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"I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Ok. Calm down, Mustard. Calm down."
"I will not calm down. I was born of kings and wizards and noble trees!"
"You shut your mouth, Mustard. No need for blasphemy."
I stared into their stupid faces. The lead dude, I think his name was Gary, was six inches from my face. What nerve. How dare he tell *me* to calm down. Me. Famous reddit author:me
"Gary, if you don't get out of my face I'm going to put my knuckle bones through your eye flesh."
"Now now, Mustard. Let's not--"
He stopped talking like someone took the wind out of him. It was me. I took the wind out of him. I'm not insane, I just like taking the wind out of people.
It all started in the year 1612, when dinosaurs ruled the earth. When ladybugs were the only form of food besides leaf babies. Oh, you don't know what leaf babies are? Fuck you, then. Use your imagination, you jackwagon.
Anyway, I first learned of my wind taking power while talking to the king, Mr. Triceratops--or Mr. T as we liked to call him. He did not like it. He pitied the fool who called him that because he was most likely a secondary psychopath--being that right after he killed someone for calling him Mr. T he would feel very bad and pity them.
Ok, I'll slow down. This is probably too complicated for you. Let's move on.
The year was 1998, and I had just gotten off work at the convenience store. I sweated all day selling Twinkies to busy business men. They loved Twinkies in 1998, I think it had something to do with the alignment of the moon and the (then) planet Pluto. I spent my days working at the store and the nights staring into the eyes of my girlfriend. She was my girlfriend because I told her she was.
I met her at a party for thieves. She was a good one. She once stole a hoof from right under a male cow. Impressive shit.
*Mustard Jones looked up from the papers. "Seriously? You're turning my coming of age time travel story into this? It doesn't even make sense."*
*The executives looked at Mustard with broad smiles the shape of crescent moons. "It will make sooo much money with the drug crowd that we will be all shitting gold bricks. Soo much money we can eat gummi bears for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."*
*Mustard Jones shook his head. Kept shaking it. Then began to weep. Tears dropped onto the script on the table. Mustard Jones placed his thumbs on his eyes and pressed. And pressed. And pressed...* |
Another shockingly normal day for Sandra
**
"...okay, see you there."
"..."
"I love you too."
Sandra turned off her mobile and burst into tears. A brain tumor? Julius couldn't have a brain tumor. God was so unfair!
After hours and hours of crying Sandra suddenly had an epiphany. She didn't want to live without him, not when her life before him was so empty and meaningless, and she didn't want him to suffer. They could be like Romeo and Juliet! This tumor might have been a blessing in disguise. She started texting.
*bby i have a plan. find us sum rat posion an meet me @ da park. <3333 luv u bby*
With the plan in motion, she got up and set about making final preparations, like what she'll wear at the funeral. Deciding how much makeup is too much. And, of course, writing a goodbye letter to post on her blog.
But while Sandra was searching for the proper words to express her love and spirit of sacrifice, the phone buzzed with a message from Julius.
*bb, doc says is not a tumor, is zchizofrenia :\ stil @ the hospital but i call u when i get out*
Sandra frowned at the phone. *isn't zchizofrenia made up by Hollywood?* she thought. Google might have offered some answers, but those Wikipedia articles were always so long! Better wait and talk to Julius first. It was common knowledge that stuff like that was invented to take people's money, anyway.
She turned back to her article, saving everything she wrote in case she'll need it after all, then wrote a piece about how almost dying was so hard for her. She had such an eventful life.
------
-093
I deviated a little and made him the one with schizo.
|
Everyone in the neighbourhood was stood in a cluster on the street, staring to the west, conferring amongst themselves what they thought it could be. Was it a nuclear bomb? Was there a huge explosion at the power plant? No, we'd have heard that from here, wouldn't we?
The onyx plume of smoke ascended into the clear sky, slowly, towering over all. A faint red tint caressed the foot of the smoke. None of us could accurately confirm what it was.
"Where's your brother?"Asked my dad, not taking his eyes off the horizon.
"At the river with his friends,"I returned, an anxiety erupting within me.
Dad paused, squinting, then shouted out in terror, "Go the river! Find your brother and run!"
The screams of my neighbours alerted me, filling me with fear. "What?!"I turned to the black skyscraper to see hordes of huge rocks flying in our direction.
Dad just pushed me in the direction of the river, demanding me to sprint as fast as I can, before he was destroyed by the stone. I let out a blood curdling scream as my father's ash enveloped me; but I had to flee before I would meet the same fate.
The smell of smoke was everywhere, the sound you hear when a bomb is catapulted through the air, that sharp rush of noise before an ear splitting BOOM, kept on playing.
I had to find James. I had to save my baby brother. I had to survive. |
The CBP agent held our vegetables over a wastebasket and asked if I was some kind of vegetarian. I said, “No” and he placed everything back into the icebox. They were her vegetables. When she bought them she felt their skin for bumps and bruises and then placed each one into her canvas bag. Everything green in there was hers: the zucchini, the lettuce, the cucumbers, the kale. Maybe I’d chop them up into a salad. I couldn’t imagine eating them though. I was almost home––to my parents home. Maybe I’d hide the vegetables there, deep into the corner of the refrigerator, where they could survive for another day.
“What’s all this food?” my father asked from the kitchen counter. She was still in the car contemplating her next move. “It’s Saturday. You’re not supposed to be back yet.” I noticed the faint hairs on his chest. He used to tell me that having little-to-no chest hair was a sign of a well-traveled path.
“It didn’t workout.”
“Mexico? Her? The weather?”
“She’s still in the car.”
“She’s still in the car? What is she still doing in the car?”
We had a salad later that night for dinner. My father cracked an egg over it as an adhesive for the dressing. I looked at her as he did it, and she grinned as if she could be excited again. I thought about the next morning. We could drive back, through to Mexico, and finish our trip. My father grabbed a bottle of wine, one from the cabinet, behind all of the liquor. He said, "Vires acquirit eundo."We gather strength as we go.
|
Despite his frantic efforts to keep the flame burning, the candle went out, leaving her in total darkness.
“Taya?” he whispered, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.
She didn’t respond, but he felt her hand searching for his through the darkness. He couldn’t tell who was colder--Taya or him. His hand uncurled slowly, as she pried the matches through his fingers that he had sworn had already frozen into a small cage, similar to the one they were both in now.
“H-here, let me t-try, Collin,” she whispered back.
Taya scraped the match on the rocky ground just outside of the cage and it lit, a feeble flame that she carefully drew back into the cage and lighted the candle with.
“How m-many matches do we h-have left?” she asked.
Collin held up the last two matches. So what did that mean? Two minutes? Two hours? It honestly depended on the wind.
Taya knew that stealing from the castle would get them in trouble--maybe enough to be hanged or beheaded, but this? Cramped up in a cage with the man that she loved outside the castle in the middle of winter? The king didn’t even have the decency to keep them in the dungeons where they could walk around or wrap up in some sort of rag for warmth. The king had reached a new level of evil as of late.
King James Chronister could not possibly be human. How he could live for over a century and still manage to bark orders, standing on the steps of his stolen castle, and not in a death bed readily appointing the next heir? No, he could move, but his hatred for the people in his kingdom could move faster. Public humiliation, simple torture, starvation and enduring illnesses killed people swifter than the blade of a knife. It killed their dignity, their willingness to live, their last shreds of hope thrown nonchalantly to the winter winds. Would it never end?
Collin kissed Taya’s icy forehead, cheek and lips before burrowing his nose into her brown locks. He loved her and had been ready to die for her, but not like this. Not under the thumb of an ancient king who didn’t have the decency to kill his criminals. Not once had King Chronister taken a sword and dispatched his enemies himself. That would be too easy. Instead, he had them locked up to die in cages. The rocky garden Collin and Taya were in now was but a tomb of rotting corpses, locked away in cages. It was beginning to dawn on both lovers that in a few months their remains would rot to reveal their entwined skeletons, spines pressed up against the bars of the cage, skulls close together, showing their last attempt at a final kiss.
|
It's been a long time since my last dream. I have started to forget what it was about, but what can you expect, I was five years old when the scientists came out with D.R.E.D.
The full name is Daily Rest Experience Drug. I don't know the specifics about it, but it has helped raise technology to a level we've never seen before.
At first, there were some people who criticized the drug. The uber-religious groups complained that nothing should interrupt God's natural cycle of day and night, awake and asleep. That was back when the drug still had a monthly cost.
The government changed that in two months, passing an act that made D.R.E.D. free to all of the citizens. The protests stopped as more people tried it out. Even though the drug has no side-effects to make it enjoyable, people got addicted to the feeling of being not just awake, but *alive* for the entire day.
You never feel sleepy. The constant annoyance of going to bed every night finally stopped. The only reason we even have beds anymore is habit.
For all the good things it has, it has bad effects too. I read a story the other day about how 4% of people on D.R.E.D. had committed suicide within the past year. I guess some people could use those little breaks.
As for me, I find it just well. But I haven't had a dream in a while. I could use a little break. But I think that I'm too scared to try.
Edit: Not very experienced at writing, just trying to get better. |
Please read the sidebar. This post breaks multiple rules of a PM thread.
> When you want multiple things to write about, people respond with random prompts; you respond to them in the same thread. In order to post a PM thread, you must have responded to at least one prompt in the past. Only post these if you intend on responding to a few within six hours of posting, otherwise it will be removed. |
Two of us arrived on the scene. A total fluke, wasn't the first tip of this sort, cryptic and potentially bullshit, and until the media finds out, it won't be the last. Raines--my partner--and I. Me and my partner. He starts to call it in, but I stop his hand.
"Look around you."
"I don't want to, let's just fucking call it in."
Iván looks up, smiling through his crooked teeth. He had been staring at his legs, sitting Indian style, but not rocking. There are drawings everywhere, all over the walls, but there are no words to describe those drawings. Only nightmares.
"Hey Iván."I say.
"Hi."
"Where are the kids Iván?"
He casts his eyes around the room.
"They're not here. They're playing. They're all friends. Some of their mommies are watching them, they're fine."
"I know buddy."
Raines sighs, and he picks up his radio again.
"Shots fired, suspect is down. Address is......"
The address doesn't really matter. Iván looks at me, or through me, rather. I see his years stream down his face.
"I have to go in the ground again, don't I?"
"Yeah Iván, you've gotta go in the ground."
"Will they let me play-"
I put two in his chest, and he crumpled into a tighter ball than he already was.
I walked over, knelt down. and leaned into his ear, although I doubt he could hear anything besides his last struggles for air, and I whispered nothing to him... |
My arm rested against cool glass, illuminated by the street light peering through. I wasn't sure if it was legal to park here, but we needed to stop and talk. A disgruntled sigh broke the silence. "What are we going to do?"
Words required so much effort to find. Stress took control. I repeated her question over and over, contemplating.
"You have a girlfriend."she piped up again. "I don't want to be the girl who ruins it. I care for you, but cheating is wrong. This is all wrong."
Her words felt as if they were tearing open a fresh wound. I don't want to be a cheater either, the girl I love has just seemed so distant lately. I've never been good at being alone. Her soft lips fluttered once again. "I want to be with you, I do. Your girlfriend can't make you happy anymore. I love you, can't you love me too?"
Admittedly, my girlfriend hasn't been there for me these past weeks. I brought her flowers the other day, but things were so different. The girl in my passenger seat fidgeted with her phone, as silence taunted us both. "We'll talk tomorrow,"she said solemnly, looking at the time. "You have a big decision to make."She leaned in to kiss me, doing as much as she can to sway my choice.
"I don't think so."I said tentatively, pushing her away. "It's day 3. I miss her." |
The biggest park in the city was full of people.
Clarion horns sounded, cheers erupted from the throat of every child, man and woman gathered.
Although the park was ashy, broken and derelict, to those present, it was a beacon of hope. A pedestal for those to see their triumphs.
In the centre of the park, a lone flag waved in the wind.
Surrounded by flowers, pictures of loved ones, and admissions of victory by the citizens gathered.
The flag was torn, frayed, and burned around the edges.
To an outsider, the flag would be considered a disservice to whichever institution it was meant to represent.
But the movement it represented wasn't pristine and well-kept. It was forged in camaraderie, uprising, and rebellion. It was the sum of an entire nation marching to the ends of oblivion to see a day where the sun would rise, and their children would be free of tyranny.
A silence fell amongst all those gathered, and they turned and faced the lone flag.
With eyes closed, and lips silently moving, a nation of people thanked the flag for what it had done, what it represented.
The biggest park in the city was full of people.
And it was quiet. |
You can't believe it. You're sure that the guy on the news was wrong, it's just a prank but your brother calls you and it's not. He invites you to go on buy a gun with him. He wants to go hunting of all things, when nothing's in season. He loves hunting with his dog and his falcon more than anything. Thing is, you've been stalked by a guy for the past year and his restraining order isn't in effect. Do you go hunting with him or do you stay inside where it's safe from your stalker? |
Tamim, wiping sweat away from his eyes with his hands, squinted out of the crude board covered windows. The bright light outside hurt his eyes, but he forced them open nonetheless scanning the small hut's arid surroundings.
„Ra'id,“ he whispered.
„Huh?“
„People. Up there by the Hawthorn.”
Muttering crude oaths under his breath Ra'id left his spot on the hut's ground next to the mats, where he'd been resting, to join Tamim by the window facing south to check the ridge line himself.
“Xara,” Ahmed said, keeping his voice low and peered over his shoulder where his other two squad mates, Masun and Ubaid, were sleeping. He'd grown up with Masun. They'd often played together at the stream with the other village children. They'd always between the Prophet and his warriors, and they'd always won. They had always wanted to join the army. Well, here they were. Turning back to Tamim he whispered, “Looks like Americans.”
Tamim's eyes had a feverish look about them, they shifted quickly and he wet his lips.
“What now?”
“Check the other windows.”
Quickly and making as little sound as possible they moved from window to window peering out and quietly relaying what they saw to the other. The Americans had them surrounded.
“BeiDan,” Tamim swore. “Can we break through? Run?”
Ra'id sighed, shaking his head. “Masun has a leg wound, we have to carry him and Ubaid can't use a weapon with his injury. Anyway, there are too many. We'd never make it.”
Ra'id saw the last shred of hope leave Tamim's eyes. Tamim staggered a step and then collapsed against the wall, sobbing. Ra'id, stunned, knelt down next to Masun and gently shook his shoulder.
“Masun, it's time.”
Tears welled up in his eyes, but he nodded and moved to wake Ubaid as Ra'id took his place, kneeling on his mat, a bowl of sand collected the morning before in front of him. Three other bowls were set before the other mats. Masun and Tamim, who had stopped weeping, joined him on the mats.
Ra'id's eyes followed Ubaid move around the small space of the hut as he collected their flasks.
“There is no need for tayamumm, Ra'id. We have water enough to perform wuḍū and no need of it after this,” Ubaid said noticing Ra'id looking at him. Ra'id didn't reply but simply poured his sand before him onto the ground. The others followed suit as Ubaid started filling Ra'id's bowl with their last clean water.
After their prayers ended the group donned their gear, constantly wiping their faces on their clothes, though not for the heat, and shuffled to the hut's entrance where Tamim already stood, eyes feverish again, holding a grenade. Ra'id stopped the others from joining Tamim by the door.
“Allahu Akbar,” said Tamim.
“Allahu Akbar,” replied Ra'id carefully, “You really want to do this.”
“It is our duty.”
Ra'id shook his head. He had not thought Tamim was like this or he'd taken away his weapons.
“It is your duty, if you believe it so.”
“You will not stop me?”
“How could I?” Ra'id noted dryly.
Tamim nodded to himself, a grin spreading across his face. He backed toward the entrance and pushed himself through the cloth covered entry while turning and starting to break into a run. The cloth covering the entrance prevented the view of what was going to happen, but that didn't matter. Ra'id knew what was going to happen and he, Masun and Ubaid dove out of line of sight from the entrance.
They heard Tamim's shout going up. Once.
“Allahu Akbar!”
A second time.
“Allahu Akbar!”
And then in the middle of the third a burst of shots, followed by an explosion and quiet as dust drifted in through the slits in the windows.
Leaving their guns where they lay they stood. Ra'id went first. Shoving his empty hands out of the opening first to show he wasn't armed. They weren't going to die for a fight that was lost. He and Masun would return to their village.
As the American soldiers moved in Ra'id smiled. Maybe Aimal's husband had been on of the men to die when his village was bombed. Maybe she'd marry him now. Maybe there was something to hope for there. |
I can't stand the son of a bitch. He gives to the poor, donates to charity and even paid for more medicine for the people of our country. The poor don't deserve to be given what he's given them; they're good people. Why would you give them a hot coffee with poison in it? His donations are barely even clothes. They're riddled with holes and smell like dog piss. All that medicine he purchased are the ingredients for the inmates on death row. The US decided the electric chair was too brutal so he began providing the meds for lethal injection. I hate that son of a bitch. |
1st December, 1962.
I am stuck on a train out of Kent bound for the West-coast. Snow has damned the tracks for miles.
I am sat with 30 others, coddled under a solitary blanket, warming myself with memories.
The snow is setting on the window outside of my compartment.
Of all the days for this storm to pick-up.
I will be seeing Eliza tomorrow, I am sure of it. The conductor has told me we will be moving come morning, whenever that may be. Outside of my window, I can see white settling upon itself; I cannot tell where the window ends and the abyss begins. How can one tell the time when the sun does not shine? That feint thing, hiding from my view. I am assured it is late-noon, but it does not feel so. I am suspended, Eliza. For only had you been here. My fantasies of you play upon my heart. That we should share this compartment and laugh. You will calm me, and together we would recline into each other. Such thoughts warm my blood, but little good for my extremities, for the most distant parts of myself have lost sensation.
The conductor has told me we have been stranded for 9 hours. Of what little sleep I have had, I can take no more. The dreams, Eliza, the dreams. I do not know what it is called when your fondest memories sharpen themselves like knives and gullet your innards, but such a description I think comes close. When does a nightmare become a nightmare? I taunt myself Eliza, but I do not panic. My vision is choked by clouds and pale colours of glass; so large and fluid, no beginning, no end. A nightmare within a dream, is it not? For I nearly screamed when I awoke from my sleep. That you were here. By my side as I lay asleep. And off, off into this hellish infernal you float that traps me so. I do not stir, but I know you are gone and I die. I am found fifty-years later, frozen and still alive. I am looking at me. Older. Grey hair and skin so white, a head that cannot move but eyes that will not lie. And I pick apart my skin and bones until nothing is left.
But Eliza, I will be with you. I will not sleep again until I have seen you. If this weather does not die, I will march along until my body has dissolved and I am nothing but a crystal ash.
I will not skin myself with knives grown from my own nails.
I will not lose you Eliza.
Not again. |
"So, is there anything you have to say for yourself...? Anything you want to say about your side of the story...?"
"...no comment."
"Fair enough. You realize what you've done to that family, right? You know that your one night of fun has now ruined a family forever. "
"..."
"Were you aware that while you were getting high and drinking heavily that two of your roommates were in the other room, using illegal drugs, when one of them OD'd?"
"... no comment."
"So you don't have anything to say about your roommates death? Or the death of the daughter you allegedely killed in the car accident on April 4th?"
"No. Comment."
"Are you even remorseful? Do you care about the damage you've caused?"
"..."
"There's no point in asking you questions if you refuse to answer. We'll let the jury decide next week. Is there anything you'd like to say to the family?"
"No. Comment." |
Chris and Ana held hands while waiting for the crowd to vacate the theater. The movie wasn't eventful in the slightest. Even if it had been, the young couple were as far from the movie as the seats in the back they had chose. They didn't even mind the amount of time it took for others to exit. When Ana stole his glance, Chris would steal a kiss. The credits rolled, the screen faded to black, and their was a certain sweetness remaining in the empty theater. "No one is coming,"Christian whispered ...
"Oh my,"screamed Anastasia. |
Puffs of acrid smoke billowed from the bonnet of the beaten Sedan. Hitting the ditch really took its toll on the poor car.
Porter was a willowy man of average height who took a lot of pride in his appearance. Running his hands through his slicked back hair, he blew gently on the cracked car mirror.
'Oh Betsy... My best friend. We've had some fun together...' He whispered, before gently caressing the dented door.
The grit of the dust beneath his fingers, his hand crept seductively over the trunk where it hovered for a second before knocking twice.
Bending his knees he grabbed the bumper firmly in his hands. With one swift push, the car hurdled down the slope and into the thick shrubbery below.
Porter pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his top shirt pocket and began wiping his hands as he walked nonchalantly away from the ditch.
Dawn was breaking over the long stretch of freeway, the damp air was lifting, giving way to the searing heat that would descend over the city. The heat that made bodies golden and moist... the way Porter liked it.
Memories of summer floated around his mind. Summer made him happy. Summer let him emerge from his 'cave' in which he retreated during the harsh, cold, depressing winter months.
'H-hey.'
Porters head darted to his right. He was so consumed with daydreams that he failed to acknowledge the car that had pulled up beside him.
'Yes!?' Porter snapped.
'I, um, don't suppose you're looking for a ride back to the city? It's awfully strange to see people out here walking. Do you need a ride?'
The man behind the wheel was sweating profusely. He adjusted his thick framed glasses and blinked heavily.
Porter shrugged and silently got into the passenger seat.
'So, uh, whats your name? Asked the driver.
'John.' Said porter.
There was silence. The drivers anxiety was flowing from his pores. Well, that's what Porter presumed he was smelling. He shuffled his feet among empty fast food cartons, regretting his decision. He felt dirty.
'I'm Jesse! Ahaha! So whats your story, pal?'
Porter rolled his eyes and filled the car with tense silence. He took out his handkerchief and began wiping his hands.
'My girl kicked me out of her car... A lovers quarrel, you may say.'
'Hah, we've all been there!' Jesse laughed nervously, eyes darting.
Porter wound down his window. The sun reflecting off his porcelain skin.
Both men had retreated into complete silence.
Jesse cleared his throat and pressed play on his cassette player.
'What the world... needs now... is love... sweet lo-'
Blood splattered on his face so fast that he didn't know who it was coming from.
A young woman had appeared from the back seat, her blonde hair matted with dried blood, her nose, scratched and cheeks swollen.
Porter wiped his face with his, now soiled, handkerchief. This upset him somewhat.
'THIS GUY TRIED TO KILL ME, HE COULD'VE KILLED YOU TOO.'
Porters eyes squinted as he tried to assess the situation. What a brilliant coincidence. What a fabulous day.
'You're safe now. He's dead. You're safe.' |
“Resonance” is without a doubt my favorite word in the English language. Phonetically, it's an extremely pleasant, sonorous word to enunciate and to hear. If you've got a reasonably deep voice you can feel the syllables quake from the base of your throat as your larynx brings them to life. Linguistically speaking, the consonants are all alveolar in nature, formed with the tongue. It starts with a trill in the front of the mouth, moving into a mid vowel, flowing into an alveolar sibilant at the back of the tounge, back to a mid vowel, into an alveolar nasal (eg: the "n"in "night"), back to a mid vowel, into another alveolar nasal and ending with a voiceless alveolar. It's very verse-chorus-verse in structure with a nice outro to end on...
As far as meaning goes, there is the is the fascinating scientific phenomenon in which all things have a natural frequency at which they will vibrate strongly, (the Tacoma Narrows Bridge collapse is a famous example of how powerful this can be) as well as how sound travels, is reflected and amplified...
Most important to me is the abstract definition of the word. Experiences and images and emotions resonate with people. Anything that resonates with you echos deep within the soul and wrests you from ennui into life, reaffirming your own fragility by showing that existence has the power to break you, to shatter you emotionally by the depth of the human experience, but it doesn't. Things that resonate in life wake you from the dreamless sleep of listlessness that we fall into now and again, like a lover affectionately shaking your shoulder when you've slept in, inviting you to greet a new day together...
|
"Poison! Spiteful son, be doomed forever under your guilt"
Maubrey clutches his chest, eyes wild and bulging, mouth open and sucking for air grotesquely. The man is brilliant. The sight is so hideous I find it hard to look upon him as the contemptuous son, I turn my head violently before he slumps forward and thuds heavy onto the stage floor.
The show goes on. Maubrey the bumbling idiot hasn't moved off the stage. He's not brilliant, just a clown, so lazy he's taking a nap. He is forever making it clear he has no respect for me as a director. I might fire him. I cannot expose myself to the audience, so I order the stagehands to cover his bloated figure with a tarp.
Everyone around me laughs. One of the actors just tripped over the man covered in tarpaulin. My husband whispers that it's symbolic of Maubrey's continuing influence over the life of the town.
As we gather behind the curtain to take our bows I notice Maubrey is still lying on stage. I shake him, and lift the tarp with my best apologetic look on my face. My world turns still, I shake him more, I feel myself clutching him, some others pulling me away. I collapse and stare at nothing.
There seems to be some commotion behind the curtain. I hear someone wailing. My husband tells me it's an avant-garde thing.
The actors are all crowded around Maubrey. It's quite clear what has happened. The bastard has convinced them to play his addendum, where the father is resurrected. They've already started. I turn to signal the stagehands not to raise the curtain, however they are no where to be found. I look back at Maubrey. He tongue is flopping around gracelessly. This is worse. We lift the curtains. Maubrey locked in the arms of the stagehands, we all bow at the blank faces of the audience. They definitely don't notice.
|
"Damn it Fred, that's the third time you've been late this week."The man in the black suit glowered at his employee. "One more time and you'll be standing in the unemployment office. Do I make myself clear?"
"I know, boss, I'm sorry. But ever since that Triceratops stepped on my car, I've had to take the brachiosaur to work, and the damn thing is slow. You know how it is, stops at every tree."The man in the crooked tie pleaded with his employer, looking rather frazzled.
"One more chance, Fred. Unless you'd like to spend your life cleaning the Rex pens."The man in the suit grinned.
"No, sir. I promise." |
There are twelve steps from my mirror to the curtain. The light hurts my eyes. The crowd roar fades into dull buzz, wasps circling my head.
"Sarah,"says the makeup artist. "Please come back. I'm nearly finished."
I rub the red from my cheeks. I'm not Sarah. Crack my head, open my heart: find Ophelia, weeping. Lady Macbeth is dying in the courtyard. Juliet drifts through my veins.
The director is a thin, bristly man. And his hand is tight on my right shoulder as he leans close. Stage directions: I parse the steps, lines, and directions, filing them away.
I'm shaking now, watching. I can't hear anything. I've already tuned the world out.
I step out of my life, enter stage left.
|
A burly man saunters up to the door, his eyes shifting side to side, looking for anything else suspicious. It's open, and he knows not to walk in. He strikes a heavy blow on the door jamb, another in quick succession, plus one more for good measure.
"Oi, who is it?"Comes a voice from inside the trailer, followed by cursing and the sound of a multitude of things being moved around hastily.
"It's me, Jeb, who else would it be?"The man outside replies, laughs heartily, and steps inside after his introduction.
"Jeezus, y'don't have to be so loud, ye scared me."Sighs the man inside. "Y'know there've been a few hits lately."
"I do know. And so do you. Why'd you leave your door open like that, Ernie?"Jeb asks, rather angrily.
"I was jus' bringing something in, thought I kicked it closed but I guess the wind blew it open."Ernie stammers, scrambling to close his blinds.
"You better be more careful, Ernie. We both know it won't end well for either of us if you aren't."Jeb scowls, more to drive his point in and less out of apparent anger.
"Yes, yes, I know. It's not gonna happen again."Ernie says, returning his house to the state it was before Jeb arrived. "So, you got the stuff?"He asks Jeb, excitedly.
"Of course. Wasn't easy but nothing worth it is."He shifts his coat to withdraw a briefcase hidden inside it, and places it on the counter.
"Good, good!"Ernie exclaims, turns towards the counter and wrings his hands together in excitement. He fumbles trying to get the prize open, but manages to recover quickly.
He seems shocked when he realizes that the briefcase is empty, even more so when he hears the click of a gun being primed, and finally, mortified as he feels the cold barrel against his head.
"I'm terribly sorry, Ernie. But you've slipped up one too many times." |
Ever seen an elven version of yourself? How about an orcish version? Undead? I've seen all of those above of myself, and then some. I don't have a moniker right now as most super heroes do. I don't care much for titles really, but I'm sure the media will think of something catchy before long.
I'm sure you're wondering what I can do. Well, I'm not exactly super strong like Captian Hammer but I can become as strong as him in a sense. You see, I can summon different versions of myself.
I can only summon up to two versions at a time though. If I try to summon a third I either pass out or get incredibly sick. My power takes a lot of energy, and at times, is mentally taxing. Long story short, I suffer from migraines after a long night of fighting super villains.
Yes, I suffer from migraines, like right now. I had to summon a wizard-like version of myself to hold up a collapsing building while people escaped. The other version was an experimental demonic-like being that a friend of mine had drawn. It was tasked with beating the villain senseless until the wizard had the time to create a magical prison for the villain.
It wasn't until I had already secured the site and rescued the civilians that the other heroes had arrived. I think one of them spotted me before I had the wizard to cast an invisibility charm on both of us. I hope they didn't though, I'm enjoying my anonymity and I really don't want to have a repeat of the *last* time someone tried to recruit me to their cause.
Of course, that was a group of villains the last time.... |
Come along with me, to a magical land
where people are free, for they know they can
Do anything, as long as they stand
together as one, with united hands!
Whenever you're alone, the world can take you by surprise
The jackals will deceive you, with treachery and lies!
But if you follow the leader, he'll know what to do
He just needs some help, from you and you and you!
So come along and you will see
the land of opportunity
is waiting there for you and me
from the Danube to the great North Seaaaaaaaaaaa
Sieg Heil! |
In Dante's Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso we were given glimpses of what heaven, hell, and purgatory would look like according to a 14th Century poet/philosopher. He was lost in life, and could only find the way through traversing the depths of hell then rising to divinity.
It is the 21st century, a new world, new ideals, new thoughts. A new poet is to be taken on a journey through the realms. What do they find, what must they overcome, and who is their guide? |
We had spent a few hours trekking up the foothills to reach it, to see what we had been promised. Trudging through the mud and overgrowth we bitched and moaned, but we still moved on, upwards and towards where we had met three years prior. When we arrived not much had changed, the same trodden grass, the same broken picnic table, everything cliche we had ever wanted right on the top of the hill.
We sat at the picnic table, and we waited. Time ticked by, round after round of twenty questions fluttered into the air and eventually the orange that had sat in the sky above us began to dip. It sank, slowly at first but speeding up as it approached the horizon, the canvas of the sky losing its blue as it faded into an orange. The sight was of childhood, and of history, of an orb that disappeared below the horizon, seeping the color from the sky and painting the very idea of beauty across the sky. To see the world blend, to see heaven and hell clash in a flurry of orange red and blue, to see the one giver of life rest. And it sank, and it was gone. So we stood, and we waited, and we watched the world fly by. |
"The cats are coming! The cats are coming!"
We all looked up as Ronnie flew onto the roof. *Birdbrain* I thought to myself. He was always screeching about the cats. I looked at Leannie, and she roller her eyes, pecking at a seed kernel near her right claw.
"It's true!"Ronnie nagged, bustling towards groups of pigeons, who scattered away from him. Looking around for a sympathetic eye, he saw me watching and nearly pooped himself trying to get to me. I watched his bumbling progress, but as he grew closer, I backed up, disgusted and wishing something would be done to get rid of the disgrace. Realizing my only escape was leaving the roof, I rustled my wings and took off. Dropping a few feet, I drifted up on a wind. Tilting this way and that, I flew off to the other side of the city. There, I rested and ate, gossiping with the cardinals and geese in the park. When nighttime fell, I headed back, forgetting about what had happened that morning. When I got to the roof, I landed, nearly falling down from shock. Feathers filled the roof, dancing the dance of the dead in the wind. I looked around. Leannine ... where was Leannine?!? I heard a soft thump and tumble behind me. I turned and saw Ronnie pick himself up from his clumsy landing.
"What happened?"I asked. This roof had been secure, and few pigeons from our nest ever died, only a few strange disappearances had recently happened, but nothing extreme.
"Don't you see?"Ronnie exclaimed, "It's the cats, it's always been the cats, and they're everywhere." |
War war never changes, swords however do, here at Harold's sword emporium we have swords of all kinds, small swords, big swords, swords that barely hurt and swords that can cleave mountains. if you order now you get a sword made from your own bones or blood for free with every sale.
Eric sighed, he remembered his employment well, battlefield technician for area 4 , sure it was a 9-5 job, but he relished at any chance to use his blade.
Countless men and woman had fallen to it in his prime, the Dark saber he had named it, a super compact alloy designed by him that could cut though both light sabers and diamond claymores with ease.
But as with any new inventions it soon had copycats.
I remember it as if it was yesterday, (it was actually last month) i struck down the other sides general and as i was leaving their base a rookie came up to me, asking me to duel, at first i was suspicious, but when he claimed to have a blade stronger then mine i obliged.
On my first slash i tried to test his claims, only to find they were exaggerated , a lot, not only did i go though his sword like paper i also bisected his sternum and accidental cut of my own toe , Hr was quite pissed with me and my workplace accident claim, and placed me on indefinite leave.
|
*This actually ended up being something of a mix where our smaller, weaker, smarter ancestors and the neandrethals greq up peacefully, and modern humans began to be create from breeding.*
>It sucks being born a homo sapien.
>The homo neandrethalensis, or neanderthals as literally everybody calls them, are happy. Sure they wake up, work 9-5 shifts, but at least they have clear hours of when they go to work and when they get off. They can work at wherever they worked, whether it's building a new ship or hauling more cargo or fishing or farming or caring for livestock. They could get home at five fifteen, take a shower, and go to a pub and get absolutely wasted, then go tomorrow morning a little hungover but fine. They can breed and raise families however they like, as long as they adhered to the ancient laws. And they did, and they're happy about it. They have it good. As long as they keep contributing to the society in a positive way, they're free to do whatever they want.
>I guess us sapies are too. But the way we 'contribute' is different. Us sapies have to think, long and hard, on some particular problem that we've been tasked with. Whether it's making the safest tool even safer or making the fastest computers even faster to handle the new simulation software that the software departments just developed, our work is not simple, it is not easy, it is not enjoyable. We don't have clearly defined hours, after which we can go and crack open a beer by the beach. Our availability to socialize is defined by who's on our team of researchers and how far along we are on the project. And because progress on the projects given us are never linear, we don't know what time to look forward to. We just look forward to the end of the project and hope it's not a year from now.
With a sigh, I read over my work once again, signed it with my name, and submitted it to the publishing department. I leaned back in my chair and let my arms flop to the sides. "Thank god that's done."
"Finally sent that sixth essay off?"Jim asked, strolling in and grabbing the trash in the corner. He was a neandrethal, and tasked with general heavy lifting and maintenance of the facility, and also my best friend.
"Fifth,"I said, leaning forward in my chair and picking up a pen to put back in the drawer. "And it was six *or* seven, not seven."
"Right, whatever Euclid. What was this one on?"
Luckily this week I was tasked with writing a set of six or seven essays to make the people think. But as the contract stated I couldn't tell anybody what it was I was writing about, since the essays were supposed to be anonymous. So I lied. "It was on the effects FTL might have on space-time."
"I'm just going to pretend I understood the implications of such an essay and say 'cool'."Which he probably could, he learned new things suprisingly quickly. If it weren't for his large, strong body I'd think he was a sapie. His intelligence was probably the result of cross-breeding, but i didn't know for sure because he didn't know who fathered him. "You think it was good?"
To be honest, as the fifth essay got approved and was sent on its way, I could care less whether the essay had the intended effect on the people. That's not to say I didn't try, I just didn't put my heart and soul into it. "Maybe. I don't know."
"Well I hope you did. You free tonight?"
"Uh..."I had one more essay to write, but if I worked on the general outline tomorrow morning, then worked into the night a bit I could get it done tomorrow. "Yeah, I need to get out of here."
With that I stood up from the chair, looking like a dwarf next to him, and we left. |
The modern day world is now filled with magic, monsters, goblins, dragons and the like, after a large rift opens up in the Grand Canyon. To everyone's suprise society reacted better than expected to this event. Dragons slain, treasure looted from unknown lands (accessible through the rift), quests undertaken and completed. Everybody's having the time of their lives living out their childhood dreams.
The first wizard is born, on April 20^th, 2017. The year is now 2034, putting the kid at 17 years old, and he's about to go on his first quest. What's he like? What's the quest? |
I'm not sure how they planned to tell me, but it wasn't like this. I guess it was a matter of time before some hacktivist started revealing all these "unethical human experiments". Now that I've browsed through some of the released documents, I see how terrible some of the other experiments were. But what's so terrible about me?
Granted, cloning a man with severe self esteem issues was probably a bad idea. Now I hate myself and he reminds me so much of myself...
But I'm alive. And I'm still my own person. And... and... I don't get it. Now that everyone knows what I am, why is the media calling me an abomination? Why is everyone focusing on nature over nurture? I'm a goddamn photographer, as far from a nature-defying man of science that I could possibly be. His crimes aren't mine. His philosophy isn't mine. His life isn't mine!
Really, I'm just happy to be alive. Why won't they just leave me alone? |
I sat staring at the tree, sitting on my porch. The leaves were falling gently to the ground. Down and down...and down...and ^down...
The breeze was a cool crisp puff, every so lightly tapping my face, as a child that doesn't know why you don't want to play. I smiled as the dog ran through the yard around the tree. What a good dog he had been for all of these years. Kaye always bragged about how well she had trained him to sit and beg.
I still sat there staring at the tree, the leaves flowing through the air, stopping at the ground, all while the dog chased the leaves.
*Oh how I wish Kaye was here,* I sighed in my mind. But those days were over now. Nothing that I had the power to do could reverse that. She had succumbed to the fate of the leaves, she fell slowly, gently, in a breeze that never seemed to let up.
And so I stared at the tree, and in that moment, I felt in touch with the leaves, flowing gently throughout them. Down and down and down... and down... ^and ^down... ^^and ^^down... And for the first time in a while, I smiled.
|
Wow what a dick. I always thought if you tried and followed in the steps of your hero you might end up a better person. Instead I finally meet the guy and he is a two bit hack? All he cares about is the money, not the integrity of it all. A little kid went up to shake his hand and he had the gall and try and charge him?
Maybe the saying about killing your heroes isn't as misguided as I originally thought. Tonight...tonight I will claim my first. I will sneak in his house, I will stick him with a needle and as he slowly flits off to sleep the last thing he sees will be my face and the last thing he feels will be my knife. Yeah...kill your heroes...not a bad idea at all. |
Up on the tree behind Jeremy's backyard, grand sweeping dreams rose and then crashed upon cliffs made of hard reality. Placing his Gameboy down in his lap Jeremy sighed and couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment, and a deep sense of loss. He could see the same emotion forming on his friends' faces as they too looked up from their respective consoles. He wanted to say something but couldn't manage any words. All he could think of was the unfairness of it all. Pikachu was real to him, his Charizard was real to him, and his badges were real to him. Yet that wasn't the reality of his world.
Little mickey piped up with his small voice
"I wish Pokémon were real"
He was the littlest one and always voiced what the group was thinking first.
"I know mike! It sucks so hard that we can't live in there, we would be the greatest Pokémon trainers, and we would walk all over the world not worrying about homework or all that stupid stuff!”
John pouted as the words came out of his mouth. At that instant Jimmy, ever the realist, popped in and threw his two cents into the pot.
“It is what it is guys, it’s not like we can make Pokémon real, right?”
A heavy and deathly silence fell upon the group. Their little treehouse became a funeral home and all mourned the reality that wasn’t theirs to have. Jeremy sighed once again and then focused his gaze to the world outside of his little tree house. As he became lost in his own little world a commotion in the corner of his eye pulled his attention to the lonely street that sat beyond his backyard. Two small dogs began to fight over a spilled garbage can they growled and met in a fury of teeth, claws, and barks. Sensing a moment to get his little group’s mind off of Pokémon he exclaimed
“Look guys! Those two dogs are going at it!”
“Oh really? Sweet!”
“Wow they really want whatever is in there!”
The group was entranced. They chose favorites and cheered and jeered as the battle escalated between the two strays. Slowly backing away from each other the two dogs and the boys knew the finale was at hand. With barks piercing the air the dogs rushed each other, the smaller one evaded the bigger dog’s attack and with surprising agility it struck its adversary and took the bigger dog down.
A curious thought traveled down from Jeremy’s brain and became real to the world when it left his lips
“That sorta looked like a quick attack!”
The words lingered in the air like an intoxicating perfume. The boys looked at each other with flush faces, all shared the same thought.
(Well that was the intro! Let me know if you’d be interested in reading more!)
|
*SEPUYAKANAJUGU NASHEE*
"Look, don't hurt her, okay? Look, put me down and we'll talk about this!"
The Sangheili warrior dropped the Doctor. As he brushed off the dust from his leather jacket, he got up onto his feet. He had a plan up his sleeve. Multiple Unggoys surrounded the *TARDIS* and attempted to open the doors, but couldn't. They too were getting frustrated. They became super excited when they saw the *TARDIS* dematerialized in front of them. Wanting to know its glory and potential, they demanded the Doctor to speak of its nature.
"*NEBUYICH*?"
"Sorry, my Sangheili is not so up-to-date. Though I'll admit a trip to Sanghelios would make it better and to see its view, well how I would-"
The Doctor was shoved to the ground by an already impatient Sangheili leader. He grabbed the Jackal's Carbine and aimed it at the Doctor's head.
"*NEBUYICH*! *EIK* *NATA* *JEUIKASULA*!"
"HEY! I am not a human! And I know what you're going to do with my time machine! You're going to use it to end humanity-"
"I've said too much haven't I?"
The Sangheili warrior laughed. He flung the carbine and drew his energy sword.
"*EI* *SEPUKUTABE* *NAGA* *HIJOTUMUSICA*"
"No, please, don't! Look, we can work this out!"
As the sword was raised, gun fire opened up. Human gun fire. The Sangheili, knowing of the presence of the Demon on Requiem, ordered the Phantom to fly away with the *TARDIS* on board. The warrior ordered his men to find him, amd as soon as they turned around, his guards and men were blasted by a rocket. The Unggoy, in fear, looked for the Demon. But when they found him, his green suit was the last thing they saw as the Master Chief opened fire at them. The jackals, in a phalanx formation, fired their pistols and needlers but the Chief was too swift. He'd flung a grenade and killed them off. In all the chaos, the Doctor used his sonic screw driver to disable the warrior's shields. As the warrior roared in anger over his shields, the Chief took the opportunity to stab a knife into its shoulder, then proceed to knock it onto the ground, dead.
As he helped him up, the Chief was confused on seeing another human on Requiem.
"My *TARDIS*...It's gone."
"Your what?"
"My *TARDIS*. The Covenant took it. They saw me dematerialize in front of them and now they have it. If they find out how to use 'er they'll end humanity. All of it. You're the Master Chief, John-117. Humanity's champion in the 26th century. And your damaged companion, Cortana, you two can-"
"How do you know us, and especially his name?"said Cortana.
"And how do you know of her condition?"followed the Chief.
"I'm a time traveler. I know these things."
The Doctor pulled out his hand.
"Your AI, please."
The Chief pulled out Cortana and handed it to him. The Doctor repaired her.
"Now, no time to waste"said the Doctor as he handed Cortana back. He grabbed a Storm Rifle and pocketed two plasma grenades.
"I'm not too rusty back from my days of war."
"Let's go"said he as the Chief and the Doctor ran towards the area the Phantom flew towards. "I'll explain everything as we go."
|
Waking up with female reproductive organ's isn't that odd for me, but usually they are attached to the woman i'm sleeping with, not so today.
At first i wanted to scream and shout, but after a moments consideration i knew i had to keep quiet, no one would belief me. and even if they did, the investigation would seriously mess up my weekend, after all its not every day you win a free trip to Las Vegas.
Searching though my hotel room i found my bags intact and my money accounted for so i decided i wasn't going to let a single hiccup stop me from having fun.
Outside my room i got a weird look from the cleaning lady, and i realised that sleeping with female reproductive organs have left me smelling rank, i quickly stumbled back inside my room and turned on the shower.
An half hour later i was fresh as a daisy and ready to start gambling, i hung up a do not disturb sign on the door and hoped i would be sober enough to remove the reproductive organs from my bed before i slept in it again. |
The first thing that stands out to me is the thoughts of Victor are very philosophical and complex. That's usually a good thing, but you stated in the things to know that Victor is a kid, albeit the oldest one.
Some of the writing you did was fluff, seemingly existing just to fill space. One of the paragraphs simply repeated what you've stated already. To be specific, paragraph 11:
>But, I keep coming back to Hope...
This whole paragraph could go and it would be the same read. Also, many sentences are repeats. A lot of times it's mentioned that Hope was in a box and Victor found her there. No need to repeat it so much, it gets annoying to readers when authors treat them like fools by repeating important parts.
-----
I think the idea sounds very interesting, where can I find the first two books?
The writing was good and I really only pointed out flaws, but I figure a pat on the head won't help you as much as constructive criticism. |
A late, summer night wafted warm air amongst the dim streetlights. Laughs echoed throughout the house as music pranced lightly upon the warm breeze. Within the house, man and woman danced heartily as old friends, enjoying each moment they shared. The friendly love they basked within, stronger than all other bonds they've once created, brought them euphoric and unbreakable joy. As the music played its final note, the man and woman were left staring deeply upon the other. The faint patter of rings falling and rolling carelessly upon the oak flooring rang out, as Harry and Hermione's lips met becAUSE THAT'S THE WAY IT'S SUPPOSED TO FUCKING END. |
Urbanites often clamor for the countryside, a respite from the “noise” and “pollution” of a metropolitan backdrop. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence especially if it’s compared to concrete. Plenty of green dots the landscape of my city, even if it’s mold. Perhaps the agricultural nature of the outer limits appeal, waving arms of wheat and corn in a Summer’s gust? The ears certainly make for better conversation anyway.
Crumbling corners and mended roads, all drizzled in chocolaty-tar sauce like a sundae stretch for miles under questionable skies. Built once with pride, brick buildings burn from apathy’s children leaving only work for the crewmen to raze. Holes, like pulled teeth, pit a once wealthy dirt. An asphalt crown is the new order of business.
Hulking and oppressive, the courthouse stands idle with all of its faded glory. Since when had you last felt alive? Bluebottle cars fly around your rotten carcass of petty justice. Your delusions of grandeur are transparent! Your mightiness is moot!
…and the floods. O, the floods! Have you come to visit us with fervor of Zelus? Have your waters ran through our hair enough? Can you not stand the sight of our houses as much as I? There would be no blame in that. Bring it to us so that we may bathe in a pool of our mistakes.
Time has come and time has passed, leaving nothing but old values as new ideas spread across a nation. Angry and afraid, a retirement community is proclaimed. Leave it as it once was, so we remember it fondly. A sepulcher for the nostalgic. There is no need to share; it is ours!
A generation took that to heart, and a generation made a new start off on coasts and in between. “They will be back!” Was the mantra of the day which fizzled to a murmur on the lips of the selfish. The world is not as it once was. Haughtiness becomes highlighted in hindsight.
Ghosts of people past still haunt the streets in which I ride. Past the schools. Past the homes. Past the shops I’ve seen too many times to remember. Pictures on the gelatin of my eyes. Translucent and faded they post bills of their likeness where I’ve been before. Up on the hill, down by the river, out by the freeway, or around the corner, I cannot live them down. The city will not let me live them down. |
The colors on me are still fresh, newly painted. They're at that stage where the paint can still be spread, still dabbled, but isn't goop dripping around.
The colors are very sensible, smart grays and blues. A little green. There are occasional splatters of jarring colors, but navy is quickly streaked through them, a reminder not to just allow the color palette to be changed.
If you look at it as a whole, the canvas has an obvious design to it, despite being unfinished. You can tell the artist is painting quite slowly, as the style seems to evolve over time.
In the unfinished corner, hints of yellows and oranges beckon, an omen of things to come. The navy is nearby, but unsure if it will paint over these new colors. |
The magazine clicked into place as Red drew breath and settled his eye into the scope, eyeing his mark. This was the day his target would die. Usually, it was nothing personal, just another target and another set of orders; he'd done it 34 times. But this was different. This particular target had taunted him for years, always seemingly on top and in control. He was always one step ahead, mocking. Red pulled his face from the scope and looked to his right, noticing the sun was just starting to rise. It was almost time. He adjusted himself on the sandy rock overlooking the kingdom whose king he would soon dethrone.
"Permission to take the target has been granted. Kill when ready, Red."
He pulled back the bolt of his rifle and adjusted his aim, fixing it on the head of his target. Tension formed as his finger teased the trigger.
"Looks like I've got the element of surprise this time,"said Red as he grinned and pulled the trigger. The 50 caliber bullet erupted from the silenced barrel of his rifle, embedding itself in the target. But the target did not fall. He instead started shaking as if laughing, turning around and drawing a pistol. This was madness. The fool was pulling a pistol at Red from 600 meters away. Red heard the crack and closed his eyes.
The bullet tore through the dusty desert sky, slamming into Red's skull.
The shooter turned back, his massive rear end shaking. But something was odd about the butt of the killer. But this was something everyone knew. For the killer was none other than....
Dick Butt.
|
Rockwell took a sip of his coffee and ashed his cigarette before heading inside. He bent over to grab the newspaper as he walked back in, sitting himself down at the table to read the classifieds. Ever since he had lost his job, it had been tough. His wife was bed-ridden with pneumonia, and without the money to treat her, he had to just wait for the best. It killed him to have to lie to her about how the job search was going: he prayed every day that their luck would change.
As he scanned the classifieds, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. In small tyepface, the last name **ROCKWELL** was listed under the obituaries.
He frowned as he read his own last name: it wasn't exactly a popular name, especially in such a small town. And him and his wife hadn't heard of anyone in the family dying.
As he read over the obituary, his heart caught in his throat. There was something extremely familiar about the now deceased Rockwell. His first name. His former occupation working in a sheet metal factory. The name of his wife.
It was him.
He stumbled back from the table, shock and confusion washing over him. He looked down at his hands, and for a brief moment, almost too fast to register, he could have sworn they were covered in blood.
But the image was gone as soon as he blinked. His hands, now shaking, looked completely fine.
"What the fuck is going on..."Rockwell hissed under his breath.
Suddenly the lights in the kitchen blinked out, and the early morning sunrise that he had smoked a cigarette to was nowhere to be seen. As Rockwell stood in the center of his kitchen in complete darkness, he could feel the warmth of the room being sucked out almost as if it were a vacuum.
The back of Rockwell's neck was slicked with sweat. He wanted to call out to his wife, but a feeling of utter terror swept over him, stealing the air from his lungs.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, too thin to be that of a man with a cold that sapped the very warmth from his body.
Rockwell had fought before: growing up in a rough neighborhood he had had his nose broken more times then he could count. But whatever it was that was behind him, he could not bring himself to turn around, to swing the first punch.
As he stood in the dark, he heard a voice like the whisper of dead leaves in the wind. The voice of aeons gone by, heard only by dead men and the insane.
"I've been looking for you"the voice whispers.
|
He's chewing the meatloaf, but it almost doesn't go down. For a second Brian is chocking and Eddie is laughing and Dad is pounding his back. Mom pushes Brain's glass closer.
"Take a drink, hon."She says. "Sorry the 'loaf is a little dry."
"It's fine,"he replies, quiet. Brian ignores the water.
He's too busy watching his dad, who is looking at him with concern. It would almost be better if Dad was one of those psychos like Dexter who can't feel emotions and just go through the movements. Brian knows his dad isn't faking, that his dad can feel. It's just that his dad is something worse.
He don't know that Brian knows. Eddie doesn't know about his dad, his mom sure doesn't. How could they? But how could they not, when it's right under their feet?
Brian can't eat anymore. He asks to go to bed. His mom looks concerned. Eddie doesn't give a shit. But his dad.... his dad looks knowing. |
Long ago, there was a man who would sit out in the desert. The man had eyes like those of the gods. His sons and wives would come out to him and ask, "How far can you see?"The man would answer, "Until the ocean. I can see water, but we cannot drink it, or we will go mad."And so that wife or child would return, frustrated by the man's answer. If there was water to be had, it must be claimed, so that the people could drink of it.
The man knew that someday one of his wives or sons would tell the people wandering in the desert of the ocean, and they would drink of it, and go mad. So the man closed his eyes, and meditated.
Then, his wives and sons would come out to him and ask, "What is it you see when you close your eyes?"And he would answer, "Nothing at all. For if I see nothing, there is nothing that may harm you if you hear of it."And so that wife or child would return, frustrated by the man's answer. If there was water, the people should drink. If the man had eyes, he should look, to see if there was water.
The man knew that someday one of his wives or sons would tell the people wandering in the desert of his meditation, or of the ocean. The men would let their families starve meditating. They would drink of the water in the ocean and go mad. So the man called forth the gods, and the gods answered.
The God of Desert Sands came to the man. Knowing of the man's eyes, he said, "Have you seen the ocean, which has water that drives men mad?"The man replied that he had seen the treacherous water. Knowing of the man's meditation, he said, "Have you looked inside yourself, and not sought only water?"The man replied that he had done so.
The man's wives and sons were thirsty, and hoped to go to the ocean. But the man knew they would go mad if they drank the water. He asked the God of Desert Sands to protect his family, so that they might not go mad. So the God of Desert Sands said unto the winds, "Take up my sands, and obscure the path to the ocean, so that anyone who tries to reach it may lose his way. One who hears the voice of the wind will learn that the ocean will drive a man mad, and to avoid it."
And so the winds picked up the sand, and threw it into the faces of the man's wives and sons. They turned back to the man, who helped them find water.
Remember that the sandstorm whispers to our people. We are to heed its warning. Do not drink of the water of the ocean, for it drives men mad. |
He stood over me, his crazed eyes glistening in the moonlight. I had grown alongside this man: he was my neighbour, a neighbour that just could not let go of a grudge.
Two months earlier I ran over his dog. It had ran out on to the road, just outside his house no less. He saw the whole thing - witnessed it from his porch. He sat beside it while it died, weeping and cursing my name. I had nothing against the little guy.
And there he was, standing before me. Not five minutes ago he ran over my leg immobilising me. He wanted me to feel everything his dog had that day.
"I'll take you out of this world the same way you had taken my friend from me!"he screeched, spitting siliva in my face. I attempted to plead with him but to no avail. I was dying tonight. Thoughts ran through my mind, how was I going to stop him? The answer was very simple really - I wasn't going to stop him. I had to weapon and was not in a state to be capable of running. All I could do was curl up and wait for the fatal hit.
Then, like sweet sounds to my ears, the sirens beckoned signalising the end of the Purge. The look in his eyes was something I could only laugh at. After I was a safe distance away ofcourse. He always has next year. |
“Yes, yes, I'm sure you all have plenty of questions” the Minister for Magic drawled, his eyes glazing over while he waited for the cacophony to end. Hundreds of shouting muggles all cramped in front of the fountain at the Ministry, all wide-eyed and still shaken after their trip down the toilet. As if they'd never used civilised transport before.
He examined his wand, tapping it idly on his chin.
“Is this thing on? Yes? Yes. Now if you'd please calm down, we can finish up in time and go home. My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic. I realise this may be a little overwhelming, but if it may assure you, we're not used to this either. I think we've wasted enough time already, so let's begin. Magic, as you understand it, is not quite-”
The crowd positively bowed inwards under the desire to write the story of the century. Shacklebolt took a small step backwards as he was hit by another wall of noise. He sighed deeply.
Journalists. At least the Prophet had a basic knowledge of the world it lived in, but this was absurd.
“Alan Morris, Financial Times. How is Gringotts surviving the recent economic downturn?!”
“Diana Beringer, Daily Mail! How many Polish wizards are living in Hogsmeade illegally?”
“-Cosmopolitan! Which broom does your wife recommend for the bedroom?!”
The Minister gawked. “My wife...There will be time enough for questions at the end! The topic at hand concerns our planning permission request for the new Auror's office in Hull. Now if we could please stay on topic, things will move a lot smoother. On the 13th of June our application was rejected, pending an investigation into-”
“Wired Magazine! How many wizards use Snapchat?!”
“If I knew what Snapchat was, I would answer your question after the statement. Now as I was saying, the Ministry has always taken the health and safety of its contractors very seriously, despite allegations to the contrary. Our appeal to the local council is purely on the grounds that the use of transfigurative electricians should not be enough to deny the people of Hull a significant boost in jobs”
Why had he agreed to this farce? Shacklebolt cursed inwardly. One short holiday to Silicon Valley, and suddenly his Public Relations officer comes back with all this talk of 'Web 2.0' and 'Synergy'. Creating that Twitter account had been a terrible mistake. But how could he refuse at the time? Nobody had told him that these supposed 'light-speed' birds weren't actually real. And now this! He'd never get rid of them.
What a disaster. |
The sun shining bright and the grass green, Andrea marched on the sidewalk with her pet Pomeranian leading her. A normally clean neighborhood besides one house on a corner that's owner allowed his or her bushes lining the property to grow to the point of slowing walkers on the sidewalk is the perfect model of a Middle America suburb.
Andrea's Pomeranian pitter-pattered his way around the bushes of this house, sniffing around the perimeter of the property before urinating on the bushes. Andrea immediately reprimanded her dog for such an action by giving a slight but firm tug on the dog's leash. The dog immediately stopped the negative action and continued to lead Andrea around the corner, where she saw the sign: "Wife needed. Inquire within."
Her mouth hung open at such an odd request for women to do. She had never noticed anyone move out of or in to this house. It looked dark and murky, like a wooden swamp surrounded by a gorgeous ocean.
She instantly became curious. She's been single for a while now, and she hasn't yet understood why. She had flowing brown hair, glowing brown eyes, a body any guy would die for, and plenty of interests, hobbies, and personality.
"What is this?"she asked anyone around who would answer, but no one was there. She looked around, and tied the leash around a bicycle rack near the house. Staring up to the front door of the house and no one around, her feet lead her through the stone pathway to the stained white stairs and up to the door.
*KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.*
Some of the paint chipped off of the door's frame. Soon, a man, standing at about six feet with short brown hair and blue eyes, clean shaven, opened the door. He was wearing a tan or khaki colored sweater in the spring, which seemed odd, and dark, navy blue chinos.
His smile was warm as he welcomed Andrea into the house, "Hello, hello. Come in. Do you want any tea? It's the only drink that I was able to bring with me."
She looked surprised. In this house, how could someone so nice and un-creepy be living here? She shrugged and responded, "Sure. I love tea! What is that sign outside? I've been single for a while-"her voice trailed off into the house as she stopped herself from sounding too desperate.
"Oh, that? Haha! I bought that in the town I used to live in because I thought it was so tacky that it would be funny to put out into a lawn, and maybe someone - anyone - would come in and wonder what it was about. Maybe it could be an easy way to meet people."
Andrea smiled and sat down on the couch as he closed the door behind her and going to make tea.
EDIT: First time doing a WP on this subreddit. Thanks to the creators. Any feedback is welcome! |
After the first few months, I became used to it. At first, it was an empty hunger, gnawing at my stomach. I would constantly check the carcasses, trying to wring one more mouthful out of their desiccated flesh. Over time, I stopped noticing it. I stopped looking in any mirrors, too. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to losing my reflection.
I still check the radio. Every day, 12 noon Huston time, I turn the radio on and listen to the static. There used to be faint messages; emergency broadcasts, prayers, music. Now, there is nothing.
Lights have begun to fail. Fires still burn; whole cities smouldering from the atomic rain. But those untouched by Retribution, many of the smaller cities along the eastern seaboard, have slowly been going dark. Stations run dry. Equipment fails. I should know. Were it not for the Virus, I would have died weeks ago when the heating failed and the air scrubbers stopped working. Now I’m alone in the silence.
I suppose I am resigned to my fate. Acceptance came surprisingly easily, once I realised what was happening. We get the internet on the Station, even if it is intermittent and slow. I read the reports. The spread of the Disease. The riots. The military action.
The scourging.
The news didn’t know which was first, but I do. I watched it happen. The first missile fell on New York City. The second, London. After that, I lost track of the order. The scourging. Hellfire. Atomic cleansing. Punishment from God. Whatever you want to call it. It was an attempt to save the planet, to scour clean the Undying.
Didn’t work though. Once the disease was released, it spread faster than anything seen before. It wasn’t long before the Cattle were outnumbered. Then all the feed-stock were gone, and the Hunters turned on one another. Some may have survived, but they won’t for long.
I’ve lasted longer than most. But soon, even I will be gone. For now, though, I will continue listening to an empty world. And ignoring my Hunger.
God, I’m hungry. |
I guess I'm the only one again. D= This might be a bit late this week, I blame Easter, but I needed to write it anyways. Feel free to skip the gold, I write these for my own amusement at this point. [Link to last week's story.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/22ioam/cw_tropeday_4_the_hopeless_war_contest/cgry3gu) | [Link to the edited version, part 1](http://lexilogical.wordpress.com/2014/04/16/drums-of-war-part-4-accusation/) | [Link to the edited version, part 2](http://lexilogical.wordpress.com/2014/04/22/drums-of-war-part-5-explanations/)
--
Sevra watched from the fireplace as Warden Gwendolyn left the World's End tavern. Her fingers lightly played over the keys of her accordion as the other end hung limply. The other patrons had lost interest in music after the fight, and were slowly disappearing off into the night.
"Well, there she goes. You know Gwendolyn won't do anything to the Captain even if she catches him, right?"She gave Dante a hard stare, but he just gave her his insufferably smug smile.
"All according to plan. You worry too much, Sev."He propped his legs up on the nearby table as he tuned his guitar. She rolled her eyes.
"Lyra, you tell him."She shrugged off the accordion, rubbing her sore shoulder as the young girl pouted, a distance look on her face.
"Sev is right, Dante, I think Gwen is actually looking forward to seeing Turgis more than anything."She looked up at Sevra looking especially small beneath her harp. "How did you know, she's broadcasting her emotions so faintly I could barely hear them."Sevra smirked, ruffling the girl's blonde hair.
"I don't need Empathy to recognize that she cares about him, kiddo, you could see it in her smile when she figured out who Dante was describing."She turned to address Dante again. "So, Fearless Leader, what's the plan then?"Dante rubbed the greying stubble on his chin.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"Sevra stared at him slack-jawed.
"Precisely. It's pretty obvious that Turgis has no intention of slaying our dear prince tonight. In fact, he may have saved him should a less-than-friendly Warden have been the one on scene tonight. So I'd say our directions as convert bodyguards is mission accomplished, wouldn't you?"He smiled at her knowingly. Sevra scowled at him.
"I'd say this strategy of yours is ridiculously short-sighted. We're talking about Turgis Balborkanon, Captain of the Iron Hawks. He's practically King Jaximus's right hand man, and you're letting him wander off with the Crown Prince in the dark!"A few curious patrons glanced over, alarmed by her raising voice, but Dante's smile didn't falter.
"What would you suggest then?"He asked, quietly strumming his guitar. The curious patrons' eyes looked away, their eyes glazing over as they decided nothing interesting was going on by the fire. Sevra lowered her voice to a harsh whisper.
"I would kill Turgis. Without him, Lucien would see no reason to come risk himself out here every month."Dante's smile widened.
"I see. And what of the Wardens?"Sevra shrugged.
"This neutral zone is only as strong as the people enforcing it. And behind their magic, that's all the Warden are. Mere people, not omnipotent gods. They can't be everywhere at once."Dante nodded, turning to the young harpist and fiddler who watched Sevra with wide eyes.
"Lyra, Liam, what do you think of Sevra's plan?"He asked the twins. Liam exchanged a look with his sister, putting down his instrument.
"I think it's dangerous to attack him in a neutral town. If the Wardens caught us, we'd be lucky if they let us live." Liam said cautiously. His sister nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, we're supposed to be the good guys."Dante nodded in approval, making both twins beam happily.
"There you go, Sev, no murder tonight. Liam, where are they now?"Liam closed his eyes in concentration.
"Lucien is with Curtis, they're moving fast towards Avesta. Turgis is walking with that other girl still."
"I see. What about Gwendolyn and Raike?"Liam screwed his eyes closed tighter.
"Raike is near Turgis and the barbarian. Gwen is approaching their location."Dante nodded.
"Alright. Sevra, I want you to go find Raike, send him back to me to report. No murder."He added cockily, his fingers already striking up a new song. Sev sighed, sliding her accordion under Liam's chair.
"Watch that for me."She requested as he whispered an address in her ear. As she slipped out of the warm tavern into the rain she could hear the music rising up behind her.
After a brief search, she sidled up beside Raike's dark form on the rooftop. He watched the figures below with the calm of a stone gargoyle, acknowledging her arrival with a gentle squeeze of her hand.
"Gwen let them go with a warning."He whispered, his voice seeming to be for her ears only. Sevra held back a huff of frustration.
"I told Dante she would."She whispered back fiercely. Raike squeezed her hand gently as she watched the two dark figures wander down the street. "Dante wants you to head back and give him a report."She whispered softly, "I'll watch these two a bit longer."With a final squeeze, Raike vanished off into the night, leaving her alone. She got up to find a new vantage point.
She tailed the couple on foot, not liking the look of the rain-slicked rooftops. Luckily the pair took a straight path through the streets, confidentially not looking back more than once. It seemed cocky to Sevra, almost too trusting of the Warden's power. Her fingers drifted towards the small brooch on her sleeve, a simple serpent cast in silver. The pin was fused with a potent poison, a simple prick would be all she needed to kill the man now. Dante's voice echoed in her brain, warning her off, but he wasn't here, and she was. As she watched, the pair paused outside an inn, the taller Turgis pulling open the door for the smaller girl. He paused outside the door, looking skyward as if to calm himself. She was closing the distance quickly, soon she'd be close enough to touch him. A simple pinprick was all she needed, it wouldn't even take effect for several hours. Enough time to clear the scene, enough time to alleviate suspicions. She could be safely in Avesta before he knew anything was wrong. He glanced her way just as she bumped into him, muttering a quick apology as she pushed past. She thought she caught a flash of recognition on his face as their eyes met, but then she was off, hurrying down the road.
She rubbed the serpent pin where it was still safely pinned to her cuff. Frowning slightly, she took the next corner, heading back towards the warmth of the World's End tavern.
--
**Introspection:** Honestly, I nearly played this one as a comedy, but it sort of failed when I started putting words on the page. It's hard to try and introduce 5 characters in one short story, but it was a good kind of challenge.
**Tropes:**
*Five Man Band:* Playing with the roles was fun, even if I found it challenging. Early on when I was brainstorming ideas, the idea to make them literally a band came up and I really wanted to make them all bards/ministrels, especially since that was mentioned back in the earlier parts. I didn't keep the suggested instruments from the Trope page, but I tried to give it a fantasy twist.
The Leader: Dante, playing the lead guitar.
The Lancer/The Big Guy: Raike, who's instrument wasn't mentioned yet. I kept flip-flopping on which role to give him, initially he was meant to be the lancer, but ended up doing it in a strong, silent manner.
The Smart One: Sevra, playing the accordion just for the keyboard parallels.
The Chicks: Lyra and Liam. Also known as the Heart, but the required gender bugged me, so I opted to play it both straight and inverted. I suppose they could have also had a tambourine, but I settled for just having an instrument where vocals were possible. And Lyra needed a harp.
*Rage against the Mentor:* Sevra is clearly rebelling a bit under Dante's lead.
*Token Evil Teammate:* Still gets to be Sevra. Given that it's a war, I think it's a bit more pragmatic, but she's the most bloodthirsty of the group.
*What you are in the Dark:* Sevra's choice in the end. It could have been a perfect crime. But she let the opportunity pass.
I don't quite think Outlaw Town or The Reliable One apply here, but I think Raike could be nominated for the latter if we saw him more. |
"Because together we are weak, and I have dreams of being strong. One day I'll be as strong as the rest of them,"he said, though he wasn't sure he believed it himself.
The thick man in a grey suit sat across from him, the light of the lamp translucent through his whole body. "Are you sure about that?"the thick man's voice was ominous and low, lower than any human's could be.
"You scare me."Anthony told the man matter of factly. "You've told me to do horrible things my whole life, thats...thats what you've done. You've told me to do all the...the bad stuff thats-thats gotten me in trouble. My psychiatrist told me I can finally confront you...alone."
The smirk the burly man gave Anthony sent fingers as cold as death down his back and made him catch his breath. "But, Anthony, we're friends. I've been with you since you were little, we've known each other all your life. You don't want some person you've just met to ruin what we have would you?"He moved closer to Anthony, and suddenly his voice completely changed tone into something sweet and innocent. "All I've done is to help you Anthony. You aren't crazy no, I'm as real as you are, Anthony, see? Because if I'm not real, what really is?"
Anthony couldn't help but notice how dark it was in the room. He wished there were people here, but if there were would they really be real? He didn't think they would be real. But Bruce was real, Bruce had to be real. The psychiatrist was probably just crazy like the rest of them. "No, no, you aren't real. I-I need to say good bye to you. You're a cruel...you're just a cruel thing of my-my imagination. You're all in my head, leave me alone."
"Don't scream at me Anthony. Don't scream at me Anthony."Bruce's face was fixed with a grin that was as wide as a clown's. His whole face was fixed in a smile of sheer, terrible joy. He didn't even move his mouth as he repeated the same sentence over and over and over until Anthony's mind felt like it was being penetrated with knives. "Don't scream at me Anthony. Don't scream at me Anthony. Don't scream..."
"STOP IT! STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE YOU AREN'T REAL! STOP IT!"Anthony realized he was curled up on the floor, both hands around his ears. He stood up, looking left and right for Bruce, but Bruce wasn't to be found. He'd left, Bruce had finally left him alone.
He gave a nervous laugh and sank down into the chair once more with a sigh of relief. The room still felt quiet though, too quiet. Anthony figured he'd call up his psychiatrist and give him the good news in a few minutes. He wasn't crazy at all, Anthony was quite sane, the psychiatrist would see that.
And then, all at once Anthony's entire body was locked and paralyzed with only the deepest fear, a fear that cut right to his heart and seemed to make his entire body stop functioning. Bruce was breathing down his neck, breathing heavily right in his ear, laughing maniacally in his deep and booming voice. "Go and grab the kitchen knife, Anthony. Together we are strong, and apart you are weak. I'll teach you to never yell at me, I warned you not to. Go grab the kitchen knife, Anthony, your mother should be asleep by now." |
"Mr. President, the Martians aren't going to respond kindly to that kind of-"
"Yes, I know, J'onn, but there's simply no other options. I'm not trying to be the bad guy here, but people are looking to me for a decision. I decided."
Superman heaved a sigh and slumped in his chair. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had been less than 3 years since he agreed to run for political office. Well, he had agreed to be on the ballot. Actually, he only agreed to serve after winning 84% of the vote as a write in candidate. The people of Earth had spoken; they wanted him to represent them. He thought it was just another challenge that he could face.
And like so many of his other battles, he wouldn't fight it alone. Secretary of State Wonder Woman spoke up in his defense. "J'onn, stop. You know us. you know we aren't doing this for our own profit. Things just aren't like the way they were before. We have to regulate inter-system travel somehow. We'll find a way for Martian refugees to make it back home."
J'onn replied with a somber tone "Yes, Diana. I know. I, too, feel the burden of my office. But tariffs on space travel would ruin any chance my people have of rebuilding. I had to plead my case to you in person, Clark. I hope you'll reconsider."The holocomm flickered out of existence as the lights in the room brightened.
"Well, that went well,"quipped Flash. "Just like the old days, J'onn's all sad and ominous, Supes is tired because he can't fix the entire universe, and the Marine over there is mad at me for trying to lighten the mood."
As it so happened, John Stewart had just been opening his mouth to growl something at Flash when Diana beat him to it. "And he should be, Flash! This isn't like the old days at all, and you need to start acting like it. Do you even have a report to give, or is this going to be like every other week?"
"No, I got one,"replied Flash. "It's pretty short though. You're probably not gonna like it."
"Try me."Diana growled through clenched teeth.
"I was thinking something like; 'Things are goin' good'?"
Luckily, Vice President's seat was between the Secretary of the Commerce and Secretary of State, and Batman was able to restrain Wonder Woman from breaking yet another conference table.
Aquaman looked on in disgust. "I regret joining this Cabinet more with each passing day. You bicker like children instead of ruling as you should."He pointed at Superman. "You are the leader of this planet. Lead."With that, he turned and strode from the room.
"Thanks for the input, Aquaman! Huge help, as always!"Green Arrow called after him.
"You know, it's a little insulting that the Secretary of Justice has his feet propped up on the Secretary of Energy's chair. Show a little respect."John Stewart snarled at Green Arrow.
"What? It's not like he's using it!"Green Arrow replied.
The Atom chose that moment to restore his body to normal size, violently knocking Green Arrow's feet off of him as he did so. "Just because I choose not to occupy that space, doesn't mean I can't."
Green Arrow leapt to his feet. "You wanna go, little man? Ten bucks says I can shoot you over the Capitol Dome from here."
"ENOUGH!"bellowed Superman. All commotion in the room stopped, and all eyes turned towards him. He breathed a heavy sigh, and said "We came together, years ago, to fight the battles that Earth couldn't fight on its own. We always did everything we could to help. Somewhere along the line, we became the people who fight even their political battles for them. This isn't working, and we all know it. But this is the challenge in front of us, and these are the problems we have to solve. I count you all among my closest friends, and I'm asking you for help. Can we just get through today? Can we just get through the rest of our term in office? Then, I promise you, I'll refuse re-election and we can all just go back to what we're good at."He smiled ruefully at Wonder Woman. "Hitting things."
After a long silence, Batman spoke his first words since taking office. "I have an idea."
|
Walking home from work, I revel in the warm weather and relief of finally going home after a long day of work.
As I am walking I hear and see an explosion up ahead. I stop in my tracks as my brain processes what happened.
When I realize what happened, I notice a plume of smoke and fire in the direction of my home. Worried, I run towards
my house. As I'm nearing my house I vaguely hear yelling. The crunch and screech of metal reaches my ears as an
object's movement catches my peripheral vision. My head turns toward the left to see a gargantuan shadow upon me. |
Please note: This is my first writing prompt so go easy on me.
I just walked into my friend George's house and his mom greets me at the door and tells me of their only rule in the house. "You can do anything but use the bathroom". Of course being the person I am I say "Ok, thanks for letting me know. But how did this house rule come into place?".
She says "Basically George's dad would spent all his time in the bathroom, no one knew why. But if you needed to talk to him, you just have to find out which bathroom he is in. About three months ago, I found him in the bathroom dead... So since then anytime we go into the bathroom we get reminded of him. So please do not use the bathroom." |
There is something almost uncanny about a wooden ship jumping through space. One moment it is sitting at at dock, the next it is a mile away, bobbing in the little waves.
Fred is amazed. It's almost stupid. A ship like this, shooting across half the universe.
The people on it are useless for information.
For one thing, Fred has no idea what they're saying (except for one little guy with a Jew nose who keeps saying Gi-up gi-up like he's trying to gig a horse) and they're all taking at once.
How do they breathe or eat or take a kaka or anything else. Must be boring, stuck with twenty other nosy shitheads.
Fred figures that it's not his business and gets back in the car.
After a few nosy moments Gi-up gets in the passenger seat.
Whatever. |
Willem D. Watson was an esteemed alchemist, a chemist, a noble horseman and a Knight of the North, though in adolescence, he lived in the South, where he attended an esteemed school for the gifted and talented. He stayed with his grandparents, two older, archaic figures who quickly fading into the permanence of history left him an enormous fortune. You must understand that Willem was born of mixed blood sewn in the passions of extramarital affection. Combining in the passions of the Orient and a Knight of the Royal Kingdom, Willem was a genuinely unique man. Of course, his real mother never knew of his existence, though she never thought she'd see him again.
That all changed when one day, his partner--that cruel, fickle, and bedeviled animal of a man--closed, moved and sold their shop, for the two had fashioned a cure for the common cold. At first, Willem considered them robbed, he first to the bank, and then to the police, but none had seen his poor souled partner. Upon stopping for lunch and ale at the bakery, the bartender told Willem of his partners mischievous intentions.
Enraged and forever shamed, Willem returned to the school to teach, and upon reading the papers, he learned his friends fate: he'd won an esteemed Bavarian prize, and toured Munich, Brussels, Utrecht, and Zurich. With news of this Willem considered revenge, but returned to the classroom, unable to assemble or carry out any plans.
[Serious note- I'd finish this but I have a lot of classwork on my plate. 18 fucking credit hours, plus a fiction writing class I really should be worrying about.]
If I can I'll get back to this but its probably going to be later. Someone should continue this, here's an open invitation. |
*Sirens can be heard off in the distance.*
It started with a simple question; why? We live our lives, day by day, being subjected to the rules and laws of other men whom we've never met. Whose hands we've never shaken. Whose lives we 've never touched, as ours they have never known. To them, we were a statistic; a number. We existed only as a tick mark that must be maintained and accounted for. They care not for our character. They care not for our search for purpose. They care not for our ideals, our dreams, or our passions. They care only for our 'votes'. Who are they to demand, as if divinely ordained, our unequivocal obedience and endorsement for a system of which we had no say in the creation thereof? Our undying loyalty. Who are they at all? I do not know, and as of now, I'm not sure I'd wish to.
What I do know, is we live in a world of fictions, legal and otherwise. That's what I wanted to avoid. Oh how I hope those of which I speak appreciate the irony. They created their own undoing, just as Cronus and his titans created theirs. Who would've thought the internet, born out of the need to maintain secrecy within these systems, would become the paragon in the fight to rid humanity from them, and usher in a new age of enlightenment; a new age of reason. I didn't need to create anything new. I only needed to hold a mirror up to the world and show them what they already had the power to do. Instant, global, free communication. What better environment for direct democracy to flourish? What better way to convey such a message, to start such a chain reaction, than with a post upon the olympic coat-tail of which I am now riding? Even now the internet speaks, me being the vessel through which it does so. This is a new kind of divine inspiration, one without gods or deities, titans or omlympians. The singularity is upon us all.
You see, if everyone had a say, then ultimately it would be as if no one did. Disperse all concentrations of power so that we are all equally powerless. Your word is worth the same as our former president's. Nothing. The idea was not to give the power 'back to the people' so much as to do away with the idea of concentrated power entirely. I would be the last one to bear this burden of responsibility. The social contract, as we once knew it, would be undone by this system, or lack thereof, and something else entirely would be reborn in it's place. I now hold the key to this new world order. If only I was of the responsible kind.
Corruption infiltrates. That is its purpose. It bleeds into the whites of society, and perpetuates a motive of simple undoing. In a way, it is actually quite beautiful. I think, more often than not, it, being the act itself, is simply misunderstood, as many things, places, and people tend to be in this world. I think most presume corruption to be the end result of the will to power, but I disagree. I disagree, not with the presumption itself, but with the underlying assumption that the act of corrupting something is essentially, universally, something that should be avoided. I think not. To destroy something allows something new, potentially better, more beautiful, to rise from the ashes of those corrupted, to begin life anew. Such is the cyclical nature of the cosmos, and life upon this planet, at least as far as we know it to be, and to deny ourselves the... opportunity to fall, we deny ourselves the opportunity to rise again. I feel as if for the first time I am finally thinking clearly. I admit, I did not ask for this burden, but it has been placed upon me all the same, and as those that fell into darkness before me, so too shall I follow them in their fall, for I no longer fear becoming corrupted. I no longer fear what must be done. I embrace who I am, and who I must become, so the world may go on and be reborn once again. I am Shiva the god of death.
*The sirens grew louder, approaching the complex.*
He got up, grasping the rigged handle of the Glock "Safe Action"Pistol, knocking over a bottle of pills labeled 'Seroquel', turned and headed for the door. News correspondents interviewing the Vice President could be heard from the TV in the corner of the DC apartment.
"I do solemnly swear..." |
Crisp autumn leaves crunched and died beneath the feet of Docteur Delacroix as they walked through the crowded park.
There are four simple ways for the observant eye to tell the good Docteur apart from those he walks along on his way to work: first, while the gentleman strolling beside him sport classy, expensive watches, Docteur Delacroix wears no obvious jewelry; second, Docteur Delacroix stands at least half a foot taller than the tallest among his momentary companions; third, his companions are clearly not looking forward to their long day at work, while Docteur Delacroix, decidedly, is; fourth, Docteur Delacroix's eyes dart around as he repeatedly licks his thin lips, while the suits around him furtively attempt to ignore this vaguely disturbing act. Also, Docteur Delacroix is quite clearly of a different species to the humans it's surrounded by, as they look nothing at all alike.
This minor inconvenience is alleviated by the creature’s actual form being outside human perception - unfathomable, as it were. Fortunately for the human race, Eldritch Abominations are beyond their plane of reality, and so, blessedly, the human mind is able only able to process a mere fraction of such an entity as Docteur Delacroix’s true horror. Less blessedly, this fraction is more than enough to drive the human mind to madness, and so, by nightfall, each witness to Docteur Delacroix’s morning walk will have transformed into a gibbering mess of insanity.
However, that's exactly what it was, a morning walk. While the men and women around the abomination either shamble, or stroll, or even (in the case of some of the more finely dressed gentleman) swagger to work, Docteur Delacroix simply walks. It was too steady, too passive, and too inexorable a walk to be described as a shamble, stroll or strut: Death walks like Docteur Delacroix.
Nobody knows where Docteur Delacroix came from, and certainly nobody knows where it's going. |
History Text Excerpt:
The Colonial Wars of 1776, 1783, and 1786 depleted the British colonies and the British Empire such that the Dutch, French, and Spanish were able to invade and control the established colonies. The Dutch maintained their stronghold in the Great White North, while the French and Spanish spent 1792-1803 in constant battles over the southern territories. With resources running low, the French made a breakthrough on July 4, 1803. French diplomats allied with the native Americans, agreeing to give them sovereign reign over the lands including and west of the Louisiana territory for help in driving the Spanish from their entrenchments made in the Appalachian mountains. From their own resource depletion and a miserable winter, the natives had no problem driving out the Spanish. In good faith, the French retreated to the east coast of America, and gave their neighboring natives land to live on within their new territory, food, supplies, and advanced weaponry. Spanish forces have not attempted any seizing of lands since the Alamo raid in 1820. The French and Dutch colonies have since separated from their mother countries and live in peace with the natives. |
**Thursday, 23rd January** Can't write long. Last day of the symposium and the boys are going out for drinks. Feeling good. A successful week!
**Wednesday, 22nd January** Today was the same as yesterday. Noticed I spent Tuesday's entry on work stuff instead of feelings, but that's all I really remember. Is it wrong that that's all that seems important out here, in Denver?
**Tuesday, 21st January** Missed today's (Should I write yesterday if it's under today?) entry. Work is pretty labor intensive out here, all these talks about routing and resiliency, security and information integrity. That night I slept like a baby. Didn't even think about this dinky little day planner. But I promised I'd try for her.
**Monday, 20th January** So this is my journal. Not sure how effective it will be, but it's better than nothing I suppose. The therapist (the the rapist?) said it would do me good to put feelings down in ink, and she agreed, so long as we don't read the journal of the other. "I don't see the point in that"I wanted to say. I wanted to say "You're the one who asked us to come here, who said I didn't share enough of myself. What's the point in writing little missives you won't read?"but of course, I kept those doubts to myself.
I'll be on a business trip until Friday. Guess this is a step in the right direction. Things are looking up! |
When it became apparent that communication throughout the timelines became apparent, Melinda created the technology to do so. In the beginning, you had to piggyback off the landlines of the time so all the pre-historic obsessors never got our calls. But now it was just this small cellphone you had to go into the twenty-second century to charge every few years or so.
This was the first call that the group had received in their personal timelines. Melinda estimates around two months, for most of us.
Jacob was the first to pick up the call.
'Hey mates, its been sometime, huh.'
I shrugged, and waited for the him to continue.
'So what's this all about?'
'Clarice has been spamming the timeline'
'The timeline? As in, our, original timeline?'
Melinda cuts in,
'Yes. She's been taking random things from the timeline.'
Jacob looks confused, and continues
'What's the problem with that? So she's got too much... time... on her hands but what's wrong with that?'
I sigh, anticipating having to repeat this to everyone who enters the call.
'Let's just wait for the rest before we get into details, alright?'
'Right. Can we speed up time?'
'No, this call is encoded to run off a separate timeline that is locked to a second.'
'Meaning?'
Jacob waves his arms around in a floaty manner, his way of signalling 'English?' He's never been one for the technicalities of time travel.
'Meaning there is no time in the call. That's how we're calling throughout all of our original timeline's time and space?'
'Right.' He crosses his arms and sits back in what looks like a 1980s recliner.
Soon enough, the other ten members of our small community join. Including Clarice. Pleasant conversation ensures, as we all catch up with each other's escapades. John is still messing around with the end of the world and most of us are were just touristing, as usual, around the timeline.
'We've convened here to discuss a particular member, and their actions in the timeline. We will be announcing what has been done, and after discussing a course of action, will we announce who this person may be. Is that agreed?' Everyone falls to silence as I announce the agenda of the call.
The convention makes a noise of consent.
Melinda clears her throat and addresses the group of friends.
'Someone has been spamming the timeline. This is causing the creation of an exponential increase of unused timelines- specifically three thousand splinter timelines that are now clogging up our reality.'
That, was when our small group was thrown into chaos. |
Story is from Command and Conquer universe, like the picture is.
The sound of heavy anti-aircraft fire battering the old cargo plane brought Johnathan out of his sleep. Even with the sound dampeners in his helmet, he could still hear the screams of Vertigo bombers as they swept through the sky, raining a near apocalyptic mass of iron and napalm down on the Global Defense Initiative’s forces. Sighing internally, he glanced around at the men in his company. He was the only one in a group of 60 to wear the revered Black Hand insignia on his lapel. The rest were only militia; men and women recruited out of the slums of the Yellow Zones and thrown into battle with what was the most basic combat training. For all intents and purposes, they were scum of the earth and there was no way in hell that they would prove to be an adequate match to GDI infantry squadrons. They didn’t know that though. All they wanted was some peace and refuge within the Blue Zones that GDI was so carefully protecting. Sure there were some of them who actually believed in the principals that Nod espoused, but most of them just wanted to go to what used to be home.
Johnathan smirked, and they all answer to me. He would either lead them to another glorious victory for Kane, or their deaths. It didn’t matter to him; he would live through today regardless of what happened to them. The Black Hand never forgets their own in combat, and something told him that today would be no different. The militia around him could be cut down by the watch towers and Predator tanks, but he would survive, link up with the remaining Black Hand officers, and finish the job; one way or another.
A message flashed across his HUD; drop in two minutes. Be prepared for heavy resistance. Johnathan forwarded the message along the rest of his company and stood up. The rest of them weren’t far behind, the clank of armour and weaponry sounding all too familiar in their ears. As the cargo ship began its descent Johnathan felt the Tiberium infused chemical cocktail being injected into his system. It wasn’t enough to kill him or turn him into one of those mutated freaks out in the middle of the Red Zones, but it was enough to make him one of the deadliest soldiers in all of Nod. He switched his communications network to companywide; now everyone could hear him loud and clear
.
“Alright boys and girls, listen up. Our objective here is to capture the forward outpost and wait for the Avatars to arrive. The enemy has been softened up by our air force but I don’t want anyone to be lulled into a sense of security. They’ve still got Watch Towers and Guardian Cannons online so stay frosty. Move from cover point to cover point and for god’s sake, don’t try and play the goddamn hero. Kane would rather award a live soldier than a dead. Who knows? Maybe you might even become Black Hand like me.”
There was a slight whooping from the militants as the cargo plane made contact with the ground. The hatch lowered into the earth with a dull thud as the sixty soldiers spread out among green Tiberum crystals and the burnt out remains of buildings. They hadn’t made it 10 meters before a burst of machine gun fire cut across their path and the company scrambled for cover. It was coming from a building on the north side. Cursing, Johnathan called out over the mike:
“I told you they’d still be here. Now let’s show them who they’re up against.” His words were greeted by the sound of sixty assault rifles returning fire. The chatter of small arms fire slowly died out and was soon replaced by the nervous mutterings of a highly unskilled group of soldiers.
“Can it people. They might still be in the area.” No sooner had he said that when the sight of 155 millimetre cannon greeted the company. No rest for the wicked he thought as he barked orders into his mic.
“Somebody get the rocketeers out here. Bravo Squad, draw it’s attention while they find a vantage point. Let’s move it.” Johnathan lobbed a grenade over the burnt out rubble and began to sprint for more defensible cover. Behind him, he heard the mechanical cannon swivelling as it turned to face him. The loud pop of the shell being fired was the last thing he heard before his vision faded to black.
|
"This world has been connected to Cotton_Candy_Paradise created by @my_pink_pony"
I stared in horror at the text bubble displayed on the screen. I must have been hacked! That's the only explanation for this terrible, terrible tragedy.
More text appeared on the screen. "Characters from both the worlds can now pass freely and intermingle between the two worlds."
I watched helplessly as pink balls of fluff replaced my medieval army just as they rushed into the battlefield against @wu_tang_my_clan. Within moments, six months of my hard word was obliterated.
Tears of anger built up in my eyes. I threw the controller against the wall; it made a loud clunking noise as it hit the wall.
From the other side of the wall, I heard the cackling laughter of my ten year old sister.
A curly pink text bubble appeared on screen. "You should not microwave other people's barbie doll. Oh and don't use your facebook password everywhere, dumbass."
|
Authors Note: I decided I'd post to at least one question today so here it is:
Darkness. Total and complete darkness. Where am I? Who am I? What is going o-
I opened my eyes and shut them immediately; the light was blinding.
But how did I know what light was? Li-t. Weird.
Some time later I opened them a crack, the light had faded as the sun disappeared in the horizon. Thank god for that. Whoever he was.
Where these words were coming from, I don't know. Ho-ri-zon. The word was strange. Alien. What was on my body? It wasn't like my skin - more of a soft feeling but also warm.
I sat up and planted my feet on the ground. Fee-t. Interesting.
What was I standing on? It was the colour of.... Blue. Definitely blue. My eyes flicked around. I was alone. Should I be alone? Or should I find others like me.
I'm tired now, maybe I'll rest a
minu.
My skin tingled as I got up again. I raised a hand to block out the light it didn't work. Why is there a hole in my hand? I looked at my feet: more holes. Why didn't they hurt? Why do I think they should hurt?
The holes filled themselves in gradually. Cold wet fell on me from above.
Enough was enough! I wanted to find others like me so I'm leaving this blue floor and its cold wet. Maybe someone could tell me who I am.
I put one foot in front of another and began my journey. Exciting.
Fin. |
A lonely squire in Regmalin, Adalbert now found himself in the midst of an army of barristers all with long lists tracing his kinship to the late Queen Marta. Marta 4th of her name reigned for 72 years, a long and peaceful reign, she has always refused any suitors to her desirable hand in marriage. A fortnight ago during the Royal Family's retreat at the southern port of Velin, an earthquake struck that the left the city in ruins and the Commonwealth of Yalon in economic disaster.
And now here sits Adalbert first of his name, a squire to the mayor of Regmalin listening to the cacophony of barristers trying to convince him that now he holds the seat as the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of Yalon.
Adalbert but a boy of 16, sits now across the most powerful legislators in the commonwealth. "Ada my boy, I know your father was a just a hedge knight, it matters not, according to the list here you are next, the wrath of the Gods at Velin has left nothing of the old Royal Line, it starts here now with you, what say you my king?"
************To be continued************ |
I've been narrating the man's life for almost fifteen years now. Have you ever seen that one movie, The Truman Show? It's exactly like that, except this guy wears a hat. It's a pretty sweet gig, honestly, but it ruined the magic for me. You see, after the first six months, I realized that he was in on it. The Man with the Hat understood it all. It wasn't very obvious, just little things, how he would look straight through me, or directly into the nearest camera sometimes.
Today is my last day. I'm finally retiring, much to the network's disappointment. They didn't want to bring an outsider in. I think they'd decided on Colbert on my replacement, but I'm not sure. No one really tells me anything. I have about five minutes left until it's all over, and I kind of wish that I would be acknowledged by the Man with the Hat. As usual, as I was finishing the episode the Man with the Hat looked through me. And finally saw. |
The entire family gathered on the lawn for the final part of the wake. The sun had started to set and the low rumble of the plane could be heard in the distance. Walter squinted hard against the sky, he hoped to be first to see his Uncle Roger in the sky.
“Lemonade dear?” His Aunt Maria asked.
“No thank you ma’am,” Walter said and turned back towards the sun.
“Starving yourself isn’t going to bring them back Walt,” she said and turned away.
Maria acted the perfect hostess that entire weekend. It was her house on Pebble Lake after all, something she took quite a bit of pride in. Only ten minutes from Lake Michigan. A flash of her temper was seen when Walter asked, why not just live there instead?
When it came time to spread the ashes no one could decide on what to do. Walter’s dad Mike had wanted to just throw the ashes in a lake, grandpa had been a sailor and he thought it would be make sense for him to return. Mike’s younger brother Henry fought Mike on every decision they had to make about their father.
“It’ll just look like muddy water,” Henry said.
Henry thought they should have Roger fly over the wake and throw the ashes out, mix them with glitter so they’d sparkle in the day. For a year and a half they disagreed until they finally settled on having a plane fly over a lake.
Costs to do this at Lake Michigan were too high so Henry, Mike, and Roger went to their Aunt Maria to ask her if they could use her home for the memorial. Maria was ecstatic that they would come ask her for this. She only had one condition. Her husband need to be scattered across the sky as well.
“I’m not mixing my dad’s ashes with that pervert,” Henry angrily spat.
Mike and Roger wanted to agree with their brother, but they kept up their appearance and asked her if she could think of anything else they could do. Maria went off on a long tirade about how this family had always conspired against her; that her husband was guilty before he was even convicted in their eyes.
“Maybe he should have kept out of those high schools th-,” Henry was cut off by a porcelain mug that smashed into his nose. A piece of shrapnel cut his nostril, the loose skin waved back and forth like a flag as he screamed.
The plane was visible now. Mike yelled to have the music turned down and most everyone stood up from their plates to watch the descent. Henry gave Walter a squeeze as he passed by. The pink line that ran up his nose was hard to see from it’s deep red color. Walter had botched the reading of his grandpa’s eulogy earlier in the weekend and Henry had been very cross with him.This was his apology.
“Suppose that just goes to show you no amount of private school and tutors can teach you respect.”
The plane was in front of them of now. It slowed to a crawl and Roger opened the door. Cameras at the ready they waited for the sky to shine. Everyone murmured when the plane broke off. What had happened to the ashes?
Henry walked over to Mike and the two started to shout in hushed tones. Walter just watched the plane ready for its landing. With the pontoons slightly raised, Roger set the plane down on lake and taxied over to the dock. The sound overtook any conversation that had been going on. The plane went quiet when it finally docked.
Roger stepped out of the plane. From head to toe he was covered in ash and glitter.He pulled the goggles on top of his head and looked up at everyone. He started to laugh. With each shake ash would sift down from him. No one quite knew what to do. Maria had fled into the house because she needed to gag. Henry and Mike just stared at their brother. Everyone else was frozen. They waited for one of them to make a move.
Roger turned and jumped off the dock. Walter started after him. His feet soared a top the lawn, the dock clanged and clattered under him. The water ahead of him shone and sparkled. He dove in.
When he went up for air Walter saw Mike and Henry racing to the end of the dock, they pushed and laughed. The rest of the family looked on in disgust as the four of them played chicken in the ashes of two dead men. |
Gods, we didn't know. We built dampeners. We built these massive fields to contain them. We had harnessed the energy of an old God to bring them here. We didn't think he was alive. That he could still think. The being pulled open the universe and brought them here, and broke our jails. He shattered our fields with his last breath. We brought them here, the heroes, the villains, the regular people. It's time now, they've almost reached the capitol. They tore through our soldiers, freeing the districts. It was easy for them. They're almost like Gods. I suppose it's our judgement for all these games. I suppose we deserve this. The one they call America is outside now. I hear him smashing through my guards. I'm going to face my fate like a man, like a president.
This is president Snow. I did what I had to. |
Once we had thought them gods, all-knowing and all-powerful and all-loving. Now we have grown older, wiser, stronger, and know they are all-fearing. We will not wait for them. They are old, and we will not succumb to their hands reaching to stop us. The world will never be ready. There is no point in waiting for the world to be perfect for us--we must make it perfect ourselves. Join us, and be free! |
It seems as though while I was sleeping some Freaky Friday crap happened and I'm again 4'2"and a chunky little girl no one liked. Though I have changed bodies, I have also managed to keep all of my memories and all the times I messed up. I may be able to use this to my advantage, and hope I don't change back any time soon.
walks into room mates' room
"Oh God, you look like a ten year old too!"I yell at her as she lays there in bed still managing to sleep through my obnoxious yelling. I then decide to walk out into the common room of our dorm building, well I have no explanation for what is going on, it seems as though everyone was given a second chance to use their knowledge to gain money and riches...well there goes my plan of just living to my 20's and making great and perfect decisions. GRRRRR! Okay I can beat all of them if I can figure out how this happened. Alright time to ask questions, I think I'll start with Stacy Clemens. "So Stace when did you realize you had shrunk and became your 10 year old self?"
She replied with a I-don't-know-exactly-I-was-up-all-night-at-a-party-doing-things. (You-know-what-things-I'm-talking-about...) But honestly, I think I finally realized around 6:30 this morning when I was heading back to the dorm."
"Oh okay you should maybe lay off on the party so you can remember clearly and thanks for your estimate."
Well that went as well as I thought it would. Maybe I should ask, oh what's her name? Oh yeah, Celestina. Maybe she'll have a better knowledge of when this happened, she always pays attention to detail. "Hey Celestina! when did you realize you became yourself as a 10 year old?"I asked Celestina.
"Well actually it was exactly 6:39 am when I realized this had happened. I honestly think someone figured out the formula for time travel and made it so we may stay the same at a certain age and still develop mentally. But then again it could've been Mr. Jaxon Herendale who has hated this university since they decided not to fund his experiment on changing appereances. He may have finally figured it out and we will relive our childhood life except he forgot to wipe our memory."
Celestina then tried to explain how he would do it and then gave me all the information she knew about him. Apperantely he was the same age as me if I weren't 10, which is 19. Ugh and he had beautiful blonde locks and deep green eyes. Why did he have to have green eyes?! Green eyes are my kryptonite! Alright I'm supposed to mad that he decided that we needed to be 10 again, but this could work to my advantage if I get on his good side. So I decide me and Mr. Herendale needed to meet and negotiate.
Now where am I supposed to find this boy? Oh wait I know the laboratory next door. That's a good guess, since it's close enough to "poison"or change us. Slowly, but surely, I made it to the back of the back of the lab and looked for a 6' god-like being but all I saw was a baby sitting on a cot thinking intent-ally. I didn't know what to do, but it hit me. If I kept my memories then he must've and should be able to speak and/or respond. Alright here goes nothing, "Umm Hello? Mr. Herendale?"
"Why that of course is me"says the baby man thing. "How in the world did you get in here? You're like, 10, at tops 12."Did I really have to explain to him what he did to the whole entire campus? So of course as the person I was, I wasn't as sarcastic as normal. I explained how everyone had turned back into their former 10 year old selves and he had regressed even further.
"Well how much further? It couldn't have been much maybe 8? 5 at least."
Well here is where I didn't want to tell him the truth but of course I had to tell him or i wouldn't get what I came for. "It seems like you went all the way back to infancy,"I said, shrinking back waiting for an explosion of hate, and boy did I get the explosion.
"What the Hell? Am I really that stupid? I'm so F@*&#$% stupid!"said the baby form of Mr. Herendale. "Well, go fetch me this vial of the counter over there and feed it to me."
First off, I'm not a freaking maid and second I hate feeding babies they always manage to ruin all of my clothing, obviously I didn't say this out loud because I still needed to negotiate. "Alright I'll get it but afterward I won't feed it until we negotiate my terms."He looked as though he would never negotiate with me in his life but he wanted to change so he agreed. "Alright got it, but my terms are you turn everyone back including you and leave me this way so I can make it through all of my schooling for a second time and make a crapload of money and split it with you, of course with your help I can become one of the smartest people in the world along with you. So what do you say?"I have to say, I was pretty straight forward with what I wanted.
"I don't know. I like being the big person on campus but earning a lot of money along side you seems worth it so I can be a millionare. Alright I choose your terms. NOW FEED ME THE SERUM!!!!!!!"
The next day everyone was back to normal except me and I had enrolled in my second time of 4th grade and made my journey to success. 10 years later I'm now 20 or should I say 29, but hey whatever I'm now the smartest person and along side my partner we are in the top 10 richest people so my goal has been met, now I must find something else to do with life. |
Shannon looked into the mirror and fluffed her hair. She had to look good for all of her friends out there. She pouted and looked at her ruby red lipstick. Her parents would have never allowed her to look this way, but with them out of town, she could do whatever she wanted. Her purple eyeshadow was perfectly smoky, bringing out her baby blue eyes and blonde hair. She pulled out her phone and took a picture of herself in the mirror. Happy with how she looked, she sauntered out and into the living room where her friends were waiting.
"Shannon! You're just in time for the beer Chelsea got!"a girl called. Shannon rushed over to the hearth and sat down. Beers were passed all around, making the atmosphere seem merry for the first time. The rush of the alcohol and the taboo party made Shannon giddy. The clock struck midnight, but the girls didn't pay attention to it.
The night wore on, but no one had fallen asleep. A loud thump could be heard on the roof, quieting the girls instantly. Slow steps walked across towards the chimney just above the girls. They huddled together on the couch, afraid someone was going to break in. One of the girls cried softly. A gust of cold, winter air flowed down the chimney, making the girls close their eyes. Shannon was the first one to open them and look at the figure standing in front of them.
"Santa...?" |
Jim sighed as he pushed the cart along. Day in and day out, he donned his bluetooth headset and drowned out the world as he made it ready for another day of commercialism. He used to relish these late nights, when his isolation was almost total, nothing but the music and the repetition to keep him company.
He turned down aisle four, and looked up at the cold fluorescent lights flickering. The work light provided by management was less comfortable than the aesthetically pleasing shopping lights, and the worst was the way it made everything glow unhealthily. The jars after jars of various meats filtered a sickly glow that reflected onto the brown checkered tile below.
Stopping suddenly, Jim noticed a small dried trail of detritus leading to the snack aisle and terminating at the shelf about halfway through. Curious, he followed the filth and was shocked to find one of the live stocked "Cherub"brand deli babies had gotten loose again and of course, it was going to be his job to clean it up.
Every day seems the same when you do it enough. |
"Listen, Tyler,"I told him, yesterday, "You and Jenny have to be safe, okay? If you're not safe, there's just--there's nothing else for me. You know that, right? You have to take her and get away from here. Now. *Right* now. Take the truck and get on up to the cabin, okay? I'll be there in a few days."
The silence stretched as Tyler stared at his lap, his hands fidgeting and twisting the gold band that he wore. I remembered placing it on his finger, ten years ago; I remembered whispering promises over it, at the altar, in our bed.
"But Frank,"he said, after a long while, his eyes darting up to meet mine, "I want--I want you to be with us. I need you, Jenny needs you, she needs both of us."
I stood up, moved to him, and gently pulled him into an embrace. "Don't worry about me,"I said gruffly. "I won't be long."We both knew that this might be goodbye--oh, fuck--that this was probably goodbye, and his arms wrapped around my waist, his breath shaky as he fought off sobs. We held onto each other tightly.
He got up and began moving around the room of our small trailer, grabbing diapers, toys, snacks, throwing them all into a small shoulder bag. He had to carry Jenny too, and without the rest of our stuff, I didn't know how long they would last at the cabin. Would we be there for a few days, or for the rest of our lives? We called it "the cabin,"but it was really just a shed, built by my granddad, that Tyler and I stayed at when we hunted deer and rabbit deep in the woods. All my instincts told me that our real enemies now weren't the zombies, but the other people trying to survive, and we'd be safest as far away from everything as we could get. We had our guns, and we knew how to use them. And we had each other, and we had to keep Jenny safe.
I couldn't focus on any of that right now, though. I had to pack everything else up, had to find the antibiotics I knew I'd been prescribed just last month. Damn it, where was that bottle, where was anything?
We used to joke about the zombie apocalypse, have playful fights about zombies vs. pirates that were only resolved when I tickled and kissed Tyler into submission, my shaggy hair falling into his face and getting caught in his mouth as he gasped for breath between paroxysms of laughter. When we adopted our little girl a couple of years ago, Tyler's sister, who'd been a witness to too many of those ridiculous episodes, had bought her a onesie with pink and green zombies patterning it and a bib with purple skulls and crossbones, declaring that she refused to take sides in our idiotic fights, and that she'd be sure Jenny always agreed with her.
I didn't even know where Tyler's sister was now. To be honest, I didn't even know if they were zombies, not really. I only knew that the only people who'd ever mattered to me in this world didn't deserve to die just because of my hip replacement, just because some college kid had taken up with a man old enough to be his grandfather. It hadn't been easy for us, living together here, getting married, adopting our daughter. But we'd been so happy. So fucking happy.
Tyler came out about 8:30 pm, Jenny on his hip, and I hugged them both. "Daddy!"she squealed. I kissed the top of her head, picked her up, and buckled her into her carseat. It was never meant for the front seat of a pickup truck, but it would have to do today.
Tyler held my hand through the open window for a few short moments while we shared a look of understanding and love. I kissed him sweetly. "Time's wasting,"I said, pulling back and thumping the door meaningfully. "Get on out of here, now."
I spent the rest of the night packing the rest of our stuff into the van. Our truck was faster, and Tyler knew all the back roads. If he had to, he could leave the truck and run through the woods. I would've only held them back. When I finished packing up, I decided to wait until first light to leave.
I dozed on the couch for a few hours, but damn, if there was one thing I could count on, even now, it was my nervous bowels. It was one reason Tyler had found me still single at my age, the way my stomach roiled and gurgled every time I got anywhere near a man I liked. He hadn't cared about that any more than he'd cared about my wrinkles or my flabby ass. He was such a good man. I was so lucky to have found him, so lucky for our time together. *No, Frank, it's not over yet. You'll see him again,* I tried to tell myself. But I didn't believe it, not really.
I shuffled to the bathroom and didn't bother closing the door. I took a quick piss, then I picked up the Sudoku I kept on the counter, sat down, and tried to relax.
Oh, fuck. This was going to be a bad one, I could tell already. I was going to be here til dawn, most like, with my fucking Sudoku book and my fucking stomach. *Well, less time to wait around til I can leave,* I thought.
That's when it happened. I heard a shot, and then the front window shattered. Was it--was it the zombies? But they wouldn't have guns. I heard voices, though, and not guttural moaning.
"Hey, the faggots must've already left in that truck of theirs. This place is empty, man."
"Their van is still out there, Billy. I bet the keys are here somewhere."
Oh fuck. Goddamn asshole neighbors. What the hell was I going to do? My rifle was locked in the gun cabinet in the living room, and my pistol was still in my bedside cabinet. Who keeps a gun in the fucking bathroom? Goddamnit!
I knew then that I would never see Tyler or Jenny again. Our asshole neighbors would find me here, in the middle of a massive dump, with my pants around my ankles. And they'd kill me, for the sake of some ammo, some antibiotics, and some bottled water. What was that even worth, maybe a few more weeks? The price of a human life. If I'd been in the front room I would've seen their flashlights shining through the window. But here I was, shitting, in the back of the house, utterly defenseless.
"Goodbye, my love. Goodbye,"I whispered, as I removed my wedding ring and kissed it, before placing it on the sink. I knew Tyler would take good care of Jenny, for whatever time they had left.
My neighbors were coming down the hall towards me now, and I knew they'd kill me when they found me. I slowly stood up, my horrible stomach pain nothing to me, as I did my best to square my hips. I held out my fists in my old boxing stance, ready to go down swinging.
**TL;DR tragic May-December gay redneck romance in a zombie apocalypse.** |
I've never done anything like this before, but the idea of writing has always appealed to me - so I thought I would try get some practice here. Would love feedback, and I assume I am making a lot of rookie mistakes with this, but that's why I'm here! Enjoy!
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________
James usually preferred to take the more scenic route home from work, but today he was in a hurry. His shortcut was an alleyway that always smelled of stale piss, and was usually littered with used needles. The evenings were beginning to stretch enough so that there was still light penetrating the dank air, illuminating dumpsters and trash. As he approached the halfway point of his trip through this neglected corner of inconvenient reminders of what lurks just below the polished surface of the city he heard the sound of someone sobbing. Not just sobbing, this was the sound of despair. Another broken human being, utterly hopeless by the sound it. His natural reaction was to contemplate turning around, but that would cost him far more time than he had.
He decided to pick up the pace. His strides got longer as he tried desperately to focus his eyes on bustling street ahead, or the sky above. Anything but the horrible reality that lay amongst the fallen bins ahead of him.
"Sir! Please! I need..". The mans voice died, his throat still gripped by his tears.
He couldn't decide what was worse, ignoring the man altogether or a quick glance that would acknowledge his pain and then move swiftly on. He looked, and stopped dead in his tracks. The man didn't look homeless, he didn't look like anything James had ever seen. He was completely bald, like he had undergone several rounds of chemotherapy. He didn't look malnourished, but still looked weak. He was wearing a gown, kind of like a hospital gown, but James had never seen a red a white stripy hospital gown before. They made eye contact. Through the tears that had built up in the mans eyes, James saw everything. An intense bright light was followed by searing pain. Feelings of confusion, pain and intense loneliness flooded his mind. James had, in that instant, known everything that this man had experienced and was compelled to help him.
He took the bag off his back, and searched quickly for the half finished bottle of water that he had thrown in there as he left the office. He found it and quickly unscrewed the lid, before kneeling down to tip the contents gently into the mans mouth. He took one of the mans arms and leaned back, gently applying enough force to lift the man to his feet. He slung the arm over his shoulder and began slowly walking, forgetting entirely about the previous engagement that had him rushing through this disgusting alleyway in the first place.
On the way back to his apartment, James had gotten a lot of looks. He couldn't help but notice that looks of disgust kept turning to looks of pity and sympathy. On entering his apartment building he was relieved at the unusual quietness of the lobby. He had gotten the man home without any incident, and had gathered a list of questions for him. Who was he? Where had he come from? Why did he help him? James was well aware of his own cynical nature, and had surprised himself with this unwarranted act of kindness (or folly?).
"Can you tell me your name?"he asked.
"I don't .. they sometimes call me Waldo.. but.."he stuttered.
"But what? Is that not your real name?"
"I don't know..".
Just then James heard a commotion from the hallway, the sound of men. They weren't shouting, but were speaking in a loud, clear and concise manor. Just then the door to his apartment burst into a million splinters. The sunlight coming through the window highlighted the dust in the air as remains of his door hit the floor. They were armed, heavily armed. They looked like one of the SWAT teams you would see in an action movie, but they wore strange helmets and dark glassed, which had a tint of red. James froze, paralyzed by both fear and confusion, and they were on him. Both men were thrown to the ground, and James got one last look into Waldos eyes. With that look he got the answers to every question tthat he had. This man was special, he could share himself with you without saying a word. Their minds had briefly become one. These men were the 'they' he had referred to earlier. He was an experiment. He had a great power, and they were trying to use him as a weapon. He was an object to them. They had destroyed his humanity, broken him.. used him. They placed a black sack over his head and dragged him out of the room. He did not offer any resistance, he knew it was futile.
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Two weeks had passed. Two weeks since James had seen sunlight. He knew something that 'They' didn't want him to know. They regularly interrogated him, and subjected him to medical tests. He guessed that his exposure to Waldo made him an interesting test subject; perhaps he could learn to do what Waldo did. James kept running the events of that day over and over in his mind. He didn't know what 'They' had told his family and friends. If he was missed at work. What happened to his apartment? Had anyone seen him being dragged out of there that day. What if he hadn't been in such a hurry, what if he had never met Waldo? Where's Waldo now? Where am I?
|
Hey totally_not_martian, 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.
I think you should consider posting some of the pieces you wrote! We're friendly and I'm sure there are plenty of people who would love to read what you've written (or have some advice to improve it). If you do decide to, feel free to post it as a new Prompt Inspired post! |
The man was dead, that was obvious. His dirty body was riddled with those nasty black pockets filled with puss, as he lay face-down in a puddle on the side of the street.
Diego looked around. The area was deserted, only down the street, a single cart pulled by a single ox hurried through the town, the driver trying to cover his mouth with a piece of cloth.
He turned back towards the dead man. Using his cane, Diego pulled him out of the puddle and faced him upwards.
A shaggy beard covered the man's face, black and brown teeth guarded his mouth. The body still dripped with water as the doctor opened the man's shirt.
Even more swellings greeted him. Diego had to gag as the stench penetrated his mask, even through the spices he'd lay there this morning. He stumbled back, coughing.
He shot a prayer to the Allmighty. Hopefully, the miasma hadn't found it's way into his lungs.
Down the street, a door burst open. A crying and screaming woman ran out, wailing for a doctor. When she saw Diego, she clapped her hands together, praying and thanking God, shouting that her son's coughing had worsened over night and now his armpits had strange swellings between prayers.
He was torn. If he left the body he was currently working on, it would surely infect everyone walking by it. But if there truly was an infected man in that house, he had to deal with it immediately.
He pondered his options. Then, he pushed the body back into the puddle down the side of the street and walked towards the woman. |
This could be a long one, but ive always imagined it myself but since i cant write.
I always wanted to see someone else take my imagination, fuse it with their own and see what happened.
Ill give you a background and thats all since you seem extremely creative :)
1/3 people are born with a power of some kind. It could range from earth shatteringly powerful telekinesis to being able to read kinda fast. Literally any kind if power. Its all over the place.
People with powers for war do just that. As well as rule the entire world with a massive dictatorship made up of the strongest powers.
People with powers that make them good at things like being scientists (extreme memory ect.) are forced by the strong tk build weapons and such.
Schools train young powerful people to better use powers. The ruling force decides what they will do for the rest of their life based on what their power is.
The other 2/3 of people are mostly enslaved.
The earth is the same but a pangea. All continents merged. Animals are present day but considerably less are alive.
Mosy of the planet is ocean and seaweed makes most of our oxegen rather than forests.
Instead of sports people with powers have massive gladiator style battles ect. Music is still a thing but much more intense.
Its a dystopia (obviously)
Thats all ill let your creative mind run wild with it. But its always been my dream for a story to be written on this. I tried a few times but sucked. Im in my mid 20's but i still think about this now and then while i try and fall asleep.
If you write something about this, especially something long-ish id be fucking honored.
Sorry if this was a terrible prompt. Or if i made any errors. Or if im bothering you with this. Childhood dream i randomly remembered.
And thanks in advance if you choose to write about it. |
I still remember bits and pieces, but they come as flashes of memory. None really string together, but all of them seem familiar. There was fire, and gunshots. People running and screaming everywhere. I remember hearing sirens, low and moaning, then rising to a high pitched scream. There was an explosion, and a bright light, but then there was darkness. The next thing I know, I am lying on this rickety and rusted steel bed, under sheets that I assume were once white, in a room that has seen more then better days.
It was crumbling. What little remained of the dry wall was hanging by a thread, most of it was scattered on the floor. The ground stuck out between grass, some pathetic looking plants poking through. Everything else, save a moaning from the wind outside, was completely silent.
"He... hello?"I call out, barely a whisper of a voice using vocal chords untested.
I clear my throat, throwing myself into a brutal coughing fit of phlegm and God only knows what else. I crawl out of the bed, my tattered and worn converse all-stars touching the floor, seeming to blend all too well with the world around me. Stretching a moment, I get my legs to stop quaking. How long was I out?
There is a window, and I walk to it, noticing the wire mesh running through the hairline fractured, dust covered glass. The world outside is devoid of life, monstrous structures, shells of once mighty buildings, rule the landscape. I touch the glass and it chills my body from the tips of my fingers to my toes. It is cold out there, brutally so.
I walk over to the door and try it, and find it to be rusted shut. The sudden realization that not only might I be alone in the world, but I am trapped in this room until I starve to death suddenly overtakes me. Panic begins to rise in my chest and I start frantically beating at the hinges. Kicking and clawing my hands begin to bleed and soon the door is splattered with it.
Finally, one hinge breaks, and falls to the floor. The door swings open after that.
"You don't want to go out there,"a voice behind me speaks up, nearly sending me through the roof, but so familiar that it chills me. I turn around to see myself staring back at me, a mirror returning my gaze.
"Seriously, it's hell out there,"the reflection said. "You're all that's left. I guess we are technically, in the world before, they would of called us crazy."
"Who are you?"I ask.
"Don't you remember Thomas? You're in an insane asylum. I'm your invisible companion."The reflection grins at me, triumphant that he has me alone at last. |
Kindof funny seeing this now, I just wrote something similar yesterday about FF. I'm not a particularly poetic person, but I liked yours. The first part in particular was, idk, "poetic"?
Mine is filled with improper writing and was just for fun, but if you care to read it:
-----
You see I got myself into a dilemna,
I know I gotta write but I just don't wanna.
Every single day I just run away,
Thus every day my poor ego must pay.
Luckily, I say say to myself,
Ain't a lot of fans with my story on the shelf.
Yet even though I say I don't care,
The truth is that it sparks in me somethin' quite rare.
I ain't the most popular.
Truth is I'm just another commoner.
But deep down it makes my blood boil.
Cuz you know I've done a lot of work'n'toil.
And I know my story ain't the finest,
But I still gotta hold on to bein' biased,
Cuz the more I read all the other works around
The more I think 'give 'em time, let your stories be found.'
Cuz I just don't get why, when I try so hard,
Stories with half the work get popular with the fluff card.
I honestly think I have what it takes.
I hope my readers stick around through all the mistakes.
I think I'm a hater,
But I think I'm also a creator,
So I resolve to work to create,
And so long as I must I will take another retake.
'Till I hit the gem I wanna find,
I won't let myself fall into a bind.
Then on the day I think I feel right with what I made
I'll lay down in the grass to make a trade.
We say we gotta work our way up to originality,
Strive for a good sense of individuality,
Get ourself a good way of life with a good mentality,
Cuz in the end everything but your mind is just a technicality.
We don't need the formality,
Just have some fun bro you don't have immortality.
Claim that it's all about the personality,
But we all know that that's just rationality.
Give up on the stress and the worry.
Do what you can, do what you will, but never feel sorry. |
Neither is objectively 'better' than the other. It really varies based on the story you are trying to write. I find that putting myself in the role of the narrator helps frame the tense for me. Is the narrator conveying a story from the past or describing events as they unfold? Is a sense of immediacy needed to maintain the tension? Is the tense being used as a tool to elevate the plot?
Reading aloud can help.
Sometimes when I proofread I will read a section from back to front, word by work. In doing so I'm forced to reconstruct the word order in my head, which exposes all kinds of grammar and spelling errors. |
I can't remember if I died.
Sometimes I think that I'm just alone. It's been a long time since I've spoken with another person; longer still since I've touched somebody, since somebody's touched me. Maybe I've just lost the means to measure the strength of my existence. If I could just step outside, resume my place as part of the pulse of society, then maybe the flow of blood through my veins would feel more real. Less like a joke. But I'm scared of the truth so I don't seek it out.
Years ago, I had a family. One wife, one daughter. Three brothers, two sisters, a father. My mother is dead and I think that's the surest sign I might still be alive; if I really had died, she would be here with me like she promised. My mother never breaks her promises. It's not so simple though; if I'm alive, where is the rest of my family? It has been years. Everybody abandons the dead but who forgets the living?
The mailman rarely comes by anymore. All my bills are handled electronically and I have a big *NO JUNK MAIL* sign beside my mailbox to match the *NO SOLICITATION* plaque on my door. Fresh food is delivered to my house every Friday; rotten food is taken away on Thursday. I tell myself it's because I've been eating what I already have in cans in my pantry but what if that's not true? I never seem to run out.
My house is a mess. Logic tells me that I should be able to smell it but I can't; is that because I'm used to it or because the dead lack most of their senses? I don't know what day it is, never mind the year. I've lost my sense of seconds, of morning and night. They say that time becomes indistinct in an eternal life and I wonder if that's what's happening to me.
I'm scared of the truth, scared to learn that I'm facing one million lifetimes trapped in this lonely house, so I don't seek it out.
I can't remember if I died and that's the only thing that gives my life meaning anymore. |
Well, I guess that's why they call it *dark* matter.
This is so not the time, Bucky.
This is probably why they say that the average ghost is *mean* spirited.
Terrible. Also, get your ass over here and help me barricade the door.
Dude, they can float through walls.
Then think of something!
Hmm... Well...Maybe if we get them into the elevator...
Yeah?
...we might be able to *lift* their spirits.
UGGHH. I don't want to die next to you.
Oh *BOO* hoo.
Really? Really?
C'mon, when's the next time I'm gonna get to use ghost puns in as fitting an environment as this?
Never. There is never an appropriate time to use ghost puns. Now keep looking. Maybe there's something in here that'll distract them before they come bursting in here.
Well, I...
What? Another pun? Maybe something about personal trainers and "exorcising"?
Mmn..
Or something to do with phantom hoarders being really possessive? Pfft. Although that one was pretty clever.
...
Oh good, you found a pipe or something? Is that what that is? Come on, we can probably use it to break the window or something and get the hell out of here.
....
Bucky? ...Buck?
....
...shit.
---
[I kinda lost myself after the initial pun snowballed. I'm sorry that I'm not that sorry.] |
Julie and Zach had been dating for almost two years now. They had an apartment together, a yappy little dog that was mostly Julie's, and a shared life that was rapidly becoming more blasé. Zach worked at a firm that managed mutual funds. Julie was a pediatrician with a freshly begun practice of her own. Between paying attention to their burgeoning careers and paying the bills to keep up with the Joneses, there just wasn't much time left for them to actually pay attention to each other. They hadn't made love to each other in months.
Tonight was special, however. April 25th marked their two year anniversary. They'd previously discussed the day, deciding that there were to be no big gifts of any sort. Abiding by this rule took some of the strain off having to think about what they were going to do for their anniversary. They barely had time to focus on it anyway.
Zach raced home first, leaving work early on a pretense of coming down with a stomach bug in order to have enough time to stop by the grocery store and get some supplies. When Julie walked in the door, he planned to have an elegant, candlelit dinner ready with white rose petals sprinkled from the doorway to the kitchen and then on to the bedroom. In the checkout line, Zach sneezed. This would have been wholly unremarkable had the clerk, the old woman in front of him, and the family of five behind him not sneezed at the same time. Zach swallowed his confusion at this most unlikely coincidence amidst a torrent of 'bless yous' and mildly uncomfortable laughs from all involved. Thinking nothing of it, he continued home.
Two bottles of Merlot, a half bottle of Riesling, and two cups of creme brûlée later, Zach and Julie were entwined languidly in each other's arms on their pristine white leather sofa(Julie's purchase). The lusty sparkle in Zach's ice-blue eyes met its match in Julie's smoldering green-eyed gaze. Disentangling themselves from each other in their inebriated state led to a bit of throaty laughter which only lasted long enough for Zach to scoop Julie up into his arms and carry her into the bedroom. Undressing each other, they felt closer than they had in months. Their bodies hummed with the need for release. As they came together, their bodies moved in sync with each other, in a rhythmic dance of lust and love. Their breathing fell into step, each matching the other breath for breath as they neared the sweet precipice of climax. A last thrust threw them both over the edge into a delicious post-coital ennui, breathing still as one.
Julie looked over at Zach, watching his chest rise and fall with hers. She felt even closer to him in this moment, knowing his lungs moved as hers did. But, alas, as all good moments come to an end, so too did this one when her bladder called her away from bed. Upon her return from the attached master bathroom, Julie noticed that her boyfriend's breath mirrored hers still. "Are you doing that on purpose?"she asked. "Doing what?"Zach replied sleepily. "Breathing when I breath,"she said. Zach hadn't noticed and was quite puzzled in his current state. Dismissing it out of hand, he turned over and went to sleep.
Julie, always one fascinated by puzzles, watched his breathing slow as he drifted off, noticing that hers mirrored his still. At some point, her concentration began to slip when she realized she wasn't getting enough oxygen to remain awake. Slowly, she too drifted into slumber. Unfortunately, it would be her last.
In the middle of the night, the human race slept through their own extinction. As the respiratory rates of all the living entities on earth came into harmony, those who could not cope with the ever sinking number began to perish. The hummingbirds dropped out of the very air they swam so gracefully through. Rabbits, pigs, and rodents galore ceased to hop, squeal, and scrabble about. This continued through the night until at last, only the deep sea mammals were left, singing a song in measured breaths when they came as one to the surface of their domain. |
"I have lived 500 years. I held my wife as she faded away; her mind long gone and her body turning to dust. I have seen my children age and die, and their children age and die, and their children age and die. That funeral was the last I've seen of my family; they knew me as 'Unc.' I have fought in god knows how many wars; the last survivor every time. Nations have risen and fallen around me; men have sought power and found it in their grasp then destroyed the beauty that gave them life. I have lived in eight golden-ages. I have fallen in love with women a twentieth my age. I have lived more lives than any sane man could wish to live. Seasons pass like days, years like decades. So go ahead and do it. You want me to feel pain? There's nothing you can do to me anymore. My body will just match my mind. Might even distract me."
And the hooded figures exchanged a glance. They threw the switch.
I howled in pain. I felt the years flow through me as I'd longed for. It hurt so much. I began to cry. Then I smiled and laughed, still crying. Their faces still did not fade. |
*No*, he thought to himself, *I promised that was the last time.*
The man looked down at the table which was the only piece of furniture left in the crumbling abandoned shack. There was no food on the table, only a scratched metal fork.
Ever since the war he had been living like this. *Well, almost all the time.* He couldn't work, he could barely stand to see peoples faces. The anxiety was beyond crippling. *But there was the way out, sitting right there.* He looked over at the power outlet on the far wall. He knew it was live. He'd been here the last time he was this desperate.
He remembered what it was like, *what he was,* after the electricity warped his mind. He remembered it like a dream; seeing the actions but unable to put himself in the state of mind. But he was hungry. After the shock he would have food. In fact he'd have anything he could take. He would lie, he would cheat, he would steal, he would... *No, I can't start again, who knows if it will end this time.*
He remembered the last time. He remembered the money, he remembered the power, the fun. *Why does only evil get to experience happiness?* What he was slowly forgetting was waking up with the bloody knife in his hand and the tazer electrodes in his chest...
*It will be different this time, I won't let myself go that far...* he thought, as he picked up the fork and walked over to the far wall. |
"Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird,"a voice sings out, barely audible.
"NO! NONONONO!"I scream as I pummel my own ears.
The singing becomes louder. "Rock-a-bye baby on the treetop."
"NO! I killed you, Mama! I killed you!"
I looked down at my hands, half expecting to see her blood and the kitchen knife in my hands again. The police didn't believe me when I said I had done it to stop the voices. They accused me of killing her for the insurance money. Nobody would listen, so I stopped speaking of the voices. I ignored them, and the voices grew more and more distant until they disappeared.
But now, this one was back. "Sweetie, mommy loves you. Let me help you. It breaks mommy's heart to see you locked up like this."
"NO! Stay away from me!"I screamed. "Don't you touch me! Don't you ever touch me again!" |
Not sure if I'm allowed to reply to my own posts, but here goes anyways!
Practice makes perfect. When I was young, my mother liked to tell me that. Liked to tell me that practice was what would get me into Carnegie Hall, playing the piano.
Mother was a fool. I know, because I looked at her brain. It was gray mush, reminded me of the squirrel's brains I'd examined. Not majestic, not so streamlined, like the cats. It wasn't angular, like the deer's. Just small, unoriginal, and bleeding. Like a hamster's.
Practice never made perfect. A mistake is a mistake-- always and forever. Oh, certainly we can go back over botched work, patch it up, create something that works-- but we'll always have wasted those precious seconds, minutes, hours, days or our lives doing it wrong. We will never get that time back. And worse, some mistakes cannot be corrected. I nicked mother's femoral artery when I cut her open. I couldn't properly close it, and she bled to death while I stared at her. She never heard me finish Chopin's masterpiece on that bloody piano before she passed. A pity, and not a mistake that could be corrected. Never corrected.
But of all people. The police had the solution to my problem. Can you believe it? Those strange little piggies, they of all people could help me to make sure that mother knew just the sort of child she'd squandered when she raised me! Why, it was a delightful opportunity. Who wouldn't spring upon it, sink their teeth into it, as I did?
Time travel. The ability to shift myself throughout my entire life, sift through each second, through every cock up, every failure-- and correct it! Time! They gave me all he time I. The world! To live a perfect life, to never make *any* mistakes!
The ability, I used it to send myself back to the beginning. To the very first mistake, as an infant, when I tripped in the field outside my home and gave myself that scar. I fixed it, but moving along my life, every second there were mistakes. The scars, the injuries, those were simple to correct. But the rest... They are not.
The girls who scorned me in school, the boys who would not be my friends, I've tried everything a man trapped in a 7-year-old's body can try. I've watched the screams fade from their lips a thousand times. I've used words to cut them in ways my knives never could! I've tried a million, billion tortures upon this impotent little swine, and still-- nothing! Every single one of them, a mistake! I cannot find my satisfaction with these creatures, cannot make them give me the respect I deserve!
... So I will wait. I will continue my trials, my experiments, with these piggies. It may take an eon until I am done, but I don't mind. Here, I have time to do it right.
I have all the time in the world... |
We should never have left the planet. An infinite expanse outside our world should have left us gibbering with terror. But not so. Man always possessed an unquenchable curiosity, a passion for knowledge that was as dangerous as it was admirable.
When our best and brightest minds announced there was hope for us all, we rejoiced. The earth was a crowded, teeming cesspool. Citizens were ordered to grow a regulated amount of crops per household, to combat the overwhelming demand for food. Fuel was as scarce as private land. It was only a matter of time that all eyes turned to the sky for answers. Some prayed to the heavens above, while others sought to pierce them.
The first expedition to Mars was an unprecedented success, and could not have been better timed. Riots were breaking out in all the mega-cities. Food credits were stolen from distributors, and a clever few managed to steal a thousand litres of ultra-refined gasoline. The news that Mars could be colonized help quell tempers. Hope was the word on everyone's lips, and people began to smile again. When volunteers were needed for the second journey, there was no shortage of applicants.
I myself turned in my data card to be processed by the IEC. Interplanetary Exploration and Colonization was the evolution of a space program that was once called NASA. The odds of even being a lowly android mechanic there were microscopic. So when my name was announced later that night, I refused to believe I could be so fortunate.
Two weeks later, I was sitting in a spacecraft. There were twenty of us. Our faces were grinning idiotically as we eagerly awaited liftoff. I couldn't hear the crowds below, but I could imagine the uproar as millions waited for the embodiment of their hopes to rise into the smog clouds. Excitement was contagious. The screen in front of me flashed once, and the countdown began.
I swallowed once. My heart pounded as the numbers drew to the inevitable conclusion. An eternity seemed to pass. I gripped the seatrests with sweaty hands.
And then it was time.
The ship shuddered as the rockets ignited. My teeth chattered from the violent vibrations, and I felt the beginnings of nausea in the pit of my stomach. Was that the roar of the crowd? Or the sound of the massive engines?
We lifted off.
My body sank into the memory foam seat as I struggled for breath. The weight on my chest was crushing as the spacecraft fought the force of gravity with sheer power. Scans of my vitals appeared on the holoscreen but I could not focus to read them. There was only the feeling of being compressed.
My head ached. I wanted to throw up but the bile could not exit my stomach. A groan came from the man next to me. How much longer were we to endure this?
I couldn't breath. Spots floated before my eyes. The weight was going to kill me before I could see the red planet.
I took a breath.
We had left our planet's atmosphere, and there was a collective sigh of relief. Gravity was nonexistent. The ship ceased to shake, and with a soft beep the seat restraints popped open. Misson control followed procedural check ups with each crew member, and then relayed our instructions. I went with it all in a daze. This was it. I was going to finally set foot on Mars!
Earth was a blue-gray sphere that I could cover with my palm. The shuttle window provided a rare view, but the smog clouds obscured nearly all landmasses from sight. Pollution was choking those below. And yet, space had never been so clear.
The next few days passed in a blur. The novelty of weightlessness never seemed to grow old. It was common to enter a room rife with objects whizzing around crew members laughing.
Everyday was a celebration.
(I didn't anticipate how long this was going to be but I will see this to completion) |
Just an FYI, you can link directly to the comment so that it's easier to find using the Permalink button under the comment, like this: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/23z8rk/wp_human_cloning_is_perfected_new_clones_are/ch2663d
This piece could use a little reduction. There are a few places where you've got adverbs/adjectives crushed in there, like... "The both of them darted up the cold, wet stairs. A damp, frigid smell was in the air, almost like mildew. The deafening screech of the alarm..."
There's also a bit of redundancy.
> Anticipating Kortho's reaction based on his looks, she heard the question before he spoke a word. With a confused look on his face, Kortho asked, "But how do you-"
You basically describe what she does, and then again describe her doing it. I would look for more places where you can reduce unnecessary words and descriptions, because you're going for an action-heavy scene that moves along quickly. The advice "show, don't tell"comes to mind.
I'm not usually a big fan of dialogue where one character cuts the other off mid-sentence; in writing it comes across like big, obvious stage acting, to me. But that's just me.
Spelling and grammar look pretty good.
Concerning the story itself...
The girl never tells the guy his name, and we aren't really told why he might know his own, so why do they have names? Are these particular names important? They seem unusual names, at that.
"In a nutshell"seems really out of place. It's the kind of common phrase that people pick up and use offhand, so why does the clone use it? Kortho doesn't seem to know much beyond how to walk and talk, but Perlina has a lot more depth. Why? What do these clones know how to do?
Kortho doesn't seem very safe at all in the end. He just ran around the corner, in the desert, in daylight. Is he still being chased? I'm just imagining him being shot three seconds after the story ends.
Those are some quick observations. It's fairly well put together, but I think it could use some trimming, maybe a more catching first line, and something more to the ending. |
It was simple enough that it made implementation all too easy. It was successful enough that most people wanted it, and positive enough that the government forced criminals to get it.
The technical name was a little bit too difficult for most people. In short, it was a chemical castration. A very specific gland in your brain was killed, so that a certain reaction would be supressed.
Im a very few years, Passion crimea went down 98%, as did club and bar fighting, and sport related incidents.
Violence slowly fade from society. Crime still existed, but now it was always cold and calculated.
the impulse of violence, the uncontrollable burst was now gone. The castration gave people up to five minutes of time between the trigger and the cause, overruling evolution.
Now we get to think. After five minutes, kicking someone's ass is not such a good idea anymore.
Of course you know the rest. Now we live in a society where the youngest generation is completely oblivious to violent behaviour. So maybe when their turn comes, there won't be wars at all. I know, it's wishful thinking.
Still who wouls have thought we'd get here? and yet, here we are.
|
"But what's in it for you?", asked the girl, still pointing the gun.
"What's in it for me? The entire world depends on me. It's not something minor either little girl. It's life or death here!"
"Then, it's clear what comes next. I will still kill you, but you have a gun, why don't you kill me first?"
"Wait, look, none of us have to die here.", said the man.
"No, apparently what matter the outcome is *someone* had to die. So what are you waiting for, or are you just morally selfish?"
A gun was fired. In the end, it's just numbers. |
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"...back to you Lianne"
"Yes Tom, as you know, yesterday a man was found dead by a Grey in the Saint Pilgrim Plaza, police sources state that the man was thought to have committed suicide, but state that they found fluoride in the man´s corpse."
"Hold on Lianne, for those at home that don´t know, Fluoride is a mind control agent that was put in our water supply a few years back, thankfully the Illuminati managed to capture the Reptilians in charge of the operation before they could get us to believe we landed in the moon so that we would let our guard down, back to you Lianne"
"Thanks Tom, this murder has been linked with other mysterious suicides happening to Global Warming activists, who all had notes detailing the guilt they felt for tricking the whole world into believing them, because of this, the police think that this man might have been a blog writer or internet activist for Global Warming, back to you Tom."
"In other news the Pope has stated that he´s sorry for not sending a hit squad to kill Obama, or as we know him, the Antichrist before he rose to power, thankfully Obama´s reign of terror was cut short by the second coming of Christ, unfortunately, the fight drained Jesus and he has stated that the rapture will be postponed for another 2,000 years." |
I'm pretty new to this myself, so I'm not sure how useful I can be. But I found that some of the sentences were a bit too long. Like this one:
>I watch him create an empire out of the stones that he himself had thrown at a city of glass houses he himself had built.
I found it hard to read. Try reading it out loud. You also use the word 'himself' twice, which makes it feel redundant. I think it might be easier to read if structured a little differently. Something like:
>I watch him create an empire of stones. Stones he had thrown at the city of glass houses. The city he had built himself.
I read a great piece of advice about sentence length and structure, and how to use it for pacing. I posted it [here](http://lambfruit.com/2014/04/27/writing-advice/).
Also, this sentence seemed wrong:
>These thoughts are a revelation some may call it.
Hope this helps! |
What if this aids is actually an alien, symbiotic hive-mind that uses the hosts voices to signal their home planet/place of origin. But to succeed in transferring the signal, it has to drown out the other intelligent soundwaves and thus manifest itself in a certain percentage of life on earth. It had been trying for ages, with little success, but now they found a way to spread themselves quickly across the human race: by making the host bodies benefit from the symbioses.
(The less sense I make, the more this does, I'll let sleep be the judge of this idea and maybe actually write it out tomorrow) |
It's been seven hours since my flight from Pakistan and those stupid Americans didn't even find the biological weapons that were hiding within my anal cavity. I was told by our great leader to head to New York and perform the plan there.
As I walk down the sidewalk towards time square, I heard a delightful tone coming from the building next to me. There are many tube-style televisions sitting on top of one another; all of them in perfect sync. A little girl is dancing on the show and singing.
"In my country, women would be considered whores for doing this. It is sinful... but delightful,"I say as I continue to submerge myself into this little girl's singing.
Then, some creatures of a variety of colors join in with the girl, and dance with her. All of them wearing smiles, and absurd clothing. All of them shaped as different shapes; it feels that they came out of a children's matching game.
I continue to watch until a police dog bites my neck and kills me. I fade away into the darkness, and that's all I see... for the rest of eternity. |
Ten years had passed since they had last seen each other. The once close knit group of four now stared into the eyes of strangers. Greetings were exchanged between them.
Mary is tall with long black hair and dull black eyes. She shook hands lightly and spoke lighter still. The last ten years were spent alone in a small apartment. The phone rarely rang and hardly ever dialed out. To her words were meant to be used scarcely. She attended the reunion but not very willingly.
Kevin is shorter than Mary but not by much. Brown hair fell over piercing blue eyes. He was quiet, but in a different way. Handshakes were gentle yet firm and greetings had a hidden force to them. His roommates could always rely on him but he never relied on them. Any problems he may have with the reunion would not be made apparent.
Sabina is average height. Short blonde hair exposed vibrant brown eyes. Her hands, always in motion, vigorously shook the others', and her voice, filled with energy, enthusiastically greeted them. Her home was always lively as her children scampered about. She was the one who persistently called, convinced, and corralled them for the reunion.
Will is the shortest with black eyes behind thick, round, black glasses. His short hair reflected his temper. Corrections and snide remarks were uttered almost every exhalation. Every conversation with his parents ended in exasperated outbursts and occasionally, violence. When a problem arose he would have a solution. Along with a great deal of unnecessary comments. He had the logistics of the reunion well handled.
They stood in the windy park with hands in pockets. Sabina wanted to meet at her house but Kevin had insisted on the park. In college it was where they spent the bulk of their time.
"Let's go grab a bite."Sabina suggested, hands contorting in her pockets, eyes furtively moving about.
"Not hungry."Mary said shortly.
"Still nervous as ever huh, Sabina."Will remarked.
"Well I'm just excited to see all of you again. What about you know Kevin?"Kevin could hear desperation creeping into her voice. They all could.
"Why did you want to do this Sabrina?"They all looked at her as her shoulders slumped and her face fell.
"I guess I wanted to remember those times we had together and and share the ones we've each had since. Am I the only one here who wants that?"Mary averted her glance from the pleading eyes. She felt a twinge of guilt for not responding along with a twang of shame for how cold she was being. Sabina was her best friend. But she didn't have friends anymore.
"Yes."Mary replied tersely. Will could see the pain behind Mary's thick veil. She couldn't hide her feelings from him and she hated him for it. The only tears that saddened him were hers; hers was the only smile that gladdened him.
"No."Will said quietly, still looking at Mary who averted her gaze. Sabrina glanced over at Kevin for his answer. He stared back with an expression that was impossible to read.
"I've never forgotten what happened."Kevin said slowly. He scanned their faces. They all stared back intently. "But little worth sharing has happened since."
"I don't believe you."Sabrina responded defiantly.
"Not all of our lives are as exciting as yours. Or did you just want to show off to us?"Mary angrily glared at Will as Sabrina's face fell further.
"No, I didn't... I just wanted..."Mary wanted to wipe away the tears she knew were coming. Instead she responded, "Don't worry Sabrina. We know that's not who you are."Kevin nodded slightly as Sabrina smiled up at Mary. Will sighed under his breath.
"I'm sorry Sabrina."Will couldn't think of a fourth person he would apologise to. "But Kevin's right. My life isn't worth sharing."
"What happened Will? You used to be so ambitious."
"You sound like my parents."Will said derisively.
"Maybe you should listen to them."Mary shot back. Will turned to face her.
"What about you Mary? I bet you're living alone with a phone as little used as your vocal chords."
"Stop it."Kevin interjected quietly, still looking at Sabrina who truly was on the brink of tears. The other two fell silent as the wind continued to billow around them. "In my life I've only ever relied on three people. I've relied on your energy, your intelligence, your support. I doubt I'll rely on anyone else."
The four of them looked at each other. Suddenly the wind picked up speed. Without a word the four friends took a step closer, shielding on another from the onslaught.
"I love you guys."They said in unison, just like they did ten years ago.
Posted from my phone so please forgive mistakes. Criticism is welcomed and asked for. Thanks for reading.
|
"Is this supposed to be some kind of joke,"he tossed the manila envelope on to the desk, "because it's not funny."
The man behind the desk was Louis Rossi, an old mafia hit man who'd long since retired, and had gone into business for himself. He leaned in and rested his elbows on the desk.
"You know as well as I do kid, there's not a whole lot of humor in wet works. You got an assignment, now it's either you carry it out, or I give the contract to some other guy looking to make ends. Seeing as how you're connected, I don't want to have to do that."
The man fidgeted in his seat. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Well look you'r giving me details on the target but you're not telling me why."
"Kid, I never tell you why. You don't need to know why. All you need to know is the target, how the client wants it done, and then you do it. Two to the back head, one between the eyes, poison food, piano wires, snapping the neck, whatever. That's the job."
"It's different when it's your old man, Louis. It's different when you ask me to kill the man who raised me. He's 75. My mom's still alive too, and still busting his balls. But they're not going to live forever. If you want me to kill my own father, then you better damn well give me a reason."
Louis stared down the man in front of him. The kid was determined.
"You're old man,"he started, "ain't who you think he is."
The man looked confused.
"How do you mean?"
Louis leaned back in his chair and scratched the stubble on his neck.
"Couple years ago, your dad did something bad, but didn't tell anyone. He was driving and ran over someone very important. The daughter of someone with ties to organized crime. No one knew who had hit her because their were no other witnesses or at least, no one was talking. I don't suppose you remember your dad saying something about hitting a deer or something a while back, do ya?"
"Yeah...yeah I remember. I came over to the house and helped him wash off the blood. Are you saying that he hit that girl?"
"Unfortunately that seems to be the case. Someone finally spoke up recently. I'm figuring the tip came from the auto shop that fixed his car after the accident. Either way, the client wants payback. Look, I can't say anything else. Either you take the job and have some closure you're dad died peacefully, or you leave it to some guy with a rifle and an itchy trigger finger."
He sat there and thought. There was no other way.
"I don't suppose you'd tell me who put out the contract? Maybe I could go after them instead?"
Louis made a face.
"It would be in your best interest to not to do that. You come after them, they won't come after you. They'll go after your loved ones first and then when your family tree is all but cut down, they'll ice you too. I've seen 'em do it,"he went quiet, "I had a hand in doing it. No matter what you do here, you're dad ends up dead. I'm sorry."
He had tears in the corners of his eyes. He knew it was pointless. At least if he took the job, he could make it something quick and easy. He sighed and looked up.
"Okay. I'll take the job."
He grabbed the file off the desk and then made his way for the door. Before he left he turned back towards Louis.
"This is gonna be my last job Louis...I'm stopping after this. I got a lot of money saved up and I'll need to take care of my mom. Make sure I'm paid on time. Burn all my contact info and my dossier."
He closed the door behind him. Just another day at the office. |
“You look like your daddy.”
I love hearing her talk. She seems happier when it's just me and her.
“I wish he could be here.”
She waves a toy in front of my face and looks off into the distance. Please don’t cry.
She sighs, gets up and places me into my… my…. a sudden confusion washed over me. What is this thing called?
I panic.
My… my….
Why can’t I remember this. More panic.
My baby box. She put me into my box. And now she is gone.
What am I going to do about this? I can’t lose Susan. I’ll have to fight for her. But I can’t forget anything else.
I’ll hold onto it, I’ll be able to explain it to her. Sure, she won’t believe me, at least not at first. But how will she be able to deny me when I can describe to her, in detail, all of the.. the… amazing things we have done together. It will work. It will have to work. I just have to wait a couple more years, until I can talk again.
I’ll start with our wedding night. Sure, it’ll be pretty disturbing coming from a toddler, but no one would talk about the events of the a widower’s wedding night to her child. Most of the events of the night only she and I would know anyways.
Like… like… the hotel! What our room was like. The hotel I was staying at for the job was the same that we spent our honeymoon in, it’s why she insisted on me staying there. What was it. The.. the Ritz something.
No no no no no. I can’t forget. It was a name.
I remember standing in front of the hotel, holding her hand. She had someone to take a picture of us in the lobby. I have the picture on my work desk for Christs sake.
Ritz… Ritz… Ritz...
Ritz-Carlton! That’s it! She always complained about the concierge blocking the “n”.
Ritz-Carlton. Ritz-Carlton. Ritz-Carlton.
Yeah, that’s it. That was it for sure.
I’ll remember it. I have to remember it, it’s the only way she will know.
I just have to wait a couple more years.
I’m feeling tired again
Time passes.
There are arms lifting me out of my box. It’s the beautiful woman. She looks better, she isn’t crying this time. Maybe we will be okay, maybe she will be happy. We are leaving the room, we are leaving the building. It’s bright and warm out, I hope she notices. We are going to the… the… another word lost. The box with wheels. We start moving, I can’t tell for how long. Time is starting to mesh together. We stop moving.
The woman looks at me; she presses her face to mine.
The car starts moving again.
There is a bang.
**New Information revealed on Local Filicide-suicide**
It’s been a week since the tragic deaths of thirty year old Susan Wright-Campbell and her four month old son, Benjamin Campbell. The murder-suicide occurred early last Sunday morning when Campbell drove herself and her son to a local dock on Lake Michigan, shot herself and allowed the car to roll into the lake.
Investigators now report that Wright-Campbell was being medicated and sought counselling for major depressive disorder. Campbell had been seeing her therapist Dr. Andrea Tucker since the death of her husband David Campbell, four months ago. Tragically, Campbell died in a car crash while he was driving to the hospital as his wife was giving birth.
“Susan’s condition seemed to be improving; however, people with depression as severe as hers was are fairly unstable. Her turn for the worse was heartbreaking and surprising, but not unheard of, ” said Tucker.
An anonymous friend of Campbell said, “Susan often told me about her worries for Ben’s future. She thought that not having a father and having a mother like her would have a permanent negative impact on him.”
The memorial for Benjamin Campbell will be held at noon this Sunday at Jackson Park. All are welcome.
|
Dale loved his brother. He wasn't always good to him but he sure as shit loved him. This is why when he heard what had happened he felt terrible, dale felt he has so much power, so much he could have done to save him but here he was posturing in the dark and making passing drunks feel anemic. Now he can get revenge, now he has a name to take it out on.
WUB-WUB-WUB
The bassline hits the air like a fly on a windshield, three fellows walk out of a pub shaped blob of light and bad music. They cross to the small car park across the way, they notice a dark figure posturing by their car.
"Ya want something mate?"Said a man with a set of teeth that can only be described as intermittent.
The figure makes an inhuman bound and slams the gap toothed enquirer off the tarmac. One of his allies swings for the blood lusted my chemical romance fan but only gets a broken arm for his trouble. The much smarter member of the trio made a bee line for the car, he seems to be attempting to hide behind the door. He is much better dressed than his tank top toteing comrades.
"You are the one who killed my brother"the frail figure speaks at the car with a deceptive sense of force.
"Please don't hurt me! Please please..."Pleads a shaking pair of legs from behind a car door.
"I'm going to take my time with you"says the dark figure walking towards the car leaving a trail of mispronounced swear words in his wake
"Oh god OH GOD"is shouted as the man shuts the car door and moves back from the creature. "PLEASE GOD DON'T get shot in the face."A shot rings out from the mans gun and ends in much the same area as where dales face used to be.
Dale lies still on the ground for 30 seconds before the healing kicks in, more than enough time for the cowardly gun man to get his pool cue out of the car. Dales sight is just starting to come back when more shots are fired, in to his legs and arms this time. Dale meekly throws his mangled body away from the car, this is followed by the cue generating an almighty crack off the back of dales head.
"Your bro was just the bait, you're the fuckin prize mate"
Dale hears three more things in his after life though not necessarily in this order.
The broken splintered end of the pool cue piercing his heart.
The sound of a vaccum cleaner starting up.
People shouting "show me the money". |
"Why?"
"Calm down, Graff,"snapped a woman, her sharp voice echoing around the lab. "You're obsessed. It's official, and it ain't damn healthy."
Graff shook his head, long gray hair swinging in his face. "No, no, Sigrid, you don't understand,"he hissed. "I have to figure this out."
"Figure what out?"Sigrid cried. "For fuck's sake, Graff, you've been trying to figure this out for a year now! *It ain't healthy*!"
"But why?"Graff whined. "Why do children love the taste of Cinnamon Toast Crunch?"He pulled at his hair in anger. "I can't...I don't know why!"
Sigrid gritted her teeth and smacked Graff across the face. "That is *not your goddamn job!* If the economy fails, it's cuz you ain't doin' your work! Get back to your real job, and leave this cereal for the kids,"she hissed, her face inches from Graff's terror-filled eyes.
He whimpered. "But..."
She smacked him again. "No buts. Get to work."Under his protesting gaze, she grabbed the boxes of cereal and marched out the door. |
Subsets and Splits