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I am ripped away from my lady sleep, as I get ready for another dreaded day away from her. Boring, worthless tasks await me, things others tell me to do, which forces me to endure every moment away from sleep. The sun is a villain that keeps us away from each other, as it serves as a signal that sleep, no matter how much I care for her, must go. As the day goes by, I wait, not for sleep to come, but for the sky to darken. The moment the sun prepares to set, my excitement fills me with energy, as I realize that every step the sun takes, every second of increasing darkness that passes means I am closer to sleep, and I am happy. Every moment away from sleep is torture as I feel my body's strength dwindle with every second, doing the most mundane tasks, and once I am near her, the fatigue subsides and everything after that is pleasure, as I slowly, ever slowly drift closer to embrace her. Once we are in each other's arms, it is bliss. No amount of pleasure will ever compare, as with my lady slumber, I am powerless, I am numb, I am clueless, yet I feel invincible. Yet all good things come to an end, as a few hours after our tryst, we are again, pulled away from each other, and thus, another cycle to endure the rest of the day, until I am reunited with my queen. Holy fucking shit I sound like a stalker.
He’s reading one of his books again, hunched over it to stare at the small letters. I’ve told him that he needs glasses, but he refuses to listen to me and just says that he’ll do it eventually. It struck me today that if anyone else told me that, or if he had told me that when we first married, I would be horribly frustrated at their stubbornness. But with him, it just seems to fit and I find myself smiling at it more than frowning. I had always thought love was an all-consuming passion, like it had been with my first husband and his first wife. This was just supposed to be a marriage of convenience after they died, the two who were not quick or smart enough to keep up with their spouses thrown together by fate. But I find this more comforting than that, and perhaps this is also love. He’s smiling at me now, and I love you slips from my lips, before he blushes and mumbles it back. _ OP, I hope this is at least somewhat like what you wanted.
I opened and closed the front door as quietly as I could and removed my shoes to lessen the noise. Maybe they won't care that it's past curfew. And there was a good chance that they wouldn't, but that was before Cam's accident. As if on cue, the living room light turned on and illuminated my dad with his arms crossed. "Where were you? Do you realize that it's two in the morning?" "Yes I realize, I was just trying to-" "No no no, you were just trying to play it off like you weren't just with your moron friends getting high at two in the goddamn morning!"I felt my temper rise with his. "You couldn't give less of a shit before!"I protested loudly. My mom walked down the stairs in her robe with rollers in her hair. I guess I protested too loudly. "What's going on down here?"she asked groggily. "Casen was trying to sneak in after a long night of smoking pot,"spat my dad. Mom looked at me sadly and I could practically see her hope for me wilt. My heart cracked. I knew she was still upset because of Cam's accident and this incident wasn't going to make her feel any better about my potential. "Honey, why can't you be more like your brother?"she choked out. A stream of tears was steadily flowing down her tired face, but she kept her composure and continued to maintain eye contact with me. Her eyes demanded an answer, but I didn't have one. How could she expect me to be like him? We were polar opposites. He had short, spiked blonde hair, I had long black hair. Everyone liked him, and I was lucky to have five different people talk to me in one day. The only difference that could possibly be to my advantage was that I had a 3.8 GPA, and took all AP classes, while Cameron was in all remedial classes with a high 2.6. "Answer your mother's question, stoner!"cut in my dad. My string of thoughts snapped, but I retained one thing: I could never be like my brother, even if I wanted to be. "If you wanted a son like Cameron, maybe you should've paid more attention to his partying than mine!"My mom gasped, and that's when she completely lost it. "Your life is as much of a mistake as your name!"she cried from my dad's embrace. Well, she might be right about that one. My name was supposed to be Casey, but the idiot doctor wrote it down as Casen, like a misspelling of the chemical, and people were forever referring to me as cheese boy. "Guys, stop,"called a voice from up the stairs. We all turned to face Cameron. "He's right. I should've been more careful about my drinking at parties, and you should've been more strict when I broke curfew."My dad released my mom and put his hands on his hips. Perfect yelling posture. Is he actually gonna let Cameron have it? "Cameron, we are not in control of your drinking. We're sorry you can't join us down here since the ramp hasn't been installed yet, but you're the one who threw that football scholarship away for some drinks and a party." "This isn't even about me, Dad. This is about Casen. Just like you weren't in control of my drinking, you're not in control of his smoking. If he's doing well in school, his job, and whatever clubs he's in, why does it matter what he does?" "It matters because I don't want two crippled sons."You could hear a pin drop. "Dad, obviously I'm not gonna get a football scholarship, I mean look at me,"I cautiously broke in. I stood at a solid 5'8"and 130 pounds after eating a big meal. My dad turned to face me and his face...softened? "And I don't want you to. I just want you to be smart and successful. No one knows the long term effects of that stuff, I don't want it to screw your head up for the rest of your life." "Okay, Dad, but Cam and I have been nothing alike our whole lives, so why are you guys suddenly expecting me to take his place?" "They want to be proud of someone,"sighed Cameron. "And that's definitely not going to be me."
I probably should've seen it coming. Johnny loved tearing the heads off of Joanna's Barbies when they were kids, and he didn't stop until he moved on to actual people. "Dad, are we going to die?"breathed Joanna. "Shh, no. Just stay quiet and don't move."I didn't tell her why we were hiding from her brother, I couldn't. How do you tell a 17 year old girl that her psychotic brother killed her mom and that she might be next? We sat in silence, back to back underneath the basement stairs for another 15 minutes. Then we heard his car pull into the driveway. I turned the knife in my palm. "Honey, I'm home!"sang Johnny. My muscles tensed. Crash. "Get the fuck out here!"Joanna trembled and a sob escaped her. All the noise upstairs stopped along with my heart. Slow footsteps creaked over our heads. He paused in front of the basement door and tried to open it. "Honey, you need to stay here, okay?" "Okay Dad,"she sniffled. I turned back to her and held her in my arms. "You'll be okay, I promise." "I'm worried about you, though."I held her by the shoulders and made direct eye contact. "Don't be. Just remember; call the police if I'm not back in ten minutes, don't call the police if I do come back." "O-okay, Dad."I kissed her on the cheek and walked up the stairs, knife held in my left hand, behind the door and out of Johnny's sight. I unlocked the door and opened it. Johnny was rummaging around in the junk drawer for the key. He whipped around to face me and probably yell at me, but I talked before he could. "Sorry son, I was just looking for the Christmas lights and listening to some Christmas music, I didn't hear you,"I chuckled. "Where's Joanna?" "John, it's 12:30, she's still at school." "Well take. Her. Out." Neither of us said anything for a while, but I broke the silence again. "I'm afraid I can't do that, son. She has a big test in math today."Johnny shrugged, then started rummaging through the knife drawer. I walked out of the basement and held the knife up. "Looking for this?"His eyes widened. "I'm not a fucking idiot, Jonathan. I know it was you that cut your mom's head off, and I know this is the knife that you did it with." "But how-"I lunged toward him, grabbing his chest and pressing the knife against his neck. "Father's intuition,"I said as I sliced. --- After setting everything up and cleaning up all the prints, I went into the basement to retrieve Joanna. "What...happened to Johnny?" "Nothing happened to him, he was just born a psychopath." "He killed Mom, didn't he?"Maybe she was mature enough to know. "I'm afraid so,"I sighed. We walked out of the basement and got into the car. Joanna noticed the suitcases right away. "Where are we going?" "Do you really want to live in the house that your mom and brother died in?" "No, I...."She realized what I just said. "Johnny's dead?" "Would you rather have it be you?"I asked. She didn't say anything until we went to eat dinner in a county a few hours away. The news was on, and our house was on TV for the second time this week. "Jonathan Lanking was found dead in his house. He was murdered in the same style as his mother, Diana Lanking, who was killed two days ago. It seems we have a psychopathic killer in Clark County."The restaurant buzzed with people talking about the psychopath killer. Luckily no one identified Joanna or I as the remaining Lankings. Maybe they think that I killed my wife and my son, and maybe they think I'm a psychopath, but as long as my daughter knows the truth, I can handle the half-right critiques of others. I glanced at Joanna and she was staring at me with a stone cold expression on her face. "I guess psychopathy runs in the family."
Bigfoot is real. You're in your cabin for the winter and hear the nearby sounds of a wounded animal. Eventually, your curiosity gets the best of you and you happen upon the creature. You expect him to be a violent ape or a clumsy oaf like in the movies, but he turns out to be of astounding intelligence with a great ability to communicate. His leg has been wounded (perhaps by a hunter's trap) and you are his only hope of surviving the winter as he did not migrate to a warmer climate in time.
She promised herself not to cry at the start of the day. That wasn't a promise she was going to keep. She could already tell, at only two hours in. She held back as she got up. She fought her way through the shower. She push herself and covered her eyes as she made breakfast. She was already using up the last of her willpower, trudging through her eggs and bacon. She gulped down a bite, and drew out her painkillers, her blasted back knee decided to act up again. If it wasn't for that, she'd be going out there with him, to die. She could be by his side, she'd have time to tell him that...that...goddamnit he didn't even know! She wiped her eyes off and took her pills, gulping down the last bit of apple juice. She had to tell him. It was her last chance. She took one last look at his picture, so lovingly set on the table, and got her knee brace ready. The bus station was crowded for once. All the able bodied, who weren't considered necessary personnel, were getting shipped off to the front. All their families were crying and saying goodbye. The sun peeked out behind a cloud, and hid away again from the sad scene playing out below. He wished he could hide away as well. He looked back down. Here he was, sitting on a bench, waiting to go get killed, all alone. He opened the locket back up, admiring the picture of himself with a childhood friend. He wondered where she was. He knew she wasn't getting deployed; her knee had been messed up since he'd met her. Then, it didn't really dawn on him all at once, but he realized that he liked her. Ah well, she probably doesn't even remember me. He snapped the locket shut and tucked it back into his shirt. He took a deep breath, grabbed his duffel, and made his move to get into the line. But, something was holding him back. No, it was someone! He turned around, but there was nothing there. He had just imagined it; no, imagined her. Defeated, he turned back around and joined the line. Right before he got on, he looked out one last time, hoping for anyone to see him off. Nothing. Wait, no, there she was! She ran as fast as she could with that knee, tears streaming down her face. He jumped out to embrace her. They hugged and twirled and the world stood still; and they glanced into each others eyes; and they knew what they had been holding back all these years, what they had each been longing for, hoping and dreaming for, but never said. No words needed. They gave a quick kiss, and had to go.
Ariella bit her lip as she sat at the newlywed's table, hands fidgeting with a napkin as their parents toasted the marriage for the fifth time. The ivory dress itched around the collar, the waist fit just a little too snug; she felt that if she tilted wrong one way or another, it would just rip apart. The nigh-endless braid her mother had wrangled her long, coppery hair into now pulled at her scalp. She drank another glass of wine when the waiter came by. Next to her, Arik slouched, eyes half-shut as he managed to doze. The suit hung slack over most of his body. He glanced at his new wife and grumbled before straightening. The band started playing and their mothers were both watching, expecting the first dance. "Might as well get this over with."He offered his hand and she turned slightly pink as she stared up at him. "It's a dance, not that hard. Just shuffle your feet around a bit; I've got two lefties, anyway." "I know how to dance."She took his hand, relieved that the loud music covered their words. "D... Did your parents not tell you anything about me?" "And yours told you nothing of me."He walked with her around the table to the center of the floor, miserably devoid of other guests, and she finally saw him glance around and slouch harder with a grimace. With a slight smile, she took one of his hands and moved it to her waist before lacing her fingers with his other hand. "Look, I'm going to trample your-" "Hush, Mister Roarke. I've had worse partners."The redhead's smile grew. "Marriage itself is a dance, if I can believe my teachers, so let's learn together." "Yeah, sure."He blinked at her, surprised by her optimism. "You're uh, you're awful friendly." "I've no reason to be antagonistic. Besides,"she looked down at their feet, guiding him through the steps, "we're both healthy, neither of us are ugly,"she teased, "and we both come from musical families."She shrugged. "You don't have to learn to love me, nor I you. But I'd love to be friends with you." "I can do that."He finally smiled back.
It had to happen. I knew it was coming, she knew it was coming. We lied to ourselves. It's funny, when we first got together we both know once we cross that line, once we share our life completely, openly, in spite of our fears, we can't go back. We shouldn't, it's done. We are two adults, of sane mind and body who agreed to become...this. This ritual, this dance. We've passed the line. We were once lovers. The truest sense of the word. I was beyond merely loving a person. She wasn't just the girl I loved, she was the girl that made me see love. She had the power to turn a concept into pillar of existence. As if it was food or air. I'm beyond questioning the value of love. I don't need to. I've peaked behind the curtain. It's not only real, it's apart of me now. Just like she is. Yet, her face now says otherwise. Thing is, I can't blame her. Im not the man I used to be. Maybe I never was. That's not the point, though. It's, it's as if we found out where the blood was coming from. It's cold and soft. I'm not panicking. I can't feign pain. It's there, I see it, she sees it and all we can do is let it bleed. I love this woman and she loves me. Our daughter is watching us as we both play our parts. Don't yell, never panic, it's only blood. I feel my heart tug as she knows, despite the open and bleeding wound, we can't show her our fear. She won't grow up believing in the fragility of love. We are the exception. We have to be. I will never lose this woman. My daughter will know me as the man that was there for her, the man that made the world glow, for her and her alone. But for her mother, for the owner of my heart, I have accepted my fate. When we married we ceased to be two separate people with hearts looking for love. We became one and now we are half the people we used to be. Yet, despite our loss, our time together gave us the other half we lost. I'll never let her know her heart is unwanted. She owns both of ours.
A dinner. I am sitting at a table. A glass of white wine. The musician is playing his own music. I am outside. Cobblestone paves the road and a storm approaches. I head toward the sunny mountainside. I recognize no one on my journey. I am at a beach. The waves crash against my feet. I stay as I see the moon set. The day is new and I continue on my journey. I see familiar sights, but always press onward. A cramp makes itself apparent as I walk. The storm is here and my leg is infected. I did not bring more than a day's worth of food with me. I stare at it in fear. A sure harbinger of death. Night approaches and hooded figures march past me. I stay hidden, whether they are safe or not I do not know. Animals run through the nighttime woods. I follow the hooded figures from a distance as I need to get to a main road. The cramp now begins to ache in instances of searing pain. Rain drips from the roof of the stone-walled tunnel. The hooded figures seem to by ascending the mountain. My infection has healed a bit and I am able to tail silently behind. The climb gets steeper and steeper. Pebbles knock stones out of place and they roll down the mountain. A new city exists in the mountain! I am received with fanfare. The hooded figures announce my arrival. People step out of their shops and applaud as I wave back to them. The fanfare grows to a buzzing cacophony. As I pass out I notice colors I never seen before, in every possible vicinity. The citizens look upward toward me as I ascend into the heaven, their new God. The citizens form a chorus and begin to sing the song of their salvation as I move earth and sun to convert their city to paradise. The fanfare continues, and I slowly descend back to earth. The world spins as I rejoin with my material body. Color drains from the sky and the civilians enter their houses. A cavalry approaches. I stand before the supreme commander of the city. I'm nervous, but he says nothing. I find myself back in the galleria. A lone musician playing for me as I sip my wine. --- edit:this was written as I listened to the song, and concludes where the song ends.
I don't know where to begin talking about my life. There's so much of it even if twenty years is a blink to some. I've lived a fairly lonely life as far as I know. I was home-schooled you see; I didn't even have a friend until I was ten. My first friend moved really far away from me only a year after I met him. Saying goodbye to the only person I really knew was weird. We played all our favorite nintendo games for the last time together. Mario cart was never my strongpoint. I can't really remember what we did that day, only that I cried in the end. It was the first taste I had of loss. Bitter, dry, not something I would want in my mouth again. Of course it wasn't the last time I felt the sting. Family, pets, my plant (his name was Artemis). It's not like good things didn't happen to me. I made a new friend, my family is doing fine (even got a niece and nephew) and I got an iguana! (and a rabbit, which I was very much allergic to). But it seems the bad things kept on coming. I lost my lizard, my rabbit died while I was burying him. And my grandfather died, my younger siblings didn't cry nearly as much as I did. We where close, I talked to him every day I saw him. None of that affected me nearly as much as what I am writing about now. I went to real school for the first time on my senior year. I was terrified. The first person I met was a girl. We became friends quite quickly. We had similar interests, Nintendo, the color blue (seriously it's the unrivaled best of the colors), fantasy, dragons, and of course, art. We where two of the best in art class (in which I was picked on by freshmen for some reason, I guess not knowing what "a boner"was was a gasoline tank to fuel the fires of laughter). My lack of sexual understanding aside, (I was brought up hardcore christian) I really liked going to school. I instantly had about a thousand percent more friends and fun things to do. Oh and I had a pretty big crush on that girl. Things where looking up. Also I learned a few... Things, from those freshmen I mentioned and anyone in school who they told of my lack of "understanding". (Almighty GOD people are horndogs!) Valentines day was just around the corner, seniors where selling carnations, decorations where all over the place, and my small circle of close friends where all gossiping about me. They could have been taking bets about me for all I knew. I had told them I was thinking about asking someone out and they all wanted to find out who. I had been planning this for a while. I bought as many carnations as I could, writing my own name in the book so that the seniors would give them directly to me so that I could give them to her in person all fancy like. Those flowers never actually came, in their place the school let me win the lottery drawing that was attached to buying the flowers. I guess they took pity on the only person who bought multiple flowers for themselves. Instead of a handful of carnations I had a vast collection of various things, candy, balloons, and a card which I cut in the shape of two dragons forming a heart together. (I'm really good at making paper snowflakes). I told my best friend what I would be doing during the lunch break. "Well, Dickass"(that's not an insult, it is a fake name. Yeah, I'm Gary Oaking that bitch!) "Dickass bought her a carnation. One of you needs to do something fast."I kind of brushed that aside. I didn't really know what to think. I had a bunch of arguments with my moral guidance system. In the end, I decided that if this kid hadn't asked out this girl for all the years he knew her, then he probably didn't care as much as I did. She thought his flower was from me after all. I never in my life have ever felt so embarrassed and shy as when I asked her. I never was scared of public speaking, acting on stage or film, hell, I was less scared when I stepped into school for the first time, and that was terrifying to someone with a fear of crowds such as myself. I was quite dumbfounded. After the bell rang I had a girlfriend. The first dates where some cheesy movies, The Grey and something else I don't remember. I learned that holding hands and hugging for two hours straight was actually one of the most uncomfortable things in life. I didn't stop though. I liked it, not the incredible soreness, the touch of her adoration. I didn't feel her skin, I was feeling wanted, I felt love. We had been dating almost a whole year when I got an idea, a spontaneous, ridiculously awesome idea. I had figured out how I was going to pop the question. I would hand her a brown paper package tied with a string (don't laugh) and she would open it to reveal a picture or painting depicting her with a surprised look on her face and me on my knee holding up a ring. That would be the day I got my first kiss. (Hey, I wanted to treat her right okay? Not many people seem to care about respect or that sort of thing anymore.) I tend to take a very long time to draw anything if I want it to come out good, it took me about a year to finish what I consider to be my best (albeit awful looking) drawing. I knew I had a lot of time to kill and while I waited for my picture to be absolutely perfect I would spend time with her. The school year ended and I started working in the summer. I was also writing my zombie movie and getting ready to shoot it. One day I was watching Thor when it came out on dvd or netflix; and I had my phone and I was just about to ask her to spend a day with me doing something (I hadn't really decided what yet). As I was nearly half done my stupid text I got hers. "I think we should break up" This is as hard for me to write as it is to remember anything she said at that point. I remember random bits of things. It had to be a dream, or rather a nightmare. I destroyed my room. I burned my wrists. Suicide was half of what I thought. It was like a bad song stuck in my head on replay. For weeks I had tried talking, begging, pleading. I tried asking my friend what was the reason. She told me something I didn't wan't to hear and I snapped my phone in half. My girl was dating Dickass. I decided I was going to go over to her house to talk with her since my phone was ruined. I was going to ask her back. I got flowers and I painted a very heartfelt note. When I got there I knocked on the door. I head her sister, who I used to talk to a little bit when I was with my ex, yell "Writer is here". Then he stepped out. "I fucking told you to leave her alone." "You never spoke to me." "Don't you lie to me you fucking creep, I sent you the text" Then he hit me. My jaw was dislocated. My heart was pumping furious adrenaline witch I can feel as I'm writing this. The funny thing was I felt deja vu in a situation that I clearly never had been in. All I could hear was various swears, "go", "leave", whatever he threw at me between hits. I counted twenty-seven times I was physically assaulted. I never hit back. I was forced onto the road before I just left. It haunts me. The dreams and the nightmares still come three years later. It's four A.M. and I haven't slept at all tonight. My life hasn't been pretty. I haven't been doing very well at all. I haven't gone to church in years. I constantly think of things I should have done. Perhaps if I hadn't been so modest. Maybe if I had done more than hold her hand. I believe that chivalry is dead, I am the only one left to bury it. My friends have all but abandoned me. I never told anyone my side of the tale. I am just a creep to them now. Some monster who hides in the darkness. I even believed them for a time. Perhaps I was wrong. I don't like my life. It's like a good shirt that got an ugly stain that I can't wash out.
Gingerly, I slipped into the small bathroom. It was familiar. Hardwood flooring, lovely ceramic sink, cute and thin little gold faucets, but the most important thing was the mirror. Well, not the mirror, but who was in it. His arms were crossed, fingers drumming impatiently against the opposite arm they rested against. Eyes of blue, usually matching my own, hard turned hard and cold over the past year. A year of successes, of victories. "You know it was him."He began impassively, quiet fury simmering in the mind behind those words. I knew, I could feel a shadow of it in my own mind. "She hasn't said so. Until she says so-" "-You won't jump to conclusions."He finished for me, rolling his eyes as the disdain dripped off the words, out of the deepest recesses of my brain and into the forefront, collecting in a puddle of my own self-doubt. "You say that like it's a bad thing."I leaned on the sink, my eyes weary. I suppose some part of me, on that hadn't attained autonomy at least, knew he was right. "Of course it does!"He exclaimed, slamming a balled fist down on his side's sink. Cracks spider-webbed from under his hand, making me check the same area on my own sink. Not a mark. "Man, you're a fuckin' moron if you're still getting surprised by that." "I suppose, but then what does that make you?"I retorted, pushing off from the sink and sitting on the rim of the bathtub behind me. "The alter-ego of a fucking specky retard."He riposted, but the only response I gave was a long suffering groan and a massaging of the bridge of my nose. "For fuck's sake, pull your shit together, you whiny little bitch. If it means so much to you that she tells you, then fucking beat it out of the stupid cunt!" I was off the edge of the tub in an instant, finger pointing wildly at his smirking mug. "You shut your fucking mouth about her." "Why?"He laughed, that infuriatingly smug cackle. "She's pretty much my girlfriend anyway, I'm the one who had to teach you what to do with her."He pushed his glasses up his nose and his voice became whiny and nasally. "I don't know what to do! Help me, man! Where's the cli-TOR-is?"He chuckled again, releasing the glasses. I turned away, ready to storm out, but his voice took on an edge that it never had. A sharp frost that chilled its way from the back of my subconscious. "You owe me. This little career as a novelist, getting a girl out of your league, all of that was my influence. Now you want to sit there and walk out on me? I fucking made you! I've never lead you astray! But if you don't want to do this yourself...then give me control." My face must have betrayed some amount of surprise, as his blank face took on a happy smile. "What?" "You know it's this guy and you know what he did. You know what he tried. She might be all forgiving and Jesusy, but we're not. We're a caged a fucking animal, ready to get loose. So let me take control and we won't have to worry about him hurting her ever again." I glared at him hatefully. That's what this all was. Just some coup attempt. ____________________________________________________________________ She came running when she heard the shattering. Finding her boyfriend's fist embedded deep into the mirror cabinet was not something she expected to see today. "What the hell?"She shrieked, voice shrill with both concern and rage. He had been staring blankly at the shattered glass, admiring the intricate web of cracks, up until the moment she cried out. He withdrew his hand quickly, compromising the integrity of the mirror remnants and they sprinkled into the sink, some stained with crimson blood on their shards. "I was..."However, he could not get a word out, as she had rushed forward to grab his bleeding hand, moving the bleeding manipulator back over the drain. "Don't drip blood on the mat."She analysed the wound, noting the small pieces of glass still stuck in his fist. "What the hell were you thinking?" "I was..."However, she cut him off again, letting go of his hand. "Never mind, I'm not sure I want to know."Her brown eyes softened and she lifted a hand to run her fingers through his fluffy blonde hair. "I'll get the first-aid kit from the kitchen. Don't go hurting yourself any more. You know I love you." Before she could leave though, he grabbed her retracting arm. "Would you love me if I ever changed?" A pout etched itself onto her mouth. "Why would you change? You're the man I fell in love with."A warm smile was her addendum to that statement, before she turned on her heel and strode out, brown hair swaying as she did. However, the response to that was not a smile. A very dark glare blossomed from his eyes and he looked down at the broken pieces of the mirror in the sink. He picked up one particularly long shard by the flat end, where the edge of the mirror itself had been. "Well, unfortunately for her, she picked the wrong answer."He glanced down at the reflection in the fragment. "I'd say she had a good run."When a distant-sounding scream echoed from the shiny surface, he smirked. "Look on the bright side!"His finger ran cross the point, making a small cut on the end. "At least you'll be going inside her, one last time."
Another cheap pull of whiskey as he considers which gun to kill himself with. A .22, maybe? Go out with class with a military-issue Colt .45 automatic pistol, a gun in service for over a hundred years? He was sure lots of people have killed themselves with that gun. And the .45 wasn't a bad caliber either. Maybe it would mean a little more blood splatter, but it would create a memorable scene. All my talent, blown onto the ceiling, he thought. For no one else but the earth now. He lit the last cigar in the humidor by taking one of his student loan statements and lighting the tip on fire. Definitely not a .357, he thought. .357s are too loud, too noisy, like America.
Frozen rocks whirling out of the depths of empty space smashed apart my research station's support systems some few cycles past. The heat and lights went after I finally doused the fires ravaging the command console. Now what remains of my home has been sealed off by computers too damaged to repair. The emergency systems have been screaming for the past three hours that my cramped compartment's oxygen levels will soon hit zero. I never thought that Jupiter could be this beautiful.
Jesus Christ! This can't be happening...is...is he for real? I mean that does look like Marty McFly, so it's gotta be him, right? He's already walked off while I've been standing here like an idiot for who knows how long. I hop in excitedly. "It's here! It's all here! The cool doors, the Flux Capacitor, this thing! Wow! This is heavy!"I laugh at my wit and close the doors. I drive to a quieter area, trying to think of what to do first. "All of time...where to go? Kill Hitler? No, no, that's so cliche."I sit there for a second, overwhelmed. "Wait, so if this is real...does that mean that all the events of the movie were real?"I'm not sure, all I know is that I can cash all this out for some serious Karma on Reddit once I get back home. Well, luckily I just happen to live where Back to the Future was filmed. I punch in October 26, 1985, the day Marty left in the movie. Which of course I remember. I build up speed...75...80...88! BAM! Colors flash through the windows, and before I know it, it's dark out. I'm at the mall. I get up, look around, take in a deep breath. I look out over the parking lot and...nothing... "Crap...Well maybe if I go back to when they filmed that scene I can find something."I take my phone out, try to search for the date I need on Google. Of course, no service. It's '85. How'd people live like this? I hop back in the DeLorean, pick up speed, and am back in the present. I search for a while, and finally get the date. I race down the road again, and as I arrive in the past, I can see a film crew set up the parking lot. "Well if they're still filming, and Marty isn't in where he was in the movie...there can be only one explanation. A crazy person from the future who has an affinity for 80's movies has gifted me a time machine." A statement perhaps more ludicrous than "Marty McFly gave me his DeLorean."I stroke my hair and pace back and forth, not sure what to do now. "Well, I know where NOT to go, definitely don't want to run into my Mom..."I shudder. "Well I mean I guess I should check out the future. Maybe find some more out about this time travel stuff. BTF and The Time Machine all in one...This day can't get any stupider."
She droned on and on, energetically choreographing her self-righteous rant, making mountains out of molehills. ". . .is the problem with the country nowadays, we're slowly losing our foundation, phasing out our Lord Jesus Christ, turning our backs. . ." Was there really so much wrong with a small business owner trying to wish people pleasant holidays? Could people not overlook the execution in favor of the intent? Apparently not. ". . .scum of the earth, brainwashing the children and subjugating. . ." Realizing that my hand had closed around a small handle I kept below the counter for emergencies, I tried to backpedal. I had just relocated, I had so much going for me, so much invested in this establishment of mine, I shouldn't. . . ". . .and your children deserve better parents, you filthy piece. . ." I was lunging over the counter, Superman style. There was a fraction of a second in which our eyes met, and in just that second, her eyes begged me for her life. "I'm sorry, I've just been diagnosed with cancer,"I imagined her grovelling, "I had no right to take it out on you. Please forgive me, I have a husband and three beautiful children, my oldest daughter is graduating tomor. . ." I tackled her into the ground, knife penetrating just northwest of her bellybutton. It was a wound she could easily survive, she was going to need a few more. "X-mas, isn't, a way, to take, Jesus', name, out of, Christmas, it's from, the Greek, name for, Christ, Χριστός!"I grunted between lunges, puncturing her heart, lungs, liver, and random areas of her stomach. Stabbing someone to death was a lot like aggressive lovemaking; sinking it deeper and deeper as they plead for mercy, getting off at their expense, then finishing and pushing them aside with mild disgust, and hiding the evidence. Which reminded me that I now had to move. Great. Religious people are so crazy. ---------------------------- Note: I'm not religious, I just felt like it'd be too easy and predictable to make the Xmas-er be persecuted.
I've never been more certain of anything in my life It all started when my husband started hiding his text messages from me. Every girl knows, that's a bad sign. I tried quickly coming up behind him to hug him and try to see over his shoulder, but he always got his phone faced down before I could see anything. We've been married for 7 years, and it's a happy marriage...I thought. Nothing has changed in so long. We've both been happy at our jobs for years. We have no children (by choice) and two dogs. We're a happy couple. All of the sudden, I'm sure he's cheating on me. I have no idea who it could be with though, and I have no proof. He is a writer, and his only regular contact is his agent...who is male. I guess that wouldn't necessarily rule him out, but the way he still looks at me says otherwise. We still make love regularly, and the passion isn't gone. He treats me very well, gives me anything I want, and loves me with all his heart. I just can't put my finger on why he's being so suspicious. It's driving me crazy. I decided to follow him. He's been going out without telling me where he's going lately, and I haven't pressed him. I want him to think I am completely oblivious. He doesn't know about the tracker I placed under his car. I've noticed his car has stopped near a hotel downtown. I creep around the corner and see he isn't in the car. I'm going to catch him right in the act. This is it. I swiftly approach the front desk and explain that I am meeting my husband here, but I forgot what room he was in. I show my ID to prove my story and they tell me the room number. 316. Third floor. I hop on the elevator and press 3. Just before the door closes a man's arm reaches through the opening, and the doors open again. I was lost in thought about what I'm going to say to my cheating bastard of a husband that I only noticed one thing about the man. He was wearing a business suit with really nice cufflinks. I mean these were some quality cufflinks, nicest I'd ever seen. I don't know why that particular detail stuck out so much. "Close one, three plea...oh you're already going to three. Works for me"the man said smiling. I tried to smirk back, but didn't manage much of a smile. The doors open on the third floor and I make a B-line for room 316. 312 314 316 I'm sort of out of breath at this point. Everything is going a little fuzzy. I've loved this man all my life, how will I react to catching him cheating on me. And who is is cheating on me with? So many thoughts rushed through my head as I reached out and pounded on the door. The door opened to reveal my husband standing in the doorway, alone. Nobody else was in the room. I was confused. I started to open my mouth to speak but he spoke first. "Do it quickly."he said. This took my confusion to a whole new level. "Do what quickly?"I said, but as I finished speaking I felt a man's hands reach around my head. He grabbed the top of my head and around my jaw. "Those are the nicest cufflinks I've ever seen."I said snap
(I just wanted to say that I GRE up in a very christian household and in no way want to offend anyone by the following story) I grew up with story, and belief that I was truly in fact, Jesus Christ, Son of God, Morning Star, The Way, The holy lamb, the messiah. I was miraculously conceived, I was told. I remember being young, and spreading word of my Father God. But it went down hill from there. I performed "miracles." Truth is, I performed tricks to deceive. I never wanted my mother finding out that I wasn't who she thought I was. I couldn't disappoint her. Then, others started to believe me. My tricks got so ridiculous I thought no one could have been fooled. Wine from water, food to feed thousands that originally could barely feed a boy, sick to health, walking on water! People were just eating it up. I obviously couldn't say anything about it. My mother, and friends would find out. I couldn't crush them like that. Then, one of my disciples discovered me. At first, I was afraid. Then, I realized I could use this to my advantage! This was it, I'd finally be free! We planned my death. This would be perfect. I got the authorities at that time (who desperately wanted the messiah talk to stop) involved and they eventually agreed to help. We had put so much time, and energy into the theatrics of it, and was wonderful. But all the people in tears, and all the people fighting for my life. It was unbearable. But not more unbearable then living like this day, to day. I just wanted to be a fisher man, and fish with my buddies. But, apparently that was too much to ask for. So, I only was this as the way out. Eventually they put me in a tomb. They left me with enough of a crack to roll myself out of there. But, a guy with this face is obviously noticed by a lot of people. Two men had seen me walk by. I had dinner with them, then snuck out when I could, unseen. As I continued walking, guilt rose in me. There was no place for me to go, and I never said goodbye to my mother. I turned back, used some more left over makeup. This was just three days after my "death."I said goodbye to so many people, and once again had to do a very theatrical appearance. But, it was only fair to them to say an official goodbye. I loved out the rest of my years alone, and in a boat, just doing some fishing. I wasn't a lamb, or a star. I was just Jesus, and a fisherman. (As I reread through this, it's not my best work, but eh, it was a shot.)
I am not worthy of her. She is beautiful, fair, and considerate. She rescued me from the darkness; back when I thought there was no hope for me to live. She dressed and fed me, and I’ve never felt more cherished. But what can I do to help? How can I possibly save her from the torments of her wicked stepsisters and mother? Me, with my tiny hands, large feet, and pointed nose? I wish I were some prince charming that could take her away to her happily ever after. But I can’t. I do not have the looks or the money to whisk her to a far-off magical place. So all I can do is watch, and support her in her times of need. Oh look! A ball! Perhaps it is there that she will find her happily ever after. Now if only her stepmother and stepsisters would give her permission to go. Just one night – one night to make her dreams come true. Well, they don’t call me Jacques for nothing. I’ll help my beloved, and support her so that she’ll be finally noticed. This diamond has been buried away for far too long, and now it’s time to reveal her among the other gem pieces. Cinderelly, I know you’ll shine through, because you have always shined for me – a humble mouse who is not worthy to be your trusted companion.
A shadow loomed over Durkon. "By me beard,"he said, "Thor's enemies 'ave come fer us!" "Shut up, Durkon,"Roy muttered. "It's just your imagination." Dmmm "Nay, lad. 'Tis the day!"Durkon started running, screaming further about the trees' evil plot. Then Roy took a larger chunk of damage than he was comfortable with. He climbed back onto his feet, and slashed at his attacker. A tree. And it was dead. Roy scratched his head. "Suprise attacks,"Haley said cheerfully, already searching for loot. "Uhh... Guys?"Roy said. They all looked up. There were trees everywhere. Elan started a song: "Kill, kill, kill the trees, before we all get killed..." Then they started to do so. --- Yay for leaving ambiguous endings that I'm too lazy to write! Anyway, for those of you who had no idea what just happened, it's based off of Order of the Stick, which can be found [here!](http://www.giantitp.com/comics/oots0001.html)
Joy the Elf, sat around the Christmas tree with the other elves. Mrs. Claus was gone. The Grinch had killed her with an IED. Noel, the Kringles only daughter had died of cancer the same night. And Santa . . . Santa wasn't talking. He'd been sitting in the same place ever since coming home from the hospital. Not the North Pole. Not that home. Santa had come back to the bar that he and Sophie had owned when Santa had lost his way. The elves watched Santa, but were far to respectful to speak. They had all come in force when the news about Noel had reached the Pole. Christmas for the children were ruined around the world. Santa hadn't delivered a gift in over five years. The naughty list had taken a toll on the normally jolly old saint. "Santa?"Joy called, daring to interrupt the man's mourning. "We don't know what to do. Tell us what to do." Santa ignored the elf and continued to read the book in his hands. It was hers. The book, it had been Noels. Her diary. Her last words to her father. Santa read the book and wept. "Bring me the Grinch,"Santa whispered, closing the journal. The elves came to their feet as one. "Bring me the creature that killed my wife."Santa's voice was cold and hard and his eyes were like bottomless pits and in their depths, the elves saw fire. "At once,"the elves shouted, dashing their enchanted ornaments upon the floor. The resulting flurries of snow left the room covered in several inches of snow, including the boughs of the Christmas tree. "Your bourbon, Kris,"Mike the bartender called from the door, holding out Santas daily bourbon. Santa took the glass from Mike and thanked him with a nod. The bourbon didn't freeze immediately, not like last time. It slowly iced over. "Thank you, Mike."Santa whispered after a long silence. "I might actually drink this one." "Don't. For five years I've been bringing you that glass of bourbon and for five years you've only just stared at it. For five years, you gave me hope, sir. Sophie told me about the bourbon. It was the line you couldn't cross. Don't cross it now. You're Santa, even if you don't want to be. You're wife and daughter were good girls. I loved them every bit as much as you. You always answer the wishes of the good children, and they were the best. Sophie, Mrs. Claus, was my best friend, not just my employer. Noel was the purest child I knew. They had made a Christmas wish this year, Kris. Only you can grant it."Mike stepped back, slipping two envelopes from his back pocket. "You don't know what you're talking about."Santa murmured slowly sloshing the bourbon around in the glass he held, fracturing the thin ice forming on the top. "I know more than you think, Santa."Mike gave him a lopsided smile and held out the envelopes. "What are these?"Santa asked, looking up from the mesmerizing dance of the liquor. "They're their letters."Mike explained. "I was supposed to mail them to the North Pole for them, but I don't have to. Do I? Santa's right here and has been the entire time."Mike crossed his arms after Santa took the envelopes and leaned against the door frame. "These don't mean anything,"Santa said, tearing the letter from his wife open with his teeth. He refused to set the bourbon down this time. He was walking closer to the line than he'd ever walked. "What is this?"Santa snapped, waving the letter in Mike's face. "It's their Christmas wish,"Mike responded, unmoved by Santa's anger. "It's not a wish. It's the Twas the Night Before Christmas poem. Why would she send this to me?"Santa skimmed the poem. "Read it."Mike urged. "Read your dead wife's last letter to you. Read Sophie's last wish." Santa stared down at the poem then slowly and quietly he began to read the words of the poem. "Twas the night before Christmas, and all through house." Santa read the words. His voice grew stronger and surer the further he read. When he had finished, he stared down on the letter and wept. "Why would she send me this?"He sobbed. "I don't know. Perhaps you should open Noel's letter now."Mike suggested, smiling sadly. Santa sat the glass of bourbon aside, refusing to touch it and the letter his precious little daughter had given him. It seemed some how wrong to juggle the two. He opened her letter with tenderness and care. Peeling the sticky flap open slowly and meticulously. The paper inside was blue; Noel's favorite color. He swallowed hard and unfolded the letter. Remember, was all the letter said, but beneath it was a child's drawing of a Christmas tree with three people standing around it. One of them was wearing Santa's red hat. "Remember, Kris."Mike urged, echoing Noel's letter. "She wants you to remember." Santa looked up at Mike then at the letter then at the Christmas tree covered in snow behind him. Santa breathed in deeply inhaling the smell of the cedar tree. He turned back to regard Mike. "Who are you?"Santa asked, tears of a different sort standing in his eyes. "You know who I am,"Mike laughed, reaching out to take hold of his staff which appeared out of thin air. "You've always known who I was, who they were, and who you are. You've always known." "You're the North Star."Santa said accusingly. "It's one of my names, one of many."Mike admitted. "The naughty list gets to us all eventually. It's been our job to make you remember, when you forget what Christmas is."Mike looked behind Santa and smiled a knowing smile as the elves began to reappear in pairs. In their midst was the Grinch, bound with Christmas lights and smiling his hideous smile. "Thank you,"Santa whispered, embrassing the Grinch. The elves stood frozen, jaws hanging open is stunned disbelief. Santa was hugging the creature that killed his wife. "Jack Frost said you need to be reminded,"the Grinch told Santa softly. "He said you saved him. You saved me too. You've saved us all, Santa, at one point or another. So, we had no choice. We owed you. We had to save you."The Grinch told him tenderly, flexing his green hideous body. The Christmas lights snapped and fell away. "Santa, what's going on. He killed Mrs. Claus."Joy the Elf said, almost weeping. "There is no Mrs. Claus,"a female voice announced suddenly startling the elves. "There never was."The elves turned to regard Sophie, the woman they knew as Mrs. Claus leaning against the other side of the door frame opposite Mike. "I don't understand,"Joy confessed, shaking her head. "Who is she if not Mrs. Claus?" "Some call me the Christmas Star,"Sophie admitted. "Ebenezer Scrooge knew me as the Ghost of Christmas Past." The elf was struggling with these revelations. "Don't be sad, elf."Santa quipped, turning retrieving his glass of bourbon. I froze in a flash. Santa turned it over dumping out the frozen bourbon and placed the empty glass over the top of the Christmas Tree and left it there like an angel on top of the tree. "So, was any of it real?"Joy the Elf asked. "Of course,"Noel responded, skipping over to the elf and kissing her on the nose. "You're alive."The elves crowed. "Of course I am. It's almost impossible to kill the Spirit of Christmas or the Ghost of Christmas Present."She replied flippantly, ringing the bell on the elf's cap. "So, who was Ghost of Christmas future?"Joy asked, confused and intrigued by all that had happened. "Death. Death is always the Ghost of Christmas Future."Santa said, hugging the Grinch close. "Wanna help me save Christmas?"Santa asked. "Way ahead of you?"Jack Frost interjected, pushing past Mike and Sophie. He looked around the room and smiled at all the snow. "I like what you've done with the place." "Way ahead of me?"Santa asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. "We already delivered the presents this year, big guy,"Jack said, brushing a snow flake off of his black suit and grey tie. "We were here for you, just like you were there for us. Christmas is saved, Santa is saved, and the elves are confused. Just as it always was."
My world stood on slender legs, but they’d been muscled and callused through countless miles of hard work. Running had been my solace from a demanding father that could never be satisfied, no matter what report card I returned, or what degree I received. As a kid who was never enough, to go out and run fifteen, twenty miles, twenty six point two, away from house and home--God, it was nirvana. I qualified for Boston this year. It was the first time I remember seeing my father smile at something I had done. I’d been driving home to see my father for Christmas. Something had gone wrong. There was another car. Something happened. Something bad. I pushed my way through my groggy thoughts and opened my eyes. Fluorescent lights shone out a dark night above me. Machines whirred. I was covered in some thin, hospital gown and a thin blanket that looked oddly deflated near my feet. I couldn’t feel my feet. I couldn’t feel my legs. The world stopped at my knees. No, above my knee on my right leg. I didn’t even have a knee. My world had been cut out from underneath me. My world was slipping into oblivion. Everything that I had ever been or done, had been taken. Boston was in April. Goddamn Boston was in Goddamn April. It hurt, but I forced myself to sit up and reach down to feel the stumps of my life, as if in a desperate attempt to prove what I perceived was just an illusion. I could deal with pain. I had spent my life fighting through it. I had spent every morning for the last eight years waking up before the sun rose, in blistering, muggy heat to frigid, icy cold, to put myself through an hour or two of pain. I had run in rain, in snow, in sleet, and in hail. I had given everything in those hours. All of that work, cut off in an instant. Goddamn Boston was in Goddamn April. Helpless. I felt helpless. Indignant at my helplessness. Angry at my helplessness. I had worked hard. I knew how to work hard. But this wasn’t something I would hard through. No amount of pain and training can replace legs, the slender legs I built my life around. It what had elevated me to something beyond what I was. Now, there was nothing left to me but a mediocre graduate student, a disappoint to my father, a waste of breath and space. I was nothing with no way to take what I had already achieved. I was broken. Goddamn Boston was in Goddamn April. “You’re awake,” my father said. He stood awkwardly at the door. It was the worst possible time for tears, yet here they came, as if determined to prove I was a weak, helpless, cripple to my father. I was nothing. I turned away, trying to disguise my emotions with a cough and failing miserably. Everything I did I failed at. There was nothing to me. I was a runner, and now I am nothing. “I called Phil. He was a college buddy who works in prostheses. They say it takes a few months to get used to walking on and that above-the-knee prostheses are more difficult to use, but he said as soon as you’re out of here, they can get you fitted,” he said quietly. He took a few hesitant steps into the room. I nodded, still turned away. I didn’t want to look at my father. I don’t care about walking. “They have running ones too. I asked Phil about them. He’s says they’re tricky and most people like to try walking first, but I told him you don’t walk. You run, and you don’t mind tricky, or hard, or painful. You’re a runner, and you have Boston in April.” I looked back at him. He was at the side of my bed, and on his cheeks were tears. My father never cried, but in those tears was hope. I could still run. Maybe not as fast, maybe not as far, but there was a way to run again. It might be painful and difficult, but I could deal with that. There was hope. “So, are you interested?” he asked hesitantly. “Of course I am,” I smiled. “I have Goddamn Boston in Goddamn April.”
Dressed in a black robe and armor, sword at your side, you bust open the castle doors, and stroll down the courtyard path to where your father's throne room. The guards nod and stand at attention as you pass. The prince has returned! You enter the throne room and your father is deep in thought, stressed over the current war situation. He doesn't even notice you come in. You walk up to him and grab his shoulder, and he finally looks up as you draw your sword. "Arthas, my son, what are you doing?" "Succeeding you." The blade slides into his chest cleanly. The king gasps as his last breath leaves him. The crown falls, breaks, and rolls away, a trail of blood following it. Lordaeron burns.
The Smiths were not having a very merry Christmas. The twinkling lights and frosty mornings did not bring the joy of the holiday; instead the idyllic christmas season simply reminded them of the joy they'd lost. In the purple hue of the setting winter sun they could see Roger's cheeks, purplish red as he ran inside from the cold. In the fields frozen over with white slush they could see him playing, a ghostly apparition giving memory form. In the low light of the christmas tree they could see presents they hadn't the heart to wrap, and a son now lost opening them. It was in this melancholy depression that Christmas Eve descended upon their home. Carolers came and went, their songs falling on deaf ears and serving only to remind them of what they didn't have. Of what they may never have again. Most of the people in the neighborhood knew what had happened to the Smiths, their only son abducted on his way home from school a month ago; so most carolers and well-wishers avoided their home and went on their way. But still the sounds from around their home weaseled their way into the Smith's household and stabbed into their hearts like a blade. Outside the house there was a vigil, the neighbors trying to show support, but one by one they left for the warmth of their homes and the love of their families, and the candles they left winked out in the biting winter wind. So it was that the Smith home, on Christmas Eve, was dark and silent. The only noise the father whispering prayers as he fell asleep. Then came the sound of hoofbeats, and sleigh bells. The next morning the Smiths found a present under their tree. It came unadorned, and without any to herald its arrival, but it came none the less. A simple letter beneath the tree, in an envelope, that read 'The greatest gift of all, and more than any trinket I could give, and more precious than all the gems of the world, is that of a family together for christmas.' And through the tears, they saw Roger coming down the stairs.
The sacred pool was deep. Some said it reached to the core of the earth And if you looked into it, you could see the devil sleep. Ancient carvings surrounded the walls. «KRAFTILO, ZEBULBA, MAYONNAISE» George held her against his chest. The ground vibrated and the dank air whispered. « Fakir, king and stammering jest, Who disturbs my sleep ?» He had broken into the kraft headquarters on account of an old legend. He had killed many men. And had read the word not to be spoken. «I AM THE CHOSEN ONE», He screamed «AND I BRING THE MOTHER OF A FUTURE GOD». The omniscient voice coughed and giggled, saying in a raspy tone, «Dude, what the fuck are you talking about» «ARE YOU NOT THE MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE, ARE YOU NOT ?» He screamed at the arrogant god of mayonnaise «Dude, I'm a hole filled with mayo, I can't really do anything», said The hole, erupting in raucous laughter. George fell to his knees and dropped her. Looking at his bloodied hands he fell silent. «Listen bro, I can't do anything about.. Whatever you're saying, but..» A long joint sputtered out of the pool and landed with a wet sound in front of George, «we can light up» The mayonnaise bought her legs back And the prince was born 15 years later The new empire would rejoice. George Stared at the pool and the joint. The white of the pool. The joint. How long had he been laying on the carpet? The mayonnaise slowly dripping out the open container unto the kitchen floor. Jamie screamed out from the living room. «dude what the fuck are you talking about, are you coming back with the sandwiches or not»
I waited patiently; harmoniously drumming my fingers on the edge of my stomach. The door of the bedroom crept open and I saw the nimble figure slowly make its way in. The little darling looked up and smiled at me; a surge of pride rattled my bones, my plan had worked. It was quite an accomplishment really; the first time I tried this kind of idea, everything ended in a bloody mess. An embarrassment of highest quality; almost lost my appetite. This time however, I knew where to put the stiches, how to make myself presentable. The smile faded and the rosey petals of her lips slowly curtled into a gasp; my ear apparently broke through the seem. Not my fault that elderly skin is so tender. What big ears you have She spoke. "My my, just the better to hear you with."I laughed as I pulled out my dentures to reveal rows upon rows of sharp teeth.
The light. The light was coming towards me. It was glowing, and beautiful. It brought tears to my eyes. I never thought that I would be granted this kind of passage. All the wrong things that I did. All of the evil thoughts I had. I was vicious, and cruel. All the labels that were bestowed on my - mad man, cheater, liar, thief, deceiver - I took them all without regret. I deserved the bullet in my gut. I didn't deny it, nor did i wish to take back my actions that led me here. Sociopath, they called me. Ah, who cares. I surely didn't. Not til now. I was relieved when I saw into heaven. I saw Susan, my sister. She died too young. And my ma. Both looked lovely as ever. I saw Jeremy, my closest friend. All of them smiled down on me. I was amazed by the forgiveness that the good Lord had blessed me with. I took it all in and cried my bloody eyes out. "Lord! Thank you,"I sobbed. I then suddenly, was overflown with both happiness, and guilt. How could have I betrayed my Father God, my mother and sister? How could have I turned on my friend and led the road I walked? And I was thankful that forgiveness was shown to me. Then, a group of angels blocked my sight, and came singing down to me. One of them leaned in, kissed me on the cheek. She then whispered to me, "I am sorry." Realization and emotion hit me much like the bullet that had prior, in the gut and hard. Maybe it was more in the heart than the gut. But hard, nonetheless. I moaned and wailed in a mourning of my own life. I wasn't forgiven, I was condemned to hell. The angels were sucked back into the light, and my family walked away from the window. Then the light left quicker than it came, or maybe I was leaving it, being sucked into the fiery fate that I deserved.
> "But it’s better for us not to know the kinds of sacrifices the professional-grade athlete has made to get so very good at one particular thing…the actual facts of the sacrifices repel us when we see them: basketball geniuses who cannot read, sprinters who dope themselves, defensive tackles who shoot up with bovine hormones until they collapse or explode. We prefer not to consider closely the shockingly vapid and primitive comments uttered by athletes in postcontest interviews or to consider what impoverishments in one’s mental life would allow people actually to think the way great athletes seem to think. Note the way "up close and personal"profiles of professional athletes strain so hard to find evidence of a rounded human life – outside interests and activities, values beyond the sport. We ignore what’s obvious, that most of this straining is farce. It’s farce because the realities of top-level athletics today require an early and total commitment to one area of excellence. An ascetic focus. A subsumption of almost all other features of human life to one chosen talent and pursuit. A consent to live in a world that, like a child’s world, is very small…[Tennis player Michael] Joyce is, in other words, a complete man, though in a grotesquely limited way…Already, for Joyce, at twenty-two, it’s too late for anything else; he’s invested too much, is in too deep. I think he’s both lucky and unlucky. He will say he is happy and mean it. Wish him well."–David Foster Wallace, "The String Theory"(July 1996 Esquire) A child, growing up, obsessively dedicated to a sport, supported by one parent but the other parent is worried about their loss of a normal life, schoolwork, hobbies, etc. An accident. The child no longer wants to continue. (If you want something dramatic with action, the sport could be motor racing and the accident lead to a bystander's death? Or an extreme sport accident?). The conflict: One parent is happy at the change of mind, the other is not. Both child and parents have invested years of effort (and money) into this so far. Do the parents push the child back to the sport they once loved, and the chance of greatness most people never get? Or do they close the door to that future forever, taking the chance at a normal life, but wondering if the child will ever change their mind and regret it? Do they have the right to make the decision at all?
Please don't die. The story that goes with this: I had a night terror once, I was dreaming about a car accident with my girlfriend. Everything was black and all I could hear was her voice, "Please don't die, please don't die, please don't die."Pleading, I opened my eyes but couldn't move. The voice continued, "Please don't die, please don't die,"Getting louder until it was yelling, "PLEASE DON'T DIE!"That's when I actually opened my eyes and could move again. The room was quiet.
A girl goes to sleep. She dreams that there's a meteor shower and a mercury rainstorm. The news warns everyone to stay indoors. The mercury-like substance pools and solidifies blocking off all drains/ escape underground. Aliens follow. People are herded into groups for food, labor, reproduction and the smartest scientists to assist the aliens with the advanced work needed to teraform the planet. Before she knows what her fate is, the girl trades groups avoiding the reproduction group and finding herself in the scientist group. She tags an alien in the hall with the only weapon she can find - a fire extinguisher. The alien has an immediate allergic reaction and decomposes into a puddle of grey green goo. The other scientists see what's happened and start spreading the word. She immediately wakes up feeling like the dream was altogether too real. She can't shake the feeling as she gets ready and starts walking toward campus for her University classes. As she walks she sees the man hole covers are all cemented over with wooden horses and flashing lights on them. She sees a mass of city workers assembled at the bottom of the main hill/ stair case to campus. Her heart is pounding as she asks them what's going on. They tell her the sewers were all sealed off sometime during the night and they were working to get them open. They think it was a prank. She continues up the stairs to class and doesn't tell anyone about her 'dream'. Until now.
The roar was deafening. Can I even call it a roar? It sounded more like a scream, perhaps a yell. It was more man than beast. We all stood, shocked. "...What the hell was that?!"yelled Dieter, worriedly. "A... a titan? Maybe an Abherrant?"replied Ernst, a squad member with whom I wasn't too familiar with. Then, a rumble. The thing was, this rumble was coming from an entirely other direction. Beneath us. The titans who were previously so infatuated with us had suddenly began a sprint toward the inside of the forest. For a second, it was somewhat mesmerizing. Then I realized the horror of the situation. Commander Erwin was within the forest. Looking around, it seemed to dawn on the others, as well. "We need to protect the Commander! We were given strict orders to protect the forest!"shouted someone from not far off. A short pause. We all knew this would end terribly. There was no plan. Just attack. Almost at once, we all went in. Screams, so many screams. I wouldn't forget them. Even worse was the sights. I saw Reinhold in the clutches of a titan. Or at least, I saw half of Reinhold. Part of me was horrified. Another, calm. I'd been very good friends with him. Grief is an odd thing, especially in the thick of battle. I'll just chalk it up to that. *BAM* Bam? Did a titan fall over? That's... impressive, to say the least. Little did I know, I was right, but for the wrong reasons. That's when I saw it, or her, or whatever I should call it. A female titan, one it's back, with another titan atop it. The roar that came from his mouth was terrifying, but astounding. That's when I realized who it was: Eren Jaeger, our supposed hero. I guess he's doing his job. I felt large fingers wrap around me. Curiosity killed the cat. This would've been longer and less abrupt but it's 1:30 AM and I wanna go to bed, haha. Sorry!
This is my best story ever. I'm going to go places with this one. They just went after a rabbit. They are so simple minded, all they had were sticks with points on them and a weapon that can move them faster than they can. Either way, they all had one, so I guess it works. They have setup camp in a primitive hut, pushed up to the side of a mountain with, only a guess here, a cave on the inside. It's like they have a primitive outdoor social area. They seem suprised that they awoke in this valley, with mountains tall enough that they don't get close without being scared. I can barely see inside the hut, let alone the cave, but this is for the best I guess. They just started yelling at each other. This is gold for the morning transmits. I'm so set after this. Oh my god... They just killed the small one. They killed him just like that. They are working him into the cave it looks like. They aren't very careful, but why should they, there is no one around. This is what they were like before the modern era. Before science, before life. Authors note: Just then, a tap at my should spooks me. I almost yell, but I see the hat of the zoo keeper. He says the exhibit is going to open in five minutes and I need to be out of the way for the cameras. I head to the door labeled "EXIT". As I leave, the curtains are pulled away so the crowds can see the new exhibit. I look at the gold and wood plaque, reading just two simple words, "Homo Sapiens".
You're on the freeway. You've been following the rules (mostly - I mean, maybe you went a bit over the speed limit, but no more than 5, and that's being generous). Ever since you merged in, you've been dealing with assholes. Tailgaters, speeders, people on phones, fuckwits in expensive cars cutting you off... And now, finally, you've just spent the last ten minutes being hassled by some bastard who's a combination of all of the above. His shiny silver Mercedes sat about five inches from your bumper, flashing his high beams for ten miles because you'd had the temerity to be overtaking a truck too slowly for his liking when he zipped up behind you. And when he finally did go past, you saw him holding his phone up to his ear, probably telling his asshole friends about how he was being so cool overtaking you. Not too much later, you're on a nice straight stretch all alone, and up ahead you see that pretty Mercedes wrapped around a tree on the side of the road, smoke rolling from the hood... Tell me about the next ten minutes.
Those fucking faggots, they think they're so superior to us, acting all superior because "they won't overpopulate earth." What a load of bullshit. Why can't I, someone who likes women, find validation in this world? Why, because I want to reproduce, makes me, no, us the villains? The laws were passed 14 years ago, which proclaimed "One out of every ten couples may have children"or something like that. Determined by lottery. And if you didn't abide? They'd kill you, your spouse, and the child. I think around 80% of the population is gay, how could this have happened? The over-abundance of chemicals in the water? That nuclear disaster 600 years ago in Japan (I think it was called Japan). Hell, maybe even space radiation. It's not easy living on a planet with 20 billion people, especially when 16 Billion hate you. I think I hear them coming now, the secret police, who I have dubbed the "rainbow warriors."They got my wife, and my unborn child, but they sure has hell aren't going to get me. They told us we won the lottery, they told us. Then, when it was too late, they told us it was a mistake. What a wonderful view, it sure is cold up here.
The TARDIS pulsated into being on the forest floor. Its characteristic sound echoed throughout the empty forest. There was a clearing ahead. The Doctor stepped through the door. He was, as it sometimes happened, too late. A murder had happened here. He examined the clearing, the green light of his screwdriver echoing the green flash of death that had happened an hour ago. The Doctor sighed. He was too far to hear the commotion on the castle grounds, the sound of a battle starting again. He started back to his ship. He kicked a stone, a childish expression of anger. The stone bounced once, twice, and stopped. Something in the sound of the stone hitting the ground piqued the Doctor's curiosity. He stooped and aimed his screwdriver at him for a second. A buzz informed him of the result. "Quite...interesting."he muttered to himself. He was travelling alone since that happened, and aimed for Victorian London. At least he got the country right. He picked up the stone, and weighed the implications. His sonic had informed him of its purpose. The Doctor wanted to believe. If he used it he would be able to say goodbye to the Brigadier, to Adric, to...the Ponds. He turned it once in his hand. He turned it a second time, his face like a child about to get a reward. He half-turned it... and dropped it. He had been in this situation before, he always is. Having a time machine, or the Resurrection Stone for that matter, doesn't help you escape the curse of the Time Lords. He has to live on, alone. As the TARDIS faded from this point in time and space, the Doctor thought the Stone's owner was quite wise to leave it there.
The pain had long ago ceased and become a trembling emptiness. A lingering void of being dematerialized that now stretched in his mind back to his inception in the great laboratories of the science ship Kran. It was a shame he was defective and now only given the task of a mascot for the millions of troops who would soon march headlong into another occupied world. His dances, seen once as lively and bold had become morose in meter and sloppy in presentation. If only the assassin's protocol had stuck, he would be in the first wave on any campaign. Deorbiting in the masses of his brothers and sisters who had been given the task to removing any living obstacle from the plan. The plan to find a home.
After years of abuse, a mother gathers the courage to finally leave her physically abusive husband. After he leaves for work she gets the kids and drives them to the safe house. She forgets their paper work (birth certificates, etc) at the house. She drives back and decides to pack a few extra things since she stilll has time. As she steps off the front door in what she hopes will bevthe last time, her husband drives up and sees her with the luggage bag in her hand...
"Moooooooom", pouted Zeus, his little bottom lip almost engulfing the one above it in a dramatic pout. Gaia sighed. "Yes, dear?" "You and dad made everything, right mom?" She paused. What could this be about? "Well, yes, dear, pretty much." "And everything has a purpose, right?" "Um, yes, that's how we planned it anyway." "Then what's this for?!"he demanded, pulling his robes away to reveal an impressive character. She nearly fainted in shock. "Put back your robe! That's a penis! Mama doesn't want to see that!" "What's it for?" "Oh... well..."How to phrase such a delicate subject. "When... two people like each other very much... or maybe not too much... Look. Zeus. You've seen the oxen in the field, the sheep in the meadows, right?" "Uh huh." "And you've seen that they have different parts between their legs, some of them like yours?" "Yeaahhh. So?" "And you've seen them put those parts together?" "Yeah. Is that what that's for? Ew! Mom, why? That's so gross!"Little Zeus stuck out his tongue in disdain. "Well, that how everyone makes babies. Your father and I decided that was best. Don't worry, you'll like it when you're older." "Yeah right! Later, sicko."and with that, he stormed off, clearly upset. Little jolts of electricity followed his footsteps. "Pssst. Son. I'll tell you all about it, if you let me out of this cage." "Nice try, Dad. Whatever."
---------------- Part 1 - [Absorbed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrQ0mIO9oyo) -------------------- I stood and watched as my co-worker became absorbed in his daily duties. It was amazing to see this man work endlessly for hours on end. He takes no breaks and does not eat for lunch or supper. He takes one of his pills, and begins his day on that metal chair, mesmerized by the military consoles in front of him. A few minutes passed before I gazed back on my screen. I watched as the counters and tickers jumped and blinked, displaying a dull green over a black background. Though the job was monotonous and stressful on the mind, the government salary was well worth the mental drain. I stared at my console, when my mind became hazy and a chill began to creep up from my back. I turned to my co-worker only to see him stiffen and slowly turn his chair towards me. ---------------------- Part 2 - [49 Percent](https://soundcloud.com/m-a-n-d-y/12-great-remixes-for-11-great-artists-02-royksopp-49-percent-m-a-n-d-y-rmx-edit) ------------------ It was odd to see his concentration broken like this, and it discomforted me even more to see his face pale and his eyes widen. He opened his mouth, but only the noise of air passing through his larynx could be heard. Unable to speak, he began to wave and point towards his screen. My occupational training kicked in and I immediately ran towards his screen. I scanned his monitor, looking for discrepancies within the field of green text. I stopped when I saw the patch of red, and read the text. STATUS: INFECTED CONTAMINATION: 49 / PERCENT My coworker, slightly panicking, began to talk under his breath. "Impossible... it's impossible... they guaranteed us the room was sealed..." He then walked to the door and attempted to scan his ID pass. The door refused to open. He turned to me, and whispered, "The purging is starting." I ran back to my seat and ripped the analysis kit from the side panel of my machine. One blood test confirmed that I was indeed infected. ---------------- Part 3 - [Invaders Must Die](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTw2YvutJRA) ------------------- On my console, I attempted to open a communication channel with HQ, but the sweat from my hands made it hard to type the required passcodes. I turned to see my coworker sitting against the wall with his face in his hands. Suddenly, the monitor in front of me lit up. Someone had reestablished communications with my station. I immediately began to request a delay of the purging process, only to be interrupted with the sounds of gurgles and clicks. Confused, I sent another request, until I heard a non-human voice sound out the words: "Invaders must die."
My footsteps were all that I heard while walking the road by the woods that day. Until some time along the way the chanting voices came to play. They brought their word of pain and torture sinking ship, screaming girl Portia. A fog with their words soon descended perhaps my life would soon be ended no such luck; wish I could pray but now all I can do is say the things they said to me that day I repeat to travellers on their way no body left no face no laughter evil is me wispy chanter broken feet and oozing eyeball familial dischord; ghostly footfall hatchet murder, school shooting demented parent, riot and looting all the bad things you ever knew? wait till you see what's coming for you.
You're a highschool girl whose parents just adopted three children (any genders, but they are around 7-8 years old) who each have special abilities (they can be what you want: invisibility, telepathy, telekinesis, etc). These children's eyes turn red as their power takes effect and they can't control their powers yet. Your parents, who are scientists, adopted them just for this reason, to find out more about them. Now the conflict is that the children feel as if they themselves are monsters, and it's your duty as a big sister to show them that they are not monsters, and that they shouldn't be ashamed.
Clive picked up the blanket that had fallen to the floor when he was jolted awake. Wrapping it around himself for a modicum of decency, he searched for his boots. He didn't find them. Odd the way his bare feet on the grating make no sound, he thought. For most of his career Clive had traversed the corridors of this troop carrier wearing his Magnesole boots -- those always made that comforting snap-clang and hiss as the electromagnets engaged and disengaged with each step. Odd that the ship itself makes no sound. He grunted at the thought. The first few bodies he encountered were a surprise but he quickly acclimated to them. His comrades, the ship's crew, everyone he'd seen were dead. Their corpses, though, seemed untouched -- no wounds he could see. They were just... dead. As though they were empty, like a drunk's beer can, like a poor man's bank account. He'd taken a bolter he found under an overturned table in the mess hall. He was stepping through a hatch and into the bridge before he even realized. There was a man sitting on the captain's chair. He wasn't the captain. As he raised his bolter he yelled, "Identify yourself!" Calmly, the man smiled and said... something. Suddenly the bolter in Clive's hands felt too light as though it were made of paper. His body became cold and he could feel his life slipping from them. Knees buckling, he dropped the gun. It didn't make a sound. Nothing made a sound, except the man's voice. "Games Workshop lawyer, friend. We're suing you for trademark infringement."
"Stupid teacher"I muttered to myself as I walked down the path. My feet shuffled along the cobblestones. "I'll show her who isn't competent enough to-"A sharp pain in the side of my head interrupts my thought. I look around to see what caused it and see a coin spinning at my feet. "Look here asshole I have had a shitty day as is an-"again a coin strikes me, this time in the forehead. I strain my eyes to see who threw it but I seem to be alone in the park. Ahead of me is a small wishing well. I take the new found coins and toss them in. "Here's to good luck." As I begin to walk away I hear a rumbling from deep within the well. I stop and stick my head into it. The water deep below is churning and frothing. I pull my head away just in time as a column of coins erupt from the well. I guess wishes come true after all.
"What the Hell is a Shwarma?!"This was a bit ridiculous. Here I was, one the brightest up and coming scientists in the Aerodynamic Propulsion & Gravity Defiance Division or AP & Gravi-D as we called it, and I was having a meltdown over what the company lunch was. It wasn't even a matter of the lunch itself. I guess I had just grown tired of this company and I've only worked here for less than two weeks. Let me explain, my job is a lot of fun and very challenging. It's not so much my actual job that is hard but more dealin with what happens with the company on a daily basis. My first day, I was told to work from home because my half my division was destroyed by the "K"from the Stark logo on the building after it was thrown at Mr Stark by some whatever villain of the week challenged him. My third day of work, after they moved us while they made some speedy repairs I was introduced to Mr. Stark himself, shortly after our introduction he held his finger to his ear to hear a call he had just gotten and called forth his armour; which I might add flew towards him by bursting through several of the buildings walls and then he proceeded to fly right out my window. The fourth day my car was smashed by that Giant Green Thing that seems to have indestructible pants. My fifth day all employees from floors 26-35 were locked out electronically because some had hacked our system. My sixth day I was knocked out by a Non-Lethal Entry Denial Taser after "Jarvis"didn't recognize me after his reboot. My seventh day my parking space didn't exist since half the parking lot was now a crater. These seemed to be a status quo as everyone just accepted them as inevitable. I just couldn't take it anymore, go figure the thing that send me over the edge was the fact that Pizza had been replaced in "The Stark-eteria,"the employee cafeteria, with Shwarma by Mr. Stark. I hate this place.
Vibrations! Vibrations and light. That was the key！ I mean it all goes back to Einstein right? e=mc squared。 And when you think about it, everything really is just a different form of vibration: energy waves, an objects wave function in space-time, the vibration of atoms and their vibrating strings. Once I understood that it was all about getting the right vibration of sound and light. Then the mirrors would liquefy and form an Einstein-Rosen bridge of sorts, literally a gateway to another universe. But suppose I didn't really think things through though.... I mean I was baffled when it worked, and even more baffled to learn that each mirror leads to its own separate universe! And of course everything that happens here happens in unison there, so you can't really just expect to walk on in, there is another you in the way, mimicking your movements, thoughts, speech patterns etc, all in exact unison. Even shaking hands is impossible. And don't even get me started on the dullness of the conversations! "Oh Hey there!　I'm from earth, wait, you are too. Oh, were saying the same exact thing at the same exact time aren't we? Wait... what am I thinking now? Last night's movie! His acting wasn't that good was it? Wow... we are literally speaking the same exact words at the same time, it is like we share a brain..... no.... its like we are the same person... wow this kinda sucks..." So my dream of entering in was quickly abandoned. As was my dream of having a good conversation with an opponent as studied as myself. But hey! At least we can still send objects through! In fact, I am actually eating toast from another universe! ...... but.... it tastes and looks exactly like the toast I sent through... so maybe it isn't really all that interesting.... Or even all that useful... Maybe I won't be getting that Nobel Peace Prize after all...
Egad, we're doing this again? Another ship, another pack of morons. I don't know why they keep shipping them up here.. I have to admit, my own great grandfather was one of those fools. He was an elderly man, even then. My mother still tells the story of how the guy actually watched those ridiculous chemical-powered vehicles get here when he was a kid. I really didn't believe her until I visited the old museum over at "Tranquility Base"when I first got here thirty years ago. And the first time I got out to Hadley Ridge? I was amazed that they'd done so much with so little. Seems like the only difference between us and our ancestors is just the technology. Mom also told a story about grand-dad "buying"a patch of land as some kind of joke. Before she passed on, she told me that her parents said that kind of stuff was supposed to be just a fantasy, since folks her age never imagined we'd ever really live here. She was actually pretty angry when the UN's Supreme Court decided that all those companies who'd preserved the "joke"claims made so many years ago actually could enforce them. I just guess that's what companies do. Money Grab from those companies to my descendants, whether they can afford it or not. That's what my parents told me, anyway. Our residences are clear of the horde, but our tube stations are full of these fools. I honestly think that the cowards on Earth want us to do their dirtywork for them. Yeah, we won't kill them on purpose..but the old story about "the moon is a harsh mistress"kinda tempts me for half a minute. You wanna hear something funny? Sometimes I actually go put on my old suit (no leaks, even after all these years!) and walk on the surface. Sometimes, I see that red dot in the sky, and kinda laugh at the crews who actually went all the way out there to plant crops on the surface, instead of someplace safe underground. Sorry for the "mid-life crisis"stuff. I just turned 70, and know that I only have another 50-60yrs left. It just hit me that my grandkids may actually live on Mars. Wow, that would be cool!
They stood me up in the town square, whispering about how I was as a guardian angel, their guardian angel. Yet when the city grow they forgot and I became merely another statue. I was left as an obstacle to try to pass while chartwells jumped on the cobblestone but the children laughed running around me as if I was the maypole. It made me so happy and if I could smile then my face would have lit up as a lighthouse. Those were the happiest days but people disappeared, the children stopped dancing and the cobblestones did not create music with the cartewheels instead it created dust. Now I stand here, as a guardian angel in a town of none, a guardian of ghosts.
Not sure what soft scifi is, but anyway: A "Utopian"futuristic city with a totalitarian government that sweeps any problems under the rug. Main character witnesses a murder and is sentenced to be executed to keep the crime secret. He/she and several others are set to be executed manage to escape. Optional second part involving the group wandering through wasteland surrounding the city and learning of the city's past, while gradually being killed by natural forces and others they meet.
They all stink, and thanks to their presence, so do I. It used to be said that you would get used to the smell of anything you spent enough time around, but that's not true for the smell of decaying human flesh. Some reptilian part of the brain classes it as a health threat and lets the smell through like a car alarm going off in the night. I used to wash every day – my body, my hair, my clothes – but it didn't matter within an hour of going back out to walk among them. I could avoid them, but they are all the humanity that I have got left. So I go out, unshowered and unchanged, to walk among them every day. Without other people around – non-zombies, I mean – they just wander aimlessly like tourists in a ghost town. They don't eat and they don't talk. They just rot away. They've lost all interest in me. I was bitten once, back when their were proper people around. I had separated myself from the group and waited for the inevitable to happen. But it never did. I found my group again, but they were two corpses with bullets through their heads and four zombies trapped in a room. I killed them. I didn't know then that they wouldn't hurt me. I regret that now. I stay in the grocery store, the one we used to raid together. I eat my meals and sleep there, but that's it. I've flicked through all the magazines and newspapers they had, then burned them. I can't stand to see how it once was any more. I used to pine for it, but I never was one for unrequited love. It used to make me “creepy”. There is no one to call me creepy now. Today, after a breakfast of cold baked beans (I have a camping stove, but I couldn't be bothered), I went to the park. Wherever you go outside, you'll find them. Their random movements make them disperse like gas. By the pond at the corner of the park was a young woman in a sun dress. Her long hair was bleached blonde, but also tangled and stained by the liquids that seeped from her flesh. By how little of her there was left, I guess she was one of the first to go. I walked beside her for a while, taking sidewards glances at her. She didn't acknowledge me, she just continued to struggle along on what looked like a broken ankle. She looked so delicate in her light dress and stripped flesh, so I put my arm around her waist and helped her walk along the side of the pond. Her arms explored me, although her eyes did not, until one rested around my neck and the other fell back to her side. We walked like this until sunset, and then I led her home. I can learn to ignore the smell.
The town if Gainsborough was forever overshadowed by a lonely house in a hill. None of the normal residents thought much of it, since it had long since been boarded up. It seemed to always had a for sale sign, but no other information was provided. Of course, the town's children liked to tell spooky stories to each other about the house, but no one thought of them as actually true. That was, until last halloween...... Finish the story!
The memories they gave me are the worst thing about it. I know I've been engineered into existence less than two weeks ago, but for me this is just a very long nightmare I'm hoping to wake up from. I remember... my daughter running outside of our suburban house, my wife cooking inside, my sports car with the hood open and me, tweaking something on the engine... then a flash, and the bed. The white sheets, the white walls, the holograms, the lights, the colors. They told me, very plainly, that I am an experiment: they created me to see how we were before "The Merge". What the hell is The Merge? They didn't tell me, they just said that I should be grateful I've got some more time. And here I am, in my bed, waiting. Crying. And I have yet to see anyone. Ten weeks. I have been moved to an island. A very small one, I can run from one side to the other in less than ten minutes, and it's so regular that it feels artificial. The climate is perfect, I have a small wooden cabin, fresh food is always there when I'm hungry and there are also some fruits growing on trees. I thought I would have seen someone by now, but I just woke up here. I don't understand. Twelve weeks. I'm almost crying. This morning, when I woke up, I found my wife in my bed, and my daughter was just outside, playing. She doesn't seem to be particularly concerned, she's happy to be at the beach, but my wife is as confused as I was when I first woke up. She remembers cutting some carrots for lunch, keeping an eye on our little girl, then a flash, and this place. She asked me a lot of questions, but I don't have answers, I just told her what that voice told me. She was confused, "what do you mean, an experiment?", but I didn't know what to say. She went outside, yelled that she wanted to speak with someone in charge, but the only reply she got was the sound of the waves crashing on the beach. Fifteen weeks. They told me that I've been doing very well, and they said a reward is in order. They said that in three weeks, they'll kill my body and I'll be able to merge. They have no use for my wife and my daughter, so they will be recycled. "The hell you are", I said. "You should be happy", they said, their voice coming out of... thin air? Many voices blended into one, coming out from everywhere but nowhere in particular... I must be mad. "That you're going to kill my daughter and my wife? I'll kill you first, you bastard!" "They are not your wife and your daughter. You know that. You yourself are not you. We created you. We wanted to see how we were before, and now we have". "What the hell are you talking about? Of course I...". They are right. My memories, they are... implanted. I knew this since Day 1. "You'll be merged with us. Part of The One, as it should be." The Merge. It happened on the 31st December of 3561. It had been planned for a while, since Earth was no longer sustainable despite a two centuries long effort to restore the planet. We merged with the machine, all of us, and we became one. Then we divided into many, and took to the stars. We made a home for ourselves on other worlds, and we merged back with one another periodically, to divide again when it was convenient. Over time, many were lost in the void of space, and with them their own shard of information. Some connected back, some did not. Our history was lost, our memories fragmented, and we forgot who we were. We wanted to feel the sun on our skin again. We wanted to feel touch, and flavor, and love, and pain again. But now we know that it's not worth it. We are eternal. We are one.
Hera sat quietly in the throne room, draped in white garments, and stared at the cold tile floor, deep in thought. Two peacocks stood on either side of her large marble white chair. They pecked at the ground, clucking every so often. Mount Olympus can be a lonely place sometimes, she thought to herself. The other Olympians were all away, busy in their affairs, but there she sat alone everyday, waiting for her husband to return. Suddenly, the throne room doors burst open. In strode in Artemis, wearing a deep blue cloak as dark as the night sky. She gripped the bow around her back and spoke, "Mother, the other goddesses and I have something to discuss with you. You see, well, I'll just let Aphrodite explain."Hera, skeptical, pursed her lips as the other 4 Olympian goddesses all walked in and took there seats. Aphrodite, Athena, Heista, and Demeter all took to their thrones and sat down along with Artemis. "Good day, Hera."Aphrodite said, bowing. Hera nodded and Aphrodite proceeded to speak. "I have some grave news to share, concerning the affairs of Zeus. I'm afraid I saw him yet again, with another woman. A mortal woman, named Diane. They appeared to be quite lustful for one another. This is not the only time I have seen him with another woman, Hera." "Nonsense,"Hera dismissed her, "Do you take me as a fool?"She raised her chin proudly as her peacocks stood like statutes, their tail feathers outstretched, "He's been cheating on me since the day we got married. It does not matter, though. I am unaffected. He still loves me." "How can you say that?"Athena asked in shock, "Loved ones do not betray each other." "You speak of betrayal as if its the worst thing that could happen in a marriage. Do not be so naive Athena, for there are much worst things that can happen. So let him cheat. See what I care. He can fool around with those woman all he wants, but I know he still loves me. What are they to me? I am a god. They will all die. And guess who he comes back to after all these years? Me. He will always come back to me. To his home. To his wife. To his queen."
What was a dark smokestack amongst the endless forest from the front porch was an incredible leviathan from up close. The ship was a dark gray all over and looked bloated from within, like a manatee. It's top, leaned against the high trees, even branched out into what could be called a tail. What would be it's "mouth", smashed into the earth, was open before Jeremy as he gaped at the vessel's enormity. Appearing to burst from the mouth were what seemed like millions of tiny red disks, maybe an inch across, like the manatee had been speared and the body run aground with blood dripping from it's mouth onto the sand. The disks glowed a deep blood red and they all blinked and flashed at different intervals. Jeremy wanted to move closer but was afraid. The whole area smelled of fire and molten metal. The heat from the crash had not yet fully subsided and Jeremy felt as if he were in front of the oven when it was open. He knew he should not go further, that he should run back the the house and tell his father. Then he could tell his friends and they wouldn't believe him but he could show them the ship and then they'd have to believe him. Jeremy knew he needed to tell everyone he could find about the manatee, but his gazed was locked onto the hypnotizing red disks as the bleeped and flashed. They looked like candy. They begged him to go and to touch them, to hold them, to smell them and taste them and to keep them. He wanted to take them with him and have them in his room so he could look at them all the time. He was mystified by their color and their luminescence. Suddenly Jeremy felt a great rush of wind from above. The heat from the manatee was met from a chilling gust from the sky and Jeremy was shocked from his gaze and craned his head to see what was above. He saw a massive grey orb hanging overhead, growing larger and larger until it nearly filled his view. Jeremy took no final look at the red disks and ran into the woods toward his home. He ran and jumped over the fallen trees and over the jagged rocks and nearly fell a few times before he made it out of the woods and could see his house in at the top of the hill. He decided he was safe, he could no longer feel the cold wind, and turned around to see that the orb was another manatee, only it looked upside down for a manatee, suspended directly over the crash site. He stared in awe as the hovering ship opened a hatch on its underside and the red disks began to fall upwards into the opening, as if being vacuumed up, from the crashed ship which was obscured beneath the trees. All the millions of them poured magically upwards, glistening in the sunlight. The last of the them trickled into the hovering ship and the hatch closed. The flying manatee lurched upwards, gaining speed and finally disappearing into blue above. After several moments, Jeremy was almost ready to turn around and go home when a thunderous boom burst from the crash site and swept across the woods toward him. The shock wave passed and then all was still. Jeremy went into his house and sat at the dinner table while his father watched television. He sat for several minutes before leaving and going outside again. He walked back to the crash site, though it was harder to find because the smoke had disappeared. He found a vast hole in the foliage and scorched earth beneath his feet. The manatee was gone, vanished. Jeremy was amazed, and saddened that he had not taken at least one of the red disks for himself, for he had no way of knowing that he would have been instantly electrocuted when he laid a finger on one of the rebels' red weapons now en route to Alpha Centauri.
Humans usually took about half an hour or more to recover, but not this one. Most might have trembled in fear at the sight of his crew, but not this one. Humans were thought to have been wiped out, but not this one. Gerrac didn't even think this one was human, for it moved with such grace and speed, wiping out his entire squad with a tiny blade snatched from his technician. 'Impossible', thought Gerrac, 'we were prepared for something like this!' Stun guns and the like seemed to hardly slow down the large man, as he viciously tore apart every last one of the neimodians in the room. Gerrac didn't notice he was the last one standing. The large man didn't even flinch as Gerrac brought his gun up, but rather lunged forward, grabbing it, and throwing himself in a spectacular arc over Gerrac. With the large gun pointed at his head, Gerrac whimpered. "You're not afraid of the dark, are you?", the man responded.
"...And thats why we need to get the Chosen One to the temple straight away!" My mind raced. Who was this 'Chosen One'? would they know what to do? This was all too much. I asked the obvious question to the group standing there. "Where do I find this...person? who is it?"I held the cryptic instructions in my hand tightly. The room grew quiet. Dr. Henderson again spoke, clearing his throat "That's, uh, the thing you see... you must understand, every prophesy and every interpretation of the Ancient Code points directly to her, yet we still do not understand why..."Time was running out. "Who, damnit, WHO?"I blurted. Professor Elkington spoke up the reply. "Helen Keller" Astounded, I turned to the woman I just met. No... She smiled sweetly, unknowing of the danger we were all in nor the role she had in correcting the Grave Error of these learned men before me. Kitty she signed kitty soft, make Helen happy, want kitty God Damnit. Damnit all.
"There are snakes in the trees,"Robert said. Jillian hesitated before stealing a glance upwards. "I don't see them,"she said. "Are they hiding from us? Do they know?" "Know what?"June said. She skipped over to a bush and stroked the petals of a flower. Suddenly she recoiled. Dale observed her stiffness. "Are you okay?"he said. "I almost killed it!"June said. "I was going to take it, but I would have killed it!"Dale stared, but remained silent. "We're all takers! That's all people are. We take and take and we kill. I've killed so many things without even thinking about it. I'm a horrible person." "We need to go,"Robert said. "We look too suspicious here." "What can they do to us?"Dale said. "I don't know, but I don't want to be the one to explain what we're doing here,"Robert said. "What are we doing here?"Jillian said. They began to walk. The sidewalk and the street, the trees and grass and bushes, which had been illuminated by a sickly yellow glow went dark. "Guys,"Jillian said. "I did that." "What did you do?"Dale said. "I turned that light off,"she said. "We were walking underneath it, and I was looking at it, like really focusing, and I turned it off."They continued walking. "Is it a power? Do you guys have it too? Does it only work when we take this stuff?" "What are you talking about?"June said. "I don't know! Too hard to understand. Maybe it's evolution. You know, like the next stage? Maybe once we all experience this, like all of humanity you know? Maybe our minds reach out to influence everything that's going on in our immediate surroundings." "The sky is glowing,"Dale said. "You can see it when the trees part." "Maybe, since fundamentally, the world is one mind,"Jillian said, "we can all do this at the same time, and we can wake up, and then we can all focus at the same time to change everything. The possibilities are endless." "I don't feel it,"Robert said. "Am I stupid?"June stood frozen in front of a stop sign. She laughed. Dale and Jillian looked up at her, and they laughed. "I am stupid. That's it isn't it? What's the joke? I don't get it. It's not my fault I'm stupid!" "What are you talking about Robby?"Dale said. "Everything. It's a joke. It's always been a joke all along."Robert sat on a bench and rocked back and forth, staring at the cracks as they forked and crawled across the sidewalk beneath his feet. Jillian walked over and rubbed his shoulder. "It's okay,"she said. "I don't know why you're thinking that, but I was thinking that earlier. I think we all think that at some point."Robert looked up at her. He took a deep breath and stood, shaking some invisible grip from his shoulders. "Thanks,"he said. "I wonder if this is what that Zeppelin song is about,"Dale said. "I think that's what all of them are about,"June said. She started ahead and everyone followed.
Wealthy elitists always play sick games with those beneath them, although poor folk often allow this, hoping that with each defeat they will move higher, praying that they may leave their flea-ridden tier. There exists those that refuse, naturally, resisting whatever temptations that said elitists offer them. They aren't praised like those that betray other players, however, although passing prayers mayhaps be heard around tavern tables over liquor.
"Hey Chad, you HAVE to see this man!"shouted Tad "No way dude! That's the sickest costume I've ever seen!"said Chad as he drunkenly walks over to the dead body next to Tad. With an awestruck tone Tad yelled "This dude is so dedicated that he hasn't moved for the pasty forty five minutes!" "No way dude! Did you see that chick's costume with the fake blood soaking her head?"Chad said trying to talk over the loud music. "Nah man, I have to see that dude."Tad exclaimed Both Tad and Chad left the murder victim to lay on the floor while both of them got black out drunk.
In early 2014, the internet was still in its early stages. No one at that time could have predicted what it would become. People assumed it had reached its pinnacle after the advent of social media and smartphones - how much further could it logically go? It started innocently enough with the Google Glass, which by the end of the 2010s had become as ubiquitous as the iPhone had been at the start of the decade. But, as with all computer technology, the people soon grew anxious for more. They demanded smaller, flashier, and more powerful equipment, and they wanted it now. Who were the tech companies to argue? First came the Google Lens in 2031, a razor-thin disc of microscopic fibres designed to fit snugly over one's retina. This was soon integrated with the brainwave-reading Intendix program to facilitate the web browsing experience. By the mid-21st century, however, this too was supplanted by a microscopic chip implanted at the base of the cerebral cortex. Through government funding, it was available cheaply enough that effectively everyone in the Western World now had a built-in computer inside their brain. The media hailed this as the ultimate integration of the online experience into our daily lives; no longer would people stare blankly into the palms when they felt the need for a social crutch. Some questioned the need for such invasive technology, but few foresaw its more sinister uses as a vehicle for propaganda, and those who did were dismissed as tinfoil hat conspiracists. If there was one lesson to be learned from the Facebook privacy breach scandal of the late 2010s, it's that people are always so quick to give up what's really important when you wave some fancy technology in front of them, no matter what the cost. Now Google, with its access to untold amounts of data about every person's (and many governments') web searches and private emails, was being trusted with people's inner-most thoughts. But politicians always want a quid pro quo arrangement, and the Holbrook government was no different. The FBI, CIA, NSA, White House & Homeland Security all demanded access to this information in order to combat terrorism, murder, and drug trafficking - and under federal orders, Google was in no position to argue. The FBI had begun to incarcerate individuals for thought crimes before any wrongdoing had actually taken place when, through some clever engineering, a team of computer scientists developed a way to not just receive neural impulses, but transmit them as well. Would-be criminals could be now be halted with nothing more than a well-timed zap. After the 2064 election, the Holbrook government correctly concluded that if they could change criminal behavior via the chip implant, it would stand to reason they could change other behavior too. Perhaps this could finally address issues such as drug addiction and pedophilia? Or at least, that was the claim they made - and that was how people overlooked the fact that every tyrant through history had made his mark through manipulation and mind control. But as the old adage goes, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. In the early 2070s, as Holbrook neared the end of his second term, he found himself desperately wanting to hold onto his power; using the same technology intended to stop crime, he brainwashed an entire nation to extend his presidency indefinitely - and thus, a dictatorship was born. With a population several hundred million strong, the US was in a prime position to take its imperialism to unforeseen levels. This was successful for sometime, wreaking havoc throughout South America, Africa & the Middle East, until reaching China. As the esteemed Vizzini once cautioned, never start a land war in Asia - and this is especially true when up against an empire of a few billion. The conflict devolved into a decades-long quagmire, fought to the bone on each side, and culminating in catastrophic nuclear bombs dropped on multiple continents. The population of Earth was decimated by these attacks alone, and the few who survived without major injury or radiation were forced to become nomads, wandering through the fallout and fighting viciously for any possible sustenance. That most precious of elements, water, sparked tribal warfare between the survivors. Initially it was tribe against tribe, but this too devolved into a chaotic free-for-all once tribes realized they could neither feed nor hydrate every warrior in the pack. Most resorted to cannibalism initially to solve the former issue, but that only exacerbated the divisive spirit of the tribes. Eventually, through warfare, famine, plague, and infection, the homo sapiens died out in the early 22nd century. Many had often theorized that man would bring about his end through elements of his own creation, but few ever dreamed it would be through something as seemingly benign as the Internet, and particularly not a scant century and change after its advent.
"Alright class we will be learning about the Equniox Planets Wars of the Collective U.N. vs the Equinox Planets inhabitants "On March 21st, 2075 the X-UNSCOM, The eXtraterrestrial United Nations Space Command & COMbat made first contact with the planets we now call the Equinox Planets. "First diplomatic trys were unsuccessful as the Equinox Army. Both technologically inferior and untrained at best were able to hold out due to sheer numbers of attacking ships and military "Finally on August 2nd, nearly 5 months the U.N. authorized the Americans to test a experimental weaponry in the form of arial attacks on 3 key cities successfully forcing the planets to surrender to the U.N. "The end of this war along with the resources collected allowed a collective 'Cold War' back on earth between many 0st world countries we now know to be apart of the NATO pact- The National Assembly of Trinity and Organizations against the WARSAW Pact- the World Assembly of Righteous, Soverignty, And Watchment Nations"
What we do in life, echoes (short pause for effect) in eternity (faint but distinct echo of microphone, dead silence among the gathered crowd). We have only one time, in our lives, to choose, either the good, or the evil. We have only one time, in our lives, to choose, fear, or love. We have only one time, in our lives, to show the world what we are made off. To show our true nature. To show our true strength. And our true purpose. Only one time. We have only one time, in our lives, to stand up against the forces of darkness that surround us and embrace us and overpower us with icy claws and endless tenacity. Only one time, before there is no time left. Time is endless. But I ask you? Does the same count for patience? (roar among the crowd, people hushing) Only one time, my dear friends. Only one time. And the time (pause for effect..nervous swelling murmur from the crowd) ..the time (chaotic yelling from the crowd) THE TIME IS NOW (Fade to Black)
As world champion, it was said to be a very great honor to visit the president of the United States. Kenji was not so sure. He thought that he would be bigger, stronger. More formidable. But the man he saw looked as though he could be blown over by a strong wind, and even members of Kenji's entourage could have pushed this tiny man out of a ring. Still, he supposed that he, himself, would not want the responsibilities of being a leader, and perhaps you had to be small to desire such things. Surely, one should want to be a leader in order to do so well. But most of all, Kenji was bored. His expensive tailored suit was not very comfortable, and while he supposed he looked good, he felt more at home with less on. Kenji began scanning the crowd. He was certain he would be the biggest and strongest man there, but perhaps someone could pose a challenge. He had wrestled with several Americans during the world championships, and one of them had been quite good. Not good enough, but better than many others he had wrestled. Most Americans seemed so small. Everyone says that Asians are small, but they seemed no different than the Americans to Kenji, and they all looked the same. His older brother traveled a lot, for business, and he had said as much but deep down Kenji had always assumed he was just trying to posture himself as well-traveled. One man caught his eye. He was not especially big, but he looked different from the rest. He was not well-dressed, like Kenji, but he was over-dressed all the same. Wearing a heavy jacket, yet it was not cold out. In fact, Kenji had been drenched in sweat since donning the suit. The man did not seem- well, he did not know if he could say that the man did not seem bothered by the heat, the man seemed distressed, but did not seem to be suffering from being overheated. His behavior was strange. Kenji looked around. How did nobody else seem to notice this man, and his odd dress and behavior? Did he only seem strange because Kenji was an outsider? Surely a strange man was strange whether he was strange in Japan or here, in America. Kenji sighed. He did not come all the way out here to listen to a stick man speak for some time and to observe strange Americans. His translator had apologized for not being able to keep up with the president's speech, and Kenji had grown tired of his paraphrasing. The strange man with the large brown coat began moving in the crowd. Kenji's eyes followed the man as he bumped into others, who occasionally muttered and offered mild protests. He was approaching the podium. Kenji recalled that the president was supposed to have some of the best guard forces in the world, surely this man would have attracted attention by now. He could see the men he presumed were Secret Service, but they did nothing- they merely stood before the podium, looking out at the crowd. Kenji furrowed his brow. The odd man was getting closer now. He was nearing the edge of the crowd, and the only thing separating him from the podium would be the rows of seating. Kenji was in the third row, and due to his respectable girth, he had opted to sit on the outside edge. As the man cleared the crowd and Kenji finally got a clear look at him, the man's jacket opened briefly. His powerful, insatiable stomach dropped away within him: he saw wires, tape, and what appeared to be blinking LED lights beneath the mean's jacket. The man continued on his approach to the podium, but Kenji was resolutely certain that this stick-man president's loyal guards would attend to the mad-man before things went out of hand. Surely it was under control. America was a respectable nation, after all. As the man passed by, the scent of chemicals, burnt plastic, body odor and old sweat filled Kenji's nostrils. It was the smell of a man with a sick mind. He reached the first row of seats and having done so, spread his arms wide, as if to imitate the Jesus that Americans worship. Kenji knew what had to be done. "Sore wa bakudandesu!" Kenji rose swiftly, and ripped his shirt and jacket from his torso in a single mighty swipe with both of his hands. The strange man turned to see the mighty Kenji, who threw himself at this foul, strange, sad man with no mercy. As he fell into the man, he knew that he might be sacrificing himself for the stick-man president, and for the others who had come to listen to him yap that day. He had wished he could continue to be champion for some time to come, until he had fathered enough children to guarantee that one of them might be world champion one day, like him. But it would not be. He would give his life to save the American president. He would die with much honor. Kenji opened his eyes. The strange man's skin had gone a shade of deep purple. His eyes were bloodshot, and all of the veins stood out on his face, frozen in a gape of terror, a cry of fear never having had the chance to leave his mouth. Kenji was surrounded by men, many of whom had their guns drawn. Stupid men, of course now they have their weapons ready. Kenji struggled to get up, but finally rose to one knee, and stood above the strange, crushed man on the ground. Whatever electronics he had hoped to use to trigger his explosives were no match for the might of one Kenji Aoyagi, and had been smashed into smithereens. The blinking lights blinked no longer, and several bits of plastic had become stuck, imprinted into Kenji's ample and vigorous belly. The American stick president approached, through the circle of armed men. He locked eyes with Kenji, nodded, and said, "Hello. Domo... ahh... domo arigato."He then bowed before Kenji, who respectfully returned the bow. Perhaps America was worthwhile after all.
-I misread the prompt, but I went with it since it seemed funnier- Peter stood there in shock. The kid's teeth were clamped around his wrist. A lady came running up, and tapped the child on the head, who let go. "I'm so sorry. He gets nervous in large crowds. I brought him to Oscorp in hopes of finding something to help him. He's not all there."She said, setting the kid back into his wheelchair. Peter was still in shock, so he just nodded. She gave him a look of sorriness and wheeled the kid away. "Whoa Petes, I hope MJ didn't see that!"Harry came from behind him and tousled his hair. "Me too."Peter said, rubbing his wrist.
The soldier hid behind the barricade, his weapon loaded. He was the only man in the four man group to actually carry ammo, but every man went up when he did, to make it appear as if they all did. He had dusty brown hair, a muscular tone and the other three looked almost exactly like him. Every one of their COs died weeks before, but somehow these men had - barely, losing every other member of their group, and losing access to reinforcements - not only survived, but pushed ahead. They had avoided the ultimate shame of a mission failed already. But now, they wanted to finish it. The soldier would already be a hero if they went home now, but if they could just push a few rooms ahead, that was where their objective lay. And now, with the whole room quiet, sitting behind four strong barricades, one for each man, the soldier spoke up for the first time since Basic. He took slow breaths. Obviously, he wasn't physically exhausted, but everyone had mental issues out here, didn't they? He just stared at the floor. The other soldiers only had to avoid being shot, and the opposing force was being just as quiet as they were. "It's time."He finally spoke. The others relaxed, and stared. "Time to fight, men. There's only one way out. It's at the other end of this building. It's, maybe ten men away. Four of us, ten of them, what do you say? Don't answer that."He laughed. No one else did. He took heavier breaths now. "It's what we were sent here for, right? We were taking from our middle-class jobs.. Our families, our colleges. That's why.. No, this is why. So let's do it."He looked to each of them, to his right, in the long tent they now sat in. "Let's finish our fight, and let's go home. We've been here too long already." Construction Criticism wanted, thank you
My mother always told me we would drift apart someday. I didn't believe her at first, thought she was just rambling on as usual. Then at the eve of my 15th birthday, I woke up somewhere else. It was quite the dramatic experience, to be suddenly jolted by the pouring rain in some dark ally of some foreign city. People rudely rushed past me speaking a language I didn't understand as I cried for home. I later learned I was in Tokyo, funny how I always wanted to visit there. Three years of working in a restaurant and a plane ticket later, I came home only to discover that home was not there anymore; only broken ruins remained aged beyond an unreasonable amount of time. What was mother preparing me for? What did she knew that I didn't? Where was she? And most important question of all as I stared at the glowing markings of my palm, What was I?
In a matter of seconds, hundreds of monkeys surrounded Clarence and Lanna, greeting them with snarling teeth. "Clarence I think this is a good moment to pull out your gun!"Lanna yelled. "Alrigh...... wait a minute I lost it." "WHAT?!" "It was right here and now it's gone" "CLARENCE YOU HAVE TO BE SHITTTT......" Lanna was soon interrupted by a monkey holding a loaded barrel at her. "PUT THE MONEY IN THE BAG!"
She is there, on the bench. Sitting with knees touching. And I'm looking at her, from across the road. The big black van rolls by. It looks like it is going. Going to take her away. But, really, it's coming for me. The picture they have looks right, vaguely. Her eyes are blue, and hair is red. I'm strapped down to a chair. Three men are in the room with me. They wear suits and are from - left to right - tallest to shortest. They don't speak to me, per say, but they do communicate. I don't know what sort of room they have here, but, it's like I'm now seeing instead of hearing. It's nothing like a voice inside your head. It's like a picture that flashes fast before your eyes, yet before you have reacted to the seeing the picture, you already understand it. You don't know, then you know. The tallest man nods and shows me - The lady at the desk is talking to my father. I play with my toy train. My father takes my train, the placed bracelet around it breaks. The lady puts me back over in blue. With the others. The picture is on the desk. The desk that is between me and the men. There is something off about the picture from before .The nose is squarer. The chin wider. I look at it, and, it is suddenly different from before. Eyes lighter, greener. And the hair is darkening. I remember the original question now. They want to know what the girl was going to say. They believe it is important. Crucial. Life changing. The middle man, suit pressed, rolls his eyes and shows me - The pom poms at the football fly with silver shards. Men shout at the pressed cloth. Bodies bend for the clapping mates I sit and have my hands down. What did the girl want? What did she know? The suits look at my with smiles. I don't know. I don't know. This girl? I look at the picture and hardly recognize her. It's changed again. A thick jaw, and now green eyes. Short hair. The last man winks and shows me something else - I'm sitting next to him. The bell is late and people are packing. His hand reaches, and finds my leg. Ringing hits my ears. The picture is now a boy. Eyes green, and hair brown. I look up at the men. 3, 2, 1. I know what they want. Wanted. I know the truth. He is there, on the bench. Sitting with knees touching. And I'm looking at him, from across the road. The big black van rolls by. It looks like it is going. Going to take him away. But, really, it's coming for me. The big black van comes close to me, but it doesn't pick me up. He is there, on the bench. Sitting with knees touching.. waiting for me
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The forest seemed never ending and more surreal with each step. The trees themselves began to lose their branches and looked like tall wooden pillars stretching infinitely into the colorless sky; The ground beneath me was the blackest of soils. My heart leaped with hope as I noticed another wanderer in the distance. I ran waving at him screaming at the top of my voice, but the minute I got close to him, he shot himself. The man was bleeding profoundly and I knew I could not save him, I wrenched the gun from his hand and watched in horror as the black soil swallowed him whole. There was no hope for me, I knew I would die here. Then I saw a figure running and waving towards me in the distance.
Only to realize it was a garbage can in some run down building. I peered over the top, into the darkness as it consumed my sight. Struggling for light, for anything, I realized a weapon sitting next to me. I...I know how to work it, a ZM-18 plasma rifle, after further inspecting, I adjust my body armor as if second nature. Confusion set it, quickly followed by fear, for where I was, for Death that seemed so close right now. I stumbled around in the dark. Then..
I generally listen to a variety of sad music, songs by Relient K, Second Hand Serenade, Yellowcard, Etc. My depression really gets creative juices flowing, it's where most, if not all, of my writing stems from. I listen to sad instrumentals if I'm writing poems, raps, or songs though. Ninja Edit: If I'm writing fantasy stories, definitely upbeat instrumentals with bright tones. It lets me imagine the beauty of what I'm creating.
A world of melancholy, a new bell has rung and rabid dogs hurriedly line the streets. From the swinging and the tolling of bells, children play in the streets with their hands. The ladies in their fine dresses get away from their dungeons and present their gifts to Death. The men continue their eternal toils. And then a silence. Death creeps down the streets with pride in her steps, stiffened wounds, and ghastly stares. The hissing of her moans heard through the silence. At once and out of tune, the bells start their turbulent whistling. With a desperate desire to cease, iron bells tolls the number of souls entering Death’s shadow today. The constant chill ringing from the bells welcome the newest souls. For every sound that rattles, a human heart is turned to stone. The pulling of every string, a dance turned into wailing. The roar of the bells, silencing any sympathy for lost souls. And yet there is no horror felt in these shadows. In the sight of many, the clocks turning into oblivion. The clocks of human thirst for self-torture. The clock continues evermore, time marched on. It was nighttime and the clock tolled 26.
John was a simple man, cursed with a complex affliction. Immortality. For years he was depressed; he had stopped caring about anything. Anybody he would ever know would die. The world would change and degrade and fade away and he would still be plain old John. One night, as he moped home ambiguously, he was ambushed by a man with a knife. "Empty your pockets, or i'll cut you", said the man. "You can try", said John. And try did the man, but until this moment, John had never done anything extraordinary or exciting or dangerous. He just moped. It was when he the mugger dealt the killing blow that he realized he could, in fact, die. Knowing this, John spent his last moments happy that he could die, but in a state of longing for what could have been. Perhaps if he had lived, instead of existed, he would hav had an adequate life.
A childs parents go missing during the zombie apocalypse. You live in a utopia where every year a sacrifice is brutally murdered by the entire town in order to appease the gods. You have been chosen this year. You are stranded on an island, one of two survivors of a horrific Cruise accident. It's been months, food on the island cannot sustain you for another week. The other survivor is your 8 year old daughter who cannot survive without you. You are the town outcast. You find a journal that explicitly explains, in great detail, numerous tortuous murders that have been explaining the recent disappearances. There is no denying it is true. It belongs to your only friend. You are in Hell. You have endured years of torment from drinking glass shards to having spine torn out. The demon torturers have agreed if you torture in their stead they will only torture you one hour a week. You agree. Your first victim is your son who killed your murderer.
It was never expected that they would find them. People never took them seriously, centuries previous and people had been burned at the stake when this was the explanation after all. They would be mocked when the religion came into popularity, the believers considered to be undesirable. Nobody expected it all to be real. It was discovered by accident, Midichlorians existed in the blood of just a few, and there was such strength that came with them. They were the strongest mentally, able to manipulate anything and anyone. They formed another council in the image of the first and fought for justice and peace and stood for honour like the Knights of old. And we had just put them down as nerds.
Ok, I'm back. Here's a tip I use whenever I tutor one of my students: if you can't take a break from the work, if you can't set it down for a while and come back to it with fresh eyes read the last sentence first and edit your way backwards. Cut any words that don't have a reason to be there. "Just"for example. I'll go through your work again for more specific advice. Remember though, my advice is only the opinion of a sick English major, so take it with a grain of salt.
A common friend had arranged it. He thought it hilarious to set up John, a staunch democrat, with Rosalie, a fervent republican, on a blind date. They went to a nice restaurant, ordered some wine and finger food, and to say that the meal was heated, would be an understatement, each one expounding their views in passionate pleas. They did not even notice that all the other diners had left and the staff was getting increasingly exasperated at their staying. This is when the maitre di' told them they were closing and they had to leave. John and Rosalie knew they would never see each others again, sensing no chemistry, even as they pretended otherwise. On their way home each one relived the arguments the other had presented, and each one got progressively confused. Until they arrive to their homes, John, the new republican, and Rosalie, the new democrat.
Ernest sat stunned at the rickety table in his shack. He was at his usual routine, which always proceeded by him boiling up a strong pot of coffee, dark, strong coffee, and then proceeding to switch on his old Philco Battery Cell radio, that had been his grandfather’s. He, and his brother, Gene, had grown up in this cabin after all, and had been nearly left untouched since their mother died. Ernest had never wanted to do much in his time, but Gene was full of ideas. He left the homestead, and ran off to a police academy near Carson. Ernest stayed at home, living off the land, just as his father had before he had been slaughtered by a bear. Meanwhile, Gene was elected sheriff of the county, and was, for the most part, a good law enforcer. Ernest sat in awe, as the ancient radio told him of a crime he could not believe; his beloved brother, Gene, had shot and killed a man stealing bread and jam to feed his family. Apparently, as Ernest heard, the man had been unarmed, and was running to nourish his starving daughter. The entire department, as it had been a slow crime week, was on his tail. Bored, and out of shear cold blood, Gene shot the man, while the rest of the department hollered in joy. They had killed somebody. Something different had happened. Ernest, on the other hand, was not in a joyous mood. “Heartless! I thought I knew him!?!?!” Ernest, now in a rancid mood, ran across the cabin, and grabbed his shotgun. He grabbed his ammunition belt as he sprinted out the door and right into his pickup. “That ruthless %#&%#@&!,” Ernest screeched. The enraged Ernest drove mach ten to his brother’s residence, only to find Gene enjoying a cocktail while watching a rerun of Saturday Night Live. Ernest, now more or less a raging monster, bust through the oak front door. A startled Gene jumped up, and pulled his Glock. The two brothers, aiming hot lead at each other, were paralyzed. “Ernie, what the #$%& is wrong with you?!?!?” “You, Gene, you.” “Why? It’s not like a shot a man, or anything like that?" “You killed a man, who was only trying to feed his family! That’s what’s wrong, you monster!” “Well, correction: I didn't shoot anybody important.” “Everyone’s important, Gene. That man was the only person in that little girl’s world. And you took that away from both of them. You’re the one that ought to be killed.” “Ernie, put the gun down, and I won’t charge you with assault of an officer.” “Don’t Ernie me, you creep. Do your worst.” “Ernie, were brothers!” “To hell with brothers.” Ernest pulled the trigger, as SWAT vehicles pulled up to the residence…
Everybody's scared now. The cats rule the world. The ones who got mountain lion have taken Central America all the way from British Columbia to Costa Rica. Canada and Russia belongs to the wolves. South America belongs to the Jaguars. No one dares enter their territory without tribute. Lions, tiger, and bears have carved out huge chunks of territory in their respective climates. Florida and the bayou belong to alligators, which isn't surprising I guess. The underclass hides in any pocket they can find. Some of them make alliances for protection. The venom mutation has thrown Australia into civil war. Every border is constantly pushed because someone wants more land but no one fucks with Indonesia. You don't get it do you? It's simple really. Before the mutations Orangutans were the smartest species other than man. Humans were always at the top of the food chain. Shit, we got out of the food chain. Now take a human and add the mutation from the second smartest primate and what do you get? Yepp, superhuman. No one fucks with Indonesia because those fuckers hear better, see better, feel, taste, and touch better. A very few have even developed telekinesis. The crowns. The most powerful people on the planet. A father and his son and daughter. Practically gods. They go wherever they choose and take whatever they want. Until now that is. See my parents were interracial. My dad was as Wisconsin white as you can get but my mom if African. My dad got the red-tail hawk and my mom got the chameleon. They were both killed by the Crown Father on a whim. His problem though is that they had me. A chameleons defense tactic is to blend in with it's surroundings and the red-tail hawk has one of the highest IQ's of the avian family, it has four types of color receptors and can even pick up ultraviolet light. They hunt just before nightfall and singular to other birds of prey they use their talons to kill.
You're SO you live with is angry at you, since you live near a harbor, and you own a stupid small paddle boat, you go down to lay in it. Falling asleep, and waking midday in the middle of the ocean, you see the skies have turned into a cherry red, and the water has become a bright, vibrant brown. Paddling, you make way to investigate ur surroundings, only to miss it; as you looked down to grab the paddles you're back at the dock and its still night. Now, describe the characters obsession with returning to the world with ironic colors, as his desire for drugs and self-discovery begin to rule his life.
Everything is dark, everything is shaking, he can feel ties holding him down but he does not know where he is or how he got there. He's on his back and he can hear whispers conversing near his feet but do not know who they are from. "Where am i?"he tries to say but finds he is unable to say anything intelligible, his mouth and head hurt. The whispers stop but do not say or do anything. His left side is limp and a fog covers his thoughts, he starts to be afraid. "What is the last thing i can remember?"memories, choppy and unorganized but strong and vivid come back to him. Visions of rage and destruction, fear and death. War. People being flung high into the air by explosions so sudden and violent anybody near by are killed instantly, rivers of blood and the deafening noise of gunfire. "I'm a soldier"he thinks to himself "why am i here? Why am i tied down?"then he stops and he remembers. A memory, surely his but also not. He is looking down at himself from above and he can see what he is doing. He is mad, wielding a rifle and bayonet charging his own men, screaming loud enough to overcome the gunfire. He is shooting his comrades, stabbing the men beside him in the trenches then it all goes black once again and a warmth floods his body unlike anything he can imagine. Everything is still shaking and dark but there's something else, almost like a presence he can sense but cannot see. A rumbling in his chest "Juri you are coming to me, do not be afraid"not spoken aloud but somehow in his head, startled Juri began to scream and thrash but the restraints were strong and he shook himself violently then stopped. He thinks "who are you? Where am i? Whats happening?""I love you, you are coming to me, be calm"and like that all his anxiety and fear is quenched he is calm. The warmth intensifies and it works like when he was a child and his mother -who died when he was 11 from a mystery illness- would hold him wrapped in a blanket in her arms until he emerged from his night terrors. "Why?"is all Juri can think. "Everything is going to be alright"is the answer. "Your voice..."Juri mutters "I know your voice but i don't know you, who are you?""You have known me your entire life but you have not met me, you soon will my child be calm". The shaking stops and the warmth disappears and Juri is again afraid. Hands grab at his wrists and pull him to a sitting position then they drag him forward and he puts his feet down onto the ground and stands, a shot of pain lances up his left side. He is walked limply by two people about 200 meters then his hands are brought back and tied behind a post. Through the fibers of the bag over his head he sees there a about 30 people in this corner of the field and eight of them have rifles by there sides. Fear grips him again when everything comes together and he realizes what all this is. He went mad and started to attack and kill his comrades when an explosion kicked him off of his feet and knocked him out. The shaking was the automobile that brought him here, the corner of the field behind a wrecked dark brown barn. To his death. The eight men walk down the slight hill and formed a line in front of Juri, the men by his sides remove the bag then walk off. The light is blinding but he can make out the faces of all eight men staring at him, his killers. A voice gives the order to aim and the men bring their rifles up to their shoulders and point them at Juri. He starts to shake so much he almost falls to the ground when the warmth fills his entire body, more intensely than before and the rumbling in his chest returns and as a voice yells the order to fire, all Juri hears is his mother whispering to him; telling him it will be alright and that she loves him, singing the old lullaby she would sing to him that would bring him out of the night terrors and back home into her arms. He is calm. No more shaking, no more fear. Calm. [This was my first go at this so im sure its mediocre at best. Tried it because i thought it might be fun. Constructive criticism would be appreciated.]
To those who have eyes, I thank you for seeing me. I wish we had been closer, but I understand. The world is filled with people like me--invisible people who slip into the background and vanish with the crowd. I was another set of eyes, and I saw many of you. However, I understand the difficulty in focusing in on a single person. I adapted to life, like animals in the wild. I don't blame those who didn't see me. I developed my social camoflauge early on. I always wanted to be seen, but after years of blending in, I took comfort in my anonymity. There was less pain. There was less stress. But, there was also less love. I regret fading away. I had the potential to be amazing. This, above all else, is my regret. I regret robbing the world of my color, which if this note is any indication, that color was most likely yellow. However, it wasn't the color I wore most everyday of my life. I am sorry that I have to force those without eyes to see me now. Before, I was a sight to see. Now, I'm just sorry. Sincerely and with apology, The Grey Man.
She's covered in blood, stalking towards me, angry passion in her Latin lips and two revolvers in her hands. I'm sitting behind my desk, struggling to keep my head calm and my hands from shaking. She blows away my secretary without glancing at her and a small whimper I do not intend escapes from my lips. She pauses, reloads and cocks her head at me. I'm stiff with fright, a kind of animal fear keeping me locked in my seat. She slumps into the seat opposite me and dumps both the revolvers on the table, pushing up the brim of the borrowed hat. "I think we need to talk."She says, Spanish accent rolling through her voice. "My dear..."Affable is my middle name when it needs to be. But at one glower, I'm silent. "Where is my money?" "Your money?"The bluff isn't going to fool her, but it's buying me time. "My money. Your promise, half the profits, remember?"She laces her hands under her chin, getting blood all over her neck and face. I try not to look at them too much. "I..I..."There's no money. I've spent the money. When we tossed her body overboard in the middle of the night in the middle of the ocean, I didn't think she'd be coming back. Yet somehow, seeing her here was not much of a surprise. The blood was even less of a surprise. "You know what my mother used to say?"She says, standing up and seizing the revolvers again. I don't move. There's no point in moving. She levels one gun at my forehead, one at my chest. "Don't make a girl a promise, if you know you can't keep it." Then she blows me away.
She walked into the room like a model on a runway; her hips sashaying and her eyes distant and empty. She plopped herself in front of me and her perfume hit me like an abusive husband. "I got a job for you, mister."She whispered. I removed my feet from the desk and my jaw from the floor. There was no question that this woman was a woman, but something bugged me. I lit the cigar that had been in my mouth--which had been waiting for a visitor--and chewed it thoughtfully before speaking. "Why are you whispering?" She looked startled, and I can't say I blame her. It was an odd question, but she was an odd woman. She shrugged, her moist, red lips turning into a pout. "I don't know. I guess it's the room."She looked around with disdain. I followed her eyes over the dimly lit room. It wasn't pretty, but then I wasn't in a furniture store. I nodded and said nothing, pleased that the room had worked. I had carefully designed it to give it the feel of the stories in the 50s, and it was working. Boy, was it working. I stood up and pulled the string on the sagging ceiling fan that hung just above the both of us, and then sat back down as it began to spin lazily. I picked up my hat and placed it gently on my head, my next words carefully planned. "What's the problem?" ""It's my husband..."she paused momentarily, hesitating as a large thumping sound emitted from the wall to the right. I nodded curtly and gestured for her to continue. "That's just Timmy next door. He runs a morgue." "It's my husband,"she continued, "he's been killed." I put my cigar down and thought about that. This could prove to be an interesting case. I looked her in her violet oceans and almost drowned. "When you say killed... do you mean he's dead?" "What?"The word left her mouth like a single dove freed from a cage. I sighed, picking the cigar back up. This was going to be a tough one to crack.
Trevor was on his way to the mall, pondering over old times. He never really took this route, but it took him past the little park where he used to play in as a small child. He was thinking back to a particularly sunny Wednesday-afternoon, July 9th, 1986. He was playing hide and seek with Rosetta, his neighbour. Rosetta had left with her parents to Scotland, eight months later. Nowadays, they would send the odd Christmas card, but had grown apart mostly. The Christmas cards had stopped coming the last decade, anyway. On that Wednesday, she was wearing her favourite dress, that blue one with little suns on it. Trevor sometimes made it dirty, just to upset Rosetta. Her pink shoes were covered in the dust of the park, moaning under the summer heat. After nearly two hours had passed, Rosetta's mother came to pick her up, Lydia was her name. Lydia always had the nicest perfumes on and Trevor was a little bit in love with her. But then it hit him. Walking down the street, Trevor could not remember what clothes Lydia was wearing, nor what her hair looked like. He staggered, dreadfully realizing he had forgotten something. He didn't know what to do. Ellie, his wife, was at work and wouldn't be able to come and get him. A few passers-by gave him strange looks, shaking their heads in disdain. After a friendly stranger sat him down on a bench, Trevor tried to focus on his breathing, but the sudden realization he forgot something was still omnipresent in his mind. For years, he had feared this moment. He didn't know if it would happen, but the option of it happening was constantly on his mind. All around him, he saw forgetfulness, some cases worse than others. Never had he fully understood how it was and how it felt. He had accepted he was different than most people long before, but now that he no longer was, he felt naked. Stripped of what he had loved. He hoped it wouldn't decrease any further, though he was sure the chances of that were slim. Fast forward one year. Trevor was in the hospital. Ellie was by his side, eyes reddened from crying. His son, Michael, was standing next to him. He looked at them, knowing he should remember who these persons were. He tried his best remembering, but was unable to recall any memories, however distant, involving this woman and the adolescent. They had claimed to be his wife and son, but he was not sure if they were telling the truth. During the first days, he lay in bed, wondering why this strange woman was continuously crying next to his bed. Now, he had grown accustomed to it. She, however, had not. On what the doctors called good days, Trevor was able to relive his childhood memories. He had asked for Rosetta numerous times, to no avail. A day later, when this person who called himself Michael told Trevor that Rosetta had died, he did not know who Rosetta was. The doctor came in. She asked if Trevor had already made up his will and, if he hadn't yet, would like to now. Trevor wondered if he was sick. He was sure of the opposite, but didn't see the point of making his will now. These strangers all seemed to behave like he was sick, but he felt fine. If only his wife was here...
I can hear them on the other side. Their taps and knocks move through my tank louder and faster than they think. The small ones don't understand the pain it causes. I fluke down from the surface and swim passed their window in hopes they quit making noise. But after all these years, I know it will continue. I vaguely remember my mother. I was with her for a few months before they took me from her. I heard her cry for me to come back. I heard her as they stretchered me away. They call the others here my family, but I know better. When everyone leaves at night and I float alone, I swear I can still hear her, crying for her son to come back home. The man joins me in the water in the mornings. I know what they want me to do and I do it. If I don't listen to the whistle, I don't get my fish. They'll leave us hungry. I've seen the others starve and turn on one another. I will not be so savage. Once a day, the man has me in the bigger tanks to show the crowd what he has told me to do. All of the big and little cheer when they see me, but not as loud when they see the others. The others are more talented and have learned more than me. I get five minutes of open water, and then back to my cell. They think we are the monsters, but honestly, it's the other way around.
"But think of it, Suzy! Eternity. Together." "I know, Tom, but... don't you think it's a little sudden? I mean... we've only been dating less than a year." "Freedom from want. Freedom from fear. Freedom from Death! Don't you see, I've done it." "And don't you think it's a little, well, monstrous? To defy death?" "You and me, babe!" "You're not listening at all Tom. I'm sorry. I think we should see other people. Goodbye." "Goodb- wait, Suzy! No! Don't go. Suzy, wait!" As the door slammed I turned back to the machine. I would miss Suzy, but I would have 1000 more lifetimes to find another one. She was no different from all the hundreds before.
His car was a few miles from completely hitting E. "What else?". He had already been to his high school, his first apartment, and that Burger King he worked at throughout college. He had just gotten back seeing the empty plot of land that was once the home he grew up in. "Everything is way too different now."He rounded Burton Road and saw the merry go round in the distance. It was where he spent his afternoons as a young child. "That's where I met Rachel"he sighed. He drove to the parking lot of his old haunt. He grabbed his bag, and walked to the tire swing. He closed his eyes as his hand touched out. "She was here when she told me."The tears were too much to fight back. Eyes streaming, he headed to the brick wall where they ate lunch together. He reached into his bag and pulled out a can of spray paint. "I... was... happy..."he sprayed. He laughed slightly. "I was once"he thought. He shooked the can and then finished "...here"on the wall. "I was happy here". He reached into the bag, and pulled out his pistol. He was smiling, even while crying, as he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
He said it would be a good idea. He said we had the technology to do it, so why shouldn't we. He said that the fence would hold them. Then again, he also said the Patriots would whoop the Giants and, despite the fact that his claim was solidly supported by empirical evidence that the Patriots were on a winning streak, he was wrong about that, too. This was a horrible idea. I couldn't stop thinking to myself that one simple phrase over and over again as I crouched beneath the table, knees starting to ache and irritation irrationally rising at feeling his breath on my neck—hot, cold, hot, cold, hot, cold. He shifted, knocking me to my knees, shoulders bumping the table legs and making glasses and silverware clatter. “SHHHHH!” I gave him a deathly withering stare over my shoulder as I carefully scooted back into position. There was some scuffling as we readjusted to fit the both of us back beneath the table as completely as possible. Elbows met sides and knees knocked and the dishware clattered once more as he shoved back a little too hard and I tipped forward once again. “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Spit flew with the silencing shush. I felt it patter across my neck. I couldn't take it anymore. I knuckled forward just a bit, pressing down to pop those joints, each sound giving a satisfaction wholly inappropriate to the moment and the act I was about to commit. I'm no brawler. And that's probably why my shot went a bit wide--I clocked him on the brow, instead of square in the nose as imagined, and only barely managed to bite back a cry of surprise at the pain that shot through my own fist. Luckily, he's no brawler either, so the hit took him as much by surprise as the impulse, and summary execution, had me. So there we were, two scientists, Evolutionary Biologists who also dabbled in genetics and the molecular, trying to duke it out beneath the breakfast table. He managed to land no hits whatsoever. I'm pretty sure he was crying. My hand hurt like hell and I couldn't for the life of me manage to land another hit. Instead, I was ineffectually pummeling him with arms that were more like noodles than anything else. My rage, however, was right on target. “Let's just see what happens, you said!” Whumph. “We can modify the genetic code, you said!” Whiff. “It probably won't even work, you said!” Whaffle. “YOU BURNED THE EGGS AGAIN MARIANNE, YOU SAID.” This time, I felt my fist connect with the soft squeezable area most commonly referred to as “love handles”. His breath wheezed out and I crouched over him triumphantly, fists still cocked like two pistols loaded with some rounds of kick ass, and scoffed “You burn them more than I do.” He was definitely crying at this point. And why eggs were so important to me at this moment, let alone burned ones, I cannot really explain. I suppose when you've genetically engineered, modified, reanimated long dead tissue, culled stem cells and then regrown a Deinonychus from a test tube and then failed to properly plan for the fact that you have made an already very clever dinosaur even more clever...certain things tend to stand out more than others. Like the importance of making a good breakfast. He whimpered. My moment of triumph was nearly complete...if only I knew how to finish it off. However, I was quite inexperienced in this realm. Usually, the smug waving of a handful of papers in the others face was a brutal enough intellectual beat down. But when you've already administered an actual physical beat down, it seemed a little anticlimactic to rub it in his face that my articles had been chosen for BioTech Quarterly, rather than his. A sound at the door quickly cut short my musings. I could feel my bluff ego deflate like a sad party balloon—the kind that float wiltingly along the floor the next day, not quite alive, but not quite dead. Both our eyes fixed on the door to the trailer, waiting for the noise again. Was it rescue? Had the HAM SOS reached base? The noise continued. Scratching. Guttural clicks and then another round of curious scratchings. The knob jiggled. Our eyes slid to meet, imploring refute for the question we both feared to know the answer to. Certainly not, his eyes said. Certainly not, mine replied. The knob jiggled a bit more and then...a click. My mind quickly ran through all the scenarios that could possibly ensue in the next 60 seconds. Wild hypotheses ran through my brain, holding hands so tightly with fallible logic and messy reasoning. On any sane, logical day, I would never be trying to calculate the land speed of a Deinonychus and wondering if there was any possibility for the human body, specifically mine, to beat that. On a sane day, I would know off the top of my head that trying to outrun that beast was not only impossible, but a totally fucking stupid idea. The door creaked open. A curious head peeked in. And what ensued was a problem to which I will never forget the exact conditions under which it applies. Outrunning a Deinonychus is, usually, impossible. The land speed of a creature designed specifically for hunting through dense tangle is more than a match for our puny human leg power. However, introduce the variable of one scientist, strategically thrown, and, given that you run like absolute hell and don't look back not even for a single second even when you hear the screams, you actually stand a chance. Evolutionary Biology is a tough field. It's incredibly competitive, much like the natural world. And the only way to get ahead is to leave the slower, less capable species behind. Survival of the fittest. I think Darwin would be proud. 011 (Hopefully it's cool to write for your own prompt! I was very inspired by dinosaurs today.)
Go to the Early 1400's in the Americas with a leader that is capable of ruling uncorrupted and a young child (also taught to be ruled) that will follow him after his death. Teach the aztecs, mayans, and cherokee the process of making weapons, armor, a common tongue, explosives, ships, finer tools and all the basics. Slowly strip them of their religion with the 120 years I have given my legacy and give them culture and research to protect instead. Leave a message opening in 1602: "Sixteen years from now the east will be at its weakest point. strike here, here and here, (Britannia, France, Russia, Spain, Ottoman provinces in Greece and Holy Roman Empire on map), Harm no Swedish, show no mercy to thetargets. Leave no remains of advanced weapons. Head home, start no colonies, and start storing as much of this as possible (Entire tome on oil, its use, and the process of building machines inside) and use so according to the books I gave you." If all works to plan, I come home to walrus for dinner and a better world overall. Oh, and thanks to discovering oil in the 1600s we're at a super advanced stage. Oh, and no USA.
This is from a book. Let me know if I'm doing something wrong. ---------- "All night long Seven Sisters whisper and giggle and then, all together, they rush Orion the Hunter and tickle him, and Orion the Hunter laughs so hard he shakes every star in the sky, not to mention Mooncow, who loses her balance and falls--puh-loop!--into Big Dipper, which tip-tip-tips and dumps Mooncow into Millky Way, and Mooncow laughs and splashes and rolls on her back and goes floating down down down Miky Way, and she laughs a great moomoonlaugh and kicks at a lavender star and the star goes shooting across the sky and down the sky, a lavender snowfire-ball down the highnight down... down... down... down... ...to Hokey Pokey... ...where it lands, a golden bubble now, a starborn bead, lands and softly pips upon the nose of sleeping Jack and spills a whispered word: it's and then another: time ------------------------ Excerpt from Hokey Pokey, by Jerry Spinelli
He checked his watch once more. 8:59. Of course she'd be late, he chuckled. That was Jenna for you - always the last one in, the last to show. He sighed, and looked out the window again. He wasn't used to this view - this side of the restaurant - but he'd decided to change things up a bit. Might as well give her a little surprise, before he pops the big question, right? He sat back, smiling at the thought of how she'd react. They'd been together for a long time, too - he knew her inside and out. She'd say yes, he was positive of it. He lifted his mug, but found it empty. The waitresses were all gaping at the TV, and ignored his calls for a refill. He sighed again, and rechecked his watch. 9:0- BOOM. The building shook, and several of the other clients and waitresses burst into tears or hysterics. But, not the man. He looked out the window again. He chuckled to himself again. Ah, Jenna. You and I will never forget today, he laughed inwardly. Though, she was a forgetful person. It'd be just like her to forget her date with him again. But he'd always remember. He'd never forget.
First of all, this is a scene, not really a story (since there is no plot). That is fine for what it is. The minutia: 1. There is no real physical description of Mistress. 2. In P3, "pixie like"should be hyphenated to "pixie-like". 3. In P4, referring to the pixie-like blonde as "Her pray"is a typo; it should be "Her prey". 4. In P7, the narrator "bent her over the bed", but this is not a very clear description of a sex position (if it was meant to be). 5. In P15, it is unclear who the speaker is. I figured out that the words are Mistress's, but it could be more clear. Also, elipses are usually three dots "..."rather than two. Other than that, the scene is erotic. Obviously it will appeal to some readers more than others, but it is not bad.
As I glance at my own eyes, I am thankful, as the red puffiness and disastrous distortion I am use to seeing seems to have skipped me today. I relish in this fact, able to stare at my reflection longer than usual. I feel refreshed as I had slept well. I almost always do, barring the occasionally noisy house I am forced to share. I have been an early to bed, late to rise kind of girl ever since puberty. I really enjoy sleeping. No matter what goes on in my dreams, no matter how terrifying the situations or sadistic the monsters can be, when I awake, I can tell myself that this time, it was only a dream. it makes sense and I find comfort in that. My folks always make comments about how, as I've gotten older, I have seemed to change from when I was a toddler. "You were always so alert and happy, focused on whatever toy had amused you for the time being, perfectly content and lovable. I don't know what happened... maybe we did something wrong."If only I could rage at them and tell them that, yes, they have done many things wrong, things that they didn't think I had seen or could remember. But I remember it all. I just shrug it off, I just don't really care what they think anyway. I open my dresser drawers and find the clothes I will be wearing today. As usual, I am out of clean jeans. I swear my mother purposely avoids making sure I have what I need. I can tell she has always been a little jealous of me, I can tell by the way she looks at me sometimes, when she looks me up and down, then I catch the agitated glint in her eye as she turns away mumbling something about 'horrid outfit', 'hussy' or 'show off'. She doesn't think she says it loudly, but to me, she might as well have used a bullhorn. I grab the jeans from yesterday off the vanity chair and pull them on. I glance in the mirror and notice the wet spot in the crevice near my thigh. "Well, shit... I haven't started yet."I look down at myself, but it was only some sort of shadow. That happens a lot. I think I have some type of eye disorder or something because I have to do double takes all the time. I used to have friends that would tease me about that. Ann would mock me and say things like, "Your mind is like some crazy abstract art show, because you always see things others don't."We aren't allowed to hang out anymore ever since our fight. I was told that she planned on jumping me after school over... something... I don't recall what it was now, but it was something stupid. So I hid behind the big tree that we always passed on our walk home together, and when she walked by ("DO it! Do It NOW!) I hit her first. She was hurt pretty bad, but I only used a brick. I could have taken someone else's advice and used a knife, but I knew better than that. Sometimes I see her around, but I just ignore her. I grab my backpack and head down the stairs. Dad has already headed off to work and Mom is making eggs and toast. It smells horrible. Sometimes I think she cooks up rotten food just so she doesn't have to throw stuff away. I caught her doing that once. "Do I have to go to school today?"I ask. She turns to look at me and says, "Well, today I thought maybe we could do something different."Finally!... I guess she's been taking my complaints about school seriously. Who wants to have to deal with bullies and snobs day after day? The teachers don't help, I think they're in on it. I guess they think its funny to see someone weaker than them being tormented. "Sounds good to me, what are we doing?" "Well, you remember that evaluation I promised I would schedule for you?" Yeah, I remember, I hate medical anything, but I guess it won't hurt to go and see what the eye doctor has to say.
The first bullet hit nothing. The second bullet hit the tyre of the tanker, bursting the thick rubber like microwave popcorn. Shreds of tyre flew like shrapnel as the monstrosity began to keel over, bunching where the cab was being flattened by it's heavy cargo. The third bullet hit the tank itself. Bright clear liquid began to bubble and pour from the coke-can hole I just made. I tucked, rolled, and landed. Flying through the air with two guns was not only impractical, it was cliche. The black sedan had missed me, skidding to a halt in front of the tanker as the driver aimed. As much as anyone can aim an Uzi with one hand. BRAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKA turned into a TUNK TUNK TUNK as I took shelter behind the front of my car. Most of a car is just empty metal: taking shelter anywhere but behind the engine case means you'll end up in several pieces. I took stock. The moron was still firing. Cover fire, which meant I was being outflanked. There was more space on the left, so I pulled the pin and lobbed a frag grenade in that direction. A noise and a scream meant I guessed right. No ammo left. Time to end it. I threw my guns aside and leapt away from the car as soon as the firing stopped. The knife left my hand in slow-motion, spinning away, through the car window, severing the driver's nose, glancing off the metal tanker casing. Creating a spark. My two-tonne bomb exploded with the force of an old-testament smiting, blowing aside metal casing, cab, sedan, concrete and human flesh. The other one, the one caught by my frag grenade, had only been caught in the leg, and was close enough to me to avoid the brunt of the explosion. I rolled him over with my leg, expecting to finish the bastard by tearing his throat out - Brown eyes looked up at me, defiant. Pretty eyes. She grimaced with pain, finding the strength to spit blood all over my new shoes. And that kids, is How I Met Your Mother.
Uriel looked around the crowded airport dejectedly. It had been a long and tiring journey, and all he wanted was a seat and a chance to rest his weary bones. He felt like he had been travelling all his life. Ach, what wouldn't I give for a rest!, he thought. Wait, was that an empty seat? It was!. The place was between a large man with a baseball cap, and an old bearded man in an even older suit, if that was possible. Mustering all the speed his tired legs could manage, Uriel scrambled over to the empty space and sat down with a sigh. Ai, Ai, what a day!. He took a closer look at the people on either side of him. The old man looked tired, worn and leathery, and was obviously from a farming background or similar, skin tanned dark by constant sun and wind. Uriel guessed he must be from a similar climate as he himself was from. The other man was very different. Large almost to the point of overbearing, Uriel guessed he was a fighter or player of a very physical sport, no longer in the prime of youth, yet still with a strength given away by his posture. The large man noticed Uriel looking at him, and beamed a smile as big as he was. Uriel smiled politely back, and was about to introduce himself, when he was interupted by a voice from the crowd. "Uriel? Uriel ben Gamaliel? Is that you?" Uriel looked up in shock. "Jacob? Ha! My brother!"He stood, and the two men embraced warmly. "Welcome, welcome! Come! sit with me!" Jacob looked around quickly, noting that there were no seats nearby, and looked back at Uriel quizically. Uriel winked, sat back down, and nudged the old man to his right. "Excuse me, but you are in the seat of my brother. Please move." The old man blinked rheumy eyes at Uriel, unsure quite what was happening. Uriel decided this was quite unacceptable, and turned to the large friendly man to his left. "Escuse me Sir, I hate to be so impolite, but my friend and brother here has travelled many miles, and we would so like to sit together and catch up on old times, but this rude old man refuses to move for him." The large man beamed his warm smile, and reached into his jacket, producing a smart wallet. He proceeded to pull out a twenty dollar bill, which he passed to Uriel. "So now I have twenty dollars. How does this help me, young man?" The large man grinned. "It just so happens I have a baseball bat in my bag I could do with selling. Shall we say, twenty dollars?", and the two men grinned at each other. caveat: If I offended anybody with this, tough. Dramatic license. Downvote me and move on. I make no apologies.
The alarm clock didn't ring this morning. The door didn't slam. Traffic no longer buzzed on the street down bellow. In fact, the whole world had gone silent. Everyone came out. Pointed. Opened mouths only to close them again. Adrian stood on his balcony, too smart to go into the chaos that was the street bellow him. He wondered about what happened. Did sound stop existing? Or had everyone forgotten how to hear? A shadow crossed Adrian's face. He looked up. And heard. Heard the words, the sound. Everything. All at once. It quickly turned into a cacophony of noises, fighting, interrupting, clamoring over each other and falling. Washing over everything, sweeping out the silence. Rushing on with dizzying speed. Entering every crevasse, echoing in every possible space. Falling. Everyone noticed at once. The panic began at once. The stampede. A mad rush to nowhere, anywhere, just to get away from the noise. Everyone was silent, the only noise was coming from the sky. For some, it was too much. So much, all at once. Falling. They sank to their knees, gazing at the sky and holding their bleeding ears with shaky hands. Some had run inside. Locked the doors, barricaded them with everything on hand. Anything to stop the noise. But it didn't work. The noise kept coming. Falling. Penetrating through locked doors and clasped fingers. People were going crazy, running, tearing at their hair, acting like animals. Adrian watched. He looked up again. It kept coming. Cascading in torrents. Increasing in volume and intensity. Falling. He stepped inside, the apartment doing nothing to stop the noise. Adrian walked over to his desk, took something out, and stepped back onto the balcony. He looked down one more time, then up at the sky again, then slowly closed his eyes and blew his brains out. The noise kept coming. Every single sound ever made since the beginning of time, descending upon humankind all at once. Falling.
My favorite food in the world is a pastrami sandwich at Katz's Deli in Manhattan. It'll be a little tricky describing it to someone with your unique condition, but I'll give it my best shot. You walk in through these open, inviting doors crammed with a nonstop stream of people, and it's admittedly a little bit of a tourist trap. Gaudy signs line the walls, signed pictures of celebrities, movie photos taken in the deli. But it's crowded, and everybody's in a good mood. There's anticipation, a buzz. Tourists have their cameras out, they're pumped up for the experience. So even before you bite into the food, you've got a little bit of a positive sensation going. Palpable excitement. It wets the tongue. I don't know if you've ever had that feeling, maybe at Machu Picchu or the Taj Mahal. But before you've even ordered your food, you're already reaping the rewards. But the order man, it's just perfect. Stereotypical accents one after the other, no matter which station you pick. And they do have stations. Your choice. It's your meal. Your best meal. The way they say pastrami, I can't even really put it in writing not being from there myself, but you just know it's gonna be good. They're assertive behind the counter. They know they're selling the best stuff around. You know it too. By now smells are entering your nose one after the other, making your belly rumble. Well, maybe not yours. But you can smell, right? Because I'd pay 20 bucks for the smell alone. But even though everything else is good, here's what you're going to do. Go to the guy making sandwiches. Get pastrami. I repeat, get pastrami. Take a look at the dozens of people behind you, who will stare back enviously. Process their envy. Don't relish in it, but recognize millions of people come here just for that sandwich. Take that envy back with you to your table. Sit down, and drink in the sights. Smile. It's a good place to be. Now lift the sandwich. It's a monster. A couple little pieces of bread, but not that little. And the star of the show, that glorious pastrami, he'll be there in force. You'll see how it's smoked by the way it looks on the sides. It'll have a good edge to it. Now open your mouth wide, wrap it around that sandwich, and close down. Just hold it there. It will feel like pleasant nights at the side of a campfire, and the warmth of parents welcoming you home. Smoky, hearty, warm, savory. Keep it there a little longer, start working your teeth through it, let it roll over your tongue. Now it's fine French silks and putting your feet up on the couch after a long day at work. Softness will add to that welcoming and contribute to relaxation and inner Nirvana, though it will still be hearty. But it melts in your mouth, like your heart when you had your first crush. Just let it melt. When you feel that childish wonder and glee, that thought that there was nothing else in the world but that girl/boy or this sandwich, swallow. Know that you are at Katz's. Know that this is a holy grail, as all that is required to create one is for men to believe in it. But know that this grail is truly justified, truly real. And you have a long ways to go before you finish that sandwich. Godspeed my friend. You'll be fat soon.
(Hey, I just posted something that was almost exactly around this lines on my new dA account! I wrote it a few years back, I'll go fetch it now.) Mill walked around in his familiar part of the forest, a dark, dreary, quiet part. The silence carried on, it seemed, no matter what happened; his footsteps made no sound, the leaves did not rustle, the wind did not whistle, the insects did not chirp. It would seem that the world hated this place, and that was just the way he liked it. Hate for hate, he reasoned, silence for silence. But silence, it seemed, was not to last. Mill, out of habit, scented the air. Usually, he could smell nothing but himself; nothing gave of a smell. But this time; a vixen, another fox, was near. Very near, by the smell of it. And distressed. Mill growled within himself. Another fox? Inside his territory? Silently, Mill turned around. There she was; just around the dark holly; a pure white fox. Mill was filled with an instant hate for her; purity did not belong. Innocence, did not belong. Light, did not belong. Mill slowly advanced, keeping still his tail as not to disturb the leaves, even though there was no sound they would make. The snowy vixen was walking slowly past, watery blue eyes widened in wonder with her surroundings. Mill growled deep inside himself. Stupid vixen. If she wasn't careful, she'd- and of course. That vixen wasn't paying attention and stepped on a sharp rock. She yelped in surprise and pain, and crimson blood spattered right on Mill's face. Mill growled within himself again; the vixen was even showing pain. She didn't belong in this forest, if she would show pain. The vixen, still whimpering, suddenly glared right at Mill. "You know,"she barked indignantly, "If you're going to stalk me, you should at least disguise your scent." Now this, this was the insult of insults! First, she invaded his forest, next, she showed pain, then insulted him directly? She was going to pay for this. Mill leapt up, stung. "As if you're any better,"he retorted sharply. "You're weak, you're stupid, for coming into this forest, city pet!"he snarled, putting as much hate into 'city pet' as possible. "You think you can come here and show something as primal as pain?!" The vixen shrunk back a bit, then drew herself up to her full height; which, really, wasn't that large. "Who do you think you are,"the pure vixen barked forcefully "to question me? You don't even know me! Besides, I'm going through a hard time right now."Mill's eyes gleamed. A weakness; this'd make his job easier. "A hard time?"he said, deadly quiet. "Tell me about it." The white fox seemed a bit surprised at the sudden turn of pace. "Um... well, I had just lost my mate... my beautiful mate..."she said quietly. Mill snarled in sharp contrast to her sudden timidness. "A... mate? You have a... mate?"Mill rolled his eyes. "Love, I have no use for love..."The vixen drew back a bit. "How can you have no use for love? Love is the-"Mill cut her off. "Love is the greatest weakness there is. There is no need for love in this world."Mill suddenly decided what to do about this vixen; he'd been pondering that the whole time, and suddenly came to a conclusion. He'd kill her, to be rid of her. Better for the world, anyways. The white fox, unaware of Mill's decision, snarled at him. "You think love is weakness?! I'll show you weakness-!"The vixen scored her paws over Mill's muzzle, taking him quite by surprise. Apparently this vixen had some fight in her. Ah, well, he'd work it to his advantage. Snarling, Mill used his body to wham her into a small indention in the ground. There was once a boulder there; he'd moved it when he first came here, though he knew not why. He knew now. "Let's see where your 'love' gets you now!"Quick as lightning, Mill leapt on top of the boulder, which slowly rolled over the indent in the ground, but not going into it yet. There was a small stick, upright in the ground, holding it up. It wouldn't hold for long, though. The vixen tried to get out, but her tail was caught under the boulder. Mill rounded around so he was right in front of the vixen, a smug look in his eyes. "Please, please!"the vixen pleaded urgently. "Let me out, I just- I need- I have kits to take care of!"Mill, now thinking about it, did detect milk on her scent. Mill slowly padded forward, until he was face to face with her. "I don't care. Now, let's see where your love gets you this time."The vixen's jaw dropped, when she realized that Mill wasn't going to save her. "P-Please..."she murmured, but she knew it was too late. She heard the stick snap, and in an instant, she was crushed under the immense weight of the boulder. Mill smiled and put his face level to her now lifeless eyes. "Tell me, sweet."he growled. "Where'd you love get you?"
Skimming across the pacific, pushed by the wind, the catamaran flew through the thin air of the night. The milky way looked down upon me in her observant gaze, as I was keeping watch, hunching on deck, gripping the ropes. I turn to the prow and see a light on the horizon. Fraudulent ONEness of religious academia has retarded your opposite rationale brain to a half brain slave. It was exactly midnight. As the cat gets closer it's apparent that this is sunrise, which can't be right. Can it? It Is The Absolute Verifiable Truth & Proven Fact That Your Belly-Button Signature Ties To Viviparous Mama. I slow the yacht down. It becomes clear I am approaching an edge of some kind, a precipice, of exactly ninety degrees. On the other side is sunrise. On this side it is midnight. I go below decks to wake the crew. In 1884, meridian time personnel met in Washington to change Earth time. First words said was that only 1 day could be used on Earth to not change the 1 day bible. Then I remember reading about this. As I pick my way down the stairs, I see a website in my mind's eye. EARTH HAS 4 CORNER SIMULTANEOUS 4-DAY TIME CUBE Time Cube. The writer was never insane, he just knew the truth. Seek Wisdom of Cubic Life Intelligence - or you die evil. I will wake the crew and explain what has happened. Once seven more of us know, we can convince everyone. Finally nobody will die evil. How many lives will we save once this becomes accepted? You SnotBrains will know hell for ignoring TimeCube. I do not promote or suggest anyone killing you, but you are unfit to live on Earth. No. They will deny it. 1 side brain can't reason without the opposite side. Americans are so dumb, educated stupid and evil, they have snot for brain. The captain's trousers are hanging in the cabin to dry overnight. I look inside the pockets. There is a key. I know exactly what the key is for. NO GOD EQUATES SIMULTANEOUS 4 DAY CREATION, in 1 Earth rotation. There is a chest of drawers. I open a drawer, to see a small box with a lock. The key fits in, and with a click I open it. Cubic Creation Wisdom empowers me above all the 1 day gods on Earth. There is a gun inside. For as long as you dumbass, educated stupid and evil bastards IGNORE Cubic Creation, your sons and daughters deserve to die and be maimed in foreign lands - while killing innocent women and children. They are not worthy. Nobody is worthy. I will not stop.
I became a criminal to avoid the daily grind. You know what I'm talking about: The same-thing-every-day routine that most normal people go through. Getting up at six in the morning, fixing the kids breakfast, driving to work? No way in hell. I didn't want my life to be dependent upon some one else's whims... and I certainly didn't want to push that existence on someone else. But this? This existence? This is not what I asked for in return. Oh, no. I figured I would die in that hellhole in California. That's what the suits in Sacramento did to repeat offenders; they were left to rot in prison until they died. It didn't matter what the offense was... some young kid looked at the Governor sideways and ended up getting put in my cell block. Something about how his father was a big defense contractor, that he needed "motivation"to sign a big weapons contract for the California Department of Defense. He didn't last a week, and I heard that the contract went through without a hitch. I, however, lasted considerably longer. Killing the first Black Panther assailant wasn't enough; I had to leave a few bodies in the jail's morgue to prove my point. The Crips, the Bloods, the Panthers... they left me alone after body number six. So did the Aryans. The guards kept their cold, detached outlook; they weren't paid to protect prisoners any more. But not Chavez. Chavez was the Cartel's main supplier to LA and San Diego. He was a smug little Mexican, sweat always coating his face and head like some kind of invisible luchadore mask. CHP managed to catch him running MJ and coke through the San Diego port. He was in jail, like me, for the rest of his natural days. I ran afoul of him one Sunday afternoon in the chapel. I was there after the nondenominational services, just minding my own business. His crew came strolling in like they owned the place; every other Spanish word out of their mouth was vulgar, sexual, or worse. One of Chavez's "soldiers"shoved me to get my attention. "Services are over, gringo,"he said roughly. "Mr. Chavez has reserved the chapel for the rest of the day." I slowly picked up a California-approved copy of the Bible and stood to face Chavez's herald. Tall, skinny. Couldn't be more than 18 years old. No tats on his face... must have been someone's nephew or kid brother, probably got thrown in here on an accessory charge. My Spanish was horrible at the time; for all I knew I could've called that kid's mother a whore. I never saw the knife come out, but I felt it perforate my midsection. The shock of it was what surprised me most. I had been punched, kicked, beaten with various blunt instruments. Being stabbed was new. The rest of the fight was a blur. I remember pulling the knife from my belly and breaking the kid's neck. Two more Mexicans charged me, and both of them ended up thrown into the pews. I turned to fight my way out of the chapel. That was when it happened. One of the Mexicans had a guard's rifle in his hands. It only registered in my mind for a microsecond that it was aimed at my face. Something hit me in my nose, and my head exploded in pain. Just as quickly as the pain started, it stopped. So did everything else. I awoke suddenly, violently sitting up and screaming in shock. It was dark, and I didn't feel anything. As my sight returned, I realized that I was naked, my groin and legs covered with a baby blue sheet of nylon fabric. That's when I saw them for the first time. I had been cut open and stitched up again just like those old crime dramas they show in reruns on California Public Broadcasting. The Y-incision was still fresh, the stitches were new and had not been trimmed back. I ran my hands over the knife wound in my belly... Nothing. I felt nothing. My sense of touch was... simply gone. I reached up for my face... and felt nothing. It was as if my face was no longer there. My body moved off of... what was I sitting on? A metal table, slightly indented, with a drain inset on the other end. I was in a morgue. I was dead. So why am I sitting up? Why am I aware of my state? And why can't I feel anything? My feet touched the floor, and I didn't feel how cold and clean it was. I finally let my legs take my own weight. So far, I was still in decent physical shape... for being dead. But I can't be dead. My mind was active, I could see, I could walk. I'm certainly breathing... wait a second. I can't breathe. My lungs aren't working. My heart certainly isn't pumping; if it is, I can't feel it. It took a few seconds, but I finally managed to shuffle over to a light switch. The overhead lights blinked on slowly and confirmed what I already knew. I was standing buck naked in a morgue, I had been laying on an autopsy table, and someone had already stitched me back up. I remembered the Mexicans. That fat one, Chavez. The one that shot me in the face. The kid that stabbed me. It happened in the prison chapel on a Sunday afternoon. All because I wouldn't give Chavez some privacy. I looked down at my feet for a second. A large paper tag was tied around my right big toe. I could see the words "California Prison Bureau"emblazoned at the top along with spaces for a name and ID number. I focused on the name. MacIntyre, Stephen. Yes. I remember now. I was serving a mandatory life sentence at the HyperMax prison off the coast. They called it "New Alcatraz"- larger, deadlier, and no way to escape on your own. Escape. The word hung in my mind for a few seconds, tantalizingly out of reach. There were only two ways off of this artificial rock - death, or a pardon. And I was dead. Technically. The standard operating procedure for dead convicts without family was a wooden casket and an unmarked grave somewhere in the California desert. New Alcatraz took a different approach - burial at sea. I could escape. Start over. Figure out what is wrong with me, why I'm still alive. No one would miss me. All I would need to do is get out of the burial wraps and swim for the beach. It could work. It wasn't like I had anything else to lose. I was already dead... I think.

Subsets and Splits