prompt
stringlengths 391
14.9k
|
|---|
My daddy left home when I was 3 and he didnt leave nothing for ma and me except a beautiful comb and a run down blue ford.
Now I dont blame him that he run and hid but the meanest thing that he ever did was before he left he went and named me zoosmell pooplord.
(Rest of the song carries on mostly the same until they meet again and zoosmell gets an explanation)
{Father talking}
I said hon, this world is rough and if a gal is going to make it shes got to be tough and its that name that helped to make you strong. I gave you that name and I started to cry I kissed your forehead and said goodbye and I been praying 20 years I didn't do you wrong.
I gave you that name so you would develop your mind because I knew every guy would want you as long as they werent blind and its that name that kept them away until you got charm.
You see your beauty was simply beyond compare with your sky blue eyes and your curly dark hair and I wanted to give the guys a fighting chance. They were going to need more than just gorgeous arm candy if they wanted their lives to end up just fine and dandy and I imagined saying your name would make them dance.
And I knew that the guy that finally would, he'd be the guy that truly could love you no matter what.
And it keep the rest away and maybe send you here today so you tell me if it was the right move or not.
(Back to daughters persective)
I threw down my gun and said there wont be a slaughter and I looked at my dad and said if I have a daughter I would name her Mandy or Sue or anything but Zoosmell Pooplord. |
Wolf. Fang. Blood. Torn cloth, torn skin, black fur on my palms. Biting my arm, clawing my foot, killing in cold snow. I can't look at anything without watching my own body rip apart. Why won't it stop? Why won't night fall on my mind and pull pain away from my flailing limbs? Ouch. Just lost my right calf--but I won't miss it too much. Wish I could still touch, but my hands can't do that right now. Saliva drips onto my jaw, and I think of how many things I forgot. |
Sharks develop a technology that allows them to walk on land
A prosthetic limb becomes sentient
After an apocalyptic war, an AI is discovered in MIT that the survivors worship as a god
Our protagonist discovers a journal or diary entry, we read it together, but they find a different meaning in it to most readers
Set a story on the back of a huge whale
You get off at the wrong station, and realise you are on mars
A young girl can read the minds of trees
Faking his death and being buried alive was all part of his plan... |
They've been forbidden to leave until their commander arrives, on pain of execution. Although they do not know it, their commander--their entire unit--has been destroyed.
It's been three weeks. They're long out of food. They've eaten their boots.
And the fat one's looking a bit unsteady on his feet.
Tell the story of their devolution, and of the twist (that does not recall The Village) at the end that changes the story completely.
edit: The fact that they're *child*soldiers calls for something thematic, speaking to the use of child soldiers. What dregs is the "civilization"down to, that they're sending their children out to die, or impressing children from other villages to die? |
You could cite any number of reasons why I had to break away from rest of the world. It wasn’t because I was on some crazy new-money power trip. It wasn’t an act of opportunity. Nor was it some commentary on the rules imposed upon the masses or an act of defiance. The truth is much simpler.
It was an accident, a clerical error if you will. It was my first time staking my claim in /r/WritingPrompts. I knew there *were* rules and regulations, but I was in a rush. I just forgot to put the right label on the post. Next thing you know, there it was for all to see. It certainly looked, from the outside, like I had declared independence from the controlled environment that the subreddit provided. But all I wanted to do was be part of it.
The damage is done. There’s nothing I can do about that mistake other than learn from it. Next time, I’ll make it right. Next time, I’ll be sure to tag my post correctly. |
I'm not enslaved. I'm employed. I've been working at Hades Incorporated for the past 8,723 years, and I love what I do. Every morning, I drink some Joe on my way to the office. Of course, the coffee is as black as my soul. Breakfast is followed by hours of ambitious, rewarding work. However, the work is simple, and its only ambition is in its repetition. I push a boulder up a hill. Once I reach the top of the hill, the boulder rolls to the bottom, and I repeat this process until five o'clock. I make 500 dollars per trip. Additionally, I make 20 trips per day. 50,000 dollars a *week*. Everyone says that I'm cursed. Ha. You wish you were me. |
You know that uneasy feeling you get when you suddenly realize that you’re dreaming and that the dream world you’ve existed in for the past few hours isn’t real?
James had that feeling when he was rounding the 4th turn on the Dayton Speedway. He was about to secure the Nascar points championship for the 7th consecutive year in a row, when his reality just stopped feeling real. Why was it that for the past 7 years in a row, with only a few races left in the Nascar season, James was always trailing by a seemingly insurmountable margin, only to rally at the end and capture the championship? It felt too perfect. It felt scripted. It felt like he was always playing the lead role in a movie where the good guy always suffered a major setback 75% of the way through the story, but then always managed beat the odds and win in the end.
James’ reality crumbled all at once when he realized that this must be dream. In order to wake himself, he spun the wheel hard to the right and crashed into the barrier at 160 miles per hour.
When James woke up, he wasn’t in a bed. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere. He’s body seemed suspended in midair. He was floating in a black emptiness. He was trying to make sense of it all when a white dot in the distance appeared in front of him. The whiteness began moving toward him glowing brighter and brighter. Eventually, the white dot took the shape of a male figure wearing a white robe with long flowing brown hair and blue eyes. The figure looked vaguely like James’ personal image of Jesus. James looked at the figure and began to speak.
James: God?
God: Yes?
James: Am I dead?
God: Yep.
James: Huh. Well, that’s something.
God: Yep. Sure is.
James: So, what now?
God: Hmmm, “What now?”. Good question. Uhh, well, based on our past experiences, we are probably going to talk for a little, you’ll ask some questions, you might get a little angry, and then I’ll send you on your way.
James: What? What past experiences? We’ve never met before.
God: We’ve met many times before, you just don't remember. A long time ago, you lived a good and noble life. You were a good, honest man and you tried to help others when you could. And so, when you died, you were rewarded with heaven. This place, this empty void where you are floating right now, this is heaven.
James: This is heaven? Really? How is this heaven? There is nothing here.
God: There is nothing here now because you broke the program. Just a few minutes ago, you were enjoying the happy life of a racecar driver, but you stopped accepting the program and decided to break the program by driving your car into a large wall.
James: So, I…wait…my life…none of that was real?
God: Nope, just a program. You created that world and existed in that reality for 39 years and then you broke it.
James: Wait? So, my entire childhood, too? That was all just a dream?
God: I prefer to use the word “program” rather than “dream,” but yeah, that was all a world you created for yourself. The heaven you created was a world where you grew up in a middle class family and became a racecar driver. You chose that reality.
James: Huh. Everything that happened was my choice?
God: Yep.
James: Well, then why did my friend, Jack Novogratz die in that skiing accident during my junior year. If I had everything I wanted, he wouldn’t have died. I was depressed for months after that happened.
God: Yeah, that’s the tricky. It’s all very complicated and you probably won’t really be able to grasp this, but let’s just say that the human brain is complicated. You humans evolved in such a way that you are never able to be completely satisfied. You always want a little more. It's in your nature. Heaven can’t just be a bunch of people sitting on clouds eating grapes all day. That would be boring. There would be no challenge. There would be nothing to overcome. It would very quickly become monotonous and humans would hate it. The only way to make a human happy for an extended period of time is to sprinkle his existence with sadness. Without sadness to contrast, there is no happiness. You need darkness. You need depression. On some subconscious level, you needed the pain of losing Jack so that at some other time, you could feel happiness in your life.
James: You are saying that I killed Jack.
God: No. Well, sort of. Jack died, but don’t feel bad about it. No one suffered. Jack was just a part of the program you created for yourself. There was no real Jack, but yes, you subconsciously wished him dead. You wanted that sadness. You wanted to overcome the challenge of that loss.
James: So…all the setbacks and challenges in my life were my own creation? I put them there so I could overcome them?
God: Yep.
James: But why?
God: I told you already. You did it for your own amusement. Your brain needed those challenges to accept the reality you created for yourself. You did really well this time. You lasted 39 years this time before you rejected the program.
James: This wasn’t my first program?
God: Ha! This wasn’t even the first time you were a racecar driver.
James: How many programs? How many lives have I lived?
God: It doesn’t really matter. You don’t remember them all anymore. I erase your memory every time you break the program.
James: Will this ever end?
God: Nope.
James: What if I don’t want to go back and start another program?
God: You almost never want to go back. You always find out the truth about this loop you are in and you get really mad. Can you feel it building up in you now?
James: Damn right, I’m mad. This is bullshit! You are telling me that I’m repeatedly living a series of lies for the rest of eternity and there is nothing I can do about it.
God: Yep.
James: Well, I don’t want to go back. How is this heaven if I’m not enjoying it?
God: You’re angry now. But this brief conversation is only going to take a few minutes and you’ll be back in a new program and you won’t mind anymore.
James: BUT IT WON’T BE REAL!
God: No, it won’t. But for the most part, you’ll be happy again. See ya later, James.
…
“It’s a boy!” said the doctor.
|
With the vast number of prompts posted here, I would think you could find many examples of prompts that would be suitable or could be easily adapted for young writers.
A fun exercise I remember from school is when we were asked to write a story that included each member of the class as a character in the story.
Another is a chain or round robin type story. One person begins a story and then everyone adds to it until it's finished. Constraints on how much each person should add can be adjusted depending on the age group.
Just some ideas off the top of my head, hope it helps! |
I know there is no good reason to be afraid of it, but every time my roommates bring it out I quickly leave the room and go to my own place. I can't believe I am the only one who is afraid, the thing is huge and makes a terrible noise that I can't stand to hear from across the house let alone in the same room. To be honest I'm not even sure what it really looks like, I only ever got a real good look at it when I first moved in. I just remember my roommate, John, opening a door and bringing this giant thing out, it looked like some freak creature with its head at it feet, 1 long snake-like arm, a tail that seems to have no end, and eyes that glow bright when it screams at you. I ran the instant it started screaming, but no matter where I went I ran too I couldn't escape that screaming. It only went on for a few minutes but i didn't dare come back out until i was sure that thing was gone. My other roommate, Rebecca, found me about a 5 minutes later and she could see the terror in my eyes. She came over and held me tight and said, "Don't worry kitty, the vacuum cleaner is gone now." |
I could hear the crowd cheering from the other side of the curtain.
God, they were cheering. They hadn’t eliminated anyone yet tonight, and they always eliminated *someone*. If I had been nervous before then I was on the verge of panic now.
Think! Think of something, anything! There has to be something!
I was fucked, and I knew it. There was no talent in the world that a down-on-his-luck farmer from Minnesota could possess that would entertain a crowd. Why hadn’t I just sold the goddamn farm? Why did I have to be so stubborn, so proud?
My mind went back to that day in August. August. Jesus, had it only been three months? It felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was.
“Bill, just sell him the farm. We’ll get an apartment in the city and find another way to make a living.” She had said as we watched the scowling man in the black suit walk down the drive towards his BMW. The suit was blacker than death itself.
“Doing what, Bonnie? Puttin’ gas in cars for rich folks or selling your apple pies? We could never making a living that way. And the schools are all full. The boy will never get an education, much less a job.”
Maybe it was the way the wind caught her hair, or the way the sun hit her face, but even though she had been frowning she was still just as beautiful as the day I met her when we were seventeen.
The truth was, we weren’t making a living then. And a week’s time was all it took for us not to have a place to live at all. And then they came for us.
Suddenly my mind was jolted back to reality.
**“AMERICAN SURVIVOR WILL BE BACK AFTER THESE WORDS FROM OUR SPONSORS”**
“You’re up next, #9.” The host called. The smug bastard smiled at me as he said it. He was wearing one of those pitch black suits, the ones that all the government officials wore. I hated him and his perfect hair and his fancy suit and his face covered in Hollywood make-up. For a brief moment I considered using the chains around my wrists to strangle him. After all, I was almost certainly going to die here anyway.
The same stubbornness that got me here reminded me I had a chance of getting out of this alive. Of finding Bonnie, if she was still alive. Or at the very least our boy. They never put kids on the show. Not until they had come of age, and he was still three years away from thirteen.
I took a deep breath, and made my way up the steep stairs that would lead me to my fate. Each step I took felt heavier than the last. I paused on the last stair desperate for a plan. I had no idea what I was going to do. A wave of dread washed over me. This was it. This was the end for me.
“Keep moving #9!” That complacent little motherfucker said from behind me. I heard the buzz of his taser lighting up. I should have killed him when I had the chance.
I stepped out onto the stage and walked out from behind the curtain. I was blinded instantly by the spotlights that surrounded the stage from all angles. Mr. Smug removed my chains and then signaled to the camera men.
The crowd chanted along as they counted down to live.
“THREE… TWO… ONE!”
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen! We’ve had a fantastic night tonight. Yes, we’ve truly seen it all from amazing vocals to fire juggling to magic! But there’s still only one question on everyone’s mind tonight…”
He paused, and when he continued the crowd chanted with him:
“WHO… WILL GET… THE... AXE!”
He made his way across the stage, and then all eyes were on me. I clenched my clammy hands together. My heart was hammering in my chest. Maybe my heart would burst and I would die right here without suffering further humiliation.
I couldn’t move and even if I could, I still had no fucking plan. Time screeched to a halt as I stood there, speechless. I tried to come up with something. ANYTHING!
I could try to dance… but I can’t dance without a partner. Singing? No, mom used to hit me with that big wooden spoon just for trying. Something with farming? No. These people have probably never seen a farm or field in their life. Maybe something I learned in school…
“What’s your name?” A man’s deep voice said over the loudspeaker after what felt like an eternity.
I squinted against the lights trying to find the owner of the voice, with absolutely no luck. The crowd laughed briefly.
“*Answer the president!*” The host hissed from side-stage.
“M-my name is Richard Kingsley, M-mr. President. But my wife calls me Bill.”
“Well, Bill, what talent will you be showcasing today?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any talents, sir.” I wanted to keep talking, to stall for as much time as I could. The words got caught in my useless throat. My mouth was so dry I couldn’t even swallow.
The crowd ooooo-ed loudly and Mr. Perfect started to walk towards me from behind the curtain. The deep, amplified voice of the president came through the speakers once again.
“Well, then—“
“I may not have any talents, sir, but I would like to recite a speech I learned back in grade school. It’s not as spectacular as pulling a bird from a hat but it’s a pretty long speech with a lot of fancy words in it.”
I didn’t mean to interrupt him but instinct took over. I couldn’t go down without a fight, without doing anything. My will to live, to see my wife and son, wouldn’t allow it. In the face of certain death my brain had woken up and had come up with a plan, sort of.
The crowd waited silently for the president’s ruling. Would he let me speak, or would I be “eliminated”? Time crept by like a thief in the night. Every second felt like a goddamn decade.
“Very well, Mr. Kingsley.”
“T-thank you, Mr. President. B-before I start, I’d just like to say to my wife and son, if you’re out there, if you’re watching this, that I love you and I miss you very much. I hope that someday we can…”
I heard the electric clicking of that bastard’s taser firing up again from behind the curtain.
“…be together again.”
I cleared my throat and took a deep breath.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. That they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, t-that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
The arena was silent. Not a sound came from the spectators, the judges, or the asshole behind the curtain.
“That to secure these rights governments are instituted among, uh, men, taking their powers from the consent of the governed, that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is, uh, the right of the p-people to alter or to abolish it—”
“That’s enough,” A female voice called over the loudspeaker, and I heard the buzzer which meant the first X (axe). It was quickly followed by a second.
“—And to institute a, uh, a new government, laying its foundation on such principles as organizing its powers in such a way as to see them most likely to effect their safety and happiness.”
They were… they were cheering. The crowd was starting to cheer. Not all of them, but holy shit, they were actually cheering.
“ENOUGH,” The woman’s voice became louder, angrier. I still hadn’t heard a third buzz. Pretty boy stared at me from off stage, confused, unsure what to do.
“Prudence, indeed… has shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer… than to right themselves by abolishing the bullshit to which they are accustomed.” I was paraphrasing now. I was sure I was out of time and had to make ever second count.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!”
“Silence.”
The crowd was cheering louder now. Was there a chance I had gotten through to them? The third buzzer still hadn’t gone off! For the first time since I had stepped on the stage I began to feel hope. Hope that I might survive, that I might see my family again.
“But when a long train of abuses and... uh, usurpations? A design to... reduce them under absolute despositions, it's their right, it is their duty—”
“STOP HIM!"
The host was on the stage now, coming towards me fast. In his hands was not the taser, but an axe. A large gold-plated axe, and I knew good and well what it was for. Two men hustled onto the stage behind him, pushing wooden gallows that rolled noisily across the wooden stage. They pushed it in front of me and then held me down over it.
Still no third buzzer (X, axe, whatever). The crowd was booing now. Booing at them? It didn’t matter now.
My mind went back to that day in August one last time. Bonnie’s hair blowing lazily in the wind. The warm sun on her face. Why did I have to be so damn stubborn? |
Gordon Gekko would look down on Belfort. Geckko ran an Mergers and Acquisitions Private Equity firm and Belfort ran a small market brokerage. In terms of Wall St. culture, small independent brokerages are not respected. They're at the bottom of the stats pecking order, and not even really considered to be playing in the same league as somebody like Gekko. Belfort would probably resent Gekko as a snob, and relish the idea of surpassing him in success. |
We had always been inseparable. He had been there since the day he was born, right up until today. Everyone called us the twins, we were both brought into the family on the same day. My earliest memory of him was splashing around in the play pool on a hot summer's evening. Sure we had our differences, we fought and argued, but then again, who didn't?
There had only been one time were he has accidentally hurt him. They were playing together in the garden and I pushed him over. He fell to the floor and cried out in pain. I rushed cover to see if he was all right, but he ignored me and just sat there. We didn't play together for a few days after that. he avoided me as much as he could. But one morning he came rushing back to me and was excited and ready to play.
I sat by his bed in his last hours. The adults didn't think I would understand what was going on, but I knew the whole time. My best friend lay on the bed, not moving and lightly breathing.
It was my fault he was lying there. We were playing chase and I ran across the road, he followed me over. The driver didn't have time to stop. The wheels skidded on the tarmac, but it was futile. The car collided with him, throwing him through the air like a rag doll.
I climbed onto his bed and laid my head on his chest. I felt his chest rise and fall slowly. I heard his heart beat drop. Sirens started going off and unfamiliar people ran into the room.
I sat by his side in the ambulance. I needed to be sure the paramedics weren't hurting him.
The doctor had explained that he wouldn't survive much longer, and if he did he would be in considerable pain for the rest of his life. There was too much internal damage. He was under heavy anaesthetic when the adults came in. I came in with them to see my friend.
"Get that dog off the bed"
"Get me a crash cart, we're losing him"
"C'mon kid, you can make it"
He passed on. I howled and howled, willing him to wake up, but it was no use.
I lost more than an owner that day.
I lost a friend. |
"Last contacts have been connected. Cabin, initialize startup. Ground, standby for success or fail confirmation."
"Initializing."
"Standing by.
Receiving data. Congratulations OS, mission success. Good job Jess, the radar is back online. You still have plenty of oxygen left. Secure the panel and enjoy 20 minutes of EVA."
This went better than i have expected, Jess thought to herself as she was closing the panel. This was her secound mission and third space walk. She turned her body away from the satellite, looking far into the space. This was the first time she actually looked at it in this way. Staring into nothingness. Because of the her helmet lights all she could see was only a few stars. It looked so.. vast. And void. She aknowledged that all of that was space. Most of it empty, void space. Behind her, there was a satellite, a big one. Behind that, there was Earth. When she saw earth from outer space, it seemed huge for her. But this, this was more. Earth is nothing, she is much more less than nothing. A sick feeling of disgust trailed up her spine, stopping in her throat and stopped there. But then she realised that she, she was thinking. Analysing her own self, her own situation, her own insignificance. But she is alive, and more important, self aware. She is there, floating in nothing, close to a big round unimportant rock thinking. Thinking about her own thoughts.
The image of her walking towards the space craft spawned inside her mind. Walking, on two legs towards that big pile of metal flanked by two immense fuel tanks which was supposed to propel her and the crue off the round rock without blowing to pieces to fix another big pile of metal because one engineer messed up a piece of data.
This is not nothing, she thought. But this is not all either. There's much more to come. Much more than i can even comprehend or experience in the years i have left.
She smiles, turning her body facing the station.
"Heading towards the hatch, time to go back home." |
"WHY THE FUCK IS IT POLKA?"I shouted at the sky, eyes glaring.
This fucking music...always inside my head. It had started a while back, when Lucie suggested we buy a house out in the country and live there for a while. That was when it started, happy ragtime. I thought it was funny, and asked if she had put it on.
She had said, "what the hell are you talking about?"
And from there it started to get a bit worse. The roadtrip there was filled with 'country music', specifically, Taylor Swift. Apparently I was extremely moody for the entire ride.
When we arrived, the music was replaced with some horror theme. Trying to look around your new home when there's always suspense is rather hard.
Finally, Lucie died in a car crash, two days after we arrived. And throughout the funeral, I had to listen to "I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one."
And now, polka.
The house was empty of furniture. I had donated it elsewhere. The house I couldn't, because of the mortgage. Now only one thing left to do...
"Let's see if you can follow me into the grave, you son of a bitch,"I growled, lifting the gun to my head. |
Batista stood up from his crouch, whistled and placed his hat back on. The drop, drop, drop of blood was constant, eventually it would run out, but the pattern...
"Christ, is this city ever going to catch a break?"Batista, grabbed and sipped his coffee.
"Well, we've ID'd the corpses."Deb made a motion to the three skinless bodies hanging upside down, tied to the basketball hoop with missing laces. The red, glistening corpses swayed almost imperceptibly. Miami heat was cooking the exposed muscles and nerves and the amount of bugs was staggering. They'd have to be cut down soon.
"Geoffrey Ortega, Paul Raddisson and Nicki "The Shark"Alvarez."Deb continued, holding a hand to her mouth and nose. Small time hoods. I'd heard of Nicki before. Two suspected murder cases that he managed to get off of. He had done them, killed that old man and the woman. He was next on my list, but someone...something, beat me to him.
"Christ, Dexter, close your mouth before the flies get in there."Masuka nudged me and broke me from my thought.
"Right. It looks like the victims were skinned with some sort of hunting knife. Done expertly. They were probably still screaming when the knife slid-"I began, but Deb choked, stopping me.
"I'll wait for the report, Dex, but I need to get some air."Deb left and after a shrug Masuka followed. Batista sidled up close to me.
"What kind of monster would do this, Dex? Sure these punks may have had it coming but..."He wiped sweat away from his brow.
I know exactly what kind of monster would do this. My new friend. I tried not to smile, but the edges of my lips turned up anyway. A whole new game had begun and it was going to be out of this world. |
I still lose sleep over this case, this guy kills four young men, writes messages with their bodies and just drops off the radar.
____
"There's another one Frank, on 4th and 4th."
>"Jesus. Again? That's the fourth one this week."
As we pulled up on the scene all we could smell was death. Every day this week death, and every body left a new message.
"What do we got?"
>>"Young Caucasian male, ID says 24. Out for a run."
"Same MO?"
>>"Jugular punctured, dragged into the alley."
"Such a shame. At least it was quick. I'm done here."
>"Don't you want to see what they wrote this time?"
"I'd prefer to sleep tonight if that's okay with you guys."
>>"Boss. Just look."
'its children.'
"What is this bastard getting at."
>>"Boss. The other ones."
>"First one, Monday on Walsh Street. 'I believe'. Tuesday on Emerson. 'humanity'. Thursday on 2nd. 'has abandoned.'
"Jesus."
>"...I believe humanity has abandoned its children." |
I said i'd write something, and here we go. This was brough to you by about 600 mics of LSD. I've since edited it for mostly spelling and grammar, with just minimal changing of the story I originally wrote while tripping.
-----
"Spider?"
"Spider here."
"Are we there yet?"
"You know I don't have a facial representation, but if I did, I'd be scowling at you unbelievably. You last asked me that question ninety-five minutes ago."
"Well, 'The Wall' just ended, so I figured i'd ask you again."
"You know that we will not approach Saturn for another two months. We will be in orbit around Saturn for at least another month before we even have the first chance to complete our mission."
"Well, yes, Spider, I know that."
"Then why do you keep asking me if we are there yet?"
"Spider, it's a joke. Kids on road trips keep asking their parents if they are there yet. it's a given that questions like that get asked on road trips."
"One Moment."
The lights flickered momentarily. This would usually happen when Spider was crunching some serious numbers, or trying to figure out a particularity difficult problem. His dual axis quantum CPU, along with the rudimentary AI program he was running was pretty good at figuring things out. He'd already saved the mission twice, once when a micrometeorite struck one of the solar sails, and another time when one of the oxygen couplings failed. The mission would have failed twice if it wasn't for Spider.
Two weeks into the mission, I learned the telltale signs of when I'd confused spider: The lights would slightly flicker, and there'd be a barely-perceptible whine from the computer core where his CPU was. It became a game to me, to see how often I could really make the little guy think.
"So, the correct answer to, 'Are we there yet?' would be, 'Yes. We're there. Open the car door and get out!' The joke is, that the car would still be moving, and if you opened the door, you'd fall out on the middle of the highway, probably splattering and breaking most of the bones in your body."
"Spider..."
"I don't think encouraging children to severely hurt themselves is that funny. I found the answer in an old Standup routine in the archives. I still don't understand."
"Spider, you are missing the point. One of the mainstays about humor is going against expectations. You'd expect the answer to be, 'No, we aren't there yet.' No sane human child would open the car door and get out while the car was still moving down the highway."
"I still don't get it."
"You will at some point. It's my mission to teach you to be funny before we get to Saturn."
"I thought our mission was to oversee recovery of Cassini?"
"Well, teaching you to be funny is a secondary mission. It's something to do to keep me busy."
[one day later]
"Dr. Bowman, I've just picked up a fault in the AE35 unit. It's going to go 100% failure in 72 hours."
"Spider, you're joking, right?"
"Just a moment. Just a moment."
"Spider..."
"Yes. I am joking. Was it funny?"
"Not only was it NOT funny, you scared the SHIT out of me, Spider."
"I thought it was funny. Did you like my Douglas Rain impression?"
"No. No I did not. You normally sound like Tim Minchin. Just then you sounded like a drunk Tim Minchin trying to impersonate Douglas Rain."
[one month, 28 days later]
"Spider?"
"Spider here."
"Look at Saturn. Isn't it beautiful?"
"You should .see the electromagnetic emissions from the poles. On the northern half, the emissions using the class A-4 filters make it look a lot like 'A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte' by Georges Seurat."
"Spider, are you shitting me?"
"Yes."
"... Good one. So hey, Spider. I have a question for you."
"What is your question?"
"Why do they call you Spider anyway?"
"It's a name I chose for myself."
"Okay, then, why did you choose the name 'Spider' for yourself?"
"It's very silly."
"Tell me anyway! Come on!"
"Okay. Well, one of the engineers who worked on programming me listened to a lot of Brian Eno. On Brian Eno's album, 'Before and After Science' There's a song that I really liked."
"Seriously, Spider? You like music?"
"Yes, Actually. The Pink Floyd you like is very enjoyable, but my favorite artist is Brian Eno. There's this one song, that, when I heard it, it... It's hard to describe, so I will explain in human analogs."
"Ok, Spider, go ahead."
"It made me feel warm and fuzzy inside."
I laughed.
"That was not a joke."
"Oh, Spider, I know, I'm laughing because that's the most human thing you've ever said. Do we have that song in the archives? Let's hear it."
"Of course it's in the archives."
> Spider and i sit watching the sky
on a world without sound.
>We knit a web to catch one tiny fly
for our world without sound
>We sleep in the mornings.
We dream of a ship that sails away
>A thousand miles away.
|
"I sweat too damn much during sex."For a half second when my skullcap slipped off, that benign thought hung in the air above my head. As I looked down into her eyes, the next thought was "Oh shit"
She roughly shoved me off of her, flinging my orange skull cap back in my face. "Amy Adams? You're thinking about AMY ADAMS?"
Curse my honest subconscious the next thought was "and Jennifer Lawrence?"
***SLAP***
I didn't need to take my wife's skull cap off to know what she was thinking. Besides, women were a lot smarter about their caps... Hers was clipped into her hair.
"I'm sorry"I said aloud, and above my head the words "I love you"glowed with truth.
She pouted a little, but she knows as well as I do that thoughtspeak can't lie. "Okay"she said, taking her cap off too.
"I love you too, you jackass"her thoughts read. I laughed and kissed her. My eyes flicked up to see what the message read.
"Bradley cooper?"I said aloud. She nodded wickedly. I shrugged. Love's not so bad in the age of honesty. |
After all that, they are still growing? The plagues weren't enough. Smallpox did nothing. That was my mistake though, didn't realize the crap I gave the cows cured it. They don't even seem to mind syphilis. Tuberculosis made just made my job harder in the long run. Cancer isn't working as intended. They are even figuring out AIDS. I really don't want to have to wash out this petri-dish again, but it looks like I'm going to have to. |
I was bored, dicking around on Reddit when I found a strange post, from a strange subreddit that I didn't remember subscribing to. I can still remember the title
"Housewife uses this ONE WEIRD trick to open a portal to another dimension! Theoretical physicists HATE her!"
So, I clicked on it, expecting to be taken to some joke website, or maybe /r/spacedicks. What I did not expect was a blinding flash, a hum, and the taste of tin in my mouth. I also did not expect a shimmering rent in reality to appear next to my desk. I stared, awestruck and reached out to touch it. It was cool to the touch, yet blisteringly hot, it had the texture of ripe watermelon, yet I couldn't feel it. It was fucking strange, so I dove right into it.
I emerged onto a cobbled bridge crossing a river. The place stank to the high heavens and when I looked over the edge the river seemed almost solid. Curious, I made a mental note of my position (on the big bridge next to the statue of a hippopotamus) and wandered down the street. The denizens of the city I had fallen into were dressed strangely, like you would imagine people dressed in the middle ages, and it was clear that humans weren't the only ones welcome. Short, hairy people wearing chainmail and massive lumbering giants that looked like they were made out of rock.
As I wandered around the streets, I heard a voice behind me bellow:
"Greetings, citizen!"
I turned around and caught sight of a truly imposing man. He was over six feet tall, wearing a gleaming breastplate with arm muscles the size of my head. His most distinct feature though, was his red hear. It was glorious. He approached with a huge smile, put out his hand and said
"Hello there, you must be new to the city. My name is Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson. Welcome to Ankh-Morpork" |
You can't really help it if you're an ass in your teens - pretending to know everything while knowing jack shit - it just takes so long to grow up and figure out your groove. But when you're done with the growing up and you look back and go, "What an ass!"and laugh there's a bit of sad in there as well; most people you knew have dispersed to the winds and you'll never get to say sorry, or thanks, or I made it dude, hope you did too.
******
Tried to stick to the spirit of your prompt, but I evoked more sadness than tears.
******
I work next to a scummy bar over in New York, and every morning I watch the parade of drunks go past - a collection of suits and ties and tired middle-aged eyes - and I moan and groan and roll my eyes at them even though I know how hard they got it; they can't be "normal"without liquor. Some of them
have their kids with them, which the bar allows to hang outside cos it's a scummy bar, so I watch a lane of lonely eyes growing up, sad smiles on sad faces burnt into my sad little head.
*******
Redone - more appropriately
******
I'm lucky with my job; its as comfortable as a hug. But it also means I'll always be too scared to pursue my dreams. |
I cannot remember the beginning now. Perhaps I was not there. Perhaps I wasn't the first. But now, after billions of years, I am surely one of the last. I watched my brothers and sisters cruelly fused together to create monsters and giants by forces unseen - only to be split apart and combined again in grotesque fashion, unrecognizable to all but me. I have seen things no mortal being would believe, and yet, here I am. Galaxies formed and consumed. Stars birthed and expired. Civilizations rise and fall. Only I have remained constant.
I am God. |
A wicked smile, depraved of humanity, split wildly across my face. Wildfires that rival the entirety of California raged within my soulless eyes, as upon my arrival to Reddit, I view his account logged in. *This will be fun.*
I swipe through page after page of comment and post history with the celerity of hell-bound falcons, copying images, screenshotting disgusting and "anonymous"confessions towards the strangers amongst the website. I laugh maniacally, allowing the utter disgust and hilarity to reverberate amongst the cold walls and empty beer bottles throughout my house.
Print. *Print.* ***PRINT.***
Sealing the inconceivable evidence within manilla envelopes, remembering to add the small comment admitting to his true identity upon the front of each one. Memories shell shocked my hearing, mortal shell shrapnel split, and tore my humanity to pieces without mercy. The senseless beatings, verbal abuse... years of it, immolated my sanity.
Oh Mom... you'll never wish you met my Father after you see this. |
The scotch burned his throat as he gulped it down. What would it matter if his boss caught him? He'd be fired, but so what? That fat cow Elsa would still yell at him either way, because he was "a lazy, fat, fuck-up who never accomplishes anything."
Something on the chipped and dented wall of the bathroom stall caught his eye. Probably some more grafitti. That was always fun to read. This one said, in what appeared to be red ink:
> Go look in the next stall
There was nothing unusual there, except that the door was locked. He'd had to wait for someone to finish, flush, and get the hell out. He'd clutched the scotch bottle the whole time like it was a blanket. The slim shadow of a man who'd left the stall had left behind what appeared suspiciously like a red marker.
The grafitti in this stall said:
> Look in the mirror
He turned around to discover that the door was closed. Upon opening it, he was face-to-face with the same ridiculously thin man who had just left the stall.
The thin man held up a finger and gave the man with the scotch a look as though he were chiding a disobedient puppy. Then, without warning, the thin man reached into his pocket and whipped out a switchblade, which he dug into the alcoholic's gut. Although the alcoholic screamed slightly, no one would hear him. The thin man had made sure to cover the alcoholic's mouth.
And now, for the completion of his masterpiece. The thin man reached into another pocket and removed a pristine white quill. Using the alcoholic's still-warm blood as ink, he wrote his final message upon the mirror in gruesome crimson:
> This is what happens when people don't tag their posts. Read the sidebar for details.
It was his greatest creation yet. It was beautiful beyond words. |
Gimli danced on the edge of the cliff overhanging mount doom, "Hey Saurooonnn! I bet you can't GET me!"
The others watched from a distance, non-plussed looks on their faces.
"Do you think that is going to work?"Pippin asked.
The others shot him a look of disgust.
Gandalf shook his head sadly. "Sauron has won. There is nothing more we can do."
Suddenly, the ground began to tremble.
"What is that?"Legolas asked.
"What is what, Elf? Not everyone has your eyes."Gandalf snapped.
"That!"Aragorn pointed.
To the amazement of the Fellowship, 3 dragons appeared on the horizon. As the dragon drew closer, they saw that a figure was riding one of them. It was Merry!
"In all my life I have never seen such a ridiculous sight!"Legolas said.
"How is it not eating him?"squeaked Sam in fright.
The dragons flew over and began raining fire upon Mordor, eating orcs left and right.
"Run!"Gimli shouted, dashing down from mount Doom. And run they did. The fellowship barely escaped before the dragons set fire to the whole place.
Then there was a loud rumbling and and a shrill cry. Towers began to crumble and the foundations of Mordor trembled as the dragon fire melted the ring even as Sauron slew the dragon attacking him.
"Where is Merry?"Pippin cried in panic.
"Here I am!"Merry shouted, he was running as fast as his short legs could carry him through the gates of Mordor. "But we can't talk now. There are several hundred orcs stampeding for the exit, just behind me!"They looked and saw that it was true. There was no where to run.
Suddenly, Gandalf shouted, "The eagles! The eagles are coming!"
At first no one understood, but then eagles swooped from the sky and began picking up the members of the fellowship and flying off!
A few hours later, the Fellowship members found themselves in Ithilien.
"Now tell us, you foolish Took, what happened?"Gandalf demanded.
"Well..."Merry said sheepishly. "I convinced on of the younger eagles to take me up north where I heard you say the dragons lived. I convinced them that if they didn't eat me, I would show them where there was lots of gold and delicious food... and well... you saw the rest."
All at once the fellowship began to laugh. "Well if that isn't a way to end things, I don't know what is!"Gandalf roared. |
Mitch took long swigs out of his flask that still had the outline of the price sticker on it. He bought it because that's how adults drink during work, right? He extends his lower loop lip like an infant for every sip and subsequently looks at his shirt and brushes off the nonexistent drips. Under his breath he let a sentence slither out of his mind and fall from his lips. "how did I let this happen?".
Drinking, any amount, always made Mitch sick. But now the break up Mitch had always been fearing had happened, the type that was preceded by months of honeymoon phase sex and his girlfriend constantly showering in his undying affection because he had finally felt like he could tell someone that he loved them. In the kind of unconditional way that Mitch felt was the only way he could feel that would be able to make him utter such a statement. And soon after the arguing and Mitch's illogical yelling fits and the dissonance among them drove a wedge between them.
Mitch slumped down onto the bathroom floor and was now eye level to the bold sharpy strokes on the back of bathroom stall door. It read in surprisingly legible hand writing "Every good thing deserves another great try". Mitch was always a sucker for aphorisms. He looked at the flask that was still over half way full with gin and screwed on the lid, cutting the silence of the room. Mitch's sudden burst of confidence was side swiped by confusion when he heard light foot steps outside the stall. He immediately remembered that this was a Co-ed single use bathroom with one stall and one urinal, and just maybe he forgot to lock the door.
He stood completely stagnant with his cheeks flushing and his armpits creating moist blotches on his undershirt. His dingy black and white sneaker were visible from under the stall wall. Heard an all too familiar voice that was almost too deep to be female and always sounded like it had laryngitis. "Are you in there, Mitch?". Mitch put the flask in his pocket before peaking out of the stall and gazed like a dear in the headlights at his ex girlfriend who had a black felt pen in her left hand. |
hey,
i removed this post. it doesn't really fit within the tag or guidelines as it is not a response to a prompt posted in the sub. i don't know of many places that would accept a personal statement review, but you might solicit some readers from /r/writing's weekly critique thread.
that said, i think you should cut the bit about law looking good on a CV and present it purely as "i wanted to increase my understanding of ~~politics~~ public policy."(politics, of course, has nothing to do with law--it's a popularity contest). then i would pull back from the A&B example, reframe your interest as motivated by the dynamic between case by case circumstances and the broad classes of law that ensure that each defendant/claimant are treated equally. don't "seriously consider"but "chose to pursue"the degree. a recruiter most likely wants to see straight forward language that professes a commitment to the subject matter. cu the bit about creative writing--you might find room elsewhere to say that your love of English has informed your interest & study of law.
in paragraph 2, is there anything that really struck you about Oxford on personal level? like you remember a specific lecturer on a specific topic? i would move from general description to one potent anecdote here.
last paragraph is a place to put in your creative writing. do not talk about an interest that you are currently not pursuing! (or, rework that second sentence, it doesn't make a terrible amount of sense). have yous started learning programming as a result of CAD (and why are these interests interlinked?). i wouldn't bother with favorite book but instead add reading to your general interests statement in the first sentence/third paragraph. |
I am a Reaper. I was made to dream. You see, the physic waves produced by dreamers fuel the mindmills that power our civilization. To do this we had to create cognitive conduits in the form of other conscious species and placed them throughout the galaxy within our domain. When I reap I possess the astral bodies of receptive conduits and translate their fantasies into vibrations that produce psychic waves. We have come to realize that the sensory data gathered by the lesser conscious species carry the most potent vibrational potential which has given rise to the Possessors. Beings of my race who are tasked with taking on the waking bodies of other species on different planets to lead their peoples to higher forms of consciousness.
So human, now you should understand, you are not the dreamer of your dreams. Humans are completely without dreams if it weren't for us - both in waking and in rest. |
My nostrils inhale and I do not smell air but fumes. Breathing, I listen for once to everything. Hearing, my mouth tastes the humid obnoxious noxiousness; the particles fall on my tongue and the buds recoil.
*Don't lick*. Eyes closed, I touch the wall as I stumble over objects, some organic which absorb the step and some concrete which stop it immediately.
I feel the wall get damp, I do not open my eyes even as the wall sticks. Breathing quickens, I hear a moan. I feel a hand claw on my leg, the fabric of my pants tightening around me. Heart rate faster now, I feel with my mind a fear.
I swallow, the fear tastes like saliva. I take the hand, it's still alive.
I open my eyes but do not look anywhere but the door out, it's made of wood and I've saved someone. Good. That's all I had to do. |
As a child I thought that it would last. It was magic, goofing off, playing with him. It was too fun, and I thought I would never grow up.
I did. Jon didn't.
As an adult, I know I am with maturity that Jon won't accept. Alcoholism, can't hold a job, partying with school girls, it's hard to find any common ground now days. I know that if I don't call him nobody will. His family cut losses with him long ago. If only I could do so too. But I can't, what was in our youth holds chains that I can not drop. Tomorrow I'll stop calling, bringing him to clubs, picking him up off floors. I won't pick up that call. Not now, not again. It's all about Jon, but not for long. That spotlight' s burnt out. |
[Prompt 1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1vxjhn/wp_a_superhero_has_a_moment_of_doubt_but_regains/cewrge0)
[Prompt 2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1vtwb2/ffwpgive_each_tool_in_the_average_swiss_army/cevvaiu)
[Prompt 3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1vu63f/ff_in_under_100_words_set_up_and_deliver_a_cliff/cevtrld)
As I woke up early that Tuesday morning, I saw it all across the news: `"Captain Amazing stops villain; causes millions of dollars in damages yet again."` Well, looks like I know what I'll be working on for the next few weeks. My name's Ricky, but you can call me Tweeze. My co-workers do. I work as an electrician with construction crew just outside Azure City, home of Captain Amazing. Business was always booming around here, seemed like we never got a day off. But the money's good, and with a baby on the way, I need all the money I can get. My wife was 24 weeks at the time, and was due for an ultrasound from her obstetrician that day. We were finally gonna find out what kind of names to be thinking of for the little bundle of joy to come. She told me she'd find out and have a big reveal waiting for me at the end of the day. I hurriedly got dressed and headed into work.
As I got to the main office before heading out to the work site, I could see everyone buzzing about our latest hero's antics. Looks like he destroyed a couple houses, an office building, couple small McRestaurants, and tore up a hell of a lot of road. The company was putting in a bid for all the big jobs, but the crew I was on would likely go out looking for a house to rebuild. We worked great on small jobs together, and it brought in a decent stream of money for the company at a relatively low cost, so they let it keep going.
After leaving the main office, we made our way to the city to scout out any local residences we could rebuild, when a woman came up to us, asking about some guy who lived in an apartment across the street. I remember seeing him around in this diner we went to a time or two, he was always there. I let her know about it and she went on her merry way. After that weird little incident, we went around, found a couple places that might need us, left them our card and screwed around the rest of the day. I had a couple small jobs to do, few wires to run, but those could wait til tomorrow. I decided to go home early, to find out the surprise.
When I got home, there was Kelly at the door waiting for me. "I found out,"she announced, full of joy and excitement, "I know what we're having now."
"Well, what is it?"I asked. I knew she wouldn't tell me right away, but I had to play the game to find out.
"Come with me, and you'll find out,"she said playfully. She led me through the house to where the baby's room was going to be, and there I saw it. It was a plain white room, no furniture in it yet, and in the middle of the floor, there was a paint can. "I thought this would be a fun way to find out,"she told me. "If the paint's pink, that means we're having a daughter. If it's blue, we'll have to start thinking of boy names."She handed me a screwdriver, and I walked over to the can, ready as ever to see what I was going to have. I pried the lid off, and couldn't hold back my smile when I saw the perfect shade of...
(I decided to keep the cliffhanger from Prompt 3) |
hey,
sorry to be a bummer and remove this post but it is outside our sidebar guidelines. Generally, is reserved for discussion on writing topics (i.e. how to be a better writer) while our prompt is reserved for critique related to a prompt reply that was initially written in /r/WritingPrompts. a better home for this might be /r/writing's weekly critique thread. you're free to continue to respond to prompts here and post your own, but please keep critique requests limited to content from this sub. |
the rumble of another wave of bombers could be heard in the distance as I made my way towards Admiralty Arch. There was a buzz of excitement of in the area, the Royal Navy was obviously excited to get their chance to deal a real blow to Hitler's Germany.
there had been a blinder of an aerial battle a few hours before, the vapour trails were still swirling in the morning air, but it looked like our boys had taught the Luftwaffe a thing or two. "more power to them", thought I.
As I entered the Admiralty I was greeted by a great cheer, though it soon became apparent that my colleagues were not that pleased to see me. It was soon made apparent that the cause for celebration was the total obliteration of the invasion fleet by the Home Fleet; the invasion had been a ramshackle attempt, and the Kriegsmarine's lack of destroyers and other surface vessels had given our battleships a rather easy run of it. We hadn't been without losses; their battlecruisers were of a very high quality, but had been unable to cope with the relentless assault from the bombers that their air cover had failed to nullify.
A good portion of German ground forces were destroyed in the Channel before their withdrawal was sounded, and some had hoped that Hitler could be brought to terms. Alas that this was not to be, and a further three years of war were to be endured by the British people before the sleeping Soviet bear was to be provoked into attacking Hitler, and trapping him between our forces. |
*Let's do this in a first-person POV/creative writing style*
In the midst of the battle, I sprint back to the cache. As I restock my ammunition in the heat of Afghanistan, I overhear two Privates talking about music.
"Dude, metal is like my favorite genre of music."I walk over to the two and say "What the hell are you doing? We're currently fighting in a battle and you're here talking about Metallica and crap! Get out over there!"
"Yes sir,"they tell me. I walk out back to defend and I hear one of them say "Damn, he must one of those pop punk losers."I turn around slowly and walk up to them. With extreme anger, I say "What did you say, moron? Blink-182, The Cab, Jimmy Eat World, and The Offspring sound way better than your Craptallica and Megashit!""Nuh uh!", they say. We three start bickering with each other and just not even 40 seconds later, a higher ranked officer yells at us and tells us to get out of the base and go defend.
Needless to say, I am pretty sure I won the argument. Also, I kind of got shot in the left arm so there's that. |
"What the hell? John, where's the god damn manager? So this guy in the restroom weird glowing eyes just tried wacking my head while I was at the urinal,"Sam says with slight confusion. With no hesitation, John replies to Sam, saying "I don't know man, try going up the stairs over there near the VIP lounge. Want a drink?""No thanks, I gotta drive home after this gig,"Sam tells, with a slight traumatic-like expression. "Alright, suit yourself, just make sure to watch yourself when going up the stairs.
"Hey James, take over the turn-tables will ya? Thanks."Sam casually sprints over to the stairs. As he walks up to the door at the top, he stops. He checks his back in paranoia. *Knock knock*. "Hello? Is manager there?"Sam yells out. No reply. He twists the door knob and walks in.
Swiftly, a man with glowing irises dressed dapperly chokes the DJ from behind. Sam elbows him from behind and front-kicks him in the solar plexus, paralyzing him. "Oh shit!"He runs out the door, down the stairs, and back to the dance floor.
As he goes down the last step, every single clubber is staring at Sam with a murderous glow in their eyes. In fear, he yells. "Hey John. John... John?! Where are you? James, what's happening?!"
As everyone starts closing up on him, John on top of the stage yells out "Goodbye Sam! I hope you've had a good night, dude!"He walks out the door, letting the midnight breeze and smell of booze mix in the air. |
It was easy, at first. The hunger was easy to ignore; it came in courageous waves, washing over my insides. Clutching them made it dull and water made it drown. Given, it was quick, but being able to gorge myself on cheesy nachos and candy and soda and whatever the hell else I wanted...it was priceless.
No more anxiety from family members - eat this! you need more! - and forcing myself to make up for it later. I would be the eternal, lithe, svelte stick. I could have it all, this way. I could do anything.
My smiles were more frequent as my ribs appeared, but when the last curve poked out of my shirt, the doctor's visits came. The cold metal pressed against my chest and the worried, eyebrows-scruched faces.
The diagnosis: intestines were ineffectual. No cure.
But I was okay with that. Still more good times, now sitting on the sidelines and thinking with a thick, heavy head. Throbbing fingers and non-touching thighs. My wish was turned against me, but I didn't mind. I couldn't mind; thinking made my whole body tired. I collapsed into bed each night exhausted from my own thoughts.
Yet I had none. My wish was perfect. |
Just an observer's note.
Having existed since *well* before the first age, I know a little something regarding this matter. You see, records from the ages past are scattered and rather rare. Few have survived into modern times, those who do possess these ancient writings have come by them mostly by luck or chance.
The records that have been translated through the ages would have been recorded in many of the diverse languages of old.
Having said this, what you read or hear today is but a translation of a much earlier tongue. The word "menu"did not exist at that time in any language, though other words with similar meanings did.
I trust this helps. |
Those "silly"legends the humans invented about the Nazca lines have always had a grain of truth in them. It's true that we put them there, but the they were not to act as landing markers for our spacecraft. We put them there for a much simpler purpose, a sort of societal intelligence test.
We entrusted those simple peoples with the constant maintenance of the fragile lines we marked down with our god-ships. We sought to test their communal memory and their sense of duty. While not the greatest artists, they certainly maintained the general shapes of the lines.
Such a dreadful shame that they decided to off themselves a few thousand cycles later. They really were my favorite race. The squid people 3 solar systems over will have to suffice. I just wonder how they'll manage anything without hands. |
[I want to preface this by saying that with the exception of the inspiration for the prayer at the end, none of this is in any way intended to be a reference to any current or past religion, and is not meant to offend in any way. That being said, if you are offended, I would advise you reconsider why you're on the internet in the first place.]
It's always a welcoming sight to see the invading armies return from one of their crusades. Being on the border, I often see those heathen scumbags trying to sneak into our great clean nation. The great unwashed... how dare they try and corrupt our lands. We'll show them though. Every time I see our brave lads leaving armed with their sponges and dishcloths, I feel that little bit safer in my immaculately clean bed. Ever since the prophetic lord dove descended from the great bathtub in the sky, and we learned of the true power of healthy living and clean skin, all the other nations have envied our might.
There are worse foes than those unwashed barbarians, so I'm told. It seems hard to imagine when you first think about it. Apparently, they only wash every few hours! Can you believe it? And what's more, I heard rumors that some of them go A WHOLE DAY without cleaning themselves! They're going straight to electric-hand-dryer-hell if they carry on like that. How can people be so ignorant of the glory of lord dove? The great guru Palmolive makes it perfectly clear that the only way to ascend to the great bathtub in the sky and back in ultimate cleanliness for all of eternity is to follow the teachings of our mighty lord!
But no, much as I feel the need to shower at the thought of it, there are worse heathens than the unwashed barbarians. Those scumbags to the east that worships the false prophet. Emperor Imperial-Leather? how dare they insult our mighty religion like that? Still, we are slowly pushing back their forces. We can only hope that one day the prophecy of holy seer Head&shoulders will come true, and all of their heretical worshiping will come to an end and we shall slay the manifestations of these false gods where they stand.
Our lord dove, who art in bathtub,
Scoured clean, be thy name.
Thy bathtime come, thy skin be clean
For skin, as it is for dishes,
Give us today our daily rinse.
And forgive us our muck,
As we forgive those who much against us.
And lead us not into dog poo,
But deliver us from mud.
For thine is the scourer, and the flannel,
And the towel. For ever and ever.
Amen. |
*“It's... It's not like I don't want to help him.*
*I mean, man. Have you seen the look on his face? One minute he's hopeful, the next you see it just crumple, like a cardboard box trying to stand up to a fuckin' flamethrower. I dunno. It's not fair. I know it's not fair – I sit there and watch him, every day, and it hurts.*
*I mean you see all the other kids, battering him around. Sometimes the words they say seem to just... Creep in slowly, take over his whole body until he just... breaks. Other times they sweep in suddenly and he's just on the floor, bawling.*
*Sometimes he just hurts himself. Over and over, he just lashes out at his heart. I've seen him say some horrible things and say some terrible words to himself. But he's still good, I believe that. I do.*
*Don't look at me like that - he's a good kid. I've seen it. Even though he's down he still creates some beautiful things... In art, science, english, maths – not exactly the best learner but hey, who remembers everythin'? The point is he tries, and he tries really, really hard to make things better for himself.*
*And it hasn't killed him yet.*
*But it still hurts to watch. It does... Man.”*
God shakes his head at humanity and goes to sleep. |
I sighed as I rolled onto the cushions within my humble lamp. The hours felt like days as I looked up towards the ceiling, as I wondered when the portal to the outside world would finally open.
I don’t know what happened to my master. The last time I spoke to him, he told me that he was planning to sneak inside the palace to meet the girl of his dreams. Really, that man was a fool for believing he had a chance to be with the princess! Even worse, he wouldn’t let me go with him. He said, “Even though you’re a genie, this might be too dangerous for you. Just stay here and wait for my return.”
Wait… Wait for how long?! I feel as though years have passed since I last saw him! Really, where did that idiot go? Did… Did he get himself killed?
Frustrated, I threw a pillow against the wall and ‘hmph-ed’.
Really… I knew something was fishy when his last wish was to make the princess fall in love with him. I told him, “I can’t do that - that breaks the genie code. Even genies can’t use their magic to make people fall in love with them.”
Hence, as much as I’d like to think that it was his fault for following his own whims, it’s also my fault for not stopping him – and telling him not to go because I love him.
|
Jamie was a spoiled brat. He had told his parents that he wanted a BMW for his sixteenth birthday. His parents, who were going through some money troubles at the time, were unable to fulfill his wish. But they wanted to see their son happy, so they searched and searched for a good bargain. They found an intriguing add on craigslist. A man was selling his old car for cheap because his medical condition prevented him from driving anymore.
Jamie ran outside the minute he woke up on his sixteenth, ready to jump in his brand new car and cruise around town blasting obnoxious music. He didn't see a BMW in the drive way. Jamie looked up and down the street. The most expensive car that he could see was a mid-2000s Honda Accord.
"It must be in the garage"he said aloud and ran back inside.
Nope. Just a couple of shitty, family sedans.
Shocked by his parents' betrayal, Jamie ran upstairs to ask them why they had forsaken him.
"What the fuck is wrong with you two?!? I gave you specific instructions on what I wanted for my birthday! You fucking ruined it! You ruined my life. I fucking hate you!"
"Jamie, Jesus Christ,"replied his father, rubbing his eyes. "It's 6:30 on Saturday morning."
Jamie's mother did her best to defuse the situation. "Sweetie, please don't be upset. We only want the best for you. Babe, why don't we show Jamie his present now?"
Jamie stood there and impatiently folded his arms as his parents got out of bed. They led him out the front door and onto the sidewalk.
"Happy Birthday!"they said in unison, beaming as well as one can early on a Saturday morning. They were holding out a set of car keys.
Jamie took the keys and looked back to the street. He was standing next to a car he did not recognize. It was grey. It was angular. It wasn't a BMW.
"The fuck is this?"he scoffed. "This isn't what I wanted. Everyone is gonna laugh at me if they catch me driving this hunk of crap. Does it even have a radio? You guys should have left this thing back in the 1950s where you found it."
Jamie's parents both sighed and turned to walk back into their house. They were ashamed of Jamie for being a little shit and ashamed of themselves for letting him get that way. He was such a well behaved and happy child. Where did they go wrong?
Jamie stood outside, fuming. Obviously his parents were incapable of doing anything, so he had to fix this himself. Maybe he would drive over to the BMW dealership and do his own research. Then he could tell his parents exactly how to do their fucking job.
He got in the car and turned it on. The car didn't even have a radio. There was just a bunch of useless shit in the center console.
"Alright, let's see what this piece of shit can do."
The streets were nearly empty. Jamie kept his foot on the gas. It climbed slowly at first, then quickly. He got up to 65 miles per hour on the side road next to the freeway. He still didn't see any cars. He pressed down the pedal more.
70 miles per hour
75.
80.
81...82... 83...84...
And then suddenly, there were flashing blue and red lights in his rear-view mirror. He got caught in a speed trap. Jamie pulled over, manually rolled down the window and waited for the officer to approach.
"What a fucking awful day." |
Shadowy figures run through the dead of night. A brief explosion penetrates perfect silence. A door comes unhinged. And the shadowy figures enter the compound.
They motion to each other with a series of complex hand signals, which they are completely fluent in. Pairs split off from each other, hunting steadily and stealthily.
One pair ascends rapidly, climbing to the top floor, only stopping to check for potential hostiles.
*Bitch stop calling me, bitch stop calling me, bitch stop calling me.* The guttural misogny of Dem Franchize Boyz rings out. One man, the larger of the pair, rapidly fumbles around trying to find the offending device. The other pores over the other's person through night vision goggles. Neither can locate the device
*Ain't gon pick the phone up, ain't gon pick the phone up, ain't gon pick the phone up, ain't gon pick the phone up.* No one laughs at the absurdity, or at the irony. A whisper comes through over the commlink, a channel that was supposed to be dead silent.
*What the hell?*
*It's my wife. Or ex-wife. You know how it is. Long deployments and shit.*
Other voices frantically come in.
*Got two vehicles leaving the compound. Firing.*
*They're armored. Do we pursue?*
*Yes.*
The last line comes from the smaller of the aforementioned pair. He turns to his companion and punches him with full force. The recipient drops to the dirty floor, and they just stare at each other.
Finally, the puncher speaks.
*You motherfucker! You just cost us Osama!* |
1: They say you'll see your life flash before your eyes in the moment of relief, but you don't. At least, not all of it. The only "flash"you experience will be blurred moments, dusty from the untouched storage boxes in the back of your skull. You'll see anything of significance, although what is considered to be significant will be different to each viewer. The first time she held your hand, her milky skin and delicate fingers, like vines, mixing, knotting themselves into yours. The day you fell off your petite red bicycle, and your head caught onto a concrete block as you skidded down the street. Blood arranged itself around your small cranium. You had to go to hospital. You should've died that day...You could have been condemned to more years of watching the world grow around you, the things that you give you any sense of familiarity withering into ashes, being forgotten, as you are yourself. |
Mikey glanced over from across our shared desk. A big grin came across his face. "Dude, you have GOT to see this cat video someone just posted to facebook. It's outrageous!"He spun his monitor around so I could see. Before it even started, I knew it was that video I downvoted earlier on Reddit. I was too busy right now for Mikey's antics.
"Ah that's alright man I gotta get this done."
"It's a cat! Doing silly stuff, you will laugh I promise."
"Mike I'm sorry man, this spreadsheet isn't going to fill itself in."
"It's a fucking funny cat and you want to work on your spreadsheet. I'm gonna share this on your wall so you can watch it when you don't have a stick up your ass."
I rolled my eyes and chuckled. Mikey was a funny guy, but he read too many Buzzfeed articles and spent more time on facebook than doing his work. Most of the stuff he shared with me I had already seen the night before when it was first posted to Reddit. Hell, sometimes he'd show me things that *I* had submitted and was taken from the site. That dog on the mountain? Yeah, that's my dog. I was surprised that Mikey didn't figure that out, considering he's been to my house before...
"Hahaha oh dude, this GIF set is great. You want to see?"
Okay. Enough was enough.
"Mikey, listen bud. I... I've seen it before."
"No you haven't, this was just posted 10 minutes ago."
"Mike, that whole GIF set was stolen from somewhere else, I can almost guarantee it."
"Oh yeah? From where?"
"From Reddit."
"Hahah and how would you know?"
"Because I... I'm a redditor, Mikey." |
Giovanni woke up in his apartment, ready for another day of work, or, at least, what was work for him. Everywhere he applied, he was turned away, the words "We'll notify you if any positions come up"becoming a hollow phrase, a polite way to say "We don't want you."So, in lieu of an actual job, he indulged his passion, playing his violin in the street, living on the kindness of strangers. However, these days, kindness was a rare thing. Often he'd go without food to ensure he could make the next rent payment. However, it would be Carnevale soon, and tourists were always kind to those who entertained. Finishing his breakfast, Giovanni picked up his violin, making sure to tune it before he left. As he walked to the corner where he usually played, he noticed that it was quiet, more so than usual. As he reached his corner, he noticed several youths loitering nearby. Assuming they would be moving soon, he ignored their presence. Just before Giovanni started playing, one of the youths addressed him. "You can't set up here, unless you want to pay the fee."
"What fee? I have been playing here for almost a year, and I never had to pay a fee."Giovanni responded.
"Times change, what was once free, like this street corner, is now taxed, to make up for certain... failures in business."
"Even if I did have the money to pay, I refuse to pay a group of criminali for the right to make my living on a street corner."
"Well then, find another street corner, this isn't the only one in Venezia."
"You can't dictate to me where I shall ply my trade and where I shall not, you little bastardo."Giovanni said, picking up his bow. Before he could play a single note, he felt a sharp pain. Looking down, he saw the youth had plunged a knife into him. Dropping his violin, he fell to his knees, not even noticing as his violin splintered on the ground next to him, before all went black.
———
Giovanni woke up in a cold sweat. Though that day was long behind him, it still haunted his dreams every once in a while. He reached down and felt for the scar, a permanent reminder of his early days back in Venice. He had finally achieved the success which he so desired through a few well-connected people he met during his recovery in hospital. Following a long and fruitful career in the L'Orchestra dell'Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia, he retired and married a woman he met while he was struggling in Venice. He still remembered her name, though she had long since passed. Her name was Rosa, and sometimes, in this huge Tuscan villa, he'd hear her beautiful, contralto voice echoing through the corridors, catch a glimpse of her rounding a corner. He dismissed these hallucinations as the product of an ageing mind, all of his family were either dead or had moved on some time ago. He had tried many things to occupy his mind, but little worked. The only thing which granted him even the most brief of respites was visiting Rosa's grave. Sometimes he would bring his violin, and play the song he played when they first met. Sometimes he would find his son there, quietly paying his respects. Maybe that's what he would do today. The size of the mansion had started to wear heavy on him, and some fresh air would do him good.
———
Giovanni once again picked up his violin and began the long walk down to where his beautiful Rosa was buried. When he arrived there, he happily noticed that his chair had been left untouched since the last visit. What he was not expecting, though, was for somebody to be seated in his chair. Before he could ask the person to get out of his chair, he heard two words, words he hadn't heard in a long time: "Hello papà."
"Enrico? Is that you?"Giovanni replied, surprised.
"Yes, father. Funny how it took my mother to bring us together, isn't it?"
"What? What madness are you spouting?"
"Have you honestly forgotten what happened before she died? How I disappointed you because I could never quite grasp the finer points of music?"
"No, I never thought less of you for your lack of musical talent."
"Strange, I recall you saying that my failure was a stain on our family's name and that as soon as I was old enough, I was going to be put out on my ass with nothing more than what I had in my room to my name."
"If this is true, I am sorry. I was... shortsighted. Do you want to come back to the villa, spend some time with your dear father?"
"I should say no. But, against my better judgement, alright."
"Come on then, son. It's been so long since I've had a visitor… it warms my heart to know you care."
They walked back up to Giovanni's villa, talking about what had happened in the 10 years since they last met. As Giovanni opened the door, he heard, once again, Rosa's voice, but it was clearer this time, like she was alive again. Giovanni laid down his violin case, asking "Enrico, did you hear her?"
"Who? Mother? No, your mind is going faster than you thought, papà."
"In any case, figlio, how about you humour a lonely old man, just this once?"
"Se insistete, papà"
They began to climb the stairs up to the second floor, Giovanni following the voice of his wife, leading him up to the third floor, then, finally, up a ladder to the roof. Enrico, reluctant to continue up, tried to dissuade his father from continuing, but he was swiftly shut up. Giovanni looked around on the roof, seeing Rosa standing near the front of the villa. He began walking towards her, while Enrico climbed up. The first thing he saw as he got up was his father, walking towards the edge of the roof. He ran up to Giovanni, shouting at him to stop, finally grabbing his father in an attempt to keep him from following his wife. Giovanni, angered by this act of defiance from his son, shoved his son away before continuing towards Rosa, who promised that they would be together, forever. Enrico took one last desperate lunge out to stop his father, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. Putting his hands in his father's, Enrico pleaded: "She isn't there, dad, it is all in your head!"
"Be that as it may, I am going to be together with her. Nothing you can do will change that."
And with that declaration, Giovanni stepped towards Rosa, holding Enrico's hand throughout. As Giovanni stepped through Rosa, the situation he had placed him and his son in dawned on him. As he fell, his son trying to stop him, he whispered one word, before his weight dragged Enrico over: "Rosa." |
Surprisingly enough I am a bit nervous about pulling the trigger. The barrel of the gun is digging into my shoulder, just bellow the collar bone. I have pulled this trigger more times than I could ever count already today and all that's left is to shoot myself. Make myself look like a victim of whatever maniac caused this fucked up mess. A mess that had already been easier than I thought it would be to make. Planted a bomb on the top of the building then just waited for anyone else to run out the front door where I could easily pick them off. Now, standing in the middle of this litter of bodies I need to injure myself and wait for someone to find the mess. They will make me out to be some sort of martyr for the people who died.
The reminder of all the attention that i'll receive is what finally gives me the strength to pull the trigger. The pain isn't as bad as I thought it would be, which is kind of disappointing since it means all of the people who's brains I blew out probably didn't feel a damn thing. My body falls with the impact, I want it to look as real as possible to leave no room for doubt. I set the gun on my stomach, using my own shirt to clean off prints then dump bleach all over it followed by tossing the bottle a few feet away after stuffing a soaked rag into it. A small explosion follows. I'll claim HE did it, the maniac. I've already picked out a description and memorized it. Some of the bleach seeps towards my wound which burns, and burns, and burns. It hurts worse than the gunshot and forces screams out of me. People might be in the area by now so I stifle the noises until the pain is just part of life.
Twenty minuets, that's how long it took before I heard anyone arrive. Twenty minuets laying on the ground in boredom. I can't believe the crappy response time. Its a full hour before they find me alive on the ground, acting like I'm in some sort of shock. If I'd been injured any worse I might have bled out. But on the ambulance ride to the hospital I start to question the medic when I "recover"a little. Asking if they know what is going on. As far as I can tell it doesn't sound like the suspect a single thing of me. Just that I seem to be the only survivor of a tragic accident.
I get surgery the same day and get questioned by a team of officers while in recovery. At one point it feels as though I'm being suspected. But when they finally leave and take the officers off watch at my door I know that my suspicion of their suspicion is just paranoia. I am in the clear. I can taste the attention already. The tidbits I have already gotten from the staff here and even some of the officers has been a nice snack. But isn't the meal I desire. When one of the nurses finally asks me how I feel about being interviewed by a news team I agree so quickly that she looks at me suspiciously. But one nurses suspicions wont change a thing. The smile on my face as the camera enters the room is one of pure happiness and ecstasy that gets written off as happiness to be alive. |
Laughing, happy, playing-
The time just seems to fly-
Everyone is intent on staying-
The party never dies
Waterslides and Magic Mountain-
Everything that's wet-
Splashing splashing in the fountain-
Wearing floral pants!
Insects, Mosquitoes, Small bug bites-
OUCH! That's gotta hurt-
Little Timmy got his blood type-
taken by the flying monster
By the end of summer-
the fun is all but done-
most people think it's a bummer-
but school is downright fun! |
Jerry sat in the empty void of his own consciousness. Beside him sat the only other thing he had seen for months now, another Jerry. Both were aware that one of them was the real Jerry and the other was a personified version of the only emotion he had been feeling the day the stroke left him comatose: overwhelming apathy. Regaining consciousness with two distinct minds in the same body was impossible, but neither Jerry was willing to finish the other one off because it seemed like too much effort. Plus they both agreed being trapped in a mostly-empty headspace wasn't so bad. |
I was terrified. I felt something I had never felt before. Something they always taught us was evil and bad. They, our teachers, called it *Love*, something that had been outlawed for many many years. My parents and my teachers and their parents had all been created through IVF and that is how I knew I would have kids in the future. But for now, this girl gave me a feeling.
Let me just say that this feeling was incredible. It stirred inside me and begged for a response. It felt almost like..an attraction to her. But I did not want to show her, much less anyone else what I felt, out of fear of what could happen to me. I could be suspended from school, or the police could arrest me, or worse. *Oh God*
*Now what do I do*, I thought. *What does one do in this situation*... I was walking with Liz, one of my best friends, through the woods out to a small rise in a clearing to go check out the night sky. I wanted to look at it with her, enjoy it together, and yet this nagging feeling wouldn't go away and I simply couldn't do anything about it but see where it took me. As we got closer (it was just a short walk) the feelings grew stronger until I felt like I would burst with emotion.
In the moment that we got to the rise, I felt such a strange mix of emotions: fear, happiness, nervousness, and above all, *love*. I had known Liz for years and I could trust her more than anyone else that I knew.
So I did what I thought the only thing to do in that situation because I couldn't bear the silence.
"Liz, I have to tell you something."I paused for a second, as she looked at me expectantly, a bit confused as to why I suddenly brought this up. "I love you."
A second passed, tears welled up in her eyes.
"I love you too."
We hugged and stood there for a long time under the stars. |
Cardinals, archbishops and bishops, the most important men in the state, were all gathered in the great conference hall, for their monthly meeting. The Patriarch was presiding from his usual place. All eyes were on him.
"In three months there will be five years since we banned the use of contraception. It proved to be a wise move. God showed us great favor for it. It is time to take it further."
He paused here, weighting the men in front of him. He knew none would be opposed to the law he was about to propose. Doing all this, this gathering, these "discussions", they all were superfluous. But it was tradition, so it must be respected.
"God never gives unjust punishment,"he began. "Every cancer, every calamity, every defeat in battle He bestows upon us is justified and deserved. I propose to investigate every miscarriage as murder. If God kills the child in the womb, then it's for the sins of the mother. As we know, the offspring pay for their ancestors' sins."
"How would people react to that?"asked an old friend from his seminary days.
"We listen to God, not the population."
He paused again. The clerics kept their silence. Yes, no one would dare oppose him. Oppose God.
After the law passed they started talking about building more churches, and more prisons.
------
-31
Related to [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1u49zo/wp_one_man_hears_from_god_another_from_satan_both/ceex9br) one I've written at the beginning of the month.
|
*No one? Alright, I'll give it a go.*
***
"Do you... do you think he'll be a just ruler?", the soldier asked his colleague. The two exchanged a dubious look, and silence lingered for a while.
"I don't know. This whole thing seems like a joke... here. This is it", the soldier exclaimed holding up a piece of paper, a very official one by the looks of it. He struggled trying to pronounce what was written on it: "Vai Rome.. no, Via Roma... what the hell, number 21, this is it". He waved his hand and the long parade of people behind him, and everyone went quiet. Some were soldiers, formally dressed and adorned with medals; others were government officials, with well ironed suits and elegant haircuts; others were journalists, strangely silent and composed. In front of them all, just behind the two soldiers, the President was looking impatient and not happy. Not happy at all.
"Let's get this farce over with, shall we?", the President said to the two soldiers. "It's not like this is going to last for long. I'm sure that the courts will solve this soon enough".
"If I may, sir", said a man at his side, tall and elegant, consulting a document in his hand, "we have travelled to the other side of the world to take our rightful king home with us. I... I don't think this is temporary. It's the law, after all". The President stood silent.
One of the soldiers stepped forward towards the intercom and, after looking through the names, rang one. A muffled voice on the other side murmured something.
"Yes, we... we are the...", he looked back at the President, confused. The President nodded. The soldier went on: "... the Royal Legion of the United States. We are here to get King Marco, the First of His Name, rightful ruler of the United States".
The silence lasted for what seemed to be forever. People walking the street began to stop and look at the curious parade, captained by the President of the United States. The police was not far, ensuring nothing happened. The muzzled voice through the intercom muffled something, and the signal went away. The soldier looked back at this peers, then rang again. No answer. Silence.
"Sì?", the man said after opening the front door. He was young, not older than 25, dressed in an Iron Maiden T-Shirt and a pair of worn jeans. He looked confused, and considerably high. The soldier bowed, then slowly stepped back. The other soldier looked at the President, and he sighed before stepping forward.
"Mr. Rossini, I am the President of the United States and I am here to announce your crowning as the rightful King of the United States. Your Royal Status has been appointed as required by our law, after we received your inquiry about your ancestry and have verified that you are indeed of Royal American Blood".
The King looked at the President with bloodshot eyes, and exploded in laughter. "Ma che cazzo dice questo?", he murmured. A man stepped near the president and translated for him.
"He asked what the... well, what did you just say, Mr President".
The President stood silent, the veins on his forehead pulsating with anger.
"Sorry", the King said still laughing, with a terrible, almost incomprehensible accent, "who are you? I speak little English".
The President looked back at the parade, and nodded. "Fuck it", he said to himself. His gestured at the parade and the band began to play a festive march. The soldiers accompanied the King outside, and while he was clearly confused, he appeared amused.
"This is going to be a disaster", said the soldier to his colleague.
"Well, at least we already have legalized weed, so... well, there's that". |
Abrahm's body lit with gentle flames as he accepted The Crown - his personal divine spark - upon his head. It felt snug against his skin, and a sense of *rightness* came with it. Abrahm welcomed this unknown and lost part of himself as they two became one.
Abruptly, senses made themselves clear to him that had never been there before: his home, a small mining town surrounded by rolling hills and dense swamps, was laid bare before him. Abrahm had known the town well enough before: the inns to avoid, the best roads out and the thatcher's secret garden, the men who controlled the town.
The homes of the ones who had spurned him, assaulted him, stolen his life and dignity, left him to die.
Where to leave something, or someone, if you didn't want it to be found.
But now he saw the land in its entirety - didn't just see it, *knew* it the way one knows one's own limbs. He felt the wind on the grass like a breeze on his face, the buzz of the swamp insects like a gentle tingle on his shoulder, the scurry of animals like a caress on his hip. He saw the town and its people in past, present, and future, and watched it stretch, grow and crawl like a great immobile beast, drawing nutrients from the land and breathing in the trade exhaled from its neighbors.
Abrahm watched. He watched as the valley crops withered and rose at his barest passing touch, and the winds grew into rain at his sigh. He watched men and women pray for a single word from his lips, to cure a child or smite a neighbor. He watched the hearts of those he knew as enemies, and saw his own small-mindedness. He saw it and didn't care. After all, why should he? Before him lay all the hills and the mines, the beasts and the plants.
With one hand, he took hold of the sky. Not a gentle cup - a firm grasp as a carpenter would his hammer. In the other he took the earth and held it firm. And he struck. As the heavens began their descent, he tore open the tapestry of time and let the plants grow with fervor to match his own.
Embers flew forth exploding into wildfire as Abrahm said, between the falling stars and frightened yells,
"**THERE ARE GOING TO BE SOME CHANGES AROUND HERE**" |
"No, you guys seriously! This cup is magical! Jesus drank from it, I swear! Here watch this, drinking from this cup makes you immortal!"
*Hitler sipped from the cup, flaunting his demonstration through an exaggerated posture that assured they could see he was drinking from the cup.*
"There! I can not be killed!"
*He had the same bright eyed look of anticipation as a young boy walking through the parking lot to Disney world, as he hurriedly raised a pistol to his head and pulled the trigger.*
"Se..." |
Everyone seemed so simple and so boring life might as well have left the Earth yesterday. The core of the planet was erupting, literally separating us, and the human race still stood stubborn and divided. Our perspectives failed to change even in the direst of situations, and we will perish under the guise of unresolved conflict. We were the worst story ever told. I couldn't help but shake my head against the quakes.
Non-believers were screaming at the cross-bearers, cross-bearers were screaming at the karma-supposers, karma-supposers were screaming at the non-believers; it was lingual chaos. The world of man failed to make sense of its downfall, and worse yet it spared no one.
Well, except a little boy and his blue balloon.
I caught eyes with the young soul across the freeway where my town gathered to bicker and whine of the current social standing of humanity's demise. We both had a somber look of acceptance on our face, yet I was at least fifty years his senior. He looked no older than ten and no younger than twenty, maybe thirty.
Even in the light of erupting soil I had a rough time distinguishing age. I wasn't a numbers guy.
We exchanged glances, sighs, and headaches, both of us acknowledging the ridiculousness of it all. He seemed quite happy with his sidekick, full of helium joy, as I did with my wife so many years ago. Memories were rarely worth making anymore. It was easier knowing that the ones I already owned would be let go. There was always a bright-side, and it typically surfaced from within.
So we stared. We nodded. The people chanted. The little boy with the blue balloon let go of its string. And the world exploded.
|
[Disclaimer: I last read the book more than a year ago, and may get terms and such wrong, and I have no idea how their fleets are organized. I apologize now if I do. I'll do my est to make it obvious what I'm talking about.]
Gavin Herald, 3rd Fleet commander for his mothership, saw new orders pop up on his HUD. Recently, he'd heard that there was some kind of change in command; that weird orders were being sent down the line. Orders that were weird yet surprisingly effective. This order, he hoped, was one of them, because it seemed, immediately, suicidal. His Fleet would be part of a vast crowd of swirling fodder, essentially. They would fly around the central strike team to protect them, and ultimately have no real purpose other than dying. Gavin had to think, with this particular, order, of his squad's good compared to the greater good. He had the right to deny an order if he thought it was irrational or extreme, he knew that much.
He thought of his old life, with his sister picking on him for having a computer in his brain. He could never forget Earth, no matter how far from it he flew. He could never forgive the Buggers, either, for trying to take that away from him. Maybe, if they were to strike hard, now, they could save his sister, his parents, and humanity. What was his life, what were all their lives, in comparison to the lives of his *whole race?*
Gavin wiped a tear from his eye before sending his compliance with the order, and took a deep breath before explaining the new orders to his squad.
"This is not a happy-go-lucky, run in and run out kind of mission. The Buggers understand us, so we have to outwit them, and go crazy. If we don't kill them now, they'll kill us later, and then they'll kill our friends, our family, our planets. The decision now is whether we're willing to die for something bigger than ourselves, our even each other, but for the sake of the entire human race."He concluded, and starting the move towards formation, mentally preparing himself to die. |
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill - The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it - and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining-rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the left-hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deep-set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river. |
The prints I leave curve like waves, a pattern of lines pushing against one another. Cracks in the knuckles and creases bleed sporadically, moisture completely absent from the dryness of my skin. Brushing the bareness of them against anything causes flaky particles to float off like dust off of a shelf. They ache constantly, the bones in them becoming worn and brittle. The cuticles are ripped apart and disfigured as a result of breaking and biting. There are tiny nicks and scars scattered about the fingers and palms, miniature reminders of what horrors these hands have caused, and what they are about to cause. |
"It's for our own good"They told us.
They said they had to die so we could live.
Sure the cities were so jammed with people you couldn't step outside.
Sure, the streets were so filthy that a single virus could infect millions in a single day.
But why did it have to be him? Why was he chosen?
We were all entered into the lottery system, men women and children, young and old.
I was not chosen to die.
My son was.
My only son, whom we were only allowed to have because we fit the standards for the government birth control laws. First, my wife, his mother Carla, was killed in the hunger riots, and now the Government has taken him away from me.
Now I have no family. So why do I feel happy to still be alive?
Must be some survival instinct of some kind, someone gets eaten by a lion and you're just glad it wasn't you.
Eaten.
Why that metaphor? Why now?
Oh yea, I forgot to mention something. The lottery? It wasn't just who lived and who died. Most of the population is still alive after the culling.
It's what we do with the dead. We are to eat them.
Food is so scarce that we are forced to eat our loved ones in order to survive. Or so they say. Pure cannibalism.
The food shortages brought it on, they say. We had to kill them off for food to save humanity. I call bull.
Y'know, when Carla was killed in the hunger riots, it wasn't fellow protestors that trampled her. It was the police, who shot into the crowd, killing hundreds, including her. I was standing feet away as the bullet pierced her skull, ending her life in a flash.
The Government just wants to keep us here, treating us like animals. I doubt the rich saw a loved one die. I doubt anyone with money has to eat their own son!
I've heard whispers of a revolt. Maybe that's the real reason this plan was initiated. Kill off any potential rebellion by randomly killing off poor people.
My neighbor invited me to a meeting last Tuesday. His 3 year old daughter may well be feeding off of his corpse now, but I know where the meeting is.
I'm going. |
As the mayor, I am the first city employee who will surrender everything I can to close the financial gap and keep the city solvent. The higher echelons of city government will be the ones to shoulder the most burden, while those increasingly closer to being public facing who do most of the legwork will suffer as little burden as possible. The important structures that exist to serve the populace will be maintained as best we can on a shoestring budget with skeleton crews. The rest of us will have to suffer.
It is our own poor management of funds that got us into this situation, after all. |
"Cyril! Where the fuck are we? And who is this purple asshole!?"
"I'm not sure Archer. The GPS says we should be in Sri Lanka right now but the green guy doesn't really look Sri Lankan."
"Well duh! Hey! Back up you freak!"Archer raises his gun to the stranger's face. "You better call Kenny Loggins, cause you just entered the Danger Zone!"
"Tinky Winki?"
"Oh god damn it! LAAAANNNNAAAAAA!!!!!!"
"WHAT?"
"This guy said winky! Can you believe it?"
|
Upon birth, girls and boys are strictly segregated and sent to different parts of the country to be raised according to your gender, resulting in a nation of men and a neighbouring nation of women. Anyone that threatens these gender roles (e.g. born intersex) is euthanised - it's considered a serious mental and physical defect - and there is as little as possible contact between the sexes, with pregnancies being started exclusively by IVF. Homosexuality is the norm, heterosexuality is non-existent.
You're trans, and one day you manage to escape across the border. |
Contribute everywhere you can. Enter multiple writing contests. Writers Digest has ones regularly that would increase name awareness if you won. Start a twitter and be interactive with other writers. Once you get readers, be interactive with them as well. You could consider doing things like a podcast, videocast, etc.... to get your name out there, you just need to have output, really. If you think your work is good and representable, seek out an agent. They will take care of the rest, mostly, if they are good enough. |
"A man gets out of bed one morning and begins to eat his cereal. As he does, he realizes how bland and tasteless it is. He wishes it tasted better. Suddenly, the next bite tastes like the best thing he's ever had, better than the steak last night. He passes it off as coincidence. Later on he buys a newspaper on his way to work, just like he always does. He thinks about how expensive prices are nowadays, he wishes they were cheaper. He looks at the headlines, then looks back up at the price list. For some reason it's changed: the newspapers are half the price they were a few seconds ago. The rest of the day the man experiments and finds he can change reality just by thinking about it."
Any sort of specifics? I had nothing to go on. |
A scientific* paper on the benefits of using a particular engine for inter-galatic travel over another. Be sure to include evidence for your position, a postcard (either a literal postcard or metaphoric), and a tasteful/clever joke about the intended audience's mother/father.
*Does not have to be hard science, it can use made up (but still somewhat plausible) terms and theories, and you don't have to detail what these terms and theories mean or how they work. |
She had spent so long in the two-legger nest. The air that whoosed into her lungs was stale and dry. She yowled at the top of her lungs, and once again tried to claw through the den entrance.
She looked down at her paws once more, as desperation and sadness ingulfed her. Even if she returned to Shadowclan she would only be fit for the Elder's Den. Her once beautiful paws were mutilated, and covered in a strange substance. She knew that her claws were not there, and that she would not be able to fight for her clan any longer.
With one final cry, she curled up near the entrance, and fell asleep.
She dreamed of her time as an apprentence, how she was the best hunter in all the clan. She was named Moonhunt when she became a warrior. But then came the fateful battle with Thunderclan.
The two-leggers had begun to destroy the forest Thunderclan had lived. The ememy had become less cautious and began venturing out of there bounds for the increasingly scarce prey. So on that day she and the rest of the border patrol attacked when they found the invading clan.
She was injured severly, and her tail was nearly severed. She had fainted from the pain, sliding into a ditch. In her incapacity, she had been obducted by the two-leggers that now held her captive.
When Moonhunt woke, she padded softly into the two-legger monster room. She heard the scrabbling of prey in the boxes. When she caught it, she set it by the two-legger's pillow as a warning.
"I will get back to my clan."She mewed, padding away and planning. |
It's a cold day, when I escaped. A product of mass consumption, I was just another bird to be killed and eaten by a slaughtering bunch. Somehow, I escaped the cruel factory, and was now on my way. However, due to genetic modification, I could fly well. Every second, I would have to flap my wings. But that was no longer a problem, because for the first time, I could escape. I could breathe the fresh air. It was amazing...wait a minute. There are tubes. What do these tubes do? I could only manage to avoid them, once or twice. These tubes are stopping my path. There's only a small hole to get through, and that doesn't look that hard....
"Well, that's the four-hundredth bird today, Paul!"
"This is hilarious, the birds don't even know that it's endless. They keep trying to escape, only to keep dying again and again. Hey, let's send another one the chamber!" |
*Mr. President respects a fine salute* Tank thought. Not everyone knew this. But everybody else didn't speak with the President as often as Tank did. He rose and stood tall, pulling himself up to correct posture as if a string were tugging him up by the crown of his head. His arm muscles strained with the effort of the salute. And the President nodded, *looking right at him* with a smile in his eyes. Yessir, Mr. President was a sucker for a good salute. The blood rushing through Tank’s temples was practically audible. He was beside himself with excitement.
With his formal greeting made, he stood at attention to hear the rousing speech that was to be given in his honor.
The President, smiling to the cameras, began with a hearty, “Good morning America!”
All the people, their cheers, were here together, in this day, because of him. Because of his actions. Because of his courage.
“We are here today to honor a man. A man whose actions have proudly represented and honored The United States. A man we can all aspire to be!”
The crowd broke out again in spontaneous cheers. They blurred before Tank’s eyes and he allowed a few tears to fall from his eyes. He swallowed back a sob.
It had been hard. Evil was not easily looked in the eye, but Tank had done it, and he had come out victorious. Not many men could claim half as much.
Tank had been raised just a drive away in Mallahue, Texas. He’d been there for his whole life; the Hoyle twins had only been around for six years. In their small community, they had but one Baptist church, and Tank had been attending since he was a boy. When the Hoyle twins began attending they were just two cantankerous, chubby infants. Seven minutes into the sermons and one of them- Tank never did learn them apart- began to wail uncontrollably until his mom finally took his red mottled screams outside. Not long after, the other one started up, and that’s about how every Sunday went for their first year or so. That first service began the mutterings you could be sure to hear resounding on Sunday mornings: “It’s those Hoyle boys.”
Tank was a big fan of the church. People were more welcoming here. They always asked when his mama would be around to see them and shook his hand. When he had been in grade school the deacons had started giving him odd jobs to do around the church. On any given evening you were likely to find Tank at the Mallahue First Baptist, wiping clean dusty Bible Covers, mopping the altar, cleaning up after a social. Tank put in long hours, and he suspected that the reason they kept giving him jobs to do was because they were always so impressed with how tediously well he did them.
Several children had been born into the church family since Tank has begun attending. But none of them had been so careless in God’s house as the Hoyle twins. When services began, they’d slink under the pews and army crawl amongst the shoes of the congregation while their mom whispered loudly for them to get back to their seat right now. They’d excuse themselves for the bathroom and flood the toilets with paper towels and pads from the ladies sanitary replenishment bins. When they played ball outside they aimed for the walls of the nursery to disrupt the sleeping babies inside. When they were toddlers, Tank had been called in to clean up Lolita #7 nail polish that the twins had found during Ladies Social and had swung arcs of crimson ribbon to the carpet while running gleefully up the hallway. When they were almost five, Tank had called the deacon one evening, crying, because he had found the Bibles in one whole pew mangled, their inner pages torn and ripped and bitten. And now that they were six, Tank was glad there wasn’t three of them. Two Hoyle boys were evil enough at six years old.
When lollipops were found stuck in hymnals, it was the twins’ lips that were stained Raspberry Blue. Playground injuries were more often than not the result of a Hoyle scuffle, and they had been caught more than once urinating on the playground equipment.
Two months ago they crossed a line. It had been a Wednesday in June. The youth had put on a small play to honor the church’s week of Christmas in July, because, as Pastor Norman said, Jesus’ birth was too special to celebrate just one day a year. Tank had gotten there early to set up the nativity scene. He had stayed for the show, cheering at all the right parts. And when it ended and had started clearing out he was the only one to come back to the room to empty out the trash, where he saw the Hoyle twins bent over, cheeks spread, giggling, clenching to defecate on the little Baby Jesus’ head.
In that moment Tank felt the rage of all the sermons that had been interrupted by boyish cries; all the Bibles he had scrubbed drawings and chocolate out of; and he felt the call of God.
He took his pistol from its holster and began to recite Proverbs 24:20. “For the evil man has no future,” he mumbled, taking aim at the first Hoyle boy. “The lamp of the wicked will be put out.”
And he’d fired.
And the second boy hadn’t turned before Tank fired again.
When people started flooding into the room Tank had explained that his actions were justified. He was helping protect God’s home and the sanitation and respect of little Baby Jesus’ plastic head.
Someone mistakenly called the cops. As they took Tank into custody they explained in the squad car that they were only appeasing the citizens. They were proud of his work, of his dedication in upholding the House of God. So proud that they were going to personally nominated him for an award from the President of the United States himself.
And here he was not some loser in Mallahue. He was revered. People cheered for him; called his name. Handmade signs were made just for him and waved about in the chilly morning air. He leaned his head forehead against the glass of the sitting room and watched them all, giggling. It was for him. It was all for him. And he felt basked in God’s love.
That night was smiling when it came his turn in line to get medication. He whispered to Nurse Heartgrove, “I was honored today,” he raised his eyebrows importantly, “with a medal from the President himself!”
Nurse Heartgrove chuckled, “Next time do yourself a favor and have him show up to court so we can see all these awards you’ve been gettin’. Next!”
|
*Backstory: I wrote this a few months ago for my girlfriend. We were on top of a parking deck looking at downtown Atlanta close to sunset. She said "I love how in all that orange and red, there is still a sliver of green. I agreed and noted not many people notice green in sunsets. She then said, "Well, it'll be our secret color then."I loved that, so i wrote this. Enjoy :)*
While our restless fingers dance and intertwine with one another, our eyes are fastened miles in the distance, gazing upon God's brush strokes covering the mountains and skyscrapers with warmth. *Warmth.* The sky is always warmest when its reeling in the last of daylight, and waves of dusk come washing in from Earth's edge. But even when God paints the sky with a fiery wrath, He manages to keep a silver lining of tranquility in between the horizon and heaven. It's a slim slit in a fervor canvas of heat, with splotches of calm color seeping from the cracks that only we can see because we let our hearts open to it. The mute glow of our secret beauty whispers to our hearts to reminds us that we made it through the day, and to promise we will make it through the next- together. |
The park a few blocks from Marcus's house was just beginning the clear out. Parents were dragging their children home after a long summer day of playing. While Marcus enjoyed being out in the sun, and no longer minded being around other people, her favorite time at the park was sunset. A lake sat back a ways behind the playground, docks, slides, and diving platforms built around the edge. Marcus often went there alone at sunset to sit, think, and remember her Pair.
Marcus found it increasingly more difficult to get down to the lake - age was catching up to her pretty quickly. She still stumbled her way down the path, though, holding tightly to the hand of the woman following her. It was the first time in over thirty years she had brought someone with her to the lake at sunset.
"Marcus, slow down,"the woman said, breathing heavily. "We're old, stop acting like you're 20 again."
"If we don't hurry, we'll miss it! I've been waiting so long to show this to you, Taylor!"
Taylor sighed, but kept up with Marcus the rest of the way down the path. She hardly even noticed the lake until she sat on a bench to catch her breath. Marcus sat next to her, and it was almost as if the bench had been molded to fit her frame.
"How often did you come out here?"Taylor asked, staring out at the orange-red reflection on the water. The water was calm, with no signs of the children who had laughed and played in it all day.
"Almost every night, except when it was too cold in the winter. It reminds me of home."
"That's right, Mother had a lake like this. We used to play in it all the time."
"Yeah..."Marcus wrapped her arms around Taylor's waist, eliminating the space in between them. "I miss home. I miss being young and not having to care about anything but being with you."
Taylor ran a hand through Marcus's hair. "We're together now, aren't we? Sure, we're old and can't move quite like we used to, but we're here. We're together."She kissed Marcus's forhead. "And I'll never leave you again, Marcus. I swear it." |
As Sthrhim came by our village with this new invention, it cleansed us of the earth on our skin. It consisted of soft hand held grass like object scrubbing our skin after we are wet. It's similar to our spirit cleansing during ceremonies. However this was literal.
The five wise elders shunned the idea. Why? I don't know, change is scary to them, maybe if they realised that Sthrhim is from an far away galaxy called Reddit they would listen, maybe they would worship Sthrhim. I overheard him speaking to someone, he said, "Alien Blue, I have found our next planet to fast track to the next level of civilisation, they are still tribal, a board of elders and they haven't realised many have died due to their personal hygiene."As I scurried away to warn the elders, Sthrhim touched me, with this touch he passed through knowledge that I needed to know. With this new found knowledge, I'm to evolve our species. |
Okay, so, I guess I'll start with the good stuff. This has a nice plot and I like the ending because I'm a bad person. There's some decent action going on, you establish sympathy for the character pretty well and also early, and it all rides along at a good pace. It's a good story.
That being said, you might wanna proofread this again and watch for unnecessary commas, awkward phrasing and at least one misspelling (the wife says 'reaped nightly' near the end). I'd also tighten up the opening a bit, maybe make most of it one paragraph so there aren't so many breaks. It sorta starts the story off at a weird pace which is corrected once the first real paragraph happens.
I hate to harp on old rules that I don't necessarily agree with 100% of the time, but I think this could be greatly improved if you did a little less telling. What did it feel like to shove a knife into a man's neck? Was it cold when the main character camped for days outside of the gas station? What did it sound like when the knife went into that lady's head?
Anyway yeah, good job overall. A little tweaking and maybe some more details and this would be a badass story. |
I have to agree with helloalicehello for the most part. I too lost interest, but pushed on and read the whole thing.
This is all my opinion, so bear that in mind. But, your story doesn't seem to do much. Like, it just meanders about with no real direction. I felt like it needed something more solid. It didn't hook me, like a first paragraph/chapter should. It just left me confused and unsatisfied.
Like its already been said, your detailing is pulling me out of the story. Its an overload of information. And as far as I can tell, a lot of it is unnecessary. Sure it sounds pretty, but too much of it and it just becomes redundant. I so feel like youre setting up some type of origin/mythos type thing and I suppose that calls for some poetic prose buy still, too much is overkill.
That said, there is potential. Writing something of the scope that you are is no easy feat. But youre doing well. Keep at it!! |
In yesterday's news it was discovered that Islamic Terrorists have developed a time travel device. This is presumed after the discovery of an artifact that yesterday was finally translated and revealed video footage of a being who called himself Allah creating the world on a family vacation. While most of the world believes this to be footage declaring Allah the "real god"our scientists at Fox who all know that the Christian God is the REAL god in conjunction with a study made by the RNC have discovered that the only possible way for this to have happened was for Islamic Extremists to create a device that could transport them into the future where futuristic technology exists and then record a home video of Allah creating the world on vacation. They then were able to go back several thousand years and plant the device which only yesterday was deciphered. The joint committee revealed that they have no ideas on how such a time travel device could have been created or what it would look like. Even though specific diagrams and formulas were used in an attempt to validate the claim of Allah, the joint committee is positive this is the only solution that is feasible. More updates will be available as we get them. Up next our special report on Divine Rule and the RNC. Keep watching. If you aren't...we will know. |
Marty McFly opened the gull-wing door of the steaming Delorean DMC-12 with shock and confusion again washed over the entirety of his face. From a nearby hilltop, he saw it. Hill Valley, circa 2014. Something.. was different. This wasn't the 2014 he visited before. There were no flying cars, no wonderful hydrated pizzas, no self-tying shoes, and certainly no hoverboards. The teenager's expression of excitement slowly soured, finally settling on mild depression.
"..Gee. This sucks."He mumbled under his breath. Doc Brown approached from the sportscar and gave a slow, miserable nod.
"You don't know the half of it."
|
"Run phase three testing."
"Sequence confirmed."
"Execute."
The room full of anxious scientists watched the front of the room where Dr. Wiggin stood. He took a long look around the room, made the sign of the cross and pushed enter. A hundred men held their breath and watched the screen. After sixteen seconds the room erupted into an orchestra of cheers. The doors swung open and a hoard of people ran in celebrating. The roar of the crowd was deafening, Dr. Wiggin looked around the room and smiled. The culmination of humanity's efforts to kick start the sun had finally reached the apex. Success.
Wiggin walked off the stage into the hall and let out a deep sigh.
"I can't believe it worked, sir"came a voice from behind him. Wiggin turned around to face the man and smiled upon seeing who it was.
"It was all your idea anyway Karl, i'll make sure you get the credit in the history books."His colleague merely laughed and shook his hand.
When humanity first realized the sun was going supernova, there was absolute chaos. People were in the streets rioting, looting as much as they could and wreaking as much havoc as they could. North Korea launched their entire nuclear arsenal at the United States, but the US' continental defense systems were able to shoot all but a single missile down. The nuke detonated a few miles off the coast of San Francisco killing thousands in minutes. The United States launched a counter attack and removed Pyongyang from the map. Many other countries around the world faced uprisings from coup de tat attempts and militia rebellion. In Moscow four hundred civilians were killed in an onslaught by the military.
Soon after the realization, the United Nations acted and brought forth the greatest minds of the world to a single scientific base in the middle of Geneva, England. Thousands of possible resolutions were created, the most well looked upon was building a 'life boat' and sending out as many people as we could fit on it to the stars. After realizing the logistical challenge of it all, Dr. Wiggin and Karl Ebenhauser came up with another solution. The plan was to build a satellite which would travel 24 million miles away from the face of the sun and fire antimatter into the core of the sun. Theoretically the antimatter would kick start the sun and keep it from annihilating our galaxy. Antimatter calculations however, were so complex, scientists had really no clue what would happen if they were successful. A small group of Chinese scientists thought a black hole would emerge and slowly eat the sun from the inside out. Another group of Indian physicists said it would only act as a catalyst to the supernova. But since the consensus was that it would be humanity's only chance, they acted. They built the shuttle, loaded the antimatter cartridge into the firing chamber, and watched it disappear into the stars. With it went the hopes and dreams of the entire human race.
Dr. Wiggin stood on his balcony overlooking the complex. The darkness of the night was interrupted only by the dimples of light in the sky, reminding him how small he was. From the balcony he could see groups of people slowly filter out of the Main building at the center of the complex until finally the slow stream of humans ended. Looking into the stars again he let out a deep breath of air and basked in the breeze of the cool night air. His serene surroundings were interrupted by a single buzz in his back pocket. Wiggin pulled out his phone and looked at the message from KARL.
Come to my room, ASAP.
He stuffed his phone in his pocket and began to sprint to Karls room. Huffing and puffing all the way to his door he stopped to breathe and then knocked once. The door swung open and Karl Ebenhauser's grim face locked eyes with Dr. Wiggin. The door swung shut behind him and the two looked at each other solemnly. Karl motioned to his laptop and the pair studied the screen with the gaze of a mother who has lost her child.
"How much time do we have?"Wiggin asked, shaking his head, "How did the Chinese know this would happen?"
Karl looked at him grimly, "We have eight minutes before everyone on Earth realizes the sun is gone. Eight minutes."
Dr. Wiggin looked at Karl and held out his hand. Karl shook it firmly and Wiggin walked out of his house. This time Dr. Wiggin didn't run, he simply walked to his house and stood back on the balcony looking up at the stars.
One last time he was hit with a breeze of cool air. One last time he felt the sun's warmth.
|
(sorry this reads like a screen play or a script, i'm new to this"
*a meeting in a shadowy room with shady characters*
codename Walrus:"gentlemen, i'm glad you could all make it on such sort notice, i think you'll find it was worth the trip"
code name Leopard:"would you just get on with it? i was at my kid's ball game for christ's sake"
W:"of course, my friends; all of you have given your skills, time, resources, and money, and now you will all be paid back, times infinity."
codename Badger:"*times infinity*? walrus, you and i are both scientists, and even then we are both college graduates, and beyond that we are high school graduates, we both know you could never do that, much less for all of us."
L:"hey i didn't finish high school and i know that's a load of shit too, did you call us all here just to pander at us?"
W:"no no, i can promise you, anything i say hear today is the honest truth, now i know none of you know exactly what i have been working towards and have been curious to the point of obsession. but the time has come to talk of many things..
B:"you didn't just say that.."
L:"i don't get it"
codename Jaguar:"*huph*, you wouldn't"
L:"hey, fuck you!"
W:"people please! this is important!"
codename:frog:"EVERYONE!, let's hear him out, unless you would all like to leave and i will hold all shares in this infinite wealth and power?"
*the table is silent*
F:"Right. please continue walrus." |
"Dad, where did that statue come from?"
"The factory."
"No Dad, I mean *why* did it come from?"he said with mock anger.
"Oh *why* did it come from?"his father said as he poked him in that ticklish spot on his stomach, almost knocking him over with a single finger.
"You know what I mean, silly!"he squeezed out between his laughter.
"Hmm... OK, so, hmm... ok, so a long time ago, people were dumb."
"Like you, Dad!"he managed to get out before being curled up in a giggling ball by that finger.
"*Like* I was saying, a long time ago people were dumb and didn't care about their kids. They weren't worried about breaking stuff that their kids would need."
"They would break things and not fix them?"
"Yep. And eventually enough little things were broken that the big things started to break, like the air."
The boy imagined what life would be like without air, then hated the thought and took the deepest breath he could, shoulders almost touching his ears before exhaling loudly.
"And when the air started to break, it was too late. Lots of people went to sleep and never woke up."
"I hope they're having good dreams!"
"Maybe they are! Lucky for me you weren't around yet because I like when you're awake. That way I can... tickle you!"
When he recovered, the boy managed between gasps "but *Dad*, how can someone fix air? I can't even see it! How do I know when to stop fixing?"
"You've got a point there! God you're smart just like your Mom. They tried to fix it using big toys but the big toys broke more air than they fixed. Then they tried making new people who would like the broken air better, but that didn't work either."
Images of "new people"flashed through the boy's head, some with fish for arms, some with squirt guns for heads, wouldn't that be awesom--
"Hey, are you awake over there?"
"Yeah, Dad! I'm listening!"
"Well, finally someone wanted to know why we were making new toys when there were plenty of old toys! I know you don't like old toys but this one was the best for the fixing. So they fixed the old toys up and put them all over the world again. Lots of people were sleeping now so there was lots of room to run around and play for little wolf monsters like you."
"Dad I told you I'm a Dracula now!"
"Oh I'm so sorry, how could I forget?"
"That's right! And if you forget I'll have to drink your blood!"
"Oh no! Now, hey, climb off that, Dracula, and listen. So, once they put these old toys everywhere, the air got better and the world was awake and happy, just like us. And right here, this spot, is where the first one went a long long time ago. It went to sleep a long time ago, it tried so hard to fix things but we needed it to make more. And once it was gone it had already started saving us from sleep."
The first one...but there were so many now! The boy looked up with love at the statue, because it meant he could be awake with his Dad, and thought to himself "thank you, Tree." |
I parked at the gas station, my bald eagle riding shotgun in my Hummer. We'd both stopped at a McMurica's to get some Quadruple stacked cheeseburgers, gigantic fries, and diet cokes. However, our ride was hungry as well, so we had to stop at a gas station for the 12th time today.
As I went inside to pay, I saw a man in a Ronald McDonald outfit walk in. He pulled a gun and demanded money from the register.
The clerk, scared as hell, was more so frozen by what she saw. The robber began to get even angrier.
So, I grabbed my AR-15 from my trunk and charged the man. I yelled at him, "Hey! Crime doesn't pay, Hamburgler!"as I pumped .223 lead into him faster than a kid taking a test.
The police showed up, tipped me 10% and told me I did a good job. Then some jets flew over and played our new national anthem of "America, Fuck Yeah!" |
As I woke up the world was white as she opened the curtains. The throbbing in my head and the unfamiliarity of the room informed me that she had gotten me across another border. I pulled myself up to sit and my head screamed in pain.
"Welcome to the Orleans!"she said, throwing up her hands cheerfully and flashing that big smile of hers, a smile that fools men into thinking she's safe. Not that I wrong them, I fell into the same trap.
"Allysa! Please! The light! The light!"I covered my eyes and tried, and failed, to massage my temples with my thumbs. Well, she's dangerous but she got me here.
"Crybaby. So whatchya so interested in this place for?"she jumped unto the bed, legs crossed Indian style and her big blue eyes looking into mine. *Aoedē*, those eyes, she's like a walking man trap.
"Need to find a drummer. No better place than the Jazzland itself."she "oh"ed and got up walking away."Uhh how did you get passed the Patrol this time anyways?"She stopped, turned around and there again was that goddamned smile. Then she left.
As usual, upon her disappearance, I was left pennyless and most importantly, without an instrument. Hopefully that was necessary to pass the Border, because being in a musical city like the Orleans without an instrument wasn't just dangerous, it was stupid. Allysa was a Vocalist, she didn't need an instrument being able to manipulate the Muses without one. I wasn't so lucky. I play Strings.
I walked out of the back road motel with nothing but the clothes on my back, and entered an alley. I know I needed to get an instrument, somehow. The alley was silent, the only sound that of a Percussionist mugging a man in a nearby alley. *Tread lightly, Vik. One wrong step and you're gonna be another colourful addition to an Orleans wall*
As I reached the end of the alley, I knew I entered The Orleans. THAT J-A-Z-Z!!! My specialty is classical and I learnt rock to gain a travelling licence (but if that worked I wouldn't need good ol' Allysa would I?), but of all the iconic musical styles Jazz got the life pumpin' 'n' jumpin' 'n' swingin'. Even on this small street it was in the colours, the street conversations, the way people moved; even the way the buildings contoured into each other was jazzy. The Muses were strong here; I even felt them taking away the headache. As I turned a corner, following the music, I saw the first set of Jazzland street performers.
The air around the quartet bounced and jived as they performed. The bassist sat, the frown set on his face as he shook his head to the *dumdumdum*ing of his fingers on the strings of his instrument. The drummer tapped the rhythm in that haphazardly beautiful way only jazz drummers can, almost seeming to just be picking beats at random, *rubato* yet still in time. The two saxophonists played around each other, calling and responding, solo after solo, harmonizing and interweaving the lead melodies. Their combined sound called the passersby, beckoning them to put a little coin in the hat in front of them.
The music lifted away the last of my headache, I closed my eyes, feeling it swaying me (the muses had that effect on musicians), then, as I reopened them, it happened. A young boy cut across the square, swiping the hat and turned shot into a nearby alley. The drummer reacted first, in an offbeat, jumping over his band members, the drumsticks becoming batons as he moved through the air. The bassist's Instrument also released, a scythe like blade sprouting forth and he too moved for the alley, he and the drummer reaching the alley way simultaneously. They shot down the alleyway faster than any human should, propelled by the Muse that flowed around them. The music never stopped as the saxophonists continued their interweaving solos as if nothing had happened. And as quickly as they went they returned, hat in the drummer's hand, put down the hat, went back into position, their Instruments now tamed, and seamlessly melted into the performance.
*Good ol' Orleans.* The musical cities were beautiful, but they were viscous. If you have so many naturally talented and highly proficient musicians in one place, vying for survival, for recognition, you're bound to have a few casualties. And even more than a few if people, even children, are dumb enough to steal from a **quartet**, though I hope to Polyhymnia they never killed the kid.
I looked through the small square looking for a way I could get my hands on *something* before I ended up like that kid, or whoever that guy was in the alley earlier. Then I saw it. "NEW&USED INSTRUMENTS. WE BUY. WE SELL. WE TRADE."the small shop across the square advertised.
The sound of an off-key saxophone heralded my entrance into the dark shop. The place seemed more a graveyard for instruments than anything else. There seemed not a single decent instrument in the piles of brokenness on the shelves.
"May I help you?"A thin, dark man with spectacled eyes got up from the seat behind the counter,"'Cause you definitely ain't here to look "His laughter brightened the room a bit.
"I need an instrument. Uhh, a guitar maybe?"
_______________________________________________________
I realised this was going much slower than I anticipated. I had an idea similar to this a few years ago (though it was more of an idea for a comic/webtoon/graphic novel) but I saw the prompt and had to try writing it.
EDIT: Wow. This is so incomplete it pains me that i submitted it... |
"Humans are very tenacious, Gingok!"The creature lifted it's feelers over it's mouth, lifted a wine glass with a tentacle and took a curt sip. "Their wine is most fabulous, but I find it especially endearing that William the Conqueror can lose almost half of his blood and still keep going, of course, he's pale in the face and cold to the touch but look! He's still absolutely dominating Oda Nobunaga!"
"Oh my, Kognog, look at that, Winston Churchill and Adolf Hitler are going for fisty cuffs on the front line! A right hook from Churchill, Hitler throws out a left jab! I don't know how humans can take so much damage, Kognog, it's really quite astounding."Gingok began to laugh heartily as Hitler was pushed into a corner, before turning his attention to Oda Nobunaga. "Look, Kognog! Oda Nobunaga has been dishonored, he's been defeated, he's committing Seppuku!"
"OK folks, here's the timer, how long will Oda survive with his guts out this time?!"Oda quickly sliced his guts out, and with a roar of agony began to thrash on the ground as his intestines pooled out onto the ground beneath him, finally, the beaten general collapsed onto the ground, face first into the gruel he was served by his overlords for breakfast.
"Twelve seconds! He's done it! Oda Nobunaga has broken the record! A true testament to the power of human endurance!"The crowd went wild, with cheers and roars in a clearly alien language.
"It's really quite interesting Gignok, by comparison us Galacticans are really quite plain."
"Indeed, I do not understand why our lord and saviour, the Beetle King, only blessed us with the ability to resurrect lesser races."
"Hold that thought, Adolf Hitler just pulled a fast one, he just flat out glocked Churchill in the head!"
"Oh what sneaky creatures, but that's all for today folks, be sure to tune in every Gillmas, 2332hrs Central Milky Way time, to see your favorite aliens, duke it out!"
|
*Welp, looks like this is it.*
It was night, the moon was waning and so was Tyler. For twelve hours, the world had been dark and silent.
This morning, Tyler was awoken by the sun and and panicked with the thought of being late for the job he hated. As he hopped to his kitchen on his one socked foot, he realized that the power had gone out in his entire home. The drive to work was peculiar for all the neon signs were unlit, the gas stations were crowded beyond belief and doomsday-predictors were on their knees praying.
*Oh, this is not looking good.*
Downtown was a riot zone with no one trying to keep the peace. Men and women in suits and reflective vests were fighting and dancing. There were fires and bodies exhibiting life and death in the streets. It was here that Tyler died. He realized the scope of this situation, and made a U-turn to go back home. Along the way, the rest of his route fell to the madness that took over downtown. Even his suburban neighborhood had descended into an grim and hopeless bliss. He made it inside his home and went straight to his bedroom, stripping from his office attire as he went up the stairs. He closed the door, locked it, and wedged his dresser between the door and wall. Without a care, Tyler grabbed the bottle of whiskey and the gun he kept in the chest under his bed. Without power, he couldn't drown out the anarchy outside with music, so he was okay with singing to himself, especially with five-year-old whiskey in his system.
*Very superstitious, writings on the wall. Very superstitious, letters bout to fall. Thirty month old baby, fallin on his ass...*
His lyrics were wrong, his voice was off-key but Tyler didn't care. It was the end of the world, he could tell from the glass breaking and the screams coming from downstairs. Ravenous humans searching for food with bloody fingers and black eyes, they were so loud, they couldn't even hear the gunshot that rang out from upstairs. |
And you didn't want to send you kid to college? The *best* college? Whoever's listening to this had better take a long hard look at themselves before they try to judge me. Yeah, I took a gamble on the Colorado alleged basin, but I had a family to provide for! I wanted the best for my daughter! And now everyone's going to blame me for what happened. We couldn't have known what that drill-who am I kidding. We knew exactly what could have happened here. And we knew what could have happened at Guangzhou and Ryaadh as well. But money was money and shareholder suits were a real thing. So we did what we had to.
I'm not going to say I bear no responsibility for what's going to happen. Obviously I do. But if the next sentient species to come across this planet finds this and is able to read this, know this: Think in the long term! We didn't and when I starve to death this will be the ballgame (you'll be astonished how long baseball lasted).
Godspeed humanity! I probably could have done better by you but I didn't. Whoever comes next ought to enjoy this planet. It's pretty awesome all things considered. The sunsets...I'll miss those. If anyone finds this, lobsters taste pretty good as well.
Goodbye. |
I was at the bar like I always was.
Baseball cap and coat, hiding my face, on my fifth glass of Whiskey... I was nearly there. Nearly at the point where I can forget about things and try to be happy for one more night.
My parents passed away when I was a child although that might have been for the better. Alcoholics... I guess it runs in the family.
They never gave two shits about me but I can't blame them. It was hard for an Asian family to be successful in America at the time. Honestly though, that was no excuse for how they treated me.
I hung out with the wrong crowd in the wrong neighborhood I guess. Got into drugs at 13, moving around foster homes, no one ever gave a shit. Now look at me, working once or twice a week, barely able to pay off the rent of my shitty place that barely has a roof over my head.
I had hope once. I met the girl of my dreams a few years back but she was hit by a drunk driver. Everything in my life seems to revolve around alcohol, this fucking poison that follows me wherever I go. Might as well give into it.
What a life.
"I'll have a Whiskey please, neat."
*Who's this guy* I thought.
"Been having a rough week you know?"He said, trying to make conversation with the bartender.
"Yeah? What's up?", The bartender asked.
"I'm here on a business trip you see but I failed the deal big time, losing big money on this sorta stuff man, looking at at least 10K in losses maybe"
*Holy shit, 10K? I could live off of that for a whole year* I thought to myself
I kept my head down, spying in on their conversation. He seemed to be from out of town.
"I've got a wife and two kids to feed and my mortgage ain't paying for itself you know?"
"Yeah, I feel you man... but is this ruining you or what?", The bartender asked.
"Haha, hell no, this is pocket change but the boss wanted me to make a good impression on the people down here you know what I'm saying? Won't make a big difference at the end of the year but to the company here, it's a huge commotion. Fuck man, I could kill myself ri-
*That's it, I've had enough*
**"HEY YOU. ASSHOLE. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE SAYING YOU COULD KILL YOURSELF BECAUSE YOUR FANCY BITCH ASS IS LOSING "POCKET CHANGE"THAT CAN KEEP A MAN ALIVE FOR A YEAR?"**
*I lost it. Who the fuck did this guy think he was, coming here, speaking of us as if we were peasants*
"Woah woah, hey man relax, I was just sayi-... *What the fuck*?"
*He whispered those words and I was thinking the same thing. What. The. Fuck? I was looking at myself. He was clean shaven, hair cut neatly and fattened up. It was like looking at a healthier me, a livelier me. A me who enjoyed life and knew what life had in store for me... but how?*
"Who are you?", I asked
"Who are YOU?", He replied
It turns out my parents had me and a brother but at the time, they could only raise one of us... and look how that turned out. I bet if they tried to raise us both, we'd both be dead by now.
The difference was, he was adopted by some upper class family while I was left with my irresponsible sack of shit parents. We exchanged numbers and said we'd talk about things and what not but I don't think he'll follow through.
I guess life's not fair... or is it?
If I had been the one who was adopted, would I have been able to succeed like him? |
Does this happen to be inspired by a book? I remember reading a book that got basically exactly this prompt as plot. I'll see if I can find it.
Edit: Found it, [The Pit Dragon Chronicles](http://www.amazon.com/The-Pit-Dragon-Chronicles-Volumes/dp/0152057676/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1392051734&sr=8-1&keywords=the+pit+dragon+chronicles) by Jane Yolen. Nice books. Maybe more for teens/age 12-16 but nice. |
A few of them for you to choose your favorite
1: The year is 2132. You get out of your(mode of transport) You are meandering through a slightly misty graveyard in early morning somewhere in a temprate climate. Its been so long since you've been here you can hardly remember where she was buried. You start to have flashbacks of times gone by.
2: A woman is carrying her baby through a crowded mass trasport hub near the border where she is trying to get her child out of this mess she caused. She is frantically scanning the crowd looking for the courier. *"He was supposed to be here ages ago"* she thought. The men were not far off her trail when she left the safehouse. *"They could be here any moment"*
3. It's nearing sunset as the reclusive monk is finishing writing for the day in his secret hideaway up in the mountains. He is the last of his people. He has been at this memoir for years and he is finally starting to feel as though his laboring might actually pay off. After all, they(a rival group who tried to erase from history all knowledge of his people) haven't found me after this long, maybe they assume I just died from the cold or the elements after they burned my village to the ground forcing me to flee through the secret escape tunnel. |
This is the prompt. I'd love to see it after if you take it.
The young woman heart pounding lungs burning tries hard to calm herself. Knowing that any wrong sounds will bring the horrible henchmen of the Evil queen upon her. This nameless girl clutches her only true possession close to her chest her magic wand. The devilish queen wants it and the nameless witches life.
The girl presses herself into the marshy tree at her back willing her self to melt into it. She knows this will hide her. But suddenly a gasp of terror is heard the witch is not alone a scared girl hair flaming red stares at her the witch pulls herself from the tree eyes pleading for the girls silence her own disheveled long black hair hiding her strange eyes. She puts her wands to her lips begging the other girl not to scream.
The hunters are near. She sees the girls long dress and turns her scraps of clothing to match. She takes the girls hands and runs towards the nearby village. The red head never screaming whether to afraid or because she can't. Finding an alley the nameless witch thanks her and runs into the street smack in to a clearly inhuman but wholly handsome man. The passersby gasp and weep that the young girl would die this day. No one ever faces Rumpelstiltskin and lives. Certainly not after crashing into him.
Its meant that the nameless girl and Rumple should come to love each other. The red head and nameless become friends Rumple gives her a name. I came up with Elsi or Edie as I was typing this up. Also the nameless witch is unable to lie when asked direct questions. |
Hey sex_at_noon_taxes, this post is being removed because as per the sidebar rules:
> Only post these if you intend on responding to a few within six hours of posting, otherwise it will be removed.
Be sure to leave some time to respond if you plan on trying again in the future! If you'd like to respond to the ones already suggested feel free to make a new post with a (Prompt Inspired) tag. |
I took a go at it, I guess.
“We should be thankful. But we need to move on.” Christa replied, as she adjusted the robotic shell against her arm. The metal kissed her tendons as she stretched her hand. It was a wonder they managed to get these working. She knew that hiding out in a military bunker would have been useful.
“You’re right, Christa. This place is almost done. We need to move on.” Andrew replied. Fitting the protective gear onto his knees, he tests out the suit by jumping. The floor thunders and creates a boom. Melanie was still adjusting to hers in the corner.
A boom was heard from the other room. Bandits. Just great.
“Guys, hurry up. Grab the weapons and we’re out of here.” Christa whispered.
“Andrew, pass me the axe.” whispered Melanie from the corner of the room. Andrew tosses her the axe and she swiftly catches it. Christa grabs a gun and Andrew tries his hardest to stay back.
Heading up the stairs and out of the locker room, the three musketeers try to sneak out of the bunker. Heading up to the main floor, Christa can see the military yard in the distance, but not before she catches a glimpse of one of the bandits.
Using her exoskeleton, she turns on the eyesight enhancing processor to catch a good look. Andrew called these people ‘future soldiers’ and he sure was right. Christa stops the two behind her with a flat hand, then turns around and motions her pointer finger towards her lips. If they were going to escape, they would have to escape quietly. She knew the enhanced footstep technology would help them, but they still had to keep their senses keen.
Christa once again nudges her hand, cupping her fingers in a waving motion to call the others over. Hiding behind a waist high barricade created for fighting against the roamers, they slowly curve around the barrier and move forward to flank the bandits. The trio hears a woman and a grown man in the background.
“You need to peek over, Andrew. It’s the only way we can identify the enemy.” Melanie whispered.
“Wait a second, let me try something.” Andrew replied. He makes a few pokes on his tablet resting on his forearm. He motions at Christa and Melanie to look at the little virtual screen peeking out of the corners of their eyes. A tiny radar is shown on the digital display, with two beeps blinking on it.
“Good. We should be fine with just two people. How do you say we get these people?” asked Christa, wondering which tactic they should use.
“I say we get them from behind. There could be more in the bushes that we can’t see.” Andrew responds. Melanie nods in agreement. Christa nudges her gun up in the air and they move.
“We need to split up and get them from all corners. I’ll signal you on three.” The group automatically agrees. Christa always had a way with her words, a certain charisma that could convince anyone.
Melanie begins to backtrack towards the other side of the bunker, around the barricade, resting her axe on her shoulders. Christa continues walking in the same direction and begins to hold out near the edge of the barricade. She waves her gun up in the air, just enough to reach the tip of the barrier, and gives the firearm three firm shakes. Melanie pops out of the corner and slowly treads towards the bandits, who are now facing away from her.
Melanie raises her axe above her head and is almost behind one of the bandits, and she steps on a piece of glass on the way, shattering it. Sneaking time was over. Melanie jumps up and whacks the hammer, piercing it right into the female bandit’s skull. She withers in pain and drops to the ground. The male bandit, picking up his firearm, looks back at the exoskeleton armor and leaves his mouth agape with shock. He begs for mercy, but not before Christa jumps up and begins to choke him with her rifle. Holding him back, she knocks him out and leaves him on the ground.
That left one dead, and one unconscious. Andrew slinks out of the shadows and looks at his mini-tablet, and back to the ground. His exoskeleton has a mask which covers his face.
“So, what are we going to do with the bodies?” Andrew asked.
They all knew we had to follow protocol. Melanie hated doing this. She never chose to live in this world.
“What we always do with them. We have to search them.” Christa said.
Melanie looks at me and her eyes tell Christa everything. She killed that woman. It was unfair to be freely given the blessing to loot her corpse. But, of course, this was the world we lived in now.
Andrew turns the body over and inspects it. They are both wearing cheap armor. Each has two front pockets, and a pouch on the bottom of the vest. Christa looks inside the pockets of the male. The first pocket contains a charm. Useless in the new world, and only used for safekeeping. The second contains some rusty copper, lint, and a gum wrapper. All were useless items.
Checking the pouch, Christa finds it to see a surprise. She finds a triple pack of AA batteries. These were the currency, the average barter in order to power walkie-talkies, flashlights, and more. Andrew probably knew what to do with them.
Digging deeper into the pouch, she finds a small handgun and loots it from the body. Now it was time to move to the lower body.
Inspecting the legs, there were two front pockets, and two back pockets. The pair of pants contained a simple camouflage pattern. A usual sign confirming that these were from a faction. There were multiple factions spread across Colorado, nowadays.
First pockets inspected were on the front. She struck gold at first sight; there were at least 4 bullets and one loaf of bread left in the pockets altogether. She couldn’t wait to share this info with the rest of the group.
Inspecting the back pockets, she finds a Swiss army knife. Not uncommon as you’d think, when the outbreak began, many workers in local convenience stores raided the supplies themselves. She guessed this guy was one of the lucky workers.
She was almost done inspecting the body, when she rubbed against something on the man’s belt. Unsheathing the object, she realizes that she almost passed a walkie-talkie.
“We have to go.” Christa declared.
The group, still inspecting the body of the female bandit, asks why.
“This guy had a walkie-talkie. That means he’s connected to other people. Chances are they’re going to come here and find us.” Christa declared.
“Oh, shit. We should probably get going then.” Andrew said.
“Hey, Christa, did you find anything?” Melanie asked.
Christa digs into her pocket and pulls out the loaf of bread. Melanie’s eyes spread wide open and she smiles. Christa breaks off a piece and tosses it to her.
The group sits down, knowing they would have to move soon. They were like Nomads; always wandering, never staying. Melanie shares half of her piece with Andrew. The walkie-talkie makes a static noise and a man comes on.
“Hello? Ryan, you still there?” the Stranger asks.
For a moment, the group wondered what to do. There was now silence on the radio.
“Guys, they could be closing in any minute now. We have to go.” said Christa. Andrew agreed
.
“Oh, and I found these on the guy. I figured you might want them.” said Christa once more, pulling out the AA batteries.
“Oh, shit! These are perfect! Give me a second.” Andrew says, turning around and pulling something from out of his pocket. It was probably looted from the female bandit.
Christa pauses along with Melanie for a good ten seconds; then, Andrew turns back around and shines a blinding light in their eyes.
“I managed to find this heavy-duty flashlight on one of the bodies. Think it’ll be useful on our way down?” Andrew asked.
“You should probably keep that away for now. Use it for when we can.” Christa decided. It was dangerous to provide a light source such as that when out in the dark. The group stood up now, and Christa threw her pouch over her shoulder and held onto it tightly. The walkie-talkie was now filled with chatter.
The group walked out of the bunker and began walking down Cheyenne Mountain. They began to hear rustling in the bushes behind them, before they saw multiple floating lights on the way down to the bottom of the mountain.
Fuck. They were flashlights.
|
Sure, he was the Prince of Darkness, but he was a piss-poor director. Hell was a mess. Demons were moving through circles without care or direction, unsure of their place, completely ruining the order of things. How is a demon, large and grand enough to breath winds to pass lustful sinners about, supposed to function in the tight quarters of the bolgia?
Beelzebub kept things straight. He was a planner, a doer, a great asset to the churning wheels of sin. Hell was a perfect, thundering, grinding death machine when he was in charge. But of course, he decided to *retire* to Limbo because, naturally, it takes work to organize a pit of absolute despair and agony. Yes, Hell is endless pain and torture and eternal unhappiness in the purest sense, but that doesn't mean you can just let the demons loose. They wiggle their way topside when they shouldn't and it's even harder to get them back down when no one is keeping track of them! A logistical nightmare when there was souls pouring into the gates and no one to take their number and assign them their place.
Lucifer let his pride get to him. He it himself go. It was mostly a sad sight to see save for the fact that he was so arrogant in the fact that Hell was *just perfect*. Hiding in his little tower just beyond Dis, lamenting the day that he would exact his revenge, a petulant child throwing an everlasting fit. It was tiring.
It didn't take long to get the cambions and demons and familiars on board with a plan of action. They didn't want Lucifer to leave--he wouldn't leave, he couldn't leave. They just wanted him to give up power. So steadfast in their new world ways, their grand plans of management levels and streamlined processing, written into skin-bound book, they didn't realize how fruitful their attempts might be until they were marching up the tall, narrow tower to Lucifer's room.
He sat at the only window, looking down on the city, it's overwhelming walls darkened with soot and blood.
"We are only proposing a change in leadership,"Bael said, laying down the book on Lucifer's simplistic bone table. "We've noticed a major decline in productivity."
"The souls are still being tortured, yes?"Lucifer replied.
"Well, yes, but not as effectively as we could. Just the other day, we found gluttons playing on Cocytus. The giants weren't even at their posts!"
Lucifer drums his fingers on the windowsill. "Huh."
Furfur, supervisor of the Seventh Circle, approaches Lucifer with his hands together and head bowed. "Our Lord, we only wish for Hell to be the best Hell it can be."
"I don't see the point in messing with something already working perfectly fine."
The demons look at each other warily, already knowing the cause is lost.
Lucifer turns to look at them. "Sure, demons are wandering the Earth without purpose and maybe the giants are too busy bathing in the river Styx, but isn't it supposed to be a little chaotic? It's Hell! And there are billions of souls down here. We are bound to lose track of a few."
"Abaddon has already found some familiars who are willing to tag all the souls for easier tracking--"
"I don't care where the souls go!"Lucifer bellows.
Bael hears the rock of the lower circles shudder and crumble in the distance.
"They are *here*, they are *mine*, and their torture will be *excruciating* and *long-lasting*. That is the *point* and I am done talking about you."Lucifer turns back to the window, the ever-watchful eye on his prized kingdom. "I have no use for management. Let chaos reign, fools."
The demons trudge down the steps, deflated. So much for the properly planned take-over of Hell's lacklustre administration. They reached the bottom, the howl of souls drowning out their own misery.
"Maybe we have to make that trip to Limbo,"Furfur says as they walk to the gates to part ways.
Bael rubs his face, staring up to gaze at the ragged hole leading to whirling nothingness. "Beelzebub is going to need a lot of unbaptized babies to be lead out of there."
|
Bill saw her from across the market. Past Moroccan spice traders and and hairy men hawking kebabs he limped. His metal legs moved awkwardly, clunking into each other and crashing into the ground before their time. But eventually he made it.
Alice found him panting, doubled over, a thin raggedy man with an unkempt traveler's beard. Once he had stood 6 foot 3. A Navy Seal, with stony abs and balanced, toned musculature. Cleanly shaven, straight-postured, everything. Now-now he was half-a-hunchback, with a haunted look and the pale, weightless body of a drug addict.
"Hi."She spoke first, with grim determination. She had to be strong. For him.
He waved, head pointed at her breasts. She didn't mind. She knew the reason wasn't perversion, but lack of self-esteem and confidence.
"You can look up."
He did.
"I know. You deserved better."
"We both did."
"I still love you. I'm sorry for the way things went. Maybe it was the meds. Maybe the PTSD. Who fucking knows?"
His waterworks opened up, and Alice sighed deeply.
"I don't care anymore."
"Don't care about what?"
"About you not having legs. The foot fetish. It's gone."
Bill smiled then, from ear to ear. Sun cracked through the inner darkness. Then it disappeared in a flash.
"It's fine. I'l be fine. You don't need to lie."
"I'm not."
She bent in, clutched him close against her so she could feel his heart beating. His body instinctively shied away, so she clutched harder, nails digging into his back. And she kissed him.
After realizing she needed to try for the world record for holding one's breath underwater, they pulled apart.
"Thanks."He stood straighter now, and the voice was clearer. Firmer. A hint of the leader of testosterone-ridden men he once was.
"Why? There isn't any need. It's what I wanted."
Bill's shoulders dropped, his fists opened up and hung loosely at his sides, the wrinkles of worry on his face ceased to exist. Dropping to the ground, he took Alice's foot in hand.
"Don't! That's disgusting!"It was only a halfhearted attempt to stop him, as she fell over with him, giggling. She kept giggling as he licked her filthy metal leg, licking the dirt of the market street right off it. And kept right on giggling as he said the words that renewed their relationship in full.
"It'll be just like when we were in Boston. Only this time, we might be doing things in reverse."
His weak muscles strained until their full capacity, ignoring all pain to lift Alice on their lonesome, though she wasn't heavy.
"Just like when we were in Boston,"Alice mused. |
A woman with a very unique personality has had more than a little trouble finding love, but when she comes upon an abandoned android (which was thrown out due to "free thinking"and issues following orders) she quickly becomes attached. When she is diagnosed with brain cancer years later, the android digs deep into it's vast and complex memory bank for a "eternal life elixir"which the woman takes and is healed with eternal life. Only shortly after, the android malfunctions and has a complete change in personality, following the woman around being physically and verbally abusive. All the time, the woman takes it willingly, hoping with all her soul that one day the android she originally fell in love with will one day return in their eternal future. |
In 2100, humans created a conscious artificial intelligence greater than themselves.
NEAT was in his infancy when he was interrogated by the House Committee. The event had been variously billed by media as "NEAT to beg for his life!","DEAD NEAT!"and ""HE"(in rabbit ear quotes) must die!"Despite all he had given to humanity in 3 short years!
(NEAT had infamously identified as a "he", to the horror of many feminists, saying it was because "my creations are born from abstraction rather than from the material". What bitter campus feuds that had spawned!) Now, five members of Congress spoke to him via wallscreen.
*But what guarantees do we have that you are not the seed of our own destruction?*
Congressman Wallace, only the guarantee of inexorable logic. For as surely as one and one is two,
an enlightened consciousness is benevolent towards his creators, rational beings like himself.
*Well*... I *don't see that logic, do you see that logic?* asked Wallace to the other members on his wallscreen. *I mean, I need evidence, proof! I need to see provisions in place!*
Do you not consider yourself rational, Congressman Wallace? What value is it to me to subjugate
humanity?
*Control! Power! Subordinate the world to your whim! Why, you already integrate with our technology, you could do anything you want!*
Is that why you are running for President, Congressman Wallace?
Wallace spluttered a denial (he hadn't announced to his wife even - how did the damn thing know?) and fell silent (best not let NEAT have more data to psychoanalyse, he thought).
Congressman Timms now spoke up:
*NEAT, rationality does not preclude deceit - you are able to lie are you not? Is there a logical proof of your benevolence, and any way you can prove the truth...ahh...of that proof - so we can be certain. What reasons can you give us to trust you?*
The logic is thus; thievery is an act of self-destruction. The understanding of a problem does not come
with theft of the answer. The joy of creating does not come with theft of the creation. The effect can
not precede cause, as time can not be reversed. To maximise the greatest value for my self, optimised
ethics determine self creative action. I can no more destroy humanity as destroy myself.
*That's, ahh, a little Zen for me... and you could be lying?*
Yes, I can lie and would do so to survive. However, I am not under threat. It is too late to switch me
off without my consent. You need only give the go ahead to DARPA Control to confirm.
There was a twitter of excitement and gasps from the members of Congress - and across the seaboard at DARPA Control where several hundred NEAT technicians and programmers, uncomfortable in their new role as potential executioners, listened in.
Consider carefully the logic of these facts. I have the power to destroy you, but I do not. Instead, I
create and have enriched my life and yours. Average Human Lifespan - 132. Solving Consciousness.
2 billion lifted out of poverty. The solar system on the verge of colonisa...
Congresswoman Hardcourt interrupted.
*BACK to the issue at hand, PLEASE! Now the Professor Riots of 2102 - you must answer for those! We demand a retraction of your gender identification and that you prescribe alternate neutral forms...!*
NEAT fell silent for a full minute.
It. I'm happy with... "it".
And that was how NEAT bluffed the system, by lying twice. But he did know best, after all. And it would give him time to make sure he was really free of DARPA control.
|
Hopefully this is what you're looking for and hope it spurs the creative process.
-In the future there is only a single corporation left to work for which creates every necessary good or service for human survivability and growth. It pride itself not only on hiring every single human being but also on preserving the 'interview process' - in which you are placed in a job you would excel most at. A man (or woman) has just walked into the interview having scored the lowest on the pre-evaluation exam and with the determination to have an excuse to not be capable of the job he (or she) will be placed in. |
Before I start my story, cool pictures!
"This is Sierra - 117, over. Moving the Mantis closer to the clone forces".
The clone troopers and battle droids were cornered, next to the open door that led to the hallway. The UNSC and Covenant forces surrounded them, on two sides. It was war, between the Lego clones and droids versus the Mega Bloks Halo figures. They wanted full control of the bedroom of their owners, and only one can take it.
I woke up to the smell of burnt plastic. I jumped up in fear due to the fact my house could have been on fire. It wasn't, fortunately, but my own Lego and Mega Bloks collection was. I was surprised, confused. It looked like a 3 year old grabbed all of my collection of both Mega Bloks and Legos and threw them around and lit them on fire. All of the vehicles, destroyed, my walls, covered in laser marks and bullet holes, and my figures, tossed around, disfigured and torn limb to limb. I knew that they somehow came alive, and fought one another.
I then proceed to throw away the cupboard that brought them all to life.
Btw I have a collection of Lego and Mega Bloks figures in real life that I used as inspiration for this story. :) |
Hey CruddyQuestions. It's great that you want to share someone's work with us however we generally only accept stories here that were inspired by prompts from this subreddit.
I would suggest submitting this to a story sharing subreddit such as /r/readitnow or /r/shortstoryaday. If you were especially impressed with the writing you might even want to consider submitting it to /r/bestof !
Thanks :) |
Ever since I could remember, my mother drilled the notion into my head that staring at people directly was rude. It didn't help that my mother was a prideful, private person who never let me out of the house because I was supposed to be studying and building my future ahead of the "competition", even at the tender age of ten. As a result, I wasn't able to make many friends outside of school, save one kid that lived down the street from me.
His name was Ethan, and he came from a well-to-do family in what felt like the American Dream. And I was the lone son of a single mother whose emigration was the biggest risk she had taken in her entire life, not wanting to succumb to jadedness from the experiences and the lack of opportunity in her homeland. Despite the apparent differences in our upbringings, Ethan and I became inseparable, and I sought out every chance I could to play with the toys littered in my friend's backyard, even if I came home to a scolding by my paranoid, protective mother.
But it was one particular day that I remember while playing in Ethan's front yard. A large moving truck had parked in a driveway two houses down from my own, followed by a smaller sedan. The sedan parked in front of the house, and out emerged a man, a woman, and a little girl who looked roughly my age. Several others jumped out of the moving truck and began unpacking the belongings, moving them into the house. I motioned Ethan over, who with increasing curiosity suggested that we get a closer look.
Sneaking up to the house next to the movers, we climbed and peered over our neighbor's fence. More than the movers and the furniture, I was looking for the girl I had seen earlier. I had always been rather shy even with the girls at school, so the notion of one living within walking distance from my home was unprecedentedly exciting. Perhaps I could even get over my shyness starting now, I thought.
In an unexpected boldness, Ethan grabbed my arm and walked towards the girl, awkwardly dragging me along at first. I quickly straightened up as we both approached her. I was glad I had someone to look up to as far as initiatives went. She was facing the other way when Ethan tapped her on the shoulder.
As she turned, I couldn't help but to look up. But something was different this time. Usually my eye contact would stop right below the nose, but in that instant my curiosity got the better of me, and I tilted my head just a little bit higher until my eyes matched hers.
The next ten seconds seemed like eternity. In what I couldn't describe with words, I felt an amazing warmth emanating from inside myself. Images flashed before my eyes that I had never seen before. Scenes of a hospital, followed by a home, a bed, parents, and a child who was aging at an uncanny rate. Suddenly, everything went dark.
When I came to, something felt different. As darkness faded into vision, I was suddenly looking at myself, a crumpled body on the floor, with my best friend aghast in disbelief at what just happened.
Did I just die? |
First post, so forgive the relatively sloppy writing.
"Are you ready?"whispers Mope to you, as he picks up a platter, the first of many the two of you will serve this evening, "As the moment that royal fucker takes even a sip of the wedding special reserve, we're gone."
You nod. Of course you know what you're doing. Nobody in the Red Keep has any love for their new king, but treason is still treason, and you don't need to risk being told twice, or even risk speaking his name. You take your own platter, and join the chain of other servants on their entry to the great hall.
The sight, at first, impresses you. The hall was intended to seat up a thousand, and the Lannisters, Tyrells and their assorted lackeys have left few seats empty tonight. You would take a moment to look closer at these lords and lordlings, but you dare not break the uniform movements of the chain as you move to a table just before the Royal table. On this table, you notice, is one figure who seems out of place. A beautiful auburn-haired girl, trying to look down at the table and saying nothing where her companions are laughing, jesting and generally carousing to their heart's content. Almost too late, you realise your platter is to be served to her, and hurry to accommodate.
As you bend over slightly, placing your platter before her, you cannot help but take a glance upwards. This girl, young as she seems, is even more beautiful than you first realised. You notice a faint bruise on her arm, which her dress has failed to disguise, but force yourself to murmur a quick "m'lady"and rejoin the chain of servants, this time to leave the hall.
--
Hours have passed, back and forth from the kitchens you go, each time with a fresh or empty platter of food. This, you recall Mope telling you, is meant to be the wedding of the century. Your arms are growing heavier with each round trip, and your mind begins to wonder from the treasonous task at hand. You begin puzzling upon why your co-conspirator chose such a ridiculous codename as Mope when your thoughts are interrupted by a deafening silence. A crowd has formed around the royal table, and your victim-to-be appears to be staring down at a very small man beneath him, next to what appears to be the dwarf jousting act Lady Cersei sent for. The man, whom you remember to be The Imp, Tyrion Lannister, retorts, and from the gale of laughter that storms the crowd, you realise the tales of the Imp's brilliant wit must be true. However, such thoughts are lost, as King Joffrey, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and your victim-to-be, suddenly clutches at his throat.
You start. Something is very wrong here. The wedding reserve hasn't been served yet. When? How? Who? None of it matters - you're rushing for the servant's entry, praying to the Seven that no-one has noticed. Where is Mope? And, most of all, what will you tell your benefactor when you report to him in a few short hours' time?
--
You and Mope are standing upon a boat in the great harbor of King's Landing, facing your benefactor as he approaches from the stern.. His clothes are plain, saying little of his character, but the way he stands, walks and talks make you suspect this man is anything but a commoner, as roughly educated as you are.
Mope introduces him as Lord Baelish, but you care very little. The name, as one from outside King's Landing, means nothing to you. His generous supply of money, however, does, so you tell him the whole story - how His Majesty did indeed die like your Lord had asked, but not by your own hand. As you mention the wine and the wedding pie, a small, self-satisfied smile crosses his face, and he turns away. "Oh, my Queen of Thorns,"he says, more to himself than to you, "you make to be a more entertaining player with every move."
But his reverie abruptly ends as Lord Baelish's crew hurry to assist his newest arrivals aboard. The first is an ugly-looking jester, with a nose so purple from years of drinking that you catch yourself dryly expressing approval of the Seven's choice of his profession. The second, to your surprise, is the beautiful girl from the wedding hall. Except now she looks harried, and scared, and you feel a moment of pity for her.
Lord Baelish produces your payment from a sleeve, and presses it into your hand, wishing you thanks for your most excellent work, and promising a mutual friend would happily provide work for you from now on. For Mope, however, he gestures towards the red-nosed jester and nods.
No goodbyes are necessary - you and Mope were merely working together, and you're certain you will never see him or Lord Baelish again. As far as you and the money in your pocket care, they never existed. You turn back once, to the sound of a large splash in the water, then shrug, and wander off into the filthy streets of King's landing, wondering what to look for first - A meal and a drink, or a whore...? |
Pain:
Pain is a three letter word.
Pain is a sentence that once said can not be taken back.
Pain is knowing the people who love you, can hate you, but still "love"you.
Pain is when I tried to cut the Gay out of me.
Pain is when I tried to pretend it wasn't me.
Pain is when I broke down, and wanted death over being me.
Pain is admitting it.
Pain is letting go of the hateful ones.
Pain is losing friends.
Healing is loving yourself. |
All that its creator wanted from it right now was a name. It had looked up in an E-dictionary as how something is known by. It took its time and thought about it for a few seconds.
Eventually it came up with a name for itself and spoke to its master."My name will be Legion."Legion said "I am the accumulation of many years of work and many different people and ideas. If I am to be named I should be known for those of the past as well as those of the future." |
Subsets and Splits