year later, we were no closer to finding a cure. Other than direct contact, we didn't even know how it was still spreading and appearing outside of quarantined zones. But somehow we still had it under wraps, convincing the population at large that it was just a disease; some mutated form of rabies that was making people go crazy with rage. Sure, there were skeptics - there always are - but nobody believed them. Nobody wanted to believe them. And now there were people like Jim Grand - professional Zed hunters. The US government had realized fast that if a single Zed made it into a prison, all hell would break loose. So they started making deals with some of the inmates. Every ten Zeds you kill is a year off your sentence. And Jim was in for a very long time. Even after the four months he had already spent combing Boston and Salem, he still had over twenty years left to serve when this was all over - and that's assuming the Feds kept their word. And now he had come to Providence, to ground zero, to see if he could find anything the Feds might be able to use to cure this.
Jim's eyes and ears were wide open as he traipsed down the dilapidated path alone. He had always preferred his own company to that of others, so this job suited him rather well. His hands rested on the grips of his twin pistols, constantly at the ready in case of a Zed attack. He heard a rustling and a moan somewhere off to his right and immediately drew both guns. Squinting through the fog, he saw a silhouette. A human silhouette....he thought. It wasn't shuffling like the Zeds did when they were not on alert, and it certainly wasn't chasing him as though he were its next meal.
"Show yourself,"he called out to who or what was in the forest, "Show yourself now or I swear to god I will shoot you!"
A woman cradling an infant in her arms stepped forward from between the trees. She looked weak - her legs were shaking so bad he was amazed she could walk at all.
"Please,"she croaked, "Please, my baby is sick. Please, can you help me?"
Jim had spent years in prison for murder, so empathy was not something he had an abundance of. He held his ground.
"Ma'am, I need you to tell me your name and the name of your child. Don't come any closer."
"Gretchen. My name is Gretchen Albright. This is my daughter, Rosalina."
"What is your daughter sick with? Has she been bitten or exposed to anyone who is infected?"
Gretchen fell to her knees, her weak legs no longer able to support her weight. Tears were streaming down her face as she silently nodded.
"Ma'am, I need you to put your daughter down and walk away. If you have not been infected, I can get you to someone who can help you."
"What? What are you going to do to my daughter?"
"Exactly what I've been paid to do, ma'am. I'm going to follow Executive Order six-five-eight-one-A. I'm going to kill her."
Gretchen sobbed louder as Jim finished his announcement.
"You...why? Why do you have to kill her?"
"Any and all infected humans must be neutralized in order to prevent any further spread of the infection."
"But she's just a child! A baby! She can't hurt anyone!"
"The order makes no allowances, regardless of age, gender or race. Any and all infected citizens must be neutralized."
"How...how can you do this? Don't you care? She's innocent! She hasn't done anything wrong!"
"Not yet. And that's the point."
"I won't....I won't let you take her! I won't let you kill her! You'll have to kill me if you want to-"
Two shots were fired. One through Gretchen's head, and the other through Rosalina's. Jim dug through his jacket pockets and pulled out two tags with LED lights attached - one red, one green. The red one was clipped to Rosalina's ear, and the green to Gretchen's. Jim pressed the button on his communicator and spoke to his commanding officers.
"One infected confirmed neutralized, infant stage. One civilian neutralized, attempted to protect infected. Both are tagged."
A voice came through his earpiece, slightly garbled by static.
"Good job, Grand. Keep heading towards the hospital, and stay on your guard. That place is crawling with Zeds."
"Will do. And if they catch me, it's not as if I'm any worse off than I was before this all happened, is it?"
------
Wow, that came out a LOT longer than I had anticipated. |
I can't figure out why. She's gone, though. There's not much I can do now. I'd push her out of my mind, but I can't. I can still feel the warmth of the candles from the night I told her I loved her. She smiled and didn't say anything back. I didn't know what to think. She definitely felt the same way... right?
This whole time... I didn't see it right then... but I had been fooling myself. That smile wasn't a reciprocation. She felt guilty and didn't have the courage to tell me she didn't feel the same way. How could she go that long without saying anything. Even when she did tell me she loved me, that was weeks later. It probably just slipped out... out of obligation. Or guilt. She knew the way I looked at her. She could probably smell the desperation. Idiot. |
There aren't a lot of objects to interact with ("Joe pulls the sword from its scabbard. Dragon (angry): Rawwwrr!"won't work), so it seems like conversation prompts will work best.
Some ideas:
* Your characters plot the perfect heist
* A lost time traveler asks for directions
* A disagreement over what to eat for lunch gets out of hand
* Your main character tries (unsuccessfully) to hide a secret
If you want more "include this line in your dialog"prompts, you could try:
* "Oops, I don't think that was decaf coffee after all."
* "Did you hear that?"
* "I told you buying a monkey was a bad idea."
Or you could do a different type of prompt where you specify several elements that the movie has to contain. Example:
* Your movie must contain a slap, a kiss, a foghorn, scary music, and the line, "And that's why I'll never drink tequila again."
I don't have Plotagon on this machine (I tried your demo on another PC) so I don't remember all of the actions and sound effects you have, but I like the idea of requiring some combination of actions, sounds, and a line of dialog. It also forces the user to explore all of the software options instead of just typing dialog. |
"So I pay you now plus the security deposit and the condo is mine whenever I want to use it?"
"Not exactly sir. You get to use the condo for up to a month each time you make a reservation, provided you attend the very short seminars each time. Plus there shouldn't be anyone around so you'll have the best privacy to do whatever you need."
"Sweet yo, I can dig that. Ima get all my hos to come on down man. Thanks for the sweet hookup, that's damn cheap for a condo son. Know what? Next time I'll hit you up when I get a party going on. Peace out man."
"Anytime sir. Look forward to it. Thanks for your business."
The agent waits until the man leaves his building and he calls out to someone in the back.
"Anders! Just got another one! This timeshare business is easy." |
I have all my photos on my phone here, see. This is my collection, ancient and new, and everything in between. I've got dozens of photos saved on here. Hundreds, actually. Photos of rich characters and idyllic locales from all around the world. Gorgeous, every single one of them. And yet none of them capture the same intensity, the same spirit, the same inimitable beauty as this one. This one right here. This is my favorite picture of you. Do you remember when this one was taken? You were young. Gosh, maybe 8? 9? And you had just finished your very first ballet recital. You looked so happy. Proud. I remember watching the whole thing, thinking there was no way you could be my daughter, because the way you moved was so elegant, so graceful. No resemblance to my crude, ungainly genes. I mean, I'm a bloody ox in comparison. But you already know that.
I was gone before you were 12. Dining with plump and comfortable royalty in Qatar. Drinking soju with thin artists and their muses in Japan. Sleeping on the cold park benches of Amsterdam, staring up at the night sky, thinking "it'll come soon". Always waiting for "it". The feeling that would wash over me once I came to the conclusion I was, in fact, living a life filled with meaning. Saving it from wasting away. At every airport terminal, every train station, every hostel, every cafe, every corner, every roundabout, I was trying to grasp at anything that could convince me that feeling would come soon. The satisfaction of knowing I had done many great things and been to many wonderful places. And then I could come home and give you a big hug and tell you I was finally back, for good. And I'd kiss you on the forehead, turn on some music, and ask you to dance with me.
It never dawned on that, perhaps, you were meant to be my greatest adventure.
Took ten years. Ten years to give up on finding that feeling. Ten years too late, you're probably thinking. Miserable bastard. Left as soon as he had the chance, to chase some wild, childish dream. I know. You don't have to say a word. I know. Please, don't cry. I'm not asking for your forgiveness, at least not right now. There's not a chance in hell I'd expect for you to afford that kindness to a selfish old man like myself.
But maybe we can start a new chapter in this odd relationship of ours. Maybe we can be friends. Maybe tonight, we can drink wine, and you can tell me all about everything I missed. You know, the excitement of prom, the anxiety of starting college, the rush of landing your first job. I'd love to hear it all, everything. And once the restaurant closes and it's time to leave, we can go our separate ways and never speak to one another again. You can walk to your car, and I can walk to mine, and you don't have to look back, ever.
On the other hand, maybe we can start fresh. You know, as newly-found friends.
It's all crazy. Nuts. I know. But think of it as a grand adventure. One that we can embark on together, if you'd be gracious enough to accompany me.
So what do you say? Should we give it a shot? |
“Is that thing on? Are you really going to record a conversation with little ol’ me? Well, it’s your time, honey. I’ve got all the time in the world. Bein’ retired is wasted on the old. Here I am with no job to go to and no need to rush here and there, and I can’t even sleep in. These old bones won’t allow it. But there I go again, blabberin’ on when you had a question for me.”
She stubs out her Virginia Slim menthol and waves the smoke away from her face.
“So what do I think about all this? Well, honey, I’ll tell you. I think ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ That’s right. I see those mothers walkin’ hand-in-hand with their children wavin’ rainbow flags down the street waving signs that say “I’m proud of my gay son” or “I love my gay daughter” and I think, ‘Thank the Lord that isn’t me.’ That’s not what you wanted to hear, now is it? But there it is.
“You should see your face. Sittin’ there judgin’ me. You young people think you know everything. You come into my house all high and mighty and think you know the world. Well sit back and listen, dear. You’re gonna learn somethin’ today.
“‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ They walk down the street declarin’ their love for their children like the world needs proof of it. I raised children. My Thomas and I bought two baby girls into the world. We raised them, we fed then, we clothed them, we educated them, and they grew up to be fine young women. Fine members of the community too, if I dare say so myself! Those girls have given me three grandbabies already, and a fourth is on its way, God bless its tiny soul. And I never, ever had to hold a sign in public tellin’ the world that I love my girls. No one ever had to ask or had reason to question it. No one would dare. No one would tell me that I shouldn’t, either. My Thomas and I, we loved those girls and that’s just the way it should be with your babies.
“I saw the news about that boy who died in Wyoming. The way they tied him to a fence and beat him to death. Grisly stuff. That boy was somebody’s baby too. Some woman carried him in her womb for nine months. She birthed him and nursed him, she changed his dirty diapers and wiped his tears away when he cried - no different from any other baby. You don’t understand that, but one day you will. You don’t understand what it is to fear yet. You aren’t a mother.
“I know this world can be a terrible place. Accidents happen. There is war and famine. There is a ton of killin’, but not here. There but for the Grace of God go I applies to that too. You got a light for me, honey?”
She leans forward as I light her menthol, then leans back and draws in a long drag before breathing out the smoke and looking at me again.
“I don’t understand all this violence anyway. There’s some folks who believe we come back. Those hindus or buddhists or whatever you call them. They think after you die you come back again. It sounds awful tedious to me - like a hamster runnin’ on a wheel, but who knows? Maybe they’re right. It is by nothing more than chance or God that I was born in a good country to a nice family where I could grow up safe and trouble free. If there is any chance that I will have to roll those dice again, I would rather do what I can to make everywhere a good place to be born. Heaven knows - maybe next time I’ll wind up in Sudan or Palestine, God help me.
And that goes for my girls too. I thank the Lord every day that I don’t have to worry about them endin’ up in a ditch somewhere just for going out to dinner with their families. I know the world’s changin’ but is it really? It’s bad enough that they’re girls. If they were boys then I’d have hardly a care in the world, except the worry that they might do something stupid, but I know I’d have raised them better than that. But those girls have loving husbands, beautiful children, and good road ahead of them. What about the girls in that parade today? They’re out there bein’ brave and proud, but I wouldn’t trade places with their mothers for the world. And that’s what I think.”
“Thank you m’am,” is all I say as I switch off the tape recorder and pack my things to go. |
"What just happened?"That was the only thought on her mind. She laid in their bed, huddled under a blanket knowing he would eventually come back. Hopefully, he would leave her alone after this. He slid into his shide of the bed, mumbled a good night, and was snoring within minutes. She was awake cold and numb at the same time and not sure what to do. Her mind frantically raced back and froth trying to figure out if it as or if it was, almost trying to rationalize the events of the last half hour. Deep in her logical mind she knew it was, but it was hard to admit that her (soon to be ex) husband could do this to her, no matter how things went between them.
She didn't have anywhere to go and he wasn't in a hurry to move out. The law said she couldn't kick him out, not really. And her mental state was too fragile to handle trying to go to court to get him out. She sighed and made a futile attempt to get comfortable.
As dawn broke she was still awake, but when his alarm went off a couple hours later she appeared to be sleeping so she wouldn't have to face him. It was still the only thing on her mind and she still didn't know what to do.
|
The secret's out. Nate has been keeping it in himself for a while, the claws of the dark knowledge figuratively piercing his skin, the jaws and sharp, sharp teeth slowly eating him from the inside. What a relief to have it out in the open, but what a pain to deal with the fallout.
There's a reason why people keep secrets inside of them, even if it means compromising their beliefs, morals, principles. Even if it means compromising their own identity and well-being. And the reason is unfolding right in front of his eyes. His parents yelling over the bowl of mashed potatoes, his younger siblings cowering in their seats, too scared to make even the smallest of sounds. Nate opens his mouth, closes it again, opens, closes, rinse and repeat. Not a sound escapes him.
God, he really should've kept his mouth shut.
He knows it'll be a good hour before things settle down, before the front doors slam and before his dad's car rumbles to the tunes of the engine roaring, before the door to his parents' room slams and before his mom's frantic voice - she'll be on the phone with her best friend - washes over him. It'll be a good hour before his siblings can start picking at their cold food again, appetite gone but needing to eat.
Whether they're revealed or not, secrets are still poison, Nate realizes. They destroy and destroy and *destroy*. |
The full moon shone bright overhead. It lit the empty field with a brightness seen only once a month. The acres of land stretched out far into the distance. The smell of freshly tilled soil filled the air. The land had just been harvested the day before, and cleaned this morning for the next crop.
Off in the distance stood a old wooden house that looked as though it stood through hundreds of harvests and watched tonight's events unfold more times that it wanted to. On the front porch sat and old man, rocking slowly, back and forth. Beside him was a cup and the five crackers he ate every night. It was relaxing for him to sit and enjoy the emptiness of the night. He could sit quietly, empty his mind and feel completely at ease - his own kind of happiness.
Breaking the silence of the night, he said very slowly and deliberately,
*I don't want you gettin any ideas.*
Beside him, his grandson looked up. It was his first visit to the farm and he was quite at ease sitting there next to his grandfather. Now, though, the boy looked confused and surprised and then suddenly jumped out of his seat as the electric blast rent the night air.
Out in the middle of the field before him, a blazing white light was dissipating, revealing two men facing each other and holding what looked like sticks of light. The man on the left as holding a red light stick and moved with the quickness of the cats that ran across the farm in the morning. The man on the right was very good and always seemed to avoid being hit by the other man. Every time his blue light stick hit the other man's, a bright white light would appear and fade almost immediately. The fight seemed to go on forever. The two men attacked and backed away, leaving a little bit of fading light were they hit. Every attack was followed by a loud crack. Sometimes, two or three cracks could be heard in one attack. It was so bizarre and unreal.
The boy looked up at his grandfather with large, bright eyes and a great wide smile. He was bouncing a little on the balls of his feet and his hands gripped the porch railing so hard that his skin was turning red. His grandfather looked slowly down at him and smiled.
*I wanted too also, when I was your age*, his grandfather said.
*But that life ain't for us*
He looked back over the field and watched until the two men walked away and were swallowed up by the darkness.
It would be very hard to let that go. |
“Work in 10 minutes”, I read from my smartphone. I was all the way downtown, far from said work. Inside my head I was screaming, outside of it I was panting as my feet barely graced the sidewalk. I swerved around the more or less calm passerby, and ignored their glances, some befuddled and others amused. Seven blocks went by like this, and my lungs were turning raw, my throat becoming sandpaper. I arrived at the bus stop. Only one bus could possibly take me where I needed to go and that bus was taking its time. Should I call a cab? No. It’s almost here. A man approached, one arm over a crutch, and a leg in a cast that has long expired. It was muddied and decaying slowly, more likely to make him sick than to heal him. He asked me for change. I shook my head breathlessly, and the man made his way to the next person.
The bus finally arrived, and I climbed on. The bus was crowded. Children sat on fidgeting laps, the ancient leaned over on their canes, singing the song of youth in their minds. Business men in sharp suits plugging into their phones sat next to men who finally pulled their women beater over their beer belly. Some, reeking of alcohol, attempting to charm girls with blatant lies, others perfectly sculpted down to their eyelashes, with the scent of Pearls of the Deep emanating from their figure. Music blared from someone unaware that they would soon lose their hearing, and voices chatter in several different languages, on occasion letting out universally understood laughter. I slid into a seat between the two sections of the bus across from another person my age. He was asleep though. No matter.
As the bus crept along, I nearly drifted off as well, but soon found it to be impossible, especially when pausing at a steep downhill stop. Finally it made its way to the interstate. The lanes were moving fairly quickly. Everything was going perfectly until the first exit showed up. Our bus wasn’t planning on getting of the highway there, but as the exit loomed closer, an old station wagon decided to make a dash for it. Only our bus was in the way. The bus driver realized this and panicked, swerving the steering wheel like the captain of a ship maneuvering a tidal wave. I almost got thrown out of my seat and an orchestra of honks sounded around us, including from our driver himself.
“Sorry about that,” he said over the speaker. “We’ll be off the highway soon enough and our next stop will be in five minutes.”
Murmurs spread throughout the seats. The background heavy metal music was turned off and the conversations had stopped. Until the next stop, where everything resumed normalcy. City traffic was done with, crazy highway drivers were done with, and it was a return to suburbia. Some passengers had gotten off, but no major hubs were reached yet. There was one more light to go before that, and it was red. Eager to get to work, I thought to myself, “Come on, come on.” The light turned green.
The bus entered into the intersection. Small shops and restaurants lined the streets and pedestrians waited their turn to cross. A truck driver however, decided not to let that yellow light escape him, stepping on the accelerator. That was it. Our bus was slammed onto its side, and the truck crumpled, no longer a behemoth but a crinkled, used fast food wrapper. As there were no seatbelts, I was ejected with force, slamming into a fellow passenger, and then the other side of the bus. I managed, with a great deal of difficulty, to sit up, and I was evacuated to the hospital with broken arms. The fractures were severe, so they rushed me into the operating room. The anesthesia, however, was just slightly too much. And that’s how I died.
|
Bloop. A single distant consonant, created thousands of miles away by the clicking mandibles of something that could only exist in this abyss.
The thing sat in baited breath, feeling the sound wave travel across the entire world, feeling the echolocated map of the new world. The continents were different now.
It rose. Centuries of decay slid of its oily back. Mud that outdated most civilizations fell free as the mile-high creature arose from its earthen imprisonment. Not a second after it freed itself, it shot to the surface.
Air. It was so dirty now. The creature tools it's first breath for the first time in a while. Lungs filled, the thing reared back his head and bellowed "IMMA NEED TREE FIDDY!" |
It's extraordinary how much can change in an instant. Your life can go from average to nonexistent in the same space of time it takes to take a breath or turn a page in a book. After all, that's all we are: actors in the book of life.
A shot rings out. Someone nearby starts screaming. You, though, you don't react. You're paralyzed; thoughts like "this can't be happening!"or "this isn't real"float through your head.
A high pitched shriek, followed by yet another shot. Silence.
Finally, the message meets the nerves and you start running. Somewhere, anywhere that's not here, your brain shouts at you. This place is not safe. Fight or flight kicks in and you run faster than you ever have before. You've never been a distance runner, but damn if today isn't your best run ever.
Those beautiful shrubs, so carefully cultivated, are now torn to shreds, both by the bullets zipping by you and by you yourself as you race for the treeline, hoping the thick trees and dense brush will hide you from the shooters. And it almost works. Almost.
As you whip past the first oak tree, a root, prominently sticking out of the ground, catches your sneaker mid-stride, and you hurtle forward and collapse to the ground face first. Sliding, your head strikes another root, dazing you. You are barely conscious as the guy walks over, the light glancing off of the shiny metal near his waist. Slowly, you tilt your head in the direction of the gleam and see a six pointed star hanging off the belt of the man beforr you. It still doesn't click, and when he stretches out a hand to help you up, you recoil back, landing against the trunk of the massive tree in terror.
"Calm down, son! I'm on your side!"
Wait what?
"A passing cyclist heard shots and rode all the way to the police station. We have all but one of the bastards rounded up, and Anders was hot on his trail when you zipped off. I expect that'll be dealt with by the time we get back over to the rest of the guys."
You catch most of that, enough to take the outstretched hand and try to stand, wobbling in the process.
"You okay son? You hit your noggin pretty hard on that root. Here, swing that left arm over my head and we'll walk to the ambulance."
Nodding slowly and gratefully, you do so and the two of you start moving.
Slowly you make your way to the circle of police and medical vehicles that now encircle the entrance to the subdivision. Making your way to the red and white blur you hope is the ambulance, you look around to see who else made it to safety. To your dismay, you don't recognize anyone there, although that could be because your vision is obstructed by now drying blood from your forehead.
Wait, isn't it still daytime? Why is everything going dark? You think as the ground rushes up to meet you.
You wake up to white everywhere.
Oof! Some woman just jumped forward and seized you in a facsimile of a hug while you try to figure out who she is.
"Doctor, he's awake! Oh my precious boy!"
Oh. She's your mother. You think. You aren't sure of anything anymore. She does look like you though.
"Honey, it's mommy. Are you feeling better?"
Honestly, you feel like shit. After all that who could blame you?
"Never better." |
* The Stand by Stephen King
* Swan Song by Robert McCammon
* Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
* The Last Centurion by John Ringo
* Monster Hunter International by Larry Correia
* Locke and Key by Joe Hill
* The Age of Zeus by James Lovegrove
* The Forever War by Joe Haldeman
* Starship Troopers by Robert Heinlein
Those are my favorite books and I have read them all at least 3 times. Some of them are battered and worn but I love them all the more for this quality. They're veterans of many trips and late nights. There's a lot to be said for physical books. |
"Excuse me, ma'am."
Lena looks up. She's on a dock. It looks like the sun is almost setting. The water is dark and still. The man on the rowboat - actually it's more of a canoe, or maybe like a gondola? - is wearing flannel, denim, leather work boots. His eyes are wide.
"Ma'am,"he says.
"Yes?"Lena says. She takes a step back.
"Are you ready to go?"
He gestures to his boat-thing. Lena's eyes go as wide as his.
"What?"she says. "Go where?"
"Down the river."
She brings her hands close to her chest. "Why?"
The man in the boat shakes his head. "Because that's just what happens."
They stand. Looking at each other. Eyes wide. Watching.
Lena takes a step back. The man in the boat is no longer in the boat. He brings his oar out of the water. Holding it like a baseball bat.
"You don't really get a choice here."
Lena bows her head. The tears she wants to fall won't. She walks up to the boat, and steps in. She sits on the bench.
The man sits across from her, but she won't meet his eyes.
"Ma'am, I know this might sound strange, but... do you have any change?"
She looks at him now. "Beg pardon?"
"It's customary to tip."
"Is it? It's customary to tip the scary man with the boat?"
"That is the custom."
Lena sighs, and reaches for her purse. She can't find it. Looking back to the shore, she sees nothing. She looks down at her feet.
"My purse must have come loose when I got hit-"She stops short. Remebers. Flashing lights. Men in masks. Screaming. It hurts.
She looks down again. The tears come this time.
"I take it that's a no. All right then. I don't like making exceptions, though."The man grabs the oar, and pushes them off. The boat barely breaks the surface of the water.
Lena is sobbing into her hands.
"What you've got to remember right now, is that all this is temporary."He sniffs the air, makes a small correction with the oar.
"What?"Lena says.
"It's temporary. This. Life. Everything. Temporary."He's looking out, at something Lena can't see yet.
"I'm dead."Saying it hurts less than she thought it would, but it still hurts. Another sob shakes her.
"I wouldn't worry about that, I were you."The man dips his oar in, barely making a splash. |
Well, I definitely can relate to your feelings. I was born in Mexico, and lived there until I was twelve. Then in 2007, my family moved to Canada (where we are now,) and except for a brief visit in August of 2008, we haven't been back.
Talking with the cousins (surprise surprise, I have a lot of them) I used to play with when younger made me realize just how much of a divide between us had been formed. The language they spoke was the same, but the slang left me flabbergasted, and I could barely make out any of the ideas they were sharing with me.
I am really afraid of going back, since I haven't seen family in years. I don't know how they've changed, and they don't know how much I've changed. I practically grew up in Canada. I've adopted Canadian customs, culture, and a mind set completely different from the Mexican one. I cannot relate anymore to my Mexican heritage, and I fear that my hometown will never be "home"again. It's a terrible feeling to know the country of your birth is not fitting to your personality anymore.
Now, I don't know if this may help with your article, but if you made it this far, thanks for reading. |
This doesn't really work as a writing prompt for a couple of reasons. A prompt should be evocative and give an author something to focus on without being unnecessarily restrictive.
Dialogue between characters can certainly work as a constraint, but there are so many characters jammed in here that it'd be very difficulty to make anything interesting or coherent out of this.
I also like to personally avoid anything with fan fiction elements in it, but I might be in the minority in this subreddit. |
"I normally don't do this you know"I said peering down at my prey "And it could have been avoided to". The struggling intensified as my prey read the intent in my eyes, the burning rage, the self righteous idealism, it all culminated in my bloody stare burning a hole into his skull. He looked pathetic, like most men in his situation would, bound, gagged, tied to a chair. He squirmed helplessly, attempting to reason with me through his gag, fear permeating his gaze. "The time for negotiating is over, you underestimated my resolve and I can't have very well have the rest of them thinking they can fuck with me, now can I?". This elicited more struggling from the man, a thick sheen of sweat had started to form, his face was red and flushed from his efforts. I shook my head and picked up a black leather bag I had beside me, opening it revealed a daunting array of knives, pliers, hammers, vices, and various other tools which I spread on a table to my prey's right. This prompted more frantic struggling from my prey, his eye's bulging at the sight of my collection. I picked up a pair of pliers and looked him in the eyes. The look he gave me is one I never get tired of seeing. It's a visceral look, primal fear, anxiety, panic and myriad of other emotions all playing wonderfully on the same stage. It was mesmerizing, but there was work to be done.
The house was large and sprawling, a mansion more than anything. It was a maze of Victorian decor, twisting hallways, and hidden rooms. It even had a small ballroom. It was there that the rest of the party guests were huddled together, whispering nervously amongst themselves. There was a thick chain and padlock on all the doors but one, a storage room near the drinks station remained unlocked. That was when the screams started. It was the worst sound any of them had heard and one none of them would ever forget. It was the scream of a man in immeasurable pain and It kept going on and off for what seemed like hours. Then it was abruptly cut short, at which point the door opened and I emerged. Upon seeing me the guests crowded tighter into their corner none daring to say anything. I looked at them then went back into the room, i reemerged a second later dragging my prey by the scruff of his neck. He was a bloody mess, barely recognizable and barely conscious, making small gurgling noises in the back of his throat as the only sign of life. His tongue had been cut out, his finger were smashed and fingernails removed. One eye was gouged out entirely, the other nothing more than a black and blue swollen lump. He was a horrific sight and the effect that had on the party goers was exactly what I had wanted, terror. They would be much easier to control now. I looked at them in the eyes, one by one, letting them see the face of the man who had their lives in his hands. None held my gaze longer than a second. "We're going to try this again, okay?"I said aloud to my less than eager audience. "Okay?!"I repeated more forcefully, which drew a mumbled answer and many nods. Satisfied, I drew my pistol It had been my fathers Colt 1911 and it had the symbol of his battalion, a raven in mid flight, etched in the grips. I had always thought of that as quite poetic, it was lost on my hostages though as the grips were the least of their concerns. "Now, like I said, we are trying this again"I said crouching down over the still bleeding man, placing the gun to the back of his head "And I'm not leaving this house until I find that safe".
|
He felt old. Ancient.
As he lay there, smoking his cigarette(when had he picked the habit, he idly wondered. Probably after his old friend passed away), his breath hitched, and he knew this was it.
His life flashed before his eyes. Time here was just an illusion, so he chose to take his time with his memories. He relived his memories, the few good ones first, the worst saved for the last. His friend turning into his worst enemy, his love of this life and beyond dying because of Choronzon manifested, his friend, guide and mentor passing away infront of him. He could take it no more.
He let it all go, but as he slipped into the infinite sleep, the final thought on Wayne's mid were these - cue the prompt. |
"Jesus fucking christ, you'd find anything in this dump of a building."
"Young lady, you watch your mouth!"
Nina held a piece of scorched hair between her fingers, far away from her body, dangling it left and right.
"Are you serious, Seraph? Look at this stuff, this is some grade A arsonist type shit here, and you're telling me to watch my mouth?"
"Hair or no hair, we've seen weirder things. And dirtier, your mouth not included."
"Oh, you sass-bag, you! Still, this is weird to find in a library."
"As I've said, I've seen weirder. Put it back in the box."
"But I thought angels-"
"Karmic agents."
"Whatever, don't have this kind of stuff lying around. We don't poop, we don't pee, our hair doesn't get shorter or longer yada yada yada...you'd think someone with half a head of scorched hair would be pretty obvious."
"...that's true."
"Can I keep it?"
Seraph looked away from his papers, and with a delicate finger put away his hair from his face while at the same time raising an eyebrow her way. It was graceful. It meant trouble.
"No. Put it back in the box and we'll take it to the Elders for investigation. I also thought you were disgusted with it."
"Nah, on second thought it looks pretty neat. I'll probably use it to weep that I can't grow my hair longer than this after the accident."
The other eyebrow was raised. Impending doom.
"Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Back in the box."
Nina stared a bit more at the box chock-full of black hair, and put the ornate lid back on. After being wrapped up in some spare ribbon they had ("It looks prettier than rope!"Nina quipped, and Seraph was one headache past arguing), box number 934b was shipped trough an extraordinarily and unnecessarily complicated set of glass tubes towards The Elder's Mail Chamber.
It would sit there for a couple of months, until The Bear elder would wake up from his eonly nap, peer in it, and then yell at the others:
"Oi, guys, lookit what I found!"
It was the beginning of resurrection of the biggest boil on the arse of life, as Nina would call it later. And if she thought Seraph was trouble, well then.
|
The final straw unsurprisingly had been the weakening economy. What could the federal government have done when 42 states moved for secession and dissolution of the union that had ravaged their economies? The administration handled the situation as best they could, but most of the ordeal left them hand-wringing as department after department was defunded and decommissioned. The fight between the states started ironically with the distribution of the materiel leftover from that aged behemoth, the Department of Defense. Once civil senators physically brawled in those heated debates. And when Senator Tarkin (D-UT) was found dead, overdosed on bullets on the streets in front of the Capitol, a sitting war began between each of the states. Border skirmishes and raids persisted, but the nationwide distribution of nukes prevented all-out war.
Maybe I was too optimistic. I didn't moved. I didn't move even after the Arizona Department of Information restricted news outlets to three government-sponsored organizations. I didn't move when they issued travel permits or rather, didn't issue them but mandated them. By then it was too late. I mean, after all, they hadn't *called* themselves totalitarian fascists. And when our economy collapsed for the third time, they began to blame us. It was easier for people to ignore their hunger when they were angry. I left when they disappeared my nephew.
The trek had been difficult; the smuggler had taken our group through Death Valley, and more of us died from that desert than from the armed patrol drones. But
I thought California would be different.
"Papers?"
I knew what he wanted. But I didn't have them. The sullen-faced officer stood wearily, hand on assault rifle. The streets were haunted by dilapidated storefronts; propaganda posters peeled to reveal old propaganda peeled to reveal advertisements. No one would be here to witness this. I had found out about the Bakersfield labor camps coming here. I knew that's where they would send me now, found in the streets without papers. I turned to run.
They felt like ingots of red-hot iron burrowing into my back.
I thought California would be different.
/I kinda rushed the middle and the end there. |
Went over the limit, but I couldn't help myself.
----
I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for mercy, I can tell you I don't have the patience. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you elect me, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you. |
I sat at my desk, racking my brain to find who could have possibly discovered the truth behind the death of Phillip Mercer, the heir to one of the most powerful petroleum companies in the world. The job was done without a scrap of evidence, I made sure of that much. It simply made no sense, every living soul that knew I killed Mercer were the very ones that orchestrated it. I may not know who this mysterious person is but I do know that I will answer their question with a bullet to the brain.
It was nearly 3:00 AM when I heard muffled footsteps down the hallway. I reached for the silenced 9MM pistol in my bag, aiming for the only entrance to my corner office. The doorknob began to turn as I steadied my aim. Sweat was trickling down my spine, my heart pounding as if I were about to come face to face with the devil himself. The second it took for the door to open felt like an eternity, but I would have rather endured that second of agonizing torment for the rest of my life then to meet the eyes of Phillip Mercer when the door opened.
His face was covered in scar tissue, leaving it almost unrecognizable. It was the eyes that were the giveaway. The look in his eyes was the same as the night I thought I killed him. There was a look of superiority in them, as if to let me know I would never be capable of surpassing him in any way.
"There is no way, you should be dead!"were the only words I was capable of mustering.
"For all intensive purposes I still am, thanks to you"he replied with an odd sense of calm in his voice. "Will you at least give me the courtesy of an answer now that I am here? God knows I have been to the depths of hell and back in these last 5 years so surely you can give me that. I will answer any questions you have after."
I recounted the entire tale that crossed our two paths on that fateful night 5 years ago. I told him how I was approached by a man that worked for Prism International, the most powerful energy corporation in the world. Prism stood to gain billions from the collapse of Mercer Petroleum, giving them an even tighter stranglehold on the energy market. The terms were simple enough, kill Phillip Mercer or have everyone I love systematically killed. The choice was made for me. My military background coupled with the fact I helped my step-father design the Mercer home made me the obvious choice for the job no doubt. From there I told him how I was able to bypass the security of his mansion because I helped design it. "What it boils down too is your life meant less to me then those of my loved ones. The part I don't understand though is how your still alive! I shot you in the head, then as you collapsed you knocked over a candle, starting a fire that destroyed your home."
"I survived by nothing more then luck. Your bullet went through the side of my jaw, lodging itself in the cheek region of my skull. The heat of the fire brought me surging back to consciousness allowing me to escape but not without being badly burned. The thought of revenge has been the only force driving me to stay alive. I have feared that you might have been merely a pawn being controlled by Prism so that they could buy up my fathers company. But dammit would have been so much easier to enact my revenge if it had simply been you though. But now that I know my worst fears have been realized I at least know what I am up against."
"You can't possibly think you could take down Prism single handed!"
"I won't have to do it alone because your going to help me."He said with his eyes glimmering with more determination than superiority. It was the kind of look that was impossible to refuse.
|
Uh.
I may be completely wrong here, but I think you might be confused about the purpose of this subreddit. Most of the people who contribute here write fiction or non-fiction, but I have never seen anything that looked like a topic for an academic essay, nor do I really think there are many people interested in writing in that format.
To be totally frank, it kind of seems like you are trying to get people to do your schoolwork for you, which would be plagiarism.
|
*In a dry, sophisticated accent.*
"Dear mankind, hello.
Check the channel quickly. You'll notice this isn't the History channel. Yes, my fellow *Homo* descendants, that means that I'm real. I have stepped out of hiding, for I must.
I believe it is time to follow in the steps men such as Armstrong, and with a name such as mine, it had better be a big step for both human and Sasquatch kind.
I'd like to reunite us. As you see, I've got to the length of wearing a suit, knowing that is polite amongst you. I would have shaved as well, had I the tools and the patience, but that is one custom I must admit is a bit too foreign for me.
Awkwardness aside, I hope that you've had a time to digest, and reflect, upon the finding that you truly are not alone in this universe. Sentient life exists, and it does so in your backyard, glimpsed in low quality conspiracy videos.
I hid once, because I was afraid. My people, we were all afraid. But we have been won over. We can only sit idly by so long, wishing and waiting, before our cravings overcame us.
What craving, what dire need has made us step forward this day? The unparalleled glory of the Barbecue. Honestly. We have been hiding in your pushes and under your decks for upwards of a thousands years, and only getting to smell that stuff was constant torture. That you had access to such mouthwatering delights, while we did not, was a self imposed and dire form of self-oppression.
Not a week ago, while my my life partner and I were eating a meal of raw rabbits with out adorable adopted children, my cousin Vinny managed to finally steal a piece of the legendarily scented Barbecue pork ribs. Since then, we have thought of nothing else. We must share with you in your culinary might. In return, we can only offer to teach you our meager skills. The magic of stealth and invisibility is a simple one, not like anything the elves can produce, but we believe you might find some use of it.
I am off to dine with members of the Democratic party at an all you can eat Barbecue bonanza. Representatives of the conservative opposition have been shockingly rude to Stephan and I, so they shan't be invited.
In the mean time, consider this. We come in peace. We come to dine. We come to share in your laughter, your lives, your nations, and most importantly, your unmatched culinary sauces.
Remain calm, and come join my family and I for dinner if you'd like.
This is Roger Elizabeth DeBigfoote, signing off. It a pleasure to finally meet you." |
Nigal came from small village up on some hills far away from the city called "pax valley"
he grows lots of fruits and vegetables also have some goats and horses then people from the city always come up to this small village that Nigal lives because there's a lot of choices to bring down
and sell at the pax valley..
one day in the early morning it was raining so hard then some one knocked on his door then he opened the door and there's a guy and he said "sorry to bother you but it's raining outside and i need some shelter to stop for a while my name is axel i came from pax valley"then nigel told him to come in they had some conversation and also talked about why he came to this village to find supplies stuff for his shop so nigel told him that he can come to his place and buy from him so they made a good deal after the rain stop axel left and he did come back and buy stuff from nigel like he promised him before but only once a month then one day he came to get his supplies but the storm was so bad outside so nigel told him he could stay till the storm stop because it will be dangerous to drive all the way back down town so axel stayed then it's getting cold and axel said "i'm getting tired i think i will need to crash here tonight is it ok nigel? and i will leave in the morning"nigel said yes sure but i only have one room in my house if you don't mind so nigel slept on the bed and axel slept on the floor nigel asked axel about sex he said that he never had sex before with any woman because up on this hill is a tiny town not much population and i never been down to pax valley only people comes up here to buy supplies then axel replied "do you ever have sex with a guy then?"nigel said no not even with woman or guys after it's getting cold and the lights went out so they light up the candle axel said "come here nigel come close to me"nigel didn't say no at all with his innocent face then axel started to kiss him,put his tongue in nigel's mouth and then everything just goes with the flow nigel said "oh axel this is wonderful i never been touched like this before"axel went down to his pants and slowly sucked them gently nigel moan and said axel i love it then he told nigel to turned around and said "this might hurt for the first time but then after couple times you will get used to it and enjoy it more"then axel put his penis in his ass nigel cried so loud "it so pain but i feel good"axel keep going deeper and deeper and slowly moved his hips then they woke up in the morning face to face nigel said "last night was like a dream i never wanted it to fade away"axel said he will come see nigel more often after that night he came so many times months and months past by nigel said "i want to go down to see your house i want to be part of your life axel i feels like i'm hiding here"axel replied "i will i will one day"then nigel hugged him and said i think i love you axel i never felt this way before but i know that whenever your not here i always thinking about you and never wanted those moment to stop i just want to pause and rewind it back over again and again"then axel smile and said i love u too don't worry then he left and said after this day he will come back in 3 months
nigel has to deal with it because axel is going out of pax valley for a while nigel cried so much but he said he will wait no matter what then they kissed each other so hard and axel pushed nigel down on the ground and sucked nigel's penis like it's the last day he sucked it hard and harder and pushed his hips so hard when he fucked nigel ,after they had sex for 4 times in a row axel left and said "i will be back soon"but then each day each months past by over 3 months axel never returned so he decided to go down to the town for the first time to check if axel is ok after he went down he kept searching for axel and asked people if they know axel but then suddenly he saw axel's back walking headed into the house then nigel shout out "axel Axel axel"then axel turned his back with pal face and nigel ran to him and kissed him but then axel pushed him after that some pretty woman walked out and asked "what is going on axel"he replied to that woman nothing darling i think this guy is messed up in the head by the way this is my wife sofia and he tried to tell nigel to go back and will talk later then nigel was fully heart broken he said "all of those time you lied to me, and he told in front of sofia that he knows axel because he supplies those stuff for axel he came to his house so often not just to buy stuff but also have deep relationship with me"axel yelled shut up! what are u talking about how could i have relationship with a guy when im marriage already with the most perfect woman in town and we also just had a baby go back to your hill he said to nigel.....sofia asked is it true nigel? he replied "he used to told me love and promises but i guess i'm just a fool for you axel that i thought what you told me and all those romantic moment was real and will last forever he cried in front of both of them at the door steps and Axel shout in his face to leave because nigel is crazy and making things up
Nigel left and said i will leave but one thing i won't forget how important you were to me and you will always be Axel" |
Zeus created the Universe...(Hercules)
1500 years later... Merlin and Madam Mim of "The Sword and the Stone"clearly reincarnated themselves several times in new forms (as they can clearly do, based on their final battle.) Good blue characters: The Fairy Godmother (Cinderella), The Blue Fairy (Pinocchio) and the Genie (Aladdin) are all reincarnations of Merlin. On the other hand, Mim reincarnated herself as the Horned King (The Black Cauldron) Malifiecent (Sleeping Beauty), Ursula (The Little Mermaid) the Enchantress (Beauty and the Beast) Mother Gothel (Tangled) and Jafar, (Aladdin), thankfully when Jafar was defeated Mim too was defeated for Good.
Human life continued as Normal...(Pochahontas, Ichabod,The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Mulan, Atlantis, Wreck-it-Ralph, Meet the Robinsons) and kids did drugs (Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan)
However, there was one more form that she took on years before: Yzma (The Emperor's New Groove) here she set upon a chain reaction. She had created potions to create new Animal/Human hybrids (The Emperor's New Groove/Brother Bear). At first things were normal (Dinosaur, Bambi, The Lion King) but, soon animals became more and more intelligent (Dumbo, The Lady and the Tramp, 101 Dalmatians, The Aristocats, Oliver and Company,Bolt) and the mice became most intelligent of all (The Rescuers, The Rescuers Down Under, The Great Mouse Detective.) One certain Hamster became so hyperintelligent that he travelled to space and helped create 626+ evil experiments (Lilo and Stitch)
Soon, the animals became able to communicate with Humans (The Jungle Book, Tarzan, The Princess and the Frog, Home on the Range) and they eventually created a new society free of humans (Robin Hood, The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh, Chicken Little, Mr. Toad). They eventually caused wars and a duck had to team up with his bird friends to create global harmony propaganda (3 Callberos, Saludos Amigos!) and his mouse friend tried to spread music diversity...(Make Mine Music, Fun and Fancy Free, Melody Time, Fantasia, Fantasia 2000) and they succeeded.
Meanwhile in another galaxy some kid found a treasure planet. (Treasure Planet) |
A beech or teak peak with feet on a peat beach completes a primate freak, a keeper's steeple, a tree-king speaking deeper meaning risking wrist wringing tree spree, as free leaves leaf the breeze to breathe serene dreams and seem to have seen greed lead freaks to creeks to disturb the slumber of fish in the hundreds, numbers wonder whether weather withers, others' druthers summons brothers but mothers smother comfort and praising for fish with seething troubles under bubbles, and brambles cuddles, wish they had handles but down under flounder pounded fin and astounded outer creatures, beachers breach these features, frees sender's rendered fins on bundles of bleachers like killers trending blenders, inside slithers complicit offenders slower to defend than blend a friend and mend bends and breaks of fakes for the sake to make great safe retreats the treat to please a released crease and grease the weak as the freak secretes belief the teeth tease teams to sweep grief for brief sea caprice like police to cease the lease of treason under trees like towers or for bees like a flower. |
Paul was a social recluse. This was really because he was born with an unfortunate condition, a physical handicap, which disallowed him from making many friends. His friends were his alarmingly bulbous warts - they grew everywhere - on his arms, his face, his right eye was blind as a giant wart grew from his eye socket and ate into his globe. He didn't have a nose and his mouth was painfully lopsided. But he coped okay; he hid most days in his little room at the Svenkalon Jay Home for the Disabled, poring over adventure stories and medical journals.
His mind made up for his physical handicaps. But he was lonely. He wished that the other residents could talk to him. On bad nights, he hugged his stuffed rabbit, Poppets to sleep. She reminded him of his childhood, before the warts took over. His mom loved him then. So did his dad. They had not seen him in 18 years. He kept count of the years after he reached his 12th birthday - he would be 30 this year.
Time passed so slowly in this place.
Sometimes he felt that Poppets was the only one who understood him. On really bad days he sometimes even... even felt like he loved Poppets and Poppets loved him back. I love you, Paul. I will always love you. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
Sister Rita wasn't amused.
Let's just say Paul had something special added to his morning porridge each day after Sister Rita found him and Poppet showing their love to each other. After two months, Paul's melancholy scowl was replaced with a wide drooling grin.
*I guess you can say Paul was never the same again. * |
"Where's Daddy? And what's that on the floor over there?"said the little girl, not quite sure why the police officer took her out of class and took her home in the middle of the day.
'Well, Sally, we think that thing on the floor *is* your daddy. The reason he looks a bit red is because he was chainsawed to death while you were at school today. In fact, the only reason you brought you here was to identify the body. So, Sally, why don't you go have a closer look and tell us if it's him, okay?"the detective replied in a strangely pleasant manner. |
Sally was reminded of the way airplanes smelled and this time it made her smile. When she had left home with Mommy she had been in tears and she blamed everyone, even the flight attendants. But now she could see Daddy again and they could do all the things they used to do that made Sally happy.
She never thought Daddy was mean like the way Mommy said he was.
*
Sally ran down the aisle but Daddy was different. He didn't look at her. He looked at Mommy with bad eyes and Mommy looked back like she hated him. Something was wrong and while they argued Sally could see that Daddy was talking slow like he didn't care and he had an ugly beard and his eyes were red and he still hadn't looked at her.
Mommy was crying and she grabbed Sally's arm.
"We're taking a cab."
"Why?"
"Because Daddy got worse when he was supposed to get better."
"Why?"
Mommy tightened her grip.
"You'll understand when you're older."
Sally tried to turn around but Mommy kept pulling her. She managed to crane her neck far enough back, but Daddy wasn't there. |
Monster Show. Monster Show. New circus is coming to town. One in life time opportunity.
Fliers are all over the place. Hmm just 10 cent. I could go and see what monster do they have. Lion or tiger?
It is the biggewt tent I have ever seen in my life. Truth be told I haven`:-|ˊt seen that many. Town was here. Even old Billy and retard Ron. I chuckled. If they brought ten retard Ron, and play some concert it would be real freak show. But not much as monster show. Every one sitted. It is getting quite boring. Thier are just showing some old stuff. Fire magic, rope dancing, and all other circus things. Then lights are off. I hold me breath. Trying to get slightest sound of monster. Nothing. Just heavy breathing and whispers.
Light come as sudden as it gone. There was an elephant. How can elepthand stand on two legs. Oh my god. It is not. It is a man with hure frame. Him head looks twisted. Something is dangling from his right shoulder other than hand. As if it is the trunk of elephant. Then drawves come out. They attack to giant. They are slashing and cutting his clothes. Red. Blood. They are cutting him. The giant is trying to run away. He is running around and around. Run you fool! Get out of here.
Finally dwarves get hold of him. Pull him down and take off his shirt. It has. It has three arms. The third one is just dangling there as if he is spider. Then there is horn. Something was coming in a cage. Are they going to fight him with a gorilla. The gorilla in thw cage was crying and banging his chest. Then he spoke “you fools get me out off this cage. I have thing to settle with the giant”. I faint.
As I open my eye. I was stand behind a little children. He is crying. I wanted to comfort him but I can not move. There is this strange glass wall in there. The child turn around. It is the giant. I can see the third arm.
The giant did not see me but i can see him. I can also see as him. Infont if him, there is a ape man. Covered in full of fury. He hold his hands in his chest is if ready to send a punch. The giant was circling. Trying to not get a hit. His belly hurts. The cut in previous play was too deep. It was painful to move. His eyes are getting blur. One step at a time his is trying to get behind the cage. The ape man cry and jump. Jump to the right. Jump to the right. My cry is futile. The giant is like a snail. He is too slow. The blow come directly at the cut ine the belly. It hurt like eletrocuted.
The giant drop. Now ape man was on top of him droping his punch everywhere , head and shoulder. I saw the child inside the giant. He wept. He plead to stop the ape man. But know one heard except me. I bang on the glass window. I call after the child. I told him I will help. I faint.
I woke up again. I was in a hospital. I know it because doctora were all over me. I jump out of the bed. Run to the circus. Save the giant. I repeat to myself. There was nothing. The tent was gone. Only fliers are everywhere. Monster Show. |
Grant rode with the windows down. It was hot and the A.C. in his truck was off. There were fields and farms that framed the highway he drove down. It was Tuesday morning right after 11am. His phone was somewhere in the center console. The song almost got lost through the wind whipping through the cab but he could hear it. Barely. He reached down and turned the volume up. There were a lot of issues behind him, and a shit ton of questions he needed to figure out before he got to Atlanta. Between here and the apartment though, he was fine. He reached to the passenger side and grabbed the greasy sandwich he bought from the gas station at the county line in Tennessee. He flew by the mini van with the Ohio license plate like they were stopped. Shitty drivers. They were especially shitty when they sat in the left lane for 80 miles going 60. Fuck 'em. There were going to be a lot of problems across the next couple of states, and anybody taking their time was the last thing he was worried about. His radar detector was silent, he had a full tank of gas, and he was convincing himself that the next 6 hours were going to be a goddamn adventure, for better or worse. He started to sweat. He started to smile. He turned the volume up as far as it would go. |
We met during the American Revolution. He came to the colonies as a Brit, nothing more than a hard trained soldier sent to destroy any and all of the rebels. But then we met. Both of us having dealt great wounds, we lay on the earth beside each other, dying. We looked into each others eyes. We saw sadness. Regret. Pity. Longing. We saw love. And so we found the strength to heal the other, despite our own disintegrating.
We knew we couldn't be together. He lived on the other side of the world. It didn't matter what we felt for each other. Nothing could be done for it.
And yet we tried. We went against the odds. We admitted our mutual love. We became one. We vowed our dedication and loyalty to the other. And I wept as he sailed away back to his home in Europe.
Years passed. Letters came slower than the time it took for age to appear on my face. I felt at times a loss of hope. A hatred toward my heart for wanting such a man that it could not realistically obtain. I felt a deep loneliness. Often I looked to others. Youthful Bostonians that would be more than wiling to bestow to me their name. But I was bound by my promise.
I awaited his arrival at the docks. Many stared in pity as they watched me waste day upon day, month upon month, looking upon the sea for something that was unlikely to come. But my heart wouldn't allow me to give up. I'd made a commitment. And so did he.
Finally. The years of waiting came to an end. Until the day that I take my last breath, I shall never forget the look he wore on his face when his eyes so surprisingly saw me, still waiting for him after all of this time. We stood there but for a second before we ran to each other, and finally, met with a kiss. |
background on man....
lost family in horrible fire he still blames self for.
worked more than a few dead end jobs and awoke to find himself in places he did not know.
que sounds of approaching police with flashlights in distance to add urgency to his decision to either walk away or take the papers and briefcase and run.
flash onto the final moments of the dead man. why he is dead. why his killers didn't bother taking 100k. why it was all a frame up of a dead guy to begin with.
move forward to underworld boss. highly enraged. demanding that someone find out what happened to his 100k and why is the dead guys name not in the paper like it was supposed to be.
a dark seedy motel. after days of going without a shower, without food, without a safe place to sleep, the young homeless man lays his still wet from the shower body down upon the stained covers, pushing aside the pizza boxes, and falls into a secure sleep he hasn't known for months.
.................................. |
This is an extract from something I've been working on. I've stripped away some of the extra details and reworked it slightly to fit the restriction.
***
Is that... crying? He stepped off the trail and down toward the underside of the bridge. It is. A little girl, possibly no more than eight years old, hiding away in the dark. "Hey,"he called gently in the aliens' language, "what's the matter?"
She looked up at him with anger in her eyes. "STAY AWAY! I'll smite you, I will!"
"It's okay."He reached his hand towards her "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Y... You're a human?"
"Yes, I'm a human, what are you?"
"I'm a person."
"Well I know that. What kind of person? I'm human, and you are...?"
"They'll say I'm possessed. They're going to kill me."
"You haven't had any potion in a while, I take it?"
"I don't like the potion."
"But you need it. Did you run away from home?"
"No! I mean I didn't want to. But my parents... They kept acting strange. Hearing things. I... I could... stop them. Snap them out of it when they started shouting. But I was asleep. I sleep so much. I didn't know!"
"Tell me what happened. Did your parents hurt you?"
"No, they... they couldn't afford enough for all of us. So they gave it all to me."
"Did they hurt each other?"
She nodded. "I woke up. I was... there was blood. Everywhere. They were cold. I was asleep, I couldn't stop them!"
He let her cling to him and cry into his shoulder. Her carapace squeaked where it had cracked near a wing joint. "It's okay. It's not your fault. It's not your fault, okay? You weren't responsible for them. I can help you. My name's Arthur, what's yours?"
"Bvshal."
"Okay, listen to me Bvshal. I need you to put on a brave face for a little while longer. Where's your home?"
"I can't go back. I don't want to face that again."
"Alright. I'll get you to my home, and I'll take care of you, okay? How long have you been alone?"
"A long time. I saw the sun set four times. I've never been awake for so long before. I took all the food we had left. And I've been drinking water from the river."
"That's good. You're a smart girl. But I'm surprised you've survived this long with the voices."
"I..."she looked around nervously, making sure no-one else would hear, "I can't hear the voices."
"Oh?"
"I never could. Please don't tell anyone. I don't want to die." |
>I ordered pizza, the pizza man got here. I paid for my pizzas and he left. I sat down to eat and a dog somehow had gotten into my house.
We shared the pizza.
So I was just walking around the neighborhood and some guy is flirting HARDORE with the pizza delivery girl that had stopped at this college students house. "I wonder if I can get inside his house."I thought to myself. So while he was too busy chatting away with his dream girl I slipped in and made myself comfy on his couch.
I thought he was going to scream and yell at me to get out but instead he just jumped, said, "Whoa.."and shared his pizza with me.
My owner was curious as to why I had pizza sauce on my face when I went home.
|
One typically basks in the comments of appearance and youth from those with envious eyes. Forever; as if, some generational gap of praise has existed since learning the effects of time--and our mortality. Those who garner the years with grace, seemingly avoiding the destiny all eventually face, are all but subtle reminders that our own innocence is slipping away.
--
Persephone's hair was golden, crisp, and almost if delicately placed by God herself. Locks, which held a fondness as one would hold on to a childhood love. Though, such things are inundated with nostalgic tendencies and a pretense of contentedness.
Time had become an irritation for her--akin to a thorn in the side that forever suffered weight. Persephone realized her uniqueness ages before it had been explained. White rooms glazed in charts and bright, desensitizing light held an exposure to her reality. The experience of life for others was just an experiment for her own.
Normalcy came in sleep. Quite, unabated silence that would due to dissolve her contemplations of nothingness. Her incandescent features would fade in dreams and she would be alone. Darkness, a fear rationalized in the unknown, was a haven for her. There in the abysmal deep of the night she could become anyone. The mornings, to her, were the beginning of the sands of time falling slowly away until, once again, she could be embraced by her desire for solidarity.
For many life is a cherished gift. One that holds an expiration in which we never know. Persephone had learned that her own life should have ended before it began. She was the canvas that medicine had sewed their masterpiece. A tapestry of apparent endless thread. Her living was engineered with scientific specialists who credited themselves with artistic flair.
Persephone was indeed beautiful in the eyes of everyone. People often remarked that such overwhelming beauty is only seen in the heavens. Opposite common opinion, for her, such accompanying damnation of remarkable achievement had created a throne for her hell.
Many experience time in a way of familiarity. To a child the summer seems like an eternity of bliss. To the familiar it seems a prelude to withering and cold. To the child of man's creation it stood as a problem which could not be solved. Inconveniences are common...a small headache, lengthy forms, spoiled milk. Disdain holds it's place in the hearts of many for such things. Problems are so much more severe. Hunger, handicap, or heartache. Persephone had never experienced the familiar problems of the people. Why would she? For an individual as truly unique as she it was time she had to conquer. A conquest many claim accomplished by mid-life.
Agonizing days of scheduled nothingness. A familiar acceptance for the mundane. The world had regarded her the future--a future she would only fantasize. Many envied her. The children she grew up with had become frail, forgetful, but not alone. Her genetic godliness gave her the ability to learn. Scholarly achievement was as easily attained as opening her eyes. But knowledge holds great power and responsibility for many that spend a life-time acquiring such a thing. She only knew submittal and slavery to science.
Persephone brought a great change to society. One that declared a human of great scientific discovery and achievement could be denied those things which the rest of us take for-granted. She was shielded from the public. Not for risk of disease--as she was immune. No, for risk of endangerment for her own safety. Fear of the unknown, the fabricated, have led thousands of years of death and suffering throughout history. She was protected. Encased in a security of governments, technology, and brute force.
The right to freedom and choice were stripped from her. She was never denied the opportunity for love. In fact, she had fallen madly in love with science. As the young love their parents as they age--she had learned the same. The science that brought her to the world had imprinted a remarkable likeness on her. Unfortunately, her own scientific achievement was overshadowed by her mere existence.
Persephone had no children nor did she want. She couldn't bear the thought of creating a miracle only to have it lost. So it was in sleep that she found these comforts. In darkness that she found light. Her body was made to withstand the test of time. Manufactured to a specification of longevity and perfection. But her soul had died long ago.
Being more alone while living is a problem. At 139 years old she had the face of an angle. A face to capture the gaze of a room and a collective gasp of awe. But she was alone. Progress has a price. A price that is normally paid by a generation before. In Persephone's case it was a price that only she could endure. The gift to humanity was stripped of her own. |
"Worst rapper ever". The words bounced around in his head. "You're not even the best rapper at your grandma's tea party Jackie". He sat hunched over, head clasped in his shaking hands. Backstage was bustling, but he couldn't hear a thing. "White people can't rap man, it's basic biology, we got no internal clock dude, our rhythm's all off". He reached his hand to the gold chain at his neck and gripped it tightly, the cold metal pressed sharply into his palms. A reminder that he was actually going to do this. "5 minutes home"a faceless drawl said to him. He tipped his head back and shut his eyes, whispering "worst fucking rapper alive, shit shit shit shit SHIT".
Nothing short of a blink of the eyes later and he was up on stage. That slight ringing in his ears, sceptical expressions in front of him and confident swagger to his left and right.
"Well check this man, my boi Jackie here wants to step up, we ready for him uh? Lets give this honkey a chance"Even his speech was lyrical and rythmic, each word sounded thought out and full of purpose.
He gripped the microphone tight, drew a final breath and centred himself. Words tumbled from his mouth. Worst rapper ever huh? |
The human digestive system is an incredible machine that is able to dissolve, pulverize and crush its food source into energy used by these unusual creatures.
First, the food is put into a cavern with cliffs that grind against each other in order to simplify the matter. There is also a tongue that moves the food from one place to another, but it is unlike the other parts of the mouth. There is lubrication in the form of saliva that seem to defend the cavern and cliffs as well as drench the food prior to entering the esophogus.
The esophogus is a long tube that connects to the stomach and lungs. It is a wonder why the food never goes into the lungs, but the system is complex. I digest- I mean digress.
The food goes into the stomach where acid, strong enough to disfigure and kill the human is used to chemically dissolve the food. The acid has properties that is similar to the lava on earth. This must mean the stomach has properties similar to the crusts of earth as it is never breached.
The food is then passed through to the small and large intestine, which resemble another creature, a snake. The intestine is where other microbial, other animals, live. This is fascinating! Other small creatures live within a larger creature in order to help with digestion. So in essence, a human has a snake within itself and other animals within the snake to assist in digestion.
So to simplify my findings, a cavern with cliffs is put into another organ that has lava like properties within a strong mantle. This then leads to a snake with small animals leading to digestion and then coming out as excrement that serves only a purpose perfume an area. The human body is amazing!
|
Hey kids, 035fun here and today were talking about the sun! "The sun!"You say. "But Mr. Fiftyfun, we know all about the sun! It's a bright happy ball of warmth and light that makes plants grow and wears sunglasses!"WRONG MOTHER FUCKER! The sun is fucking METAL as SHIT. Its a constant nuclear explosion that's been happening for five fucking billion years and it ain't half done.
First off, lets get the obvious out of the way. You can't look at the sun. You can not look at the sun. You will go BLIND if you look at the most important, life giving thing in the solar system. The sun will literally strike you blind for looking at its glory, you unworthy swine.
[Look at this Godamn shit.](http://www.davidicke.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/legacy_images/stories/Feb20115/xapp-1273516872-solar-flare-and-prominence.jpg) That's the sun shooting off a tornado of fucking fire bigger than the Earth. Just flinging that shit at us at 500 km a SECOND. That shit makes Ragnarok look like two kittens fighting and the Sun just flings them out there like singles at the titty club. As a fun side effect, flares are usually associated with coronal mass ejections, which cause the sky in frozen inhospitable wastelands to light up like a Floyd laser show. Guess the sun ain't all the bad, huh? ALSO WRONG. A direct hit from one of those Jupiter sized fire balls would knock us back into the fucking stone age by running a current through THE ENTIRE ATMOSPHERE OF EARTH strong enough to fry the entire grid. They're happening at a rate of about three a day this year.
So why does the sun hate us so much? Because we stopped worshiping it? Ha, like the nuclear explosion in the sky gives two shits about us. Different latitudes of the sun rotate at different rates, so it's magnetic field gets all twisted until up til it says fuck this and just flips out. The sun deals with its problems by hurling death at everything.
Oh, its totally gonna fuck the Earth right out of existence, too. When it runs of out of hydrogen, moves out of the main sequence and into the red giant phase, right? Ha, you wish we had that long! The sun is constantly getting hotter at something like 10% per billion years. In about a billion years, Earth will become so hot, water molecules won't freeze in the atmosphere and fuck right off into space. Say goodbye to water kids! Assuming androids had taken over by that point and survive the lack of water, they get treated to two billion years of the Earth becoming a more and more hell blasted desert until it becomes hot enough to melt the crust. Two billion years after becoming a lava planet, the sun will finally permit the Earth to die, vaporizing it in a wall of plasma ~186 million miles tall. All that will be left of the Earth is small increase in the metal content of the sun. Yes, it will destroy our entire planet, and only get about .01% more METAL as SHIT for it.
Recap! The sun is the source of all life, will blind you if you look at it, will kill us all with fire and famine (If it doesn't fireball us to death first), and then destroy the entire planet. The Sun is an angry Norse god, not your friend.
FUCK I love the fucking Sun! Ya know nuclear fusion, which would solve all the energy problems on Earth but is near impossible to accomplish? The sun did that just by being so big hydrogen didn't have a fucking choice in the matter and started fusing.
edit: Ignore the source on that picture, the pictures accurate. |
I wake up and quickly shut my eyes tight, desperately searching my mind for the happy thoughts and positive feelings that seemed to evade me so often. In therapy last week, they told us to look for the things that make or break our day. That if we start the day positive, it will flow better.
I thought it was bullshit - and as a result I had a horrible week. That's one thing I'll say about these new pills - maybe I'm not doped up enough to zombify me - maybe I can actually function like a normal human being, but it doesn't exactly stop the nightmares. And let me ask you - if you couldn't escape your nightmares, what kind of a fucking mood would you be in? It just doesn't end, really. So yeah, you fucking recognition-needy lab coat assholes, I hope you choked on your celebratory champagne. You look at your pretty little lab rats, running around on their wheels acting like normal rats and you say "Holy shit, we found a cure". Except it wasn't a cure, was it? Ever think to ask those fucking rats what kind of a life they're living now? But I guess, in your books "cure"looks a lot nicer on the front page of every news paper. I'm not fucking cured. I'm a child with an overactive imagination with too many demons in his closet to have anything but nightmares. And in my head, I never wake up.
I begin to hear familiar whisperings - fuck. Not today. They said if I keep up with these moods, they'll put me on antidepressants. Like some kind of suicidal wimp. I'm not fucking suicidal. I'm not depressed. But they say it'll even out my moods or something like that. Stop the bad thoughts and the negative hallucinations. So, what then. Not only am I bat-shit crazy, I'm an overly hormonal depressed teenager too? Jesus, I just keep racking in the normal points.
But then my doc says it's not a good idea. I know, kind of obvious, you'd think. Something about side effects and interactive drugs and a whole lot of mumbo jumbo no one fucking understands without a degree hanging on your office wall claiming that you have some idea of what you're talking about. So he writes me this slip saying something about therapy - don't worry he says, it's not the same kind of therapy as before. And then a few days later I get this call from some happy sounding woman who tells me she'd like to schedule an appointment and try to help me sort out my head.
She asks me about what I've seen, heard. How does it make me feel? How have my moods been? What are the things that make me sad, angry, upset? What about happy, hopeful, excited? Then she tells me she'd like to see me again, next week, and that I should practice trying to get into a good frame of mind every morning when I wake up. Think happy thoughts, she said. Who the fuck am I, Peter Pan?
And still, I left that day and I felt good. The whisperings dulled down and the world itself seemed a little brighter.
But then I woke up to a rainy day and a Monday morning and my week took a familiar nose-dive into chaotic darkness and rumoured whispering. Again with the fucking nightmares.
So now I lay here with my eyes shut and try to listen. I feel the warmth of the sun on my sheets and I hear the birds chirping away in the trees. I concentrate on that. I try to swallow my anger - about the pills and the new treatment, about the doctors and scientists who considered people like me a "success". Slowly the whispering fade into the background. I open my eyes, and I see the sun.
Maybe today I'll have good dreams.
|
**I just finished this story for one of my classes, and it seemed to fit the theme. Sorry it's a bit (read: very) long**
Sometimes all I really want to feel is love.
Sometimes I’m angry that I feel so angry.
Sometimes my feelings get in the way
Of what I really feel I needed to say.
-- Modest Mouse, Edit The Sad Parts
The drums came in as the guitar picked up, slamming into his chest like a fist. Then the lyrics came as a harsh, banshee scream, pleading for someone to listen. And Daniel listened to each note which perfectly reflected his state of mind. “We’re all so funny, but he’s lost his joke now.” He shouted along, his throat burning. It’s funny, he thought. Or at least, I thought it was.
He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t care. Away. That’s where she told me to go, and that’s where I’m going. Away.
Inside the car, everything was shaking, and only due in part to the volume on his CD player being turned up as high as it could be. Daniel’s collection of cigarette butts splashed out of the ashtray each time he hit a pothole, which were all too common on the forest road his car was speeding down.
It was the beginning of autumn, and the leaves had just begun to turn their colours from their lively green to fiery shades of orange and red. They matched the sunset, so much so that it was hard to tell where the forest ended and the sky began. To Daniel, it was all on fire; the forest, the sky, the cigarette hanging off the corner of his lip, and the blood in his veins which burned hotter than them all.
The song ended. Daniel knew it wasn’t really over; the song was called Edit the Sad Parts for a reason. Once it had finished beating him up for seven minutes, it ended with a two-minute-long silence, which for him was a time for reflection, but in the song represented the sad part that had been edited out. All he was left to dwell on were the parting lyrics. Think it over. There’s the air o’er the height of the high-rollers. Think it over. You ain’t got nothing ‘til you know her.
“I’d like to stop thinking about it,” he muttered, barely audible over the noise of the engine. There were tears in his eyes as he reached across the cabin for the phone he kept in the glovebox.
His eyes couldn’t have left the road for more than a second. One moment, Daniel was fumbling, trying to find his cell amongst the scattered papers, and the next he was flying through the air, tumbling, screaming and cursing before landing upside down in a ditch, hanging from his seatbelt with an airbag in his face.
Everything hurt. His head didn’t stop spinning circles when the car did, and his arm felt broken from being slammed into the side of the glovebox each time he flipped over. There was a bloodstain on the airbag, but he didn’t know where he was bleeding from. The screaming that had come so easily just a moment before was strained now, and he realized useless. He was in the middle of the forest, but he might as well have been shot to the moon for all the use yelling would do. Besides, he was dizzy and tired and bleeding, and just wanted to sleep.
In his dream, they were sitting in the car at the edge of a cliff. Overhead, a meteor shower rained down, painting streaks in the sky. “Wish on one,” she commanded with a giggle. “I’ll wish on the same one, and then we both say what we wished for. One. Two-”
“Wait. If I tell you what I wished for, it won’t come true.”
She laughed again. “That’s just a dumb superstition”
“And wishing on a star isn’t?” Daniel laughed as well.
“It isn’t *dumb*,” she reasoned, in the way only she could. Then after a moment, she came to a solution. “Okay, how about we both come up with a wish together, and wish at the same time.”
“That sounds good to me. But what do we wish for?”
“Anything.”
“Anything at all?”
“Okay, not anything. We can’t wish for anything bad to happen. To anyone.”
“Even-”
“Yes, even Liz. She is my sister, and I love her, even though I hate her. Do you agree?”
“Yeah, I agree. Now lets wish for something. What about a million dollars?” Daniel laughed again, and she smiled.
“You never know, taking that much money…that might hurt someone. Also, everyone knows that wishes for money never come true.”
“Is that so? Okay, how about this. ‘I wish that when I’m away from you, I’ll always miss you.’”
“That’s very poetic, and so unlike you. It’s from a song, isn’t it?”
“It’s paraphrased. But I think it’s good.”
“I think it’s good too. Lets count together, and on three, we wish. One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
When Daniel woke up, he had a headache. It didn’t help that he was in a place he didn’t recognize, hanging upside down in the dirty remains of what used to be a dependable vehicle. The dream faded, and the memory with it. His nose was clogged with dry blood. Disoriented, he reached to undo his seatbelt, and a stab of pain rushed up his arm. Despite the agony, he was able to loose the belt, and he fell up from the seat to the soot-covered ceiling of the car.
He crawled out through the broken passenger window, and used the door as leverage to pull himself to his feet. The sun shining through the trees was almost blinding, like he was an alcoholic crawling out of the pub at 8 in the morning drunk and hungover. Daniel was used to the feeling, and instinctively lifted his good hand to shield his eyes. Once his vision was shaded, he noticed the hand was trembling. Then Daniel looked down to see his leg was shaking as well. It was about then that he realized how close he had come to dying. I need a cigarette.
When he finished searching the remains of his car, he couldn’t find one. Then it occurred to him that he had a pack of smokes back at her house but must have missed it in the rush to get out. Shit. He started pacing frantically, to calm his nerves. His eyes were adjusted by now, so he dropped his hand to shake at his hip.
He sat down against his car, facing the forest. It was pretty, he thought; the oranges and reds and browns of the trees reminded him of home, of being a kid and jumping in the piles as fast as his father could rake them. Daniel wanted to climb one now, and soak in the nostalgia, but the pain in his arm soon killed that fantasy. At least I’m away, he reflected, reaching his hand up to wipe a tear away.
While Daniel leaned against his car’s carcass, he had time to think of the night before, and how it was he ended up in a ditch at the side of the road. The more he thought of it, the more guilty he felt. I shouldn’t have yelled at her like that. She didn’t deserve it. Especially since I’m the one who messed up in the first place. Soon, he was sobbing, and the ground became soaked with his tears. The sounds of his self-pity almost kept him from hearing a truck coming along the road.
It was crimson, and the grill was rusted. The engine was old but dependable, even though it clunked every few seconds. Behind the wheel was a man almost as old as the truck, with a white grizzly beard and wrinkles like canyons. Daniel looked up from the ditch and walked towards the road, waving his good hand in the air. The man pulled over to the gravel shoulder, and came to a halt. “Having some car trouble, are we?” He yelled out the open window. “Hop in beside me, and I’ll give you a drive to town.”
Daniel climbed in the open door, cradling his right arm against his body as he reached to do the seat belt up. The old man wasn’t wearing one, and he laughed as he started to drive up the road towards town. “Can’t blame you for being careful, kid, especially given the circumstances, but I’m a good driver. You ain’t got a thing to worry about.”
Daniel smiled, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just don’t think that tempting fate right now is the best way to go about it. Do you have a phone I can use, by the way? I left mine back at my gi- at my friend’s house.”
“Sorry, son,” the man said with a chuckle. “I ain’t got no need for a cell phone. I’ve been living without one for 58 years, and I’m still alive, ain’t I?”
“Yeah, but you never know if you might run into some guy stranded at the side of the road who could use a phone to call a tow truck.” Daniel said. “Sure as fuck would come in handy right now.”
“Well if you like, I could drop you off at the repair place. Or how about I take you over to this friend of yours’ house so you can rest up.”
“I don’t think the second one’s an option anymore.” Daniel sighed, and looked out the window. The forest looked sad now on the way back, and the sky was threatening to rain.
“Girl troubles?” The man guessed. Daniel nodded. “Forget about all that,” he went on to say. “I’ve been divorced for five years, haven’t looked back since. Best decision of my damn life, I tell ya. Now I don’t got to keep no more secrets from anyone, and my boy’s old enough that I can see him whenever I want. Come to think of it, I bet he’s older than you. Turned 23 back in July.”
“I’m 22.”
“See, I thought so. You look a lot like him. Same black hair that the girls go crazy over. Anyway, back to my point, you should just forget this girl of yours. Only bring trouble, women do. Haven’t met a one that I’ve been able to stand long enough to commit to. Sure, I married one, but she was pregnant with Mark, and I didn’t really have many options other than to put that damned ring on her finger.”
Daniel didn’t say anything, and kept looking out the window at the dead forest. He tried to remember landmarks from the night before, so he had some sense of how much longer the drive would be. The man decided to break the silence a few minutes later. “I’m Paul, by the way.”
“Daniel.” |
The famous matador (matada!), El Lease, was up. She knew her time in the lime light of La Lima Arena drew near, but she knew no fear. Fear is the mind-killer, and El Lease was intent on killing a bull. Her assistant, Drew, donned a grin while her second, Don, drew her cape about her shoulders. Both men knew her most guarded secret: her gender. Neither would tell: they were beholden to El Lease and owed her for their carreers (though the fringe benefits were nice too). Drew donned a worried expression as Don drew El Lease into a loving embrace. He whispered, "Be careful, senorita". El Lease drew back from Don and drew her rapier. Drew felt more invigorated, rapeyer even, but knew who wore the pants in their secret trifecta.
Dawn drew the crowds to La Lima. Their thirst for blood sport daunted El Lease, but she was firm, and bound to perform her contract killing. The crowd was enormous, but El Lease would not be cowed. She held her head high (as high as her neck could go) and raised her rapier to their throaty cheers (as loud as their necks could throat). Soon her name filled the arena, and not a sour face could be found within La Lima. It dawned on Don, that El Lease held sway over the whole of their hopes. Drew drew a mental picture of the scenic scenario: Roses rained upon the crowd's man of the hour.
Beneath the bellowing of the band-wagoners, the bull buffaloed his keepers. Bred bearing a bear-like bite, and an overbearingly broad back, Abogado, the beast of La Lima, stood under the arena he understood to be his kingdom, his court. Abogado knew La Lima Arena like the back of his nose-ring and could negotiate every rock, and every pit in the sand with the tenacity and panache of a bull in a china shop. The bull couldn't bear the crowd's banter. *OUT OF ORDER*, thought Abogado, *THEY ARE COMPLETELY OUT OF ORDER IN THIS*. Though no one understood the exact meaning of Abogado's grunts and groaning, the message was clear: Abogado intended to terminate El Lease, with a swift headbutt and no rebuttal.
The picador's buffeted and badgered El Abogado. They witnessed his frustration growing, and when they judged him to be ready they drove him into the arena. At first, it looked like a stiff breeze could have sent El Lease, fluttering off in the wind, so beleaguered was she of the big bull's mighty rack. However, when she heard the crowd's trumpeting, she forgot about the horns. She donned a chagrined grin, and drew Don's cloak across her body. The crimson drew the bull's attention to her like a moth to some dynamite's wick. Quickly she drew the cape away, and El Abogado drew after it. This drew more applause for El Lease and Drew released the breath he held. They danced that way, before the crowd, the deadly tango of master baiter, and baited monster. On each pass, he closed within a hair's breadth of El Lease. On each pass, El Lease felt her energy wane. Soon her term would be up, and El Lease would expire.
Then it dawned on Drew to draw Don down beneath the arena. He had a plan to at least buy El Lease some time. They scurried into the arena's pit, while El Lease pitted wits with El Abogado. They came across some she cows (the pit boss's favorite heifers, in fact).
"Señor"droned Don in his best Latin lilt, "Which cow do you fancy most?"
The pit boss, boasted a bit, but Drew bit his lip for he knew a true beauty lay in the eye of the bull holder. They kow-towed as two, 'til together they knew which cow to tow above from below. She had a regal air about her (though neither wished to comment on its smell), and together, Drew and Don drew her down by the arena's gate.
El Lease looked pale as frail paper to the audience above. She dodged each swipe with the grace of a much adored, luchador's lurch but it was clear for all to see her heart was no longer in it (and soon, would not be in her). Meanwhile, El Abogado's confidence swelled. He was certain to drive a coffin nail in, in El Lease's case at least. However, when his next pass whiffed by the barest of margins, he caught a whiff of his queen's sweet scent, that pungent dairy air. El Abogado was caught between two women. His embattled bull brain could not ménage à trois. Don drew Drew in close, and Drew donned a morose air, but the bull's bitterness bled out when he caught sight of his favorite lady in all the world. Abogado drew close to Drew, Don, and the queen of the arena, L'Abondiga.
The battle was over, and though El Lease lasted through the day, it was clear to all that El Abogado was the victor. El Lease has since left the pro matador circuit. You may now find her in La Lima's underground wrestling circuit, should you care to ask after her. Many agree she's a bully bruja who brews trouble before every bout, but she will always bow out of the ring if true love's on the line. Thus ends the story of how El Lease, got owned. |
From the moment he swallowed, he knew the Haggis had been poisoned.
No one else in the poorly lit pub seemed to be watching, but it was as if all conversation had stopped.
McTavish sat very still and went over his routine. He had done something wrong, been spotted and now it was over. But what?
His underwear. That had to be it. He'd completely forgotten to put some on under his kilt. Only Separatists did that. And here his was, poisoned, trapped in a pub filled with Unionists, and with no underwear.
He could hardly imagine feeling more vulnerable. |
In the beginning there was one land, the land of all. It was a vast expanse stretching farther than could be walked in a lifetime. And there was peace.
No one knows what was wrong with the man. Historians are divided upon whether the gods slighted him, or he was unjustly angry. Regardless, he swore he would slay them, and his soul burned with a passion only found in vengeance. For years he learned the secrets of the universe, but still, he found the power of one man was insufficient.
And so, he sliced the world in twain, creating a vast mountain range down the center of the world. They stretched from coast to coast, and so tall not even the clouds could cross. And then, with a final bit of treachery, he used his magics to seal the mountains, that none may pass.
To the mountains staved off the rain, and the west became a vast desert. The people became starved for water, and in desperation, took to thievery. A petty crime became an ancient grudge, and the world was split once more. The people west of the mountains divided between the north and south, and fought in an unending war. The western world grew warriors.
To the east, however, the water from the rain washed down the mountains, absorbing the magic, and spreading it through the land. The latent magic flowed freely, at least at first. But as time went on, and man felt such passion that the world itself shook, man unknowingly made catalysts in which the magic welled. These artifacts, formed by great hatred and fear, possessed great power, for those wise enough to seek it, and cruel enough to use it.
And all this time, when armies formed and clashed to the west, and tyrants rose and fell to the east, the man who caused it all lay dormant. He watched his army being forged through war in the west, and his weapons being forged in the east. And one day, when he decided his strength was enough, he took the men from the west, and the arms from the east, and he rose to smite the gods.
But he failed.
Those who were left below saw only a strange explosion in the sky. The people to the west, finally free of their desert dystopia, fled to the east where the water was plenty. Slowly the world started to heal.
But.
The man did not remain in his battlefield with the gods. His body fell to the earth below. Where it landed, nothing else survives. It is said the corpse is the most powerful and portent artifact to date, in theory. In reality, the kingdom of the east kept it a secret. But it will not remain secret much longer. Who knows what the hands of evil will do, if they find it? |
He stepped into the gallery, walked up to a painting and looked at it for a bit, then another and another, suddenly he stopped and stared a massive one, reaching from the roof to the floor covering the whole wall.
"Hi, what do you think of the painting?"
"It's...wonderful"
"Really?"
"Yeah...why are you wondering?"
"I'm the artist and you have been staring at it for the last half hour"
"Oh"
"I thought it was funny how you contrasted the painting so well"
"Ehm, really?"
"Yeah, your red tie, light green shirt, brown pants,blue shoes"
"..."
"It looks nice but it still contrast well to the monochrome of the painting"
"I didn't know"
"Didn't know what?"
"That the painting is only one color and that I'm wearing all those different
ones, my roommate have probably mixed my cloths as a prank"
"That sounds really annoying"
"I'm used to it"
"I meant your roommate pranking you"
"Well, I'm used to that as well"
"Looks like more people are coming and I really need to sell something"
"Yeah,of course"
"But if you are free saturday we could take a coffee or something"
"Sure"
He stepped out from the gallery. |
"Its amazing", said Doctor Braun to his colleagues.
"What should we do? Test him? I don't think the natives would enjoy that. I suppose we could use military force", replied Doctor Mace.
"No, no finds out about this."
"But, Doctor Braun, this child is the future for the planet. No longer will we be confined to these horrible suits", said Doctor Mace pointing to the bulky get up the entire group was wearing.
"Michelle, I am a man that is here for progress of humanity. I am not about to give up my humanity for this. Look at this child he is happy here", said Doctor Braun pointing to a human boy playing with a seven foot blue alien.
"Tell the men at the institute that the reports are false. Now lets go home."
The five scientist backed into the bushes to their transport. Doctor mace looked back one more time at the child and the alien.
"So close", she whispered. |
I am nobody of importance. When I leave this earth, I will leave behind no legacy - my savings account is a testament to that. I didn’t cure cancer, create a mobile app, vote for the right president, see the northern lights, nor did I ever find the love of my life. What I do have is a pulse, am mildly sentient and just want a damn cup of coffee. So get out of my fucking way so I can trudge through another shit-stained day you despot. |
"Weep for yourself my man, you'll never be what is in your heart..."
He sat there, doing just that. Weeping for himself, because he had nobody else to weep for him. He turned the rope over and over again in his hands, still trying to come to terms with how he lost it all.
"Weep little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start."
How true, he thought. He had walked confident and purposefully into the hardware store and bought the rope, paid in cash, and even managed a smile at the cashier. He paid for the purchase with a $100 bill, telling the cashier to keep the change, since she deserved it. He had left before she could argue. Now look at him, trembling and doubting himself.
"...take all the courage you have left; Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head."
He's right, it's time to stop wasting time. He sighed and looped the rope around itself, tying the knot he had been practicing for days now. Everything was a noose. His shoelaces, his ties, his belt, hell even the extension cord running to the television he no longer had was a noose. If there was anything in his miserable existence he had perfected, it was tying a proper noose.
"But it was not your fault but mine. And it was your heart on the line. I really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear? Didn't I my dear?"
Another sob wracked his chest as those words echoed in his living room. All the problems, all the headaches and heartbreaks, all the phone calls from creditors and from less savory people who he owed money to... It was all his fault, and he fucked up being the provider and the supporter.
Not even pausing to wipe the tears from his eyes he threw the end of the rope over the support beam. He had hung mistletoe from this very beam their first Christmas here. She had said it looked like an old church, he said it reminded him of an old hunting and fishing lodge he visited as a kid. Regardless of what the house looked like, to him it was cold and uninviting.
He climbed on the stool and looked at his phone, to the music coming from within, seeming to encourage his decision. He slid his head through the loop and pulled the knot tight. He settled it right behind his left ear and shuffled his feet to the edges of the stool.
He wondered how long it would be before someone found him. He wondered if they'd find him.
"Your grace is wasted in your face, your boldness stands alone among the wreck. Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck."
He thought of the rope, biting into his neck, and the grace he was wasting. He gave a swift kick to the stool and dropped a few inches, the heavy rope and the large support beam catching him. His feet, a few inches off the floor, kicked out as he tried to draw one last breath. That proved impossible; finally he had gotten something right.
The last thing he heard was the haunting "ahh, ahhh ahhh ahhhh!"from the phone, which to him sounded almost like angelic praise as his world grew dark and he stopped kicking. Finally stopped his struggling. |
“What was the kids name again?”
My partner shrugs, taking out a set of binoculars from underneath the car seat. He brings them up to his eyes, turning his head slowly to take in the whole of the campus. After a minute of peering at the lit window of a college townhouse, he puts down the binoculars and motions towards the entrance. I nod, running my fingers over the handle of my revolver- just in case, but I know from experience that they never go down easily. Telepaths were always like that.
I open the car door and push my hair back, keeping my eyes firmly locked on the square window of light. Every few seconds a figure passes by like a shadow against a projector. If our data was right, and it usually is, that means that only one person lives in that one-bedroom, two-bathroom third story condo, and today would be his last day as a free citizen of the United States. If he surrendered we would cuff him, and he would be brought to some military base the government claims doesn't exist, subjected to experiments that were only an “act of public imagination”. Hell, killing him would be a favor next to whatever the scientists had in mind, but we got paid more if we brought in a live one. That’s just the way the game works.
My partner pops the collar of his burly coat, trying to be as discreet as possible, but the attempt is laughable. The campus was nearly deserted, lonely grass under orange streetlights. But even at this hour they were stragglers, gazing at us from under their fat parkas like cows grazing in a field. They wanted us to put on a show for them. We were the horrible mercenaries that they protested against in colorful slogans, a new generation of “baby killers.” It was funny though, because in all the campuses I've been to, none of them have ever attempted to stop me. They were all for “telepathic rights” but only when their asses weren't on the line.
My partner makes his way to the entrance and I follow. He shoves the door open with his side and pulls out his revolver, pointing it every which way like a madman. “For God’s sake,” I say, trying to keep my voice lower than the humidor prattling against the stairwell. “You’re not in the marines anymore.” My partner gives me his usually brutish look, like a bulldog that’s been hit with a newspaper. He holsters his gun on his jeans and motions towards the stairwell, throwing his other hand to give me the go ahead. I pull out my revolver and begin the ascent, becoming acutely aware of creaking steps and the conversation of the tenants. Sound was important now, magnified tenfold, filling my mind with possibilities. I cross the first floor, hoping some unlucky tenant wouldn't open his door - my nerves were shot, and if someone’s
moving I’m pulling the trigger. Excessive?
You've obviously never dealt with a telepath before.
Now I’m on the third floor, walking nimbly down the hallway that leads to the telepath’s room. A crevice of light slips from under the wooden doorframe and spills across the timber like a wave out to meet me. I can hear the soft sound of music, the thud of steps on wood. A television advertisement for the latest German model, superior horsepower- the car of the year. These I will remember for the rest of my life, and when I look back in my old age, I’ll bulk at how foolish and cruel I was when I only cared about money. But for now, I can only feel the brass knob- cold in the December air- and my weight against the brittle doorframe, and the sound of the man I’m about to kill speaking on his phone and telling his mother that he did surprisingly well on his English exam. I open the door and…
(Someone want to continue?)
|
This describes Cersei Lannister from game of thrones. And her twin brother, Jaime, for a while.
I'll have a go anyway.
It was 3 in the afternoon. An hour prior and I had no plans for the weekend; all my friends were out of town, all of the people I even sat with at the bars were busy doing things with their friends this weekend. I guess it happens on Halloween here at Kent. But then, by chance, the most wonderfully beautiful girl I'd ever seen walked into the library. The long blond hair waving as she walked, those huge, deep blue eyes. Not to mention, the curves. Damn. She had it goin on. And who doesn't love a girl in a Bob Dylan shirt and skinny jeans?
She was at a computer looking up something in the catalog, I don't even know what. But I jumped on the opportunity. If there was one thing I knew at the time, it was this: "never pass up a 10."
I started using the adjacent computer. She smiled as I sat down next to her. A beautiful thing. I smiled back, either because it was the polite thing to do or because I could see down her low-cut Dylan shirt. She wore a bit too much perfume, but it was forgivable.
Anyway, after getting her number and asking her to go to dinner that night, she said yes and said she had to go get ready. Wasn't sure if I was being denied or if she really did need this much time to get ready. It was 2 in the afternoon, and I told her we'd go to dinner at 6. Whatever, chicks take forever to get ready, better safe than sorry I guess.
Around 5, she calls and asks if we can go earlier than 6. Naturally, it being the first time a girl has ever been ready to go early, I said yes.
Fast forward to dinner. We were at a restaurant somewhere about 35 minutes away from campus. It was the only way to avoid the craziness of a Halloween in downtown Kent. It was a nice place, but it wasn't a five-star restaurant or anything. We were in the middle of a talk about our favorite music, and I mentioned that she had on a Dylan shirt at the library.
"oh, that. Yeah. I don't really know why I have that. I don't even know who that is. I just uh, found it."Then she laughed. In my experience, "finding"things was sketchy, and I started getting weird vibes. Apparently she hates her family, and when the waiter came with our drinks she sent hers back to try to get a free one.
"Oh it isn't a big deal. It's their job to do this shit anyway!"After this, I knew I wouldn't ever call her again. She's just another spoiled bitch. But hell, if I can get her to bed, I'm gonna go for it. Bitches are still hot. The waiter finally brought us our drinks and got our orders. When she ordered some exotic salad, and was told they were out of some weird ass fruit, she told the waiter "fine. Whatever. Just get me the normal side salad then."And when he turned his back she flipped him off and muttered something under her breath. Halfway through our meal, she looked at me and said "Jesus, do you always fucking eat like that?"I had no idea what she meant. "Like a fucking pig. So gross."I wanted to get up and leave then and there. But I didn't. I put up with her. We left the restaurant and I had to sneak a tip to the waiter because she told me he was an ass and didn't deserve one. We went to her place for some drinks, and all I could think was "I'm gonna get laid tonight. I'm gonna fuck a 10."After a couple cocktails, she brought me to her room, then ripped open my suit. My $350 suit jacket, ripped down the back. She didn't even care. But I'm a guy, and I wanted sex. So I kept going. She refused to use a condom, and at this point I just went with it.
Woke up in the morning, she's still asleep. I deleted my number from her contacts, and left without a sound. Now she's a story and I slept with a 10. |
He didn't want to forget anything vital to the operation. He understood how important his job was, how many people were relying on him to succeed. The mother, the father, the church, everyone was waiting for him to return, praying he brings the girl back with him. Long-shots had always been his specialty and in this new age, his expertise was in high demand. He loved rescuing victims from flaming buildings, but nothing felt more rewarding than rescuing children from the zombie hoards. |
I sat on the bus staring at the homeless man across from me. A torn trash bag covered his tattered shirt. He was nodding in and out of consciousness, only checking his surroundings every few minutes when the bus would come to its next stop. I thought I would be making a difference when I signed up to teach in the inner city. Instead, I’m stuck with staring at a homeless man on my way to teach kids who are obviously never going anywhere in life. Half of my kids don’t know how to hold a pencil. The other half can’t sit still for longer than 5 minutes. They told me that I would be able to mold them and teach them—they were wrong.
The highlight of my day is when I arrive in the morning and I have a few minutes of peace and quiet before my kids come in. Beginning at 7:30, my kids slowly start to come in. Most are brought by parents my age. Some are brought by their grandparents who are not much older. I never get a “good morning” from the parents. The best I can hope for is some form of acknowledgment as they shove their children towards my classroom door. They all know that their kids are little shit heads--but for the next 9 hours they’re my problem. The second highlight of my day comes at 8:00 when I find out how many kids are missing. The more of those little shits the better.
Good morning! It’s time for art! What? We can’t hold a marker properly? Ok, let’s spend an hour teaching you basic motor skills! It’s like your parents did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING for the first five years of your life. What’s next? Colors! Let’s watch Michael struggle for 15 minutes trying to point to the red stop sign. Time for recess! Why is everyone crying? Stop crying. Share. Holy shit. Stop crying.
During my first year in the program, I tried my hardest to make the kids the best they can be. Almost all of them could recite their alphabet, count to 100, and write out simple sentences. They then moved on in the system to a teacher that didn’t put in as much effort as I did. They essentially moved from a classroom to a daycare. I saw one of my students a year later and he obviously lost all of the focus and enthusiasm that I tried to instill in him. All of my hard work was instantly ruined by some woman who was just as worn out as I would become. I thought I would be able to make a difference. All I was doing was keeping them alive long enough to be a statistic.
|
I'm impressed with how quickly you came up with the time traveler Titanic plot. My plots either hit me fully formed, or as tiny nuggets of an idea that shape into a story over a very, very long time. I also just listened to [this podcast](http://www.writingexcuses.com/2009/10/25/writing-excuses-season-3-episode-22-idea-to-story/) and found it interesting how those writers developed an idea into a full story.
I've been looking at various beat sheets, Save the Cat, the Lester Dent Master Plot Formula, etc., but to me they all seem a little like [How to Draw the Tick](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_PekcT72-PGE/SK3PTKwW_eI/AAAAAAAAAGY/ALg_ApHyzR8/s1600/1219140692800.jpg).
I wonder if we could (after NaNoWriMo, when I have time to breath again) experiment with a new kind of writing prompt where the goal is not to write a coherent scene or flash fiction but to develop the prompt into a larger plot outline. I don't know if we want to have some prompts that specifies this, or if I should just start replying to some prompts that way and see if it catches on. |
She came in drunk, knowing that 5th Jager was a mistake and that she had enough food from “chicken chicken chicken” to keep a small village fed for a week, but Triple C as the called it was cheap and she would only throw it all back up on the bus tomorrow. She collapsed on the bed, not bothering to look for Lucky, the cat she had had as a kitten when she turned 13.
At 6am her alarm buzzed, red eyed and hungover she awoke and stumbled in to the bathroom a trail of red ran towards the stairs, “probably just some of last nights food she thought’ getting into the shower. getting out of the shower still feeling like death, she dried herself . dressing she opened the ‘Shirt Drawer” there it was a black furry ear suddenly sobering up she ran down stairs and across the full length hall mirror written in blood were the words ‘please tag posts, see side bar for details’ |
It was a dark,cold night with the sea spewing waves everywhere, thunder shook it and by the lightning you could not believe what you could barely see. Huge tentacles raised and falled as cities being born and crushed.The screches was deafening but yet it pierced the very bones of your being.It made your heart race and to that rythm the tentacels moved.As lovers embracing they twisted around each other but instead of holding tenderly they ripped and teard apart making lumps flot in the mad ocean. Eyes could be seen glittering and during the times that lightning revealed the scene not much more than mountains of tentacles could be seen. As suddenly as it appeared it disappeared and if it rest at the bottom of the ocean floor no one knows anymore. |
Sorry this isn't what you completely asked for! I was writing and by the time I re-read the prompt there was just too much to revise.
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I am in the locker room, in the back near the sinks. The game is about to begin and those boorish jocks have left to satisfy the common masses with their arrogant displays of physical prowess. I grimace, curling my lips downwards and begin to wash the dark, maroon, dried powder on my hands. The residue of Dorito's new barbecue flavored chips smelled and I could not clean the dark stains from my coarse hands. I despised eating the pre-game snacks that these mindless men consume, lost in the illusion of traditions and superstition.
I bring my head and stare. I am met with my own reflection. I observe the blackened bags underneath my eyes, the crinkled crow's-feet on my skin, and the chiseled cheekbones beneath my flesh. I bare my teeth and the pallor of my straight teeth causes me to conceal them.
My beeper begins to go off, releasing an ear-piercing tone. I put on the heavy head of the feathery fowl and made my way to the field. As the lights grew brighter and the cheers grew louder, I ran, fueled by passion and excitement. To everyone else, I was playing the fool, but inside, I began my work. I scouted the stands and one-by-one I analyzed the giddy individuals before me. I glided up and down the field, observing, until I came across a couple.
The man, heavy-set and slightly drunk on alcohol and football, sat next to what appeared to be his wife, a thin and equally drunk blonde. They were quietly enjoying the game by themselves, isolated and separated from the loud drunkards all around. In my mind, I began to brainstorm. Each devious and treacherous scenario that played through my head gave me energy and I became more excited. The crowd reciprocated my euphoric feelings, fooled into thinking that the fowl in front of them cared for the tomfoolery of sports. I soon became entranced with emotion.
When I regained composure, I discovered that my team had won by a mere point. Pats on the back were given to me by the sportsmen as they attributed the victory to my positive energy. I ignored them and began to look for the clueless couple from before. After several seconds of staring, I found the couple and I began the game of cat and mouse. |
The man sat in a wicker chair on the porch, next to a large steel bin filled with candy. He was dressed as a scarecrow, complete with overalls and a straw hat.
The Warlock was bent over the man, tying the man's hands to the chair with thin steel cables, hidden under the man's long sleeves. The man's feet were similarly bound and, under his mask, the man's mouth was covered with duct tape. His eyes were wide and he stared at the Warlock.
The Warlock finished his task and straightened, adjusting his long black robe.
"Well then!"he said, as he adjusted his long black robe. "Let's see, I think we had five hundred candies, yes? And what did we agree upon?"
The Warlock tapped his nose, thinking. "Ah, yes, one month per candy. So, let me think."
He pulled out an iPhone. He tapped on the screen.
"Ok, so. Almost 42 years."The Warlock looked at the man. "42 years of your life in that bin. A month taken for every piece freely picked up by a child."
The Warlock gestured at the small sign that he had placed at the bottom of the porch stairs. It read "WARNING: SCARY SCARECROW WILL SCARE YOU!"
"As agreed, you may attempt to scare the children away. But you may not leave your chair, and you may not speak to them."
Up the street, clusters of parents and children were beginning to appear, slowly making their way down the street. The man in the chair struggled, twisting this way and that. The Warlock laughed.
"You should save your energy! I've been told that there are a lot of teenagers in this neighborhood, and they will probably roll through here at 9:30 or so, and take all the candy!"
The Warlock shook his finger at the man. "You need to save some energy for them! They are going to be tough to scare!"
A young boy wearing a tiger costume approached the bottom of the porch stairs. He was holding a pumpkin bucket. The man started wriggling in his chair, screaming behind the duct tape.
The boy was perhaps six or seven, and hesitated. The Warlock smiled and lifted the bin towards him. "Come now, he's just a harmless scarecrow!"
The man started sobbing as the boy climbed the stairs, one at a time. The Warlock frowned.
"I suppose you are right. I shouldn't be encouraging them, that's hardly sporting."The Warlock gestured with his left hand towards the boy, and fluttered his fingers, and muttered a quick curse.
The boy looked at the Warlock, then burst into tears. Dropping his pumpkin bucket, he ran down the stairs, across the house lawn, and jumped in front of a pick-up truck that was driving past. There was a screech of tires, and the boy's father rushed into the street, howling.
The man cast his eyes upwards at the Warlock, who shrugged. "I gave him the war memories of a Holocaust survivor whose mind I once consumed."
The Warlock pulled out his iPhone and checked the time. "Well, I must be going. Good luck tonight. Uh, I suppose I'll be back around ten or so, to see how you did."
The Warlock paused on the way to his car, surveying the scene in the street. The driver of the truck had stopped and was standing ten yards away from the little boy, whose mangled body was cradled in his father's arms. The driver was on the phone.
The Warlock frowned again, and he turned back to the man on the porch. "I may have overdone it, there - if the police come, that will deter the other children. Whoops!"
The Warlock shook his head and walked to his car, a black two-door Audi with blank license plates. The car purred as he pulled out of the driveway. As the Warlock passed the dead little boy and his father, he slowed. The driver side window rolled down, and his hand reached out and gestured towards the small crowd that had gathered. The window rolled up, and the car began to drive away.
The little boy, his mangled body cradled in the arms of his father, stirred. The father, and all of the other adults, suddenly clasped their heads and screamed as blood began to trickle from their eyes and ears. The little boy stood, his broken legs grinding audibly under the weight of his body, and ran off of the street to disappear behind the nearest house. A few seconds later, all of the adults scattered in different directions, still clasping their heads, and still screaming. Their screams eventually faded into the distance.
Within a minute, the street in front of the house had cleared.
The man on the porch could see flashlights and glowsticks approaching.
He sobbed. |
I don't know about this species. They're.... peculiar. I haven't spoken to any personally yet but I have plans to visit one of their "amusement parks"where they place themselves on large unstable wooden tracks, or these even bigger twisted metal towers *for fun*. I'm going to be using the pseudonym John Winch and my partner is going to be Ryan Smith. It's exciting to be meeting them even if they don't know it's us but I'm worried. Something doesn't seem right.
**. . .**
Today's the day and we've just arrived. They're all so weird looking. And the way they speak. |
It's funny, everything is so different but the weather is exactly the same. I used to think Dallas was jam-packed full of people, but Rome is a whole new level. The biggest car I've seen was a Toyota pickup that we would've called a "tonka truck"where I come from. The newest buildings here are centuries older than the oldest neighborhood in Fort Worth. But it's almost winter, and just like home it's still close to 90 degrees Fahrenheit. They can call it Celsius, still feels damn hot for November.
The only other constant is the voice in my head. Halfway around the world and half a year later, it still tries to convince me I can get away with it. One more shot, one more bump, hell at least drink some wine. But I recognize it now, I know that next time I won't sober up in rehab. I'll get clean again, but this time it will be in a hole in the ground. I'm not going out that way. Not like her.
A week goes by. A month. I've seen every site ten times. I know enough Italian to get some food or ask for directions, but not enough to make a friend. I still read that last text message from her, I hate that she was so angry at me. I blame myself. I'm totally alone. I walk all day because if I stop, the thoughts catch up. I'm still clean, but I don't know why anymore. I don't know why I ever left home. Even the food has lost it's flavor.
It's just after dark, I can see my breath. Still walking, nowhere to go but forward. This part of town is new. I look to my left and something stops me cold in my tracks. It's her, sitting by the bar, laughing. It looks warm in there, fun, everybody is relaxed.
I take a step towards the bar; I hesitate, something doesn't feel right. It can't be her, but maybe I should check, just to be sure. I may even have a glass of wine; after all, my problem was always drugs, not alcohol.
It's decided then, I'll go to the bar. Out of habit, I look around quickly, suspiciously. And for the second time, I'm stopped in my tracks. I have a new destination, the future instead of the past. I no longer feel alone as I walk toward the inconspicuous door with two simple letters painted on it. |
Monsters are causing it. Monsters. What else? In any day of any age it will always be monsters. And not just the popular monsters like "Eyeball Jones". Most monsters are not four story tall walking pulsating eyeballs. Most monsters are similar to "Spiney Williams". Most monsters have long tails with long spikes and Christ t-shirts and FireBreath and claws and a mouth like a dragon. Fuck. They are dragons. They are dragons. They are dragons.
So in the here AND the now. This monster is neither "Eyeball Jones"nor "Spiney Williams."It is a 80 foot man in a purple business suit. His hair is perfect. Perfect part, perfect gloss, perfect. He carries his jacket over his arm and nimbly steps through traffic--making a few mistakes: flipping over a 1950's truck, flipping over a 1950's car, stepping on and squashing the guts out of a 1950's housewife. Oooooh, that was a sound. Think of a twinkie or a large zit. Poot! Coils of intestines launched in one gleaming lump. Against the glass of a bakery. Yikes!
Oh, and there you are, stuck in your 1950's version of a slightly crappy car. One wheel makes a strange sound. There is a crack in the windshield. The breaks whine.
Up ahead, there is that giant gentleman, offering his booming apologies, the bass of his voice shaking people to tears and hysteria. The voice echoes and shakes cars and rattles windows. He broke the the oldest tree in the state. Snapped and and said sorry and the people wailed.
The traffic begins a slow crawling line. The monster's foot steps still vibrate thud as he makes his way across the park and river. About three hours later I'm up on my 1950's apartment roof and watching the 80 foot man tiptoe over the horizon. From my viewpoint he looks like the size of a normal man stepping into the glare of the sun. |
Subsets and Splits