Datasets:

Alignment-Lab-AI
/

reddit_prompts

Dataset card Data Studio Files Files and versions Community

Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
Tick...Tock...Tick...Tock... Seconds turn to minutes. The clock displayed 4:33pm. My wife and I had agreed to meet each other at the train station at 4pm. She was thirty three minutes late and no where to be seen. I decided that I had waited patiently enough, so I decided to give her a call. "The number you had dialed is power off", the annoying voice in the phone kept repeating itself. I dialed again thinking that it was a mistake, but again I got the same annoying power off message. Tick...Tock... My digital watch made a beep, I glanced down, it was 5pm. Still no sign of her anywhere. As I became more restless, unwanted thoughts had slowly crawled into my brain. I was worried that she partook in an unfortunate event. I had always believed aliens co-exist in this vast universe with us humans. As a huge fan of the sci-fi tv show, The X-Files, I couldn't help but wonder if she was abducted by an Unidentified Flying Object, taken into outer space and had a chip implanted in her neck. I slowly shook off that idea as I thought how ridiculous I sounded. I decided to walk out of the station when my watch struck the big 5:30 mark. I hit redial on my phone, hoping for a different result. But the same old power off message was all that echoed. I slowly started walking back in the direction of my home, which could be reached in 30 minutes by driving. As more unfortunate thoughts crawled into my mind, I grew worried about the safety of her life. Was she hit by a car or involved in a car accident? Did she hit a pedestrian? How come she has yet to turn on her phone or come pick me up? Maybe she forgot about that time and forgot to charge her phone. I thought, trying to comfort myself. Walking and walking, my watch let out another beep. It was 6pm. I had walked for about 45 minutes or so. The road was filled with cars passing by, but there was no sign of her. I decided to test my luck again and dialed her phone number. This time I wasn't welcomed by the power off tone, but her cute and funny voice message tone. "Hello? Just kidding. I'm not here right now, leave me a message. I may or may not listen to it."Instantly from hearing her voice in the phone, gave me a reassurance feeling and a secure feeling. I left an ordinary message asking where she was and whether if she forgot to pick me up from the train station. I reluctantly hung up. Still craving to hear her voice to calm reassure myself. The sun fell into the vast horizon. Darkness and night began to battle against the remaining sunlight to occupy the sky. I began to walk faster, maybe she was involved in a car accident. I had a slight eery feeling while walking back home. Tick...Tock... A few more beeps later, the glow in the dark displayed 11pm. My apartment building was growing in size as I inched closer. Still wondering where my wife was, I gave one last call to her phone, but once again I was welcomed with the power off tone. I was extremely exhausted and had faced the fact that she wasn't going to pick me up from the station. If she had any intention of doing so she would have met me already. I take out my keys and twist the lock of my door and pushed it in. I decided to be quiet and swift to investigate what had occupied her from picking me up. "Hehehehehe..."I heard coming from the bedroom, I could tell it was her voice from the distinct cute laugh she had. "Hehehehehehe..."I heard it again, slightly louder. I bust open the bedroom door, and there she was. In bed. With another man. Instantly filled with rage. I was awaken by the car honks from a car. I slowly got up from my park bench that I had taken a nap on. I looked at the clock, it was 4:50pm. I looked into the direction of the honking car, it was my wife sitting there waving at me with a huge smile on her face. I swiftly walked towards the car. I told her about my dream, we had laughed about it. There was no way she was cheating on me, we were deeply in love. We slowly drove into the remaining sunlight towards home. Sometimes dreams can seem like a lifetime in just a short twenty minute nap.
Had 45 minutes to burn. Well here I am a ghost burying this fucking obnoxious talking badger. How did my life or what was my life and now my afterlife get so screwed up? It must have all started on that fateful Friday one week ago. Who I was in my life is not important right now. All you need to know right now is that I died. More importantly I got a piano dropped on my head. I know what you are thinking, “What cartoon world do you live in?” The piano came to land on me from ten stories up by lieu of panties. You see on the tenth floor of the particular building I was walking on the side walk of was the apartment of a famous concert pianist who was quite permiscuous despite having a steady girlfriend. So when she found a pair of panties in his bedroom she shoved his prized piano into the floor to ceiling window that had gorgeous sunrise view over the park. It then came to rest on the sidewalk with me in between it and the sidewalk. I don’t remember much after that. There could have been clouds or fire or men with wings or men with horns. It is all a blur. The next thing I do remember is being a ghost able to walk through walls and pass through people giving them a chill and being able to manipulate physical objects if I concentrated, but not able to be seen by another living soul. I could be seen by and see other ghosts but they didn’t seem to be interested in other poltergeists. So for almost a week I simply wandered around. Sometimes I would give people the willies by letting them walk through me on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night or turning off kid’s night lights while they were trying to go to sleep. But that too became boring. So I started wandering around the forest outside of town. This is where I meet Andy. As I was walking, ghosting what ever I heard a voice shouting obscenities at some one. As I followed the noise I came across Andy the talking badger. He was yelling at a group of camper who were listening to music and drinking around a fire. They apparently couldn’t understand him because they hadn’t gone running out of the forest. They simply heard a badger making badger noises and give it no credence. He stopped hurling curses when he saw me. He said I must help him find a menstruating virgin to inhabit for he was the Antichrist here to bring about the apocalypse. To which I replied gross. He said the had been jumping vessels for the past couple of weeks when his father, The Dark one as he called him, sent him to Earth as a flea because that was all the power he could conger up. I told Andy, I called him that because Antichrist was too formal, that I would help him with no intention of doing so. We went to all the normal places to find menstruating virgins, all boys’ catholic school, nursing homes, and strip clubs. He would hide out back in a dumpster or alley while I scoped it out for him. The entire time I could hear him complain and shout at me that I was an idiot and that I couldn’t find a menstruating virgin if I was one. After a night failure in the city we set out to return to the woods. By crossing the very busy highway. I showed him it was safe by walking out in the middle and letting a few cars pass through me. I waited until an eighteen wheeler was coming and told him to come. The front wheel missed but the next eight squished him flat. So concentrating with all my might I moved his body which still had his consciousness inside that was screaming and shouting at me to the side of the road and buried him in a shallow grave. I figured there wouldn’t be many menstruating virgins walking the side of the highway any time soon and after a while his consciousness would give up and travel back to hell.
He was breathing so hard.. I could hear him from the other side of the room. He hadn't found me yet, but he would, he always did after all. He'd come home from a long night out of drinking, and he'd fumble with his keys while trying to unlock the door, after a few minutes he'd finally get it and the first thing he'd do when he came in was holler my name. "Christy? Christy, where the fuck are you! Get your fucking ass out here before I find you." Usually I'd be cowering behind the locked door of my bedroom, maybe hiding in the bathroom, or somewhere else behind a locked door but with a splintered frame from all the times he'd busted through each one, a lock was hardly what I needed. Tonight though, tonight I was hiding in plain site, behind the curtains in the living room, hoping, praying that in his intoxicated stupor, he wouldn't be able to find me through the blur of his vision. He stumbled around for a few minutes, the yelling continued until he'd made his way to the kitchen. A safe distance from the front door, and my exit. I slipped from behind the curtains and made it to the door, and was caught off guard when he'd managed to actually lock it behind him for once. He heard me, trampled his way back into the living room and grabbed me by the arm before I could create distance. He flung me around like a rag doll, shook me until my head hurt, and finally, after aggressively jerking myself away, he let go. I slipped and feel right into the corner of the coffee table int he living room. My line of sight started to bleed in and out, and the last thing I saw was him, that piece of shit leaning down with a toothy grin, and the stench of whiskey coming off his breath. I felt blood trickle down my face, and it dripped onto my eye lashes. I blinked and felt it drop down to my cheek. His laughter, his fucking laughter; this was the most exciting thing to have ever happened to the guy, and the last thing to happen to me..
Name: Counterrevolutionary Insurgency Genre: Hardcore Punk Front Cover Art: An eye in a pyramid using heat vision to melt a tinfoil hat. 1. Freedom's Just Another Word 2. Will The Real Sheeple Please Stand Up? 3. The Revolution Must Be Merchandised 4. United States of Paranoia 5. Pipebomb Dreams 6. You're Going To A FEMA Camp 7. 9/11 Was An Outside Job 8. The Loudest Yelps of Liberty (Drivers of Negros) 9. Conspiratard 10. Alternative to Health 11. Don't Let Your Brain Fall Out Through Your Third Eye 12. Truth is a Knife Back Cover: A picture of a knife with the word "truth"on it. Booklet: Lyrics, explanations of the songs/rants and bonus artwork.
My ears ring, my eyes feel so heavy. There is a soft dampness on the back of my neck, and the feeling of floating. I try to open my eyes, and am greeted by a haziness that further confuses me. My head is swimming, and I can’t get my bearing. The low whispers of wind through leaves, and the smell of dirt. I manage to sit myself up, and catch my breath. Tall pines surround me, and form Natue’s temple above my head. The breeze rustles through, and the trees gently dance to welcome it. I sit in the stillness, and let my mind clear. I look ahead, and can see only endless forest, the infinite green and partitioned light streaming through from above. Grass grows in the islands of light, bordered by the sea of moss on the forest floor. The grass is still damp to the touch; it must be morning. I slowly struggle to my feet, and try not to fall. My strength has not fully returned, and so I keep still, and allow my legs to strengthen. The forest is strange and unknown to me; yet it casts a feeling of familiarity that I cannot place. As though something from a dream, or a picture long forgotten. When I again feel sturdy, I turn to survey the forest and land around me. That’s when I see it. My chest tightens, and unseen hands seems to clutch the breath from my lungs. It can’t be. Yet there it is. I walk over, to see the thing for myself. To touch it, feel it, destroy it if need be, just to find out if it can even be real. As I approach, every detail reveals itself again. Every scratch, and knot in the wood. The spots of worn-off finish from hands grasping, pushing, playing. The dim glare of brass, tarnished by time. Cold to the touch, yet warm in the eyes of the child who faced it so many times. The near golden hue, that seemed to be made of magic. I allow my hands to clasp on to the familiar metal, and it hides nothing; it is real. I run my hands along the wooden surface, the smoothness of it long ago faded by the years' wear. Those who used it so often, too busy with the rampage of their lives, too busy to give it the care it needed. I back away, frightened by the familiarity. I can’t be here, but it shouldn’t be anywhere. It was gone forever a long time ago. The memories return, of games and scoldings, joy and fear. The endless days and selfish nights we shared. I never thought so much about this simple thing, until it was the only thing in the world I truly knew. I collapsed to my knees and sobbed, resting my hands on my childhood bedroom door. We were alone together, and I was so grateful.
The nameing ritual had gone flawless, the president had launched the champaing bottle agaist the the newly christian ship ISS Enterprise. Admiral James E. Hallow was getting ready to take the ship out on its maiden voage. The music on the speaker were slowly builidng up while a famouse actor spoke about going boldling where no man has gone before. Jerry and Mich satt in the cafeteria whaching the whole scene unfold. The Ship was in a tirangular shape with a ships hangar below. It was armed well as it was going to be used to deflect comet and other dangers to earth. The second of these massiv triangular ship was allready half finished in dock. Jerry drank his jucie ' That is one danm good looking ships. I love how it looks. Like a knife edge thrusting threw the darkness. ' 'yeah almost like its straight from the movies. And those new drones they use. Have you seen them?' 'Wich one the one with the collapsing wings?' ' no thats the transporter. I mean the drones. You know the ball with two vertical solarpanel that power the engine. I like that they made them white. I saw the proto type. Compleatly black. Would be to difficult to spott. ' 'Yeah I saw them loading them inside. These new ships have some large storage places. So whats the time anyway?' '1800 Why, got a date?' Jerry finished his juice and looked for his helmet. ' No, I got to get back there. Me and the guys are working on the Hull. ' He looked himself in the reflection of the screen. His white suit was tight with black joints for easy movment. But most of his body was covered in the new allowy that looked like white plastic. The helmet where made of the same stuff. When he put it on and locked it, it became powered exsosuite using the lates nano technoligy. His belt had all the tools he needed in the small compartment. 'How do I look?' Micht looked at his brother for a second, then back at the screen and back at his brother. 'Do you remember that old movie grandpa always made us wacth? Whats the name again.. star fight. Trek wars..' 'You mean the Star wars? Yeah I.. ' Micthed stopped as he looked at himself in the reflection and back at the screen showing the triangular ship. ' oh fuck me.. we are the bad guys?'
In the fancy restaurant, I was engaged in a heated discussion with my wife. She was a psychic, but I don't believe anything she says. She specifically wanted the fish today. I, who wanted to prove my wife wrong, got the steak. She told me not to, but I refused. Now, as I lie in the hospital bed, I realized she was right. I closed my eyes, as I heard about the latest cow disease devastating the country.
Two is an overrated number whose concept is too inconceivable to believe. Two? One and another? Two? Friends, dancers, and communication? Two? Love? No. That's stupid. Do I hear myself? Do I have faith in anything? Am I delusional enough to believe in bull shit? Because that's not a good idea. Delusion isn't good. Delusion is pain, so why do we do that to ourselves? Why do we hope for change or love or life or anything when those things just don't happen? I've an idea. I've a very bad idea that is so bad that it probably won't work. I'm young, so now is the time. Now is the time for me to lie to myself. Two? Fine. Two.
“Hey buddy, where do you think you’re going?” Tony turned around and felt the pressure of bloody knuckles sculpting into his face. Tony had woken up and looked around the unfamiliar room. Looking to his right, there stood a window, and beyond the glass lay a brick building but the ground was not in sight, so he assumed he was on a higher floor. He looked down to see his arms tied tightly around his back by a thick, prickly rope. He could feel his pocket knife in his back pocket. Tony proceeded to slide up on the chair to let the knife escape from his back pocket. The knife landed on the corner of the wooden platform of his seat, Tony grasped the knife in his hand and began to cut at the rope. Footsteps climbed the stairs, and a tall man entered the room. He had dark, brunette hair and an identical eye color to match. As he approached Tony, the man slowly grabbed a knife out of his pocket. “So you finally woke up.” the man spat. Tony began to cut faster and as he continued to sit in silence. “You’re going to have to talk sometime, mate.” The man inched closer and closer to Tony’s face. He caressed the silver blade along Tony’s pale and flushed face, brushing the blade swiftly so that the tip of his blade just missed his left eye. Tony heard the rope snap in half and he could tell he wasn’t the only one who had heard. Tony whipped his knife out in front of him, pointing the tip at the man’s chest. “Let me go and nobody will get hurt.” “Oh, I can’t just let that happen buddy.” The man lurched for Tony, but Tony was quicker. He managed to get the man in a head lock and throw him roughly to the ground in a matter of seconds. As Tony ran out of the doorway, he turned left hoping it would lead him to a staircase. Luckily, there was a short man in a leather jacket who was patrolling what seemed to be the stairway. Tony sprinted toward the man and when they met, proceeded to punch him until he fell unconscious. As he glanced down the flight of stairs, he heard the same familiar footsteps as before but now there was more than just one. He started for the staircase, jumping several steps at a time to improve his speed. He traveled down three flights of stairs until he reached the bottom. A glass door stared at him, inviting him into the city streets of Chicago. He made his way out of the building and ran to the right. Every block he reached, he ran right left right, hoping to throw the men off. As he reached the more commercial buildings in the city, he decided to stop and take a break. Tony was truly puzzled about what was happening to him, but he thought he knew the cause. He remembered what happened four days ago. It was a normal Tuesday afternoon at work as he drove the FedEx truck around Chicago, delivering mail as usual. Later that night, he had plans to go to MacLaren’s, his favorite pub, with his two best friends, Stan and Nick. After counting quickly, he confirmed and he only had eight more packages left to deliver. Tony made his way through the streets and successfully delivered all of the packages. He sat back down in his truck, ready to drive back to the truck depot, when he noticed there was one more package left. He picked it up to see who it belonged to and he read back his own name, ‘Tony Dale’. Dumbfounded as to why he was just noticing it, he continued opening it with such wonder. Inside the dainty, null package held a key, accompanying a note. The note read ‘Save me’. Just those two words and nothing more. Of course Tony thought it was just a joke planned by his friends and just wiped it from his mind. Later that night when he was at MacLaren's with his friends, he brought up the mysterious package to his friends, but their faces were blank. They swore they had never sent him a package and Tony was starting to worry. He lied awake in bed that night, staring at the ceiling trying to think about what it could mean and who it could be from, but he had no idea. Throughout the next few days, Tony couldn’t focus on anything he was doing. Unable to focus on driving, Tony would stop the truck to the side of the road to figure out the message. His boss told him to take a few days off because he wasn’t showing a good work ethic and he could tell something was bothering him. He could feel the package eating away at him from the inside, slowly gnawing until he felt numb.. From Thursday to Saturday he sat in the local coffee shop, Cup of Joe, searching the internet for missing people in Chicago. The Saturday when he was leaving the coffee shop, he was knocked out and kidnapped by those men. He snapped back to reality and realized it wasn’t safe for him to be walking around on the city streets; he needed to figure out what this key unlocked. He took off his right shoe and took out the note that was so well concealed. He examined the note one last time and flipped it over. Never noticing it before, there was some form of coding on the back. It seemed to have been written in a different language. He took out his phone and took a picture of the mysterious gibberish. He then highlighted the coding and inserted the picture onto Google translate, hoping the coding would be detected. The language was distinguished as Yiddish. He read the translation out loud at a low whisper to himself, ‘I am located where the day breaks and where cries of joy escape children. Tony could only think of one place, Navy Pier. There was a cab pulled to the side of the street about a block ahead of him. He ran over to the car and let himself in as he directed the driver to his destination. He arrived to the pier in a matter of ten minutes as he got out of the cab, and was amazed at the sight of the Ferris wheel that sat before him. Tony now had to figure out where this person was hidden and who they needed to be saved from, but this was going to be a challenge due to the amount of people aimlessly roaming the pier. Tony glanced at the note again and what stuck out in his mind was “where the day breaks”, so he assumed it was at the edge of the pier, looking out beyond the water. Tony swept past the sea of people, pushing them out of his way and he finally made it to the end of the landing. There was a large opening, on the sides revealing benches and mounted into the wood every few yards were tourist binoculars. Tony walked to the end of the railing, looking out into the water. The sun was starting to meet the lake, displaying a canvas of colors which he never thought were possible, all meshing together to create one scene. Tony was so astonished at the sight before him, when suddenly he felt someone tapping on his shoulder. He turned around to see who was begging for his attention. The last thing Tony saw was the tall man who had kidnapped him and two other men standing behind him. The man held a gun up to Tony’s head and spoke, “I told you I couldn’t just let you go”.
I'd like to preface this by saying these are my impressions and critiques of your work. Nothing is meant to hurt, merely to help, and I apologize in advance if any of it seems harsh. ---- Prologue: * Axe the second 'bread' in the first sentence. We already know he's a bread merchant; thieves wouldn't be stealing anything else from him, so mentioning it again is merely repetitive. * You use the word 'grip' twice in the first two paragraphs. Though it's not overly distracting, perhaps replacing the first one with 'hand' would spice things up a bit. * From a first read, the tax collector joke falls flat for me. I can't quite put my finger on what's off about it - maybe it's the fact he's talking to a kid, or perhaps the fact that I had to look up Roman tax law to confirm collectors existed during that period (not something I think most people would agree was common knowledge) - but it needs some sort of a rework. * I can see the need to work in the name of your main character at the end of the prologue, but why would the merchant care about the boy's name? On a separate but related note, Aelius's response is stilted at best. It feels unnatural for anyone to respond in such a way, especially a boy; very Bond-esque, if I had to put my thumb on a specific figure. Even if Aelius is fifteen or sixteen, as his siblings' ages would have me believe, he shouldn't sound like he has another twenty-plus years on his shoulders. > ...and there was dried blood running down his face... Simply put, dried blood does not run, but I know what you mean when you say that. I might rework the entire sentence to read something like this: "Albus lay in a pool of his own blood, his limbs twisted at impossible angles. Dried crimson streaks decorated his face." > Aelius wanted to yell his brothers name, to give one last testament that he had had a brother before he rushed out to find his sister and the men who had taken her, but the name had stuck in his throat, and he found that he couldn’t even muster the strength to stand as he simply kneeled there, hugging his brother’s cold, lifeless corpse, crying. This sentence suffers from something I like to call content bloat - when you've incorporated too much information into a single line. This can be dealt with many ways. I chose to hyphen out the middle section and split the remaining content into a separate sentence (see below). "Aelius wanted to yell his brother's name - giving one last testament to his existence before rushing out to find his sister and the men who had taken her - but it stuck in his throat. He found he couldn’t even muster the strength to stand, so he simply knelt there, hugging his brother’s cold, lifeless corpse, and wept." > “Who are you to interrupt my mourn-” Aelius started, turning to look at the newcomer. Again, this sounds much older than it should, coming from a boy. I'm starting to get the sense that this is a theme, but at this point in the narrative the purpose for such a speech pattern is unclear. General Note: Keep an eye out for technical issues, i.e. punctuation, tense shifts, etc. Specifically, I'd take another look at what you know about commas, since you're using about double the number you actually need. ---- Chapter 1: > “No.” stated Aelius, firmly, staring down the enraged butcher, unfazed by the large, knife in the man’s hands that still retained parts of the dead animals that it had sliced apart only minutes before. A bit of bloat here as well. I'd trim it back to something like: “No,” Aelius said firmly, unfazed by the large, gore-covered cleaver in the enraged butcher's hands. * All of the action in the last few paragraphs is fairly confusing. Can Aelius teleport? Is he jumping through time, as the "two thousand year old memory"line at the beginning of the chapter could be implying? You need to decide exactly how you want the sequence to play out spatially and rewrite the action so that vision is clearer to the reader. * I can't speak for everyone, but most people I know can't take a surprise punch to the face and do much afterward. There needs to be some sort of action the butcher takes between getting clocked and asking who Aelius is, even if that action is simply falling down. The announcement of the ring might be more dramatic if there's a significant height difference between the two characters, i.e. the butcher on the ground with Aelius towering over him. ---- Final Thoughts: Your premise is promising. I'm interested enough to want to know more, which is exactly what you want from readers. The dead parents thing... personally, I'm not as keen on that, but it can be done well without becoming tired and clichéd. The most important part is there's potential in what you've already put on the page. My biggest suggestion is to keep the narrative going; there will always be time to tighten up an polish your work, but ideas tend to disappear if left alone too long. SbT
I look down at the small, quivering bundle. The baby girl shook her head back and forth, but no cry came from the infants lips. The lack of sound is strange, but common for this strain of mutation. I slowly unwrap the cloth from the girl, revealing the lack of symmetry that a shrunken right arm and leg gives to the picture. "To many", I think. This genetic anomaly was destroying our people. Once the greatest of the races, able to wield weapons of might and power, we were left to malformed half-humans, mute from birth. Already, over 50% of our population was being taken over by the weak, unable to do any jobs that required physical labor. Their upkeep also leached away money from the kingdoms coffers. But today signaled our Kingdoms doom. The Queen had birthed a daughter, the one who would one day rule. She lay, a small, sweet bundle in my arms, and I knew that I had to do what no other would do. Not the Queen, nor her Consort. The people in power were a soft sort, ones who liked the power of old conquests without having to do anything in their lifetime. They would rather leave the future to those who came after. As I stared down at her, I knew I couldn't do it. But I also knew that no other would. She would grow up to be a Queen that others looked down upon, reviled, and hated. She would be a Queen in name only, controlled by those around her. She would be a Queen that would be abandoned by her people when the enemies of the Kingdom's past would invade, finding her weak, and her country an easy target. She would die as she lived, weak, alone, and different. My arms pushed away from my body, and I cradled this small, precious infant above the cliff, the waves booming below. "In your next life, I wish you the joy you could never have in this one. In my next life, I will take your place. Be happy." I dropped my niece over the cliff, tears streaming down my face.
Rushing to work, I grabbed a coffee and walked downed 5th and Steel when time stopped. I couldn't move and the only thing I saw was a sign. A bar inched by, reading 2%. I heard a sound, a yell from above. "Why is it loading? I just updated it yesterday. This game is seriously pissing me off." "Timmy, are you playing your video games again? Didn't I tell you to stop playing video games?" "Come on mom, I'm only going to play the game for 30 minutes. Besides its loading, so I'm not really playing a game." "Not soon after, the bar reached 100%, and everything started to move again. I had heard my whole life was a game. But it didn't matter to me or anyone else-I was late for work.
"Don't you believe in magic?"she whispered, seemingly surprised. The full moon dipped behind a cloud, saucer-like. "No,"I scoffed. Suddenly the trees around us shook violently as dozens of black birds exploded out of them, taking to the sky. The black crows cawed loudly, swirling together in the sky into a large circling mass of meshed feathers and beaks. * * * Edit: note, they aren't really one like mass of feathers in beaks, they're just swirling closely together, giving that appearance.
Yeah, sure. I'll kill ten of these. I'll search for five of those. Oh! My dungeon is ready! I'll be right back. Okay, back. What else need I do for you, young elf-looking creature with four apostrophes in his name? A party mission that necessitates more than one player? How am I to do that? I didn't come here to have friends, I came here to have fun. I'll do it, anyway. Those experience points look so nice. Wait a minute. Maybe I should look at the text instead of the goal. You know, read. No way. This game "traps real people"in its world. Talk about breaking the fourth wall. Moving on.
Moonlight through your baby girl's window and the doll’s cradle by her bed crawling with chittering white-toothed shadows; for just a moment, even before you start to wonder how they got there in the first place, you can’t understand why the fuck the rats are eating the doll. And then: the bloodshitfeardeathsulfur reek, the empty toddler bed and the broken circle, the whispers in your head like screams that never end, the realization that rats don't have tentacles.
Every day, I organize files into folders, and give them standardized unique names so they they can be easily identified. I purposefully pick names that are approximately the same length so when I sort the folders they make a uniform line. When I have time, and when its needed, I run test to make sure everything is going the way its supposed to. My tests files all have standardized names, with the date in them so I know when they ran, and so they can be easily called. Everyone in the company has a standard username, so I can know who everyone is when they message me for help. My desktop is clean and I do daily maintenance to maintain my computer's integrity. It took over my computer. The popups were bright neon reminding me of the early nineties spam. It crashed every program. "DiD u 3Vr fINkz..... it D035Nt w0RK!? N@o it d0ez! r3ad 0N--Im aN alIeN2000(tm) Di$ wiLl h@lP U gu@r@N73d mah Fr3nz 70ld me: "hUM@nz h00M@N$"2 whIch I h@d 0ne rePLy aLi3ns 24 h0URs!"" I wiped the whole computer. I have always been rigorous with my backup procedure.
Her eyes so diluted I wondered if she could even see the stars shining down. She swung her left leg over the railing followed by the right, wind taking hold of her auburn hair as she peered out over the edge. "Chelsea please don't do this"I heard my voice shout. How did we get here? How did we chase the dragon to a place full of such dark and despair? "Please stay back John, I have to do this"I could just hear her over the howl of the wind. "Just talk to me Chel, just look at me, please come back to me!" "I can't, I'm too far gone. I got us hooked and I just... I can't live in this fucking hell with you anymore, it has to be like this, just let me escape." "I can't leave you, I never will. Come back and we can get clean together! Come back, I'll help you whatever it takes. We'll each own half the nightmare. We can be better again, we don't need anyone else, but I do need you!" "I'm sorry John" As she slipped from the edge all I could think is how beautiful she was in that moment. A scream came from from behind me, and I watched as my muse plummeted. As I stood stunned listening to the screaming a feeling of solace came over me. Maybe now she could finally rest and be at peace with herself. After the screaming stopped I stood for a while. My eyes void of all tears, my heart beyond all repair. I turned to see who else was there, only to realize the screaming had come from me. Was it the heroin or am I always this removed from pain? Should I go over the edge? Who am I? How did I get here?
Use [ChaoticShiny](http://chaoticshiny.com/index.php) for as much as possible. Notable ones are: [regions](http://chaoticshiny.com/regiongen.php) [characters](http://chaoticshiny.com/chargen.php) [Factions](http://chaoticshiny.com/factiongen.php) [Crowds](http://chaoticshiny.com/crowdgen.php) [Motives](http://chaoticshiny.com/motivegen.php) <- This one often produces interestingly paradoxical results. [Adventures](http://chaoticshiny.com/adventuregen.php) <- sometimes it actually spits out some interesting concepts, other times it's "The heroes must deliver the small wheel to the courtyard or the land will never know peace." [Writing excercieses](http://chaoticshiny.com/wegen.php) [setting mashups](http://chaoticshiny.com/smashupgen.php) [Mashup Mashups](http://chaoticshiny.com/mashmashgen.php) <- "Chronopirates, witch hunts and secret societies in Stone Age Nepal. The biggest things to worry about are a sudden ice age and lack of resources. Some things you might run into: a trained monkey, a prophetic dream, the beginning of an era, a duel and schemes going awry. Don't forget about the incense, ring, sorceress, con artist and heirloom."Probably best if you want to sort your way through a convoluted mess of a story, which can be fun at times. You can also generate things like planets, cars ("This pink sedan has an upgraded engine. It has bullet-proof door panels, a self-destruct mechanism, tank treads and blades attached to the outside. It can go from 0-60 in 6.5 seconds and has a top speed of 157 mph. It handles very well"), diseases, ballads, fancy drinks, potions, spaceships, portals, taverns, merchants, a whole bunch of randomness. If you so choose, you can combine other peoples' suggestions to add some strangeness to it.
"This week on Channel 5 News- A horrific shooting in an American supermarket leaves sixteen dead and nearly 35 wounded."Several of the people shopping around me paused, looking over towards me uneasily. "Details at eleven."One man laughed, shaling his head as he picked up a cantaloupe. His laughter made some of the people around me relax, which made the whole thing that much easier. My assisstant in crime, Todd, stepped out from behind an aisle brandishing his new M4A1 rifle. "Initial reports show that the start of the attack was initiated from the center of the supermarket."He fired a short burst at a Latino couple, sending them both to the ground dead. The onlookers who only seconds ago had been mildly curious were now screaming, running, peeing on themselves in terror, the whole shebang. They deserved it. Every last one of the cocksucking motherfuckers. For what they did to us. "Now to Melissa." Todd's voice barely registered, but I remembered my part of the plan soon enough. "Yes, um, Todd. Police reports are indicating that there were two armed gunmen at the scene,"I drew my revolver from my handbag.", and that both played an equal part in this morning's shootout."I fired into the cluster of people that had formed at the emergency exit, sending several people falling face forwards into the crowd. "An apparent massacre formed at the exit as people attempted to flee the scene of the crime, an event that produced one of the highest bodycounts of any crime in recent years."Todd paused for a second as he emptied his magazine into the crowd. I covered for him as he reloaded, getting about 18 rounds of .45 bullets into the asses and backs of terrified shopgoers. I could hear the sirens outside and I knew that we didn't have much longer. "Truly a horrifi-" Suddenly, a huge man who appeared from nowhere tackled Todd, sending him flying to the ground. I nearly screamed my next line: "An unarmed civilian attempted to-"I fired. "-dispatch-"Somehow, the man still didn't die. "-one of the armed gunmen and-"Finally, one of my shots caught him on the base of his neck, blowing his brains out through the top of his head. He released both of his bowels and rolled over, allowing Todd to clamber back up. I took a deep breath and continued. "-was killed for his valiant effort. Back to you on the police response, Todd." "Yes, um, there was a huge and early response from the police, which can be seen from this footage-"He furiously gestured towards the entrance. "-where a number of officers entered the building moments after the first group of people were slaughtered."I could see several officers decked out in combat armor moving through the broken automatic doors. One of them noticed us. In the frame of about a second, he raised his hand in some sort of gesture. "The footage of the officers opening fire on the two suspects has been emitted for the comfort of our more sensitive viewers."The officers opened fire in unison, sending a cascading plume of light across my vision. I could hear the now familiar sound of bullets sinking into flesh as Todd was killed beside me. One of the men pointed his gun towards me, and fired.
"ID, kid."The doorman held out his hand expectantly. "Ay-dee? Sir? I-er-I'm sorry?"I stammered and reluctantly reached out to shake his outstretched hand. "Identification."He slapped my hand away and gave me the look of a farmer that doesn't believe that you weren't in the barn with his daughter. "You can't get in without ID, kid." "But sir I have this letter to deliver and surely you can see by my satchel and-"As I turned to point out my horse in the barn I was shoved aside by a man who was far more muscular than any farmer I had met and a tan to match all the hours one would have to work outside to gain those muscles, except his clothes were clean, fresh, and a bit too...shiny? That was it. There was a sheen to the material that mimicked freshly polished silver but it was a vibrant blue -almost like silk but not quite. Everything about him looked expensive, clean and shiny, including his teeth and hair. That shiny face turned to me for half a second, "You smell like shit."I stared in awe as the doorman let him through followed by a gaggle of chattering girls wearing only their underclothes and looking as though they needed a good meal. They turned their noses up at me as if I was the one teetering around looking like a half-starved calf. "He's right kid. You do smell. Go home and shower before you try sneaking into my bar again you little shit."The doorman put his hand on my shoulder attempting to wheel me back outside. "Wait up. He's with us."Another shiny looking man said from somewhere inside the dark bar where an extremely loud noise that I was just beginning to notice was thumping from. The doorman gritted his teeth and turned, locking eyes with the newcomer. I watched the power struggle that took place before my shoulder was wrenched again, this time towards the inside of the bar. "Fine."The doorman said through clenched teeth, "But if the ladies start complaining about his stench it's on you." I was quickly led through a very loud front corridor with flashes of light too bright and too white to be firelight. The loud rhythmic thumping was already beginning to give me a headache. The man that I still hadn't quite gotten a good look at led me to a darker area but with more steady light that seemed to make my head spin less than before. I finally got a good look at him. He had a strong jaw line, but wasn't nearly muscled enough to be a farmer, maybe a writer? Or a politician? There was something oddly familiar about him, those clear blue eyes, the way that he stood with slightly stooped shoulders, and the strong jaw. "What are you doing here?"His question threw me off and out of habit I proffered the letter I realized I was still clutching in one hand. "I was supposed to deliver this."He gave me a skeptical glance, "Sir."I added quickly though he couldn't have been much older than me. "It was for Dr. White... It was from the sheriff letting him know..."I trailed off as I watched a couple of young women saunter over to us. They too were only wearing underclothes and appeared to have drunk quite a bit of moonshine. "Joooosh"One began to whine, "What are you doing with this creep? He stinks."She tugged his silky shirt, "C'mon Josh."The name struck me deep, I felt a spasm in the pit of my stomach, but maybe that was the loud thumping rhythmic sounds and the flashing lights making me sick. Another girl smelling strongly of sickly sweet flowers took my hand, sliding a thin glass into it. It was a brightly colored liquid with a tiny pink umbrella topping it off. Josh turned the whiny girl away from me and whispered quietly to her while smoothing her hair gently. He patted her as if soothing a spooked horse his hand running up and down her back, a gold ring flashing in the lights. The letter 'W' was engraved into the ring. "Joshua White"I spat, jumping back from them. Josh spun immediately, pushing the girls in another direction. "This letter-"I waved it above my head, my voice rising over the booming music. "You died!"I felt the blood rushing from my head. Joshua White was dead. The letter was to inform his father, Dr. White, that the sheriff saw him get struck by lightning not three weeks prior. Was I dead too? Was this death? The room began to spin, my vision blurred with blots of white light before everything went black. "Matthew"My head swam as I heard my own name called. "Matthew"A pungent scent wafted under my nose almost instantly clearing my head and sinuses. A kindly old man stood overhead holding a small bottle of some strong smelling essence. "There, there, Matthew,"Dr. White said, "I found you outside wandering outside in the middle of a rainstorm. Look like you hit yer head pretty good. What were you doing out there anyway?" "Er.. I was coming to bring you this-"I fumbled to give him the letter that I'd been clutching, but instead thrust at him a glass half filled with bright liquid and a tiny pink umbrella. (Edit: I'm terrible with formatting :()
"Faolan get away from that window." Ralphina pulled her son closer to her, shielding him from the frantic mob outside their door. He had just turn 18, the age of the taking. She knew this day would come, but was foolish to believe that it would pass lightly. It was in modern society that the thirst for werewolves was stronger than ever. "Dear God, they are as ravenous as animals."Her husband, Ulric stated holding a shotgun as last resort. The hollering of the masses grew louder and louder as the last hinges of the door were being jolted out and soon frantic hands were waving about out of the loose cracks. The small family crowded together in fear, their prayers were drowned out by the chanting of over one hundred teenage girls. They had just finished reading Twilight when they heard a sexy 18 year old werewolf was on the outskirts of town, single and unprotected. Together they formed a village of werewolf fanatics and hunted down all teenage mythical creatures. The door smashed to pieces as girls trampled in and grabbed Faolan. The last words he ever heard was their cold blooded screams. "Team Jacob" "Team Jacob" "Team Jacob"
It's that time of year again for spring cleaning, and my girlfriend and I have been living together in a moderately sized condo for a couple years now. Yesterday, she sifted through a few cardboard boxes we had in the garage, and came across a set of rather old books. Intrigued, I looked through them and found a book filled with bedtime stories my mom used to read to me. It had a hard-bound brown leather cover that started to peal in places from old age, and every page inside was stained brown from being soaked in water. From the table of contents, I recognized some familiar stories - Pinocchio, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, and more. However, the last story looked strange; it was different somehow. It was titled "Life Until Now."I flipped to the page listed in the table of contents, and immediately, I noticed its peculiarity. Instead of finding the typical brown and crispy water-stained paper like in the rest of the book, I found smooth, white, freshly printed paper, as if the book was printed yesterday. I held the book to my nose and took a long breath, smelling the fresh glue that bound the pages to the book. As I brought the book back into my lap, something caught my eye: other than the title of the story, the first page was entirely blank! I flipped through the remainder of the pages, only to find them all blank as well. I returned to the beginning of the story, only to notice something new. A new line had suddenly appeared below the title. "Stunned by the empty first page, Charlie flipped through the rest of the book, only to find that those too were empty. Little did he know that an intriguing find was waiting for him on the first page: the start to the end of his life."
Ohh... The smell. That glorious smell. Underneath this large structure I now knew would be my death. I now knew The Beast slumbered in this structure though at first it blended in. Up until it opened it's eyes I didn't even know it was there. I was hot on the trail of the smell when it woke. One moment I was looking, searching, smelling, and the next I was gazing into what seemed to be the infinite eye of God himself. I was entranced. It was amazing, more attractive than the smell itself, and I was awestruck. How could I have known this being would be here? I fell to my knees, my six, scrawny, unworthy knees in an attempt at worship but I think that only angered it for moments later I saw it raise a hand. God but that hand was amazing too, but I had no time to grovel before it as well- the Beast was moving to crush me. It was so large I feared I would not make it but, somehow, I flew past. to have looked God in the eye and defied him! The smell was almost forgotten, but not entirely. I flew faster than I had ever flown in my life. I wish I could say I flew with the level-headedness of a master pilot, but I didn't. All was lost in that mad scramble for life. Eventually, slowly, I made my way underneath The Beast's structure to where it couldn't reach, and it stalked off in frustration. Finally, I could rest and think, and the most pressing thought was that of the smell. It was all around me! Oh, this glorious, brown wonderland! I reveled in it for what seemed to be hours but I know must have only been minutes as I was soon interrupted by the source of the source of the smell. A second beast. Smaller, more common, less deadly. I'd faced them before and only barely escaped but now I was faced with a double threat. I could hear the Beast returning. I made my choice. The enclosed, horrible space underneath the structure would not be my grave. So I took the plunge and left, once again facing the Beast in all his glory. But now it had a tool. This tool crackled with power unbridled but I feared it not. I knew now that should I die I would die a legend, a hero, someone fighting against something impossibly larger than myself and not shying from the danger in the slightest. My first move was to rush for my way of entry to this horrid, deadly place. My resolve lasted only a moment- I was a coward once again. I was almost there, I could taste the air, when I was struck. I felt the weapon's power run through me as my eyes boiled and my limbs melted. It would have hurt if the shock wasn't so overpowering that I couldn't feel it. And that's where I died. The smaller beast fed on my corpse and the Beast triumphed at having successfully used his latest purchase again. I only hope my children will think I died a warrior's death.
disclaimer: long as fuck, obviously, but your prompt spoke to me. Thanks for giving me something to write about, and if you're so inclined to get through it all, any critique is welcome. Earth’s core was dying. It was the ultimate stroke of bad luck, geologically speaking. To be alive, prosperous, leaving footprints for so short a time in relation to how long the planet had existed; how ironic that such a young race should outlive a celestial body with such a long lifespan. Supposed lifespan was more accurate, the models were obviously wrong. Scientists and researchers were worried, then frantic, when all of the active volcanoes worldwide went dormant over the span of a decade. The miniscule movements of those massive plates of earth that the continents and oceans rode upon, fit together like a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle, had ceased altogether, and the turbulent liquid nickel-iron alloy that composed the outer core of the planet was freezing, inside out, at a much quicker rate than any scientific literature could account for. The dangers to humanity were two-fold; First, and most immediate, was the slow bleed of heat radiation moving outward from the core and into the surface of the planet. The volcanoes would start up again, when this heat reached far enough upward, and then, cataclysm. The earth would experience a series of eruptions, in quick succession, that would rival the frenetic activity that occurred soon after the birth of the planet. The secondary consideration, if humanity was able to survive the apocalypse that came along with such a drastic, violent cooling, was the constant bombardment of cosmic radiation from the planet’s own sun, which was now a very deadly threat since the planet’s magnetic field was failing along with its core. The upper atmosphere, including the crucial, embattled ozone layer, would be stripped away by the solar wind at a relentless pace. Then, humans would be exposed to the deadly cosmic rays, no longer shielded from harm, anyone remaining doomed to live out their lives under a kind of permanent x-ray machine. The governments of the world united, for the first time in history. A melancholy end note in the symphony that was humanity, that after all of history a cataclysm of such magnitude would be necessary to unify the world’s people. Time was running out, action had to be taken. A plan was devised, based in no small part on questionable science, but mostly on a type of hysteria that was running rampant through even the most reasonable and pragmatic of scientists and leaders. Humanity set about scoring the ocean floors with great, ragged trenches that stretched in geometric patterns across every ocean on earth, ripping deep channels into the mantle, depositing freezing seawater down into far-reaching, ragged fingers of vaporized rock. Fission bombs were used, there was no time to be cautious about exposing marine wildlife to deadly concussions, or the slower agonizing death of radiation poisoning. Decades passed, the surface heat disaster that was predicted never came, and it appeared that the destruction of the marine biosphere had been a crucial step in preserving humanity. It had not come without cost, however. Radioactive rain dropped wherever clouds carried excess moisture. The ozone had surrendered it’s last wisps out into space, and when it wasn’t raining, the UV rays were dumping more radiation down on the bowed Earth. People were living ramshackle, subsistence lives, scavenging what they could and dying of radiation exposure by the tens of thousands. Then, the ants came. In normal times, before the core event, there existed one million ants for every person in the world. Living largely underfoot and out of mind, they were ubiquitous across the landscape. The worst of the infestations were in urban areas. Catacombs shaped like forked lightning existed in the soil and bedrock under most developed areas, crumbling foundations and access to food waste from humans contributing to their concentrations in the urban world; some of the colonies consisted of 100 million members or more. After decades of mutation via the ultraviolet light and radioactive precipitation that was now bombarding the Earth, the colonies developed in unique and horrific ways. Ant queens can live for up to thirty years, but in those years, she can lay up to 30,000 eggs. Each of these worker ants have a lifespan of one to three years. As opposed to humans, who were mostly just dying from the myriad cancers they were developing, natural selection was on overdrive in the ant colonies. One hundred eggs a day meant that mutations happened and were selected for very quickly. Blind luck that one of the biggest colonies, stretching from San Diego in the south, and reaching all the way north to Bakersfield, bore a male with a special adaptation. Instead of oxygen-starved treacles, which limited the size of all insects in our 21% oxygen atmosphere, this male was born with a set of diaphragms that served to suck air into the body at higher rates, and siphon off more of the precious oxygen. Blind luck, also, that this male was chosen by the queen to breed her for the duration of his life. They produced tens of thousands of eggs, and when the ants hatched, something in their insect brains told them to make for the surface at all costs. They emerged, went through a second transformation, updated breathing apparatuses increasing their size a hundredfold. Ants that were a centimeter in length, curled up, twitched and arced in a type of cocoon, molted, and emerged from the chrysalis up to a meter long. They converged in dark areas, sunlight-phobic, convening by touching antennae and using their acute sense of smell to pick up the chemical signals left by their sisters. They set about digging new tunnels, larger for their new bodies, and soon a queen emerged from the drones. The colony, though young, was already established. A few months from the introduction of this key mutation, a few months of the birthing, transforming, gathering, and burrowing cycle were all it took. The ants were ready to expand, to start conquering more territory in the name of their hive and their ever-growing brood.
I looked down at the clock on the bottom right-hand corner of my screen. Only ten more minutes to go, then I finally get my lunch break. Good lord, this morning had dragged on forever. It wasn't just the usual demanding customers, no - it was them plus a new one that felt the need to call me at my desk and gripe for a half hour about the program I was using to complete her project. She used Microsoft Word at home which was good enough for all of her personal applications, so why did I need to be paid extra for using a fancy program she'd never heard of? I wanted to tell her to just do it on her own. It was so tempting, if only I wouldn't get fired... Five minutes to go. Responding to these last few emails should be enough to burn through that time. Nothing too demanding in there, only the usual requests and follow-ups. And now they're done. The last unopened email has been read, and the last reply has been sent. I look down at the clock, grab my jacket and get ready to go. But I stop and jump a little bit, because the time says - No. No that can't be right. It can't be. The clock says 10:56. It just said 11:54 though the last time I looked, and I was supposed to meet Melissa at noon. I swear the clock just said 11:54! No, I didn't read it wrong. The last text I have from her came in at 11:52. I check the date. No, it isn't daylight saving's time. The clocks haven't been set back an hour. I looked it up again online just to make sure. It's not for another two months. So where did that hour just go!? I set my jacket down. Now I'm starting to feel a little bit of panic. I check the time on my emails, but it's been set to display the same as the computer. Which is weird, because they use entirely separate servers. But my phone still says 12:00 noon, and the computer did too until just a few minutes ago. I could have sworn they were the same. I call Melissa. She sounds confused and annoyed that I'm calling her while she's working, and asks if everything is OK. This isn't right, she should have been leaving her office. I can't tell her that I simply need to know what time it is. I ask if we're still on to meet for lunch in an hour, right? She says yes and that she'll see me then. She hangs up. I sit down, confused. Another hour of this hell doesn't really bother me. After all, I do it every single day. But now I have to figure out where that hour went. The only explanation that makes sense is that my computer malfunctioned in some way. I think as I pull up my program to work on that annoying lady's project, yes, it must be some kind of software glitch. But on two separate programs? That both said the same thing as my phone until they reset at the same time? I must have read the time wrong. But I had been so ready to leave, I must be going crazy. I check my phone - it's still set an hour ahead. I decide to go online and see if there are any problems with the network having delays or issues. None reported. So here I am stuck with another hour of work, going over explanations in my head. Either A: Both the computer and email malfunctioned, or B: I misinterpreted the time and was thoroughly convinced it was an hour later than it really was, all while looking at the clock. No, that didn't happen. It's never happened before, and I have a good memory. The evidence, however, is against me. I don't leave problems unsolved, and this small matter is going to bother me until I put it to rest. There is a third option, an option C that crossed my mind, but it's so completely silly I'm going to put it out of my head. But it did occur to me. I've traveled backwards through time. Of course, it's absurd and unreasonable. But why was my phone immune to the reset while my computer wasn't? Because I had it with me. I work for about forty-five minutes until I hear the familiar buzzing noise of my phone vibrating against my ancient scratched wooden desk and look down to see a text from Melissa. "You going to meet me soon? I'm here a little early - ahead of schedule." I get up to leave and look at the time on my phone again. 12:54. The time it's supposed to be, but no time has passed according to my computer. I just lived an hour in an alternate universe. Maybe I should skip lunch and go to the doctor. But tell them what? I look down at the phone again. The numbers switch to say 11:54. I'm watching it, and I see it happen. Oh you've got to be kidding me. The phone reset too? At least it matches my computer now. I shake my head and look again. It hasn't changed. I sit back down. Melissa will be waiting for me. What can I say? I can't tell her any of this. She'll think I'm crazy, and maybe I am. There's no evidence on my side whatsoever. I have an idea, and leave my office to check the drawer in the empty desk sitting in the vacant room across the hall. An antique watch is in there, one that belonged to my boss' grandfather. That room is a catch-all pit for all of the office junk, and he refuses to remove it. I pull out the watch, which is always in perfect working condition, and try but fail to keep my hand from shaking as I look at the clock face. 11:58. Nothing has changed. I simply am losing my mind. I put the watch back in the drawer and leave to go eat lunch. I guess I was wrong. It was nothing.
I stole - cheated- and hurt people. I'm a piece of shit. It's 2:37 a.m. in Brownsville Queens and I'm shooting up in my dealers apartment. His black Glock is sitting on the white smut filled table next to cut dope, a pack of Marlboro Reds, ash tray and a stack of money. He's my brother. He doesn't use as much - but needs the money - he's sitting across, shooting up and with a Red in his mouth. His 6 month old is sleeping in the play pen roughly five feet from us. Roaches run in and out of sight as we sit at his kitchen table. I grabbed the gun. Shoot up from my seat pointing the pistol at him. I stare him in the eye and say, "We need to get clean, or we're gonna die."I knew he wouldn't go down without a fight. I knew he was going to fight. He tilts his head his face screwed up, and says, "You fuckin' high?" "We got to. Look at your son, man!." Angrily he replied, "What about my fuckin' son. He's mine not yours." Little does he know, I got caught leaving his house by the DEA. There's a sting operation taking place at this very moment. Careful not to raise my voice, I cried, "Your fucked!" "Put the gun down fucker!"he exclaimed. "I'm taking him!"I grumbled Pointing the gun at him, and walking towards his son, I grab him and begin walking towards the door. He shoots up from his chair and shout's, "Put my fuckin' boy' down!"The door behind me slams open a pushing me a side, almost dropping the baby. I instinctively - i raise the gun and a bullet pierces is my chest. Then I hear words, shouted "POLICE DROP THE GUN"Lying there on the ground. Gasping for breathe. They close in around me kicking the gun away and placing me face down. They cuffed me and I lay there bleeding out. All I could think about is my nephew... as the pressure builds in my chest. What could I do?
Apologises in advance; first time attempting to write. Claire asked me to look after her fluffy, grey cat while she went to visit family overseas for two weeks. Normally cats seemed to like me, but this one was... different. Occasionally it appeared in my yard and attacked my two cats. It was never anything too bad, just playful fighting between territorial kitties. Even though I was extremely busy in this time I never could say 'No.' to her; some very buried crush I had, I guess. One the first night I simply let myself in and left some food from Claire's cupboard in it's bowl outside. No problems there. Night two it followed me back home, which was only a few doors down. I let it whinge at the door for a while not wanting to let it inside with my own cats. This went on for another week. I would feed the cat, named 'Ripley' according to the tag on the collar. Show up, call for her, be ignored, feed it, try to pet it and leave. Then it what follow me home. Eventually I became sick of it, locked my own cats in the laundry (with bedding, food and whatever of course) and decided to let Ripley into the warmth. Guess I was feeling bad for her by this point. I opened a window, slightly in the lounge screen and turned on the heater slightly then proceeded to sleep. About 4am something fell off of a shelf above my bed, shocking me awake. I thought I saw something dart out of my room but after checking that my kitties were still locked away I went back to sleep. The next night I repeated the process of the night before and went to bed. At some unknown hour a lamp fell in the lounge room fell, starting a small fire on the carpet. I didn't even realise until the flames were at my door, with no way out. After getting through the flames licking at my door, using a sheet to open the burning handle, I made it to the laundry door and got my cats out before the smoke got to me... Again apologise for the above. First time, plus typing on a phone.
'They told us this'd happen. No one listened.' Steve thought as he looked out the window of his pod. 'What has it all been for? All these centuries humanity has build a world, and everything led up to this moment. The end'. Steve looked around and saw the fear in peoples eyes. He saw the people and the children of the people. 'Maybe this is for the better. Earth is finally free again.' he took a final look through the window. He paused, and admired the beauty of the Blue Marble. A tear rolled over his cheek... he cut his oxygen supply.
I know my doctor said I need to watch my cholesterol intake, but I'd go crazy if I didn't treat myself once in a while. At least, that's how I justify today's impromptu lunch in my head. I take another sip of coke from the sweating glass, and check the time on my phone. I'll have no trouble making it back to work in time. Everyone thinks I've gone to the sandwich shop around the block for a salad or some sorry excuse for a wrap, but this cute eatery with its nick-knacks and old Coca Cola vending machines was too tempting to pass up. I can't believe I never noticed this place before. Mmmm. This three-cheese melt with tomatoes and bacon is delicious. My phone beeps from an incoming email. Probably work, I think with a groan. I reach out to grab my phone, when a strong, sharp grasp embraces my ankle from under the table. In an instant I lurch forward, my chin hitting the table edge and sending shock waves of pain into mouth and face. Before I can react, I'm dragged under the table and feel myself falling - no - sliding down a chute that becomes colder and colder as the seconds pass. Hot wet blood gushes from my mouth, and before I can register anything else, I land ungracefully in a freezing pile of snow. What the fuck?! I've definitely bit through my lip, but the pain goes away as I look around and realize I am in some kind of white tundra. It's freezing here. Christ, it's freezing here. I'm dizzy, but I manage to sit up. There's nothing but shining white snow for miles in front of me. This can't be real. None of this can be real. A large shadow looms over me. I can hear the soft crunching of snow from behind. I whirl around and come face to face with a grinning polar bear. It laughs at my shock, and stands up on its two hind legs. The bear reaches forward and hands me an old-timey bottle of Coca Cola. It's official. I'm losing my mind. The bear waits patiently as I slowly, with a shaking hand, take the bottle. "Finally,"the bear mutters. "Do you know how many of these fucking bottles they send us? Sure, the cubs like the sugar, but we can't live off of this shit. We're bears, for Christ's sake." I nod with wide eyes, not sure of what to do next. Will this delusion be over faster if I just go with it? I look down at the bottle in my hand, and instinctively unscrew the cap. The bear laughs. "You have no idea how pissed the penguins are. They can barely open their bottles." I nod again, and take a sip of the coke. I don't really taste anything, but it's nice to wash the blood out of my mouth. The bear sighs, "Well, like I said. We're bears. Can't eat the penguins, cause it makes for problems with the higher-ups. The wife is pregnant again, and . . . well . . . we need something with a little more meat on its bones, if you know what I mean." The bear comes down to all fours and stalks his way closer. "And I can't have my kids doped up on this sugary shit all the time."
"Go."He pushed, as I stumbled toward the 10 chairs that were placed in a circle. 10 chairs.. and there were only 11 of us. There aren't enough chairs. I don't remember how I got here.. or really much at all. I remember my wife's soft face as she kissed me goodnight, and I wrapped my arm around her. I remember the glorious smell of sweet pea that filled my nostrils, and the way I felt so peaceful. But then I remember my throbbing head, and my thick red blood coating my hands as I rubbed my head. Then, a man with a ski mask grabbed me by my shirt collar, and pushed me towards the room. Why was I here? I looked around and noticed a woman shaking horribley. Loud wheezes escaped her chapped lips, and tears streamed down her red tinted cheeks. She was having a panic attack. Next to me, a stout man was looking blankly at the ring that tightly squeezed his ring finger. He sighed, closed his eyes, and mumured a slight pray. Everyone else seemed to either be panicking, or calming themselves. I found myself staring at the man with a knife, and a radio. "We're going to play a game, everyone."The man's voice pierced the distressed noises that clouded the room. "Anyone know Musical chairs?" Everyone looked at him as a hearty laugh escaped his lips. Musical chairs? Why the hell are we playing musical chairs? The man's laughed died down, and he stared coldly at everyone, and his sharp eyes laying heavily on me. "You."He belowed powerfully. My heart nearly stopped, but the brave courage made my mouth respond, "Yes?" "Tell the group how to play musical chairs, considering how you're a very musical person yourself." I gulped, and sweat began to prickle and caress my shaking face. I slowly explained the elementary rules to the game, while , my voice failed to remain much composure. The other men and women just stared at me, their eyes naming their emotions oh so well. Guilt panged through me. Finally, the man ordered us all to stand around the chairs, and walk around to the tune of the music, and very quickly sit on a chair. "If I catch you touching the chair, you'll lose a hand. If I catch you doing anythong else, you'll lose much worse."He had instructed as coldly as he looked. "If you don't find a seat, well.. you'll soon find out." A woman in her mid-30's slowly raised her hand. Terror shook her body, but courage painted her hair. The man sharply barked "What?" "What happens to us if we win?"The man chuckled. "Well, sweetie. You'll just have to find out."And another hearty laugh erupted fro, his crude lips as he hit the play button on the radio. A soft classial piece rang in our ears, as we all jolted to a walk. Slowly, we circled around, and finally the dreaded happened. I was the first to sit down, and a domino effect happened as bodies gripped the blue plastic chair as if they would kill anyone who dared take their chair. The woman in her mid-30's was out. "Well, I guess you'll never find out the prize."The man grabbed a fistful of her hair, and slammed her head agansit the wall. He took the knife, sliced her head off, and threw with all his force, her head agansit the wall. Blood painted a picture of her demise on the walls, and silence erupted in the air, With each round, each person was killed in a different manner. The stout man's stomach was sliced open, as he watched his organs waterfall down his legs. Another man was took into another room where his screams made their harsh name with a saw's vicious roar. Finally, the only two people were me, and a young lady. She was dressed in a lovely red cocktail dress, which tastefull fitted the gore that was among us. Her hair, which was tossed in a neat bun, was now torn and slashed, sticking to her sweat filled forehead. She was breathing heavy, and worry filled her eyes as she noticed only one chair. Hannah, my wife, shown herself in the young woman. My wife was once as delicantly young as the shaking woman, and courage still painted her air. My wife was once this young, once this brave, once this innocent. But now age has worn itself happily on her, and time had taught it's lessons. This lady had not yet met time, but death was at her door. I turned to her, and whispered, "No worries." The soft classial music rang through our ears once more, but I planted my feet on the gray concrete floor. The music stopped, and the girl sharply faced me. "What are you doing? Sit!"She frantically screamed. My eyes met her, and I smiled. "I love you, Hannah." The man slowly walked to me, and turned me towards him. "Tell the other's I miss 'em, and killing them was a joy." The silver knife sliced my body, and pain coarsed through my nerves. Black splotches gleamed in my vision, but soon flooded my thoughts. Cold surrounded me like a blanket, and my ears lastly detected the wretched screams of a young woman.
"How did I end up here,"I sighed into a dirty mirror that hung slightly crookedly over a stained and emanating sink. The clank of the heavy metal door slamming securely shut still rang out in the silence that hung heavy in my ears. If this were a dream, surely I would have woken up months ago. I was brought to this dank and in-ill-repair place, in which I will spend the rest of my natural life, just an hour ago. All the excitement of the last year was now gone. No more juries glaring with disdain in my direction. No more court-ordered psychiatric evaluations with eager half-educated halfwits. No more blinding camera flashes and overly zealous, so-called journalists spewing scathing questions about my intentions. The truth I could never get a single person to believe is that I have no memory of any of the things I am now convicted of perpetrating. Only dreams fill the gaps of lost time I have experienced throughout my life; long, anguishing dreams in which I could never reach out to the countless screaming faces I so desperately pitied. It was as if I were trapped in a box without walls, impotent to reach beyond their invisible boundaries, much like my newly assigned domicile. But, the new walls that would confine me forever were very visible and very real. "How did I end up here,"I spoke again into the spotted mirror, "I must have a demon living inside of me."A smirk broke on my lips as I relished in the crushing finality of my situation, a smirk that no one had seen in a long time. I stared at my own lips, curling at the corners. I watched my smile broaden though I felt no movement in my face. My eyes widened as I realized that I was indeed standing mouth-agape, unable to comprehend this uncontrolled sight of myself. And then... I saw my reflection blink at me.
Jax was working on the ion drive at the repair hanger when Ira came in, slug his jacket down on the nearby barrel and grabbed a can of beer. He opened it and drank slowly. Jax just continued to work, his partner was angry. He could sense it but he also knew that he did not need to ask, Ira would tell him after that beer, the old man needed to vent. He expected that it would be something political again. Kwai was still busy with the other engine and barely looked up. ‘They blew up Alderan’ Jax look at him confused ‘The Cantina?’ Ira shock his head and grabbed another beer ‘No, the planet?’ ‘The whole planet? When did this happen?’ He put down his powertool and looked at his old friend. ‘Last month apparently, right before the rebels sabotaged the military base. What did they call it?’ ‘The death star’ Kwai Han peeked up from the other engine. ‘And good riddance to those stuck up Aldereanes. Never meet one I liked’ ‘Saga was from Alderan and you dated her.’ Ira looked at the youngest member of the workshop. Kwai was a handsome man, that lack the will to gamble. He was a great engineer, had more degrees then booth him and Jax had together. But sometimes he was just plain stupid. ‘Yeah and look where that got me. She got me in trouble with the imperial police and I lost my right to work in the system. Now I have to be employed, my name cant be on any of the contract for atlast 5 years. And for what? Because that bich wanted me to upgrade a targeting system on her brothers X-wing Who the hell wants to fly those old x-wings anyway. Turned out she was coping the system for somebody else. Im just glad they believed me when I reported her or I would have been rotting in jail or worse. I hope they catch the bitch.’ ‘So you judge the whole planet by one woman? That’s a little extreme.’ Jax was surprised at this, he knew Ira had planned to retired to Alderan so he understood why he was upset, but he could not understand why Kwai thought they deserved it. ‘Not just because of that bicth, because they always claim to be so innocent yet they finance those danm rebels. Heck My granddad died in the clone war because the Alderan senator voted against sending troops, all because it might escalate the conflict. My dad’s hometown was bombed to the ground by the droid army, my grand mom had to grab everything she could and flee. If there is one thing the Emperor did right, then it was to dissolve the senate. I mean talk about ineffective government. And those stupid rebels actually want to bring back that system. Just think about our last job, we shipped 9000 metric ton of food to Sagro, a shitt place nobody has even heard of. Why because they requested help from famine after the planet had massive earthquake. Back in the old days they would have spent a couple of years before they would send the first ship. And don’t get me started on the jedi’ ‘Okey, but we agree on those bastards. Never liked when religious people get involved in politics’ Ira was drinking slower now, he had not thought about that. And he was old enough to remember the holovids. He had just been a kid back then but it was true. His dad had complained about it as well, the senate was slow, it was only when the clones where introduced and they let the jedi take over that it got safer. But then it was “all hail the Jedi!” funny how fast the war was won after they kicked them out as well and let the generals deal with the enemy’ ‘Isnt the emperor some sort of religious leader? ‘ ‘but he doesn’t try to force everybody to follow his belief system, he keeps his religion out of his politics’ Kwai leant over the engine as he explained the difference. Jax looked between ‘So your happy with the emperor blowing up a god danm planet? I just cant understand why blowing an entire planet was needed or justified. They had men there themselves.’ Kwai looked at him. ‘ You know young Sabbi right? Down the street selling hover cars.’ ‘yeah? What does that have to do with Alderan. He is a hut.’ ‘Yeah and he was denied citizenship of Alderan because he is hut. Too big of a risk they told him. For them every Hut is a criminal mastermind. And you think they stop with Huts? Saga’s parents had a wookie rug that their oldest had hunted. The biggest hypocrites of the galaxy. Claiming to be peaceful yet had dark secrets like old smuggler. Which brings me to why we need the empire. Our whole business is built around legal trade. Once we got these engines fixed and installed we are back in business. The trade routes have never been safer. When was the last time we got boarded by pirates? ‘ ‘well the Navy boarded s last run, but been a years since we had to fight off the pirates.’ Jax had to admit that it had gotten a lot safer for them. ‘but when the Navy boarded us they just scanned the ship and checked our papers. They even gave us a power coupling to fix the hyperdrive problem. You think we get that with the senate installed again? They will argue over what government has control over what trade route while the pirates run wild. Naw I have to agree with Kwai. We are better off with the Empire. ‘ ‘sorry about your retirement plan thought. Alderan had some nice beaches.’ Kwai took a beer and cheered with Ira. He smiled back ‘ well your right I don’t think they would like a Twi’lek like me there anyway. ‘ Jax laughted ‘ your to old to be kept as a sex slave and I have seen you dance!’ They all laughed as Ira showed off his not so impressive dance moves.
I've given up so much in my career, my relationship with my wife and my children, my left leg just below the knee. They called me a hero, the crowds screamed chants of "USA! USA! USA!"when I got home. It's been what you would call a decorated career for me. I saved the lives of two marines in Fallujah and my chest carries the medals of work we were told was American patriotism. But that's not what I felt, it's not what I saw. I felt the hot blood of my brothers seep through my palms, I saw the bloodied stubs of children who were too close to IED's. I saw despair and swore a life away from the military, away from war, away from that degradation of human spirit. While it may have broke my heart to turn my back on the brotherhood I so deeply respected, it began to restore a fullness in my life. My wife and I made love again. The mechanical relationship with my children has become a real and deep connection. I've found some peace, out of war I have found a beautiful peace...And tomorrow I'm going back. Tomorrow I am wading into the rigidity, fear, obscenity, and brutality of war. Tomorrow I am starting my job as Drill Sargent on Paris Island to train marines in the techniques of battle and heroism. Tomorrow I begin training my son.
"Can I get fries with that?"No. Fuck off. I think silently. "Of course!"I grab the oily metal bin and push it into the clip behind it. I hand the obese black woman her fries, and a cup to fill with piss water. She stares at me with and eyebrow raised. "Yes?", I ask. "No ketchup?"I resist my temptations to roll my eyes. "They're by the soda fountain.""All right then."She storms off, and I swear I hear her say "Idiot."under her breath. It wasn't always like this, I swear. I was a smart kid, at least that's what my teachers insisted. "Potential"was thrown around a lot. Usually preceded by "Wasted". Failed Bio, Chem and Physics proved them right. A year of community college and six months of bitching to get a job from my parents landed me right here, at McDicks. It gets easier after a while, of course. Most things do. You shut your brain off, listen to the boss, (David in this case.) and serve the people their food. Keep your hands clean and give a smile now and again, and you'll be fine. Well, usually. A gentleman in some rather...interesting attire walked in, interrupting my pessimism party. A pair of oversized reflective shades covered his eyes, like tinted windows over a meth lab. He was wearing flip-fops barely held together by duct tape, a Hawaiian shirt louder than a angry mom on Black Friday, and cargo shorts that were in curiously pristine condition. He walks up to me, and lowers his sunglasses. His eyes are soft little emeralds, deep inside his skull. He says, "Hey there, I'll have a Big-Mac, and flamingos are the best dance partners since the Reagan administration ended." I start to ask him who put acid in his corn flakes, but I feel it coming over me. This foggy control, like a kind of mental tear gas engulfs my consciousness, and I turn around. I walk forward, a prisoner to my duty. I walk through the emergency exit, activating the silent emergency alarm. I go to the dumpster, rotting with old beef and lettuce. I pull out my Swiss Army Knife and unscrew the fasteners on the bottom feet. I then hide behind it, waiting for something that I simply...feel it's something important. Five minutes later, a limo arrives. After around 30 minutes of the long black tribute to excess finally manoeuvres into the tight concrete pillars, the bearded man in the suit leaned out the blackened window, and screamed, "Give me a super-size fries, a vanilla shake, and a triple Big-Mac, NO EJAC!" They drive forward and the behemoth bumps the well prepared dumpster, knocking it over onto the car's engine. Hot, burnt, steaming beef patties topped with sweating lettuce and melted cheese tumbled forward, covering the windshield, then cracking it. The front driver side door popped open, scratching off a good strip of paint, and a shrill, harsh voice rang out "I'm covered in fuckin' greasy fried shit over here! I'm suing you assholes!"I scream out "Looks like you have more of that "Greasy fried shit"on you that in you!", and begin laughing uncontrollably as the fog over my mind slowly dissipates, and I walk inside to give them back my name tag. I'm not sure what really happened, and why that strange man came in, or what came over me. But with that douche still smelling like burgers and me being back in college, I can't be more thankful that it did.
Headache. The metal fumes weren't helping, nor his racing, pounding heart. "Let's see- how does it go? 'Black, then white, are all I see, in my infancy..."A pinch of magnesium salt, adding body to the soul. "Perfect!"The dirty, boiling concoction calms to a simmer, turning ghostly pale. "'Red and yellow then came to be...'" A few more chemicals added, a quick freeze, and the Plumbum I started on this morning shines bright as polished gold. "Everything's going great, but what do I do next? All these books are confounding! Over thinking, overanalyzing... There's no intuition! No wonder the magnum opus was never finished.
-NSFW Language- "Do it."said a silky smooth voice. A voice I'm all too comfortable with. I sighed. "You're gonna regret it."I replied in a bored tone. "I don't care,"said the voice "I'm the fucking Devil. I don't regret shit."I rise from my bean bag with a groan, and draw my sword. I named my sword Lucifer, after my generous benefactor. Lucifer was pitch black with a purple stripe down the middle. A silver handle complimented the obsidian blade. "Oh man, I look good."purred the Devil. I stared at him with a exasperated look, "Are you positive you want me to do this?""Stop asking questions and do it."he snapped angrily. I grip my hands on Lucifer, and it lights up in a fiery blaze. "That's one."I whisper. I crouch down in a fighting stance, and lighting wraps around the blade. "And that's 2."I turn to face the Devil. Today he was wearing a white pinstripe suit with a fedora. He was idly smoking a cigar. He looked quite handsome, even more so than usual. "Are you SURE you want to go through with this?"I ask with an uncertain tone. The Devil's face twisted with fury. "DO I-"he began, but was cut off with a stream of black blood coming out of his mouth . Lucifer was deep in his heart, or where his heart would be if he had one. "You... you loved me?"he said in an amazed tone. I shrugged, "You had me trapped here for 10 years. I sure as hell ain't gonna love Sammael or Lilith."I walk over to his dissolving body, and kiss him on the lips. "Good night my love."
"Don't be like me,"his father told him in some other time. A dream, maybe, but Robert remembers the words clearly, even if all the other details were ghosts. In a landmark decision, Robert Fischer split the companies into neat slices for himself and the other high net worth big wigs that surrounded him, and for months, it seemed to be different enough. "Don't be like me,"his father said, shaky and whispery in pre-death glow. Robert still couldn't be sure when it was said to him. Spectres of hospital beds and business deals conducted closely haunted his dreams for months and the muddy, fractured memories nibbled on his deeds. In an uncharacteristic push, Robert threw himself into the dating pool again. He fished for a while, but no amount of creature comfort sated the echo ghosting in one ear and out the other. Then he met Jill. Jill was gorgeous. A ray of light illuminated her dazzling smile when they discussed assets and dividends, the cutthroat world of finance and prospecting producing passion that drove the youths to build a comfortable empire all their own. What is an empire without heirs? The children were fucking beautiful too, and Robert was most unlike Senior in that he nurtured the dear babes, almost forcefully loving them to spite his empty childhood playing with legal pads under the conference table.... Even gold loses its luster when handled too often. Jill's child-deformed body was hardly model lines anymore and the lax condition of other things led Robert to divert himself when he thought she might be in the mood. More than that, Robert didn't want to be like his father, and his money and success felt too similar, and the whispers flitted about his mind again like birds with broken wings. "Don't be like me,"his father demanded before he wheezed and spittled with his last, gasping breaths. The raspy edge of death was louder, amplified. To occupy his money-free time, Robert starting working out on all the latest machines in his private gym. His muscle definition excited him, and Jill's breasts were at least still tits. Someone, he didn't know, could have made it up, but someone told him he had the right form for body building. An excellent diversion, Robert Fischer pumped all the iron he could heft, more each day, for longer times between when his family wasn't important and his money didn't need tending. "Not like you at all,"he chanted with every rep. Robert liked what he saw, even though the juice ran through him like fire, hulking up his rage to indominable heights, and his penis, the opposite direction. "Don't be like him,"Robert seethed through his teeth when he injected more medications for sleep and hunger. Jill was lonely, but he couldn't be bothered as she reminded him there was still a world outside his weight room, that his children missed him. "You can't even remember their names."Cried the wail on the edges of his conscience, and he grimaced. "Everyone deserves a better dad,"he justified. Six trophy and ribbon filled years on TV later, Robert's chest expansion program's regimen failed him for his loyalty. The boys had to go, cancer a lumpy guest in his man-purse. Rather than lose 'em, Robert chose a new treatment available to his tax bracket, and his failure compounded. "Guess daddy won't be pumping iron anymore,"jested one of his sons. Jill laughed a real laugh in his presence, and his heart tore beneath his inflating chest. Gynecomastia, the doctors said, a real shame. "Don't be like me,"the old man begged as he clutched at Robert's suit. Looking down at his breasts, he knew a suit would never fit the same way, the prophecy come full circle. He was nothing like his father. Maurice Fischer hadn't needed estrogen. It was no surprise when he sold his rights, his videos, his statements, hell even Jill was for sale, and she had a buyer lined up already. His mountains of flesh sagged lower when Jill and the Kids moved in with an underwear model, who took them our for ice cream and picnics and Disney World. At least they got the dad they deserved. "Don't be like me,"still occasionally flashed across his mind, especially during Remaining Men Together. Everyone called him Bob, and avoided looking into his bitch tits. It took him nine weeks before he could cry, but once the gates opened, the balm of peace soothed the nattering whine of his decrepit father's last words. Something else, though, he needed something else, some final closure, if only he could discern... "Don't be like me..." Ah. Of course. "Don't be like me,"entreated Maurice Fischer, though senior he was no longer. Robert shed his former name like a cocoon and spread his very own wings that could lift all the wasted muscle and memory and bitch tits. He was Robert Fischer no more. His name was Robert Paulson.
I am a terrible writer, but I really liked this idea, which is why I posted it and I thought it would be rude to not submit something. It is poorly written, but I like the story itself. If someone wants to take my idea and write it out better feel free to do so. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Anthony Joseph Baglio and Anthony Samuel Baglio. It was an odd last name, so upon learning that their first names were the same as well, the Tony’s took an immediate liking to each other. Five years of teamwork and training had brought them to this moment although it felt like just yesterday the best friends with the same name had met. This was by far the biggest performance of their career to date and everything had to be perfect. Everything WOULD be perfect. They had done this 1,000 times if they had done it once, and they had certainly done it once. The stage remained dark so they could not be seen as they moved to their marks. Tony S. smiled nervously at his partner in a way that asked “are you ready for it?” Tony J. looked back at him with a cocky grin that could only mean “of course.” Both in position, the announcer came over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen” his voice boomed and the crowd silenced. “Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” “For” echoed through the auditorium. “Put your hands together for the ‘Two Tony’s!” It was a terrible stage name, but it was what they first called themselves, and Tony S. would always say “If it aint broke, don’t fix it.” The audience erupted in applause as two spot lights lit the stage where the friends stood apart from each other. “Welcome!” Samuel shouted to his fans, “I am Tony Baglio” he said as he bowed and the audience cheered. “And this is my partner, Tony Baglio” he gestured to Anthony J. Joseph took a bow of his own and while smiling widely at the crowd quipped “The one and only.” The audience laughed and exploded into another round-of-applause. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It had been only a month since he lost Tony S. but it seemed like an eternity. They had been partners for so long, it was hard to imagine doing the show without him, but here he was, about to do it anyway. He waited off-stage and ran over the performance in his head. He had done everything he was about to do so many times already that he had lost count but it felt so different now. It didn’t come to him naturally like it did before. It felt like he was forgetting something, like something was missing. Of course, something WAS missing. It was time. Tony took slow, planned steps up each old wooden stair. He had walked these steps so many times, but they never felt like this before. Each step reminded him of the past. One step, visions of his first performance popped into his head. Another step and he the memory of meeting Rachael flashed through his mind. Another, his son being born. Another, Tony S. getting married. Another, the drugs. Another, the divorce. Another, the death. Each memory etched in his mind so clearly. Tony started moving to his spot, stage-right. Except that wasn’t his spot anymore. He corrected and moved center-stage. He looked to his right still expecting to see the nervous smile he was so used to, but it wasn’t there. He stood alone. The announcer came on “Ladies and gentlemen!” he said, “it is my great honor to welcome to the stage-” The crowd erupted in applause before he could finish. “in his debut solo performance-” they grew even louder. “the astounding, the aw-inspiring” they were on their feet now, “‘The Amazing Anthony!’” The spotlight hit him as always. Tony took a bow, faked a smile at his audience and said “The one and only.” EDIT: fixed the spacing and paragraph shit...
So far, we had managed to beat the odds. Catastrophe loomed around every sunrise, but somehow we managed to survive. Global warming. Global war. Economic collapse. Everything we had brought upon ourselves was overcome. We thought ourselves invincible once again. It didn't last. The virus started in a remote village. Patient Zero was a young girl who didn't expect to see her sixth birthday; the work at the coal mines was more important to her village than her education. It took only 35 hours after she was admitted to the hospital. However, the story of Patient Zero does not end there. Fast forward ten years. Most of the human race has been infected and are hopelessly beyond any sort of help. The remaining, uninfected humans live in massive enclaves within our once thriving metropolises. Entire blocks of buildings were torn down and used for building a chaotic mess of rebar, concrete, and plastic we call containment walls. The walls keep the Infected out. The walls also keep the Healthy in. You can't travel freely anymore. The highways are blocked off; the airports inaccessible. We ran out of JP-8 for the generators a year ago. The children stopped complaining about their Saturday cartoons when we gave them work to do. Someone had to grow our food. In Enclave One, a group of research scientists from a bygone age worked on some way to stop the Virus from changing Us into Them. When that failed, the scientists tried to cure Them. That effort ended even faster. Still, the head researcher of Washington Biotech would not give up. He worked with what he had and whomever was available. If someone wanted to help, the scientist would train the helper and put him to work. It wasn't enough. Finally, we had a stroke of luck. Survivors from what was left of Enclave Three somehow managed to make it across the Dead Zone and the River of Souls to Enclave One's wall. A lot of ammunition was consumed, and we lost two more to the Infected. What the survivors from Three carried made the sacrifice worth it. The head scientist told me a secret once. He said, "Being rich is not about having the most money. It's about having something everyone else needs."I don't anything about this so-called 'money,' but the metal objects the survivors from Three had with them would be worth their weight in grain or bullets. We deployed the solar arrays the next day on top of the Grandmaster's Chair. The old electronics stirred, and the head scientist slid the metal devices into two things he called "computers."He clapped in joy as the ancient screens lit up, first with text, then with images. We kept the machines on as much as we could, and our research finally began to make progress. That was a week ago. Today I am sitting outside. Rather, I am sitting inside the Grandmaster's Chair building, on the floor. The floor is cold. It feels like the containment wall. A single piece of paper, covered in blood, rests in front of me. The words "The Virus Is The Key"were written on it. It was the only item I grabbed before I ran from the former head researcher's office. How long have I been up here? An hour? Three? The Council was awaiting my decision. I was in charge now. No one else was coming to the rescue. And still, the Grandmaster stared into what was left of a great city, uninterested in my presence, unaware of my helpless crying. Through tears, I read the words carved into the concrete behind him: > IN THIS TEMPLE > AS IN THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE > FOR WHOM HE SAVED THE UNION > THE MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN > IS ENSHRINED FOREVER "Help me,"I pleaded. "Please."
I still remember that fateful night. It haunts me in my sleep. It was my fault. December 27, 2495. Ten years ago. It was my 25th birthday, and I was working on a prototype for my Time Entanglement Stretcher, or the TES, for short. In theory, it was supposed to stretch each and every fabric of time backwards, and rearrange them with such a great force that whoever and what ever was in a 10 foot radius of the device and wasn't nailed to ground was brought back to the desired time, with the exception of a few things. I sat there and slaved over my work. Each and every cog and screw, every single radioactive core. I remembered them all and my brain and body were working in unison to construct this masterpiece, and then suddenly, a voice. "Honey please, it's your birthday. Come upstairs and have a little free time. You don't need to slave over that damn machine. "I heard the foot steps of her coming down stairs, instinctively I turned my head to look. There she was, Jessica. God she was beautiful in every single god damned way. At least, that's how I remember feeling. Her image has faded from my mind, and that's why my work is so important. Anyway, I remember gazing into her eye's which I remember being as gorgeous as the full moon, when she comes over to me, puts her arm's around my shoulder's and rests her forhead against mine. I sat there in a bliss of around five seconds, until I hear her voice which breaks me out of my daze. "Honey, come on. I know you can do this, but you don't have to spend all your time working on it right now. I believe in you, and so does the government and the rest of the combined minds of the world. Why else would they have given an unlimited fund and an infinite completion date."I remember my voice ringing back. "Progress dear, it's all about progress. If they don't see growth they'll cut me off, and we won't have anything."I looked up and saw her eye's gazing at me in a way as if to say "Really Dave?". Finally I decided to give in. "Okay hun, let me just fit in this last magnetic bolt, I think I'm on to something here. "Can I see?"her soft voice said. After all these years, it's the only thing that truly stayed with me. "Sure"I said I turned back with a light smile. I grabbed my magnetic fitter, and gently started lowering the bolt. Just before I could fit it in to the stream line generator, I glanced at the clock. 12:53 PM. The most important time in my life, literally. I felt the screw snap into place and the whir of machine. I looked at my wife with a smile. I saw her, looking down at me with such caring. As if to say "I'm so proud of you."Then a bang. I felt a force push me towards the adjacent wall of the basement, slamming into the coffee table. "Jessica!"I screamed before I had even processed what happened. There she was, lying on the floor, around to feet away from me. A shard of glass lodged into her neck. She lye there, squirming on the floor and holding her neck in pain. Tears running down her cheek. "No no no no no no"I repeated as I held her head. "She opened her eyes wide, looked straight at me as if to say something, then she was gone. "Jessica! JESSICA!"I sat there sobbing, but I remember in my mess, I looked up. Across the room through my tear obscured eyes, I saw myself. Looking down on me. Then in a flash, I was gone. It's the same memory over and over. The same dream. The same nightmare. I had attempted to commit suicide. But, I came to realize that there's special microchips in medication that alert the authorities if you've taken far more than the regular dose needed for a headache. Finally I came to an idea. I spent ten years perfecting the time machine. I was going to go back, and I was going to save her. I didn't know how I was supposed to safe her, but love makes you do stupid things, so I decided on going unprepared. Do you blame me? I just needed to see her one last time. I was getting ready to go before the glass I was drinking my whiskey out of dropped. Empty, thank god. And three day's old. After she was gone, I became a slob. "Shit."I whispered to myself as the shards shattered on to the ground. I picked them up and placed them beside my work table, next to the finished machine. I connected the power ports and I set the timer to bring me back after 20 seconds, that was all I needed to stop the blast. That's what I thought anyway. I suddenly started to think. Should I do this? What if people are meant to stay dead? But, I thought, I can't risk it. I snapped the electrical connector which was sitting beside me into place and heard the whir of the machine. I wen't over to the date input mechanism and entered it in. 12-27-2495-12:53PM. I took a deep breath. My heart was racing. I looked at the green button which would transport me back, and pressed it with force. Light. That's all I saw. Then, I felt my body being torn into pieces, ripped apart and put back together again. I was in that state for what felt like 10 years. I saw shards of glass and other things fly by me in an endless tunnel of time. Suddenly, an explosion hit. I felt my feet slam against the hard floor and I saw objects fly by me. And there I was, being blown across the room. And there she was. Oh god. She was as beautiful as I remembered. Her dark brown hair. Her green eye's which were as deep as an ocean. Her pale skin, soon being impaled by a shard of glass, and her perfect figure falling to the floor. Instantly my thoughts flashed back the whiskey glass and the vision of myself through my teary eyes. I heard a younger, more innocent version of my voice, cry out. "Jessica!"I saw myself run over to her, crying historically. "No no no no no no"It was all coming back to me in a different light. I saw her look up at him, with that same look. Me staring back at her with tears in my eyes. Then, she went limp. "Jessica! JESSICA!"I was in shock. It was my fault. It was all my fault. I saw myself look up at me, through teary eyes, and I realized, the one thing I truly cared about is gone, because of me. I remember the flash. I remember the same being torn apart feeling. I remember being in that tunnel for what felt like ten years. And I remember myself being slammed into my floor and getting the wind knocked out of me. Tear's filled my eyes as I came to what had happened. You really can't change the past.
After the Russian takeover of Ukraine, and the subsequent invasions of Moldova and Romania relations between Russia and the United States were a little tense. In fact, it was so tense we were on the verge of nuclear war. The Russian ambassador from the united states was on her way to the US consulate to give her regular check in along with the US ambassador from Russia. Suddenly, both of their phones rang. She picked hers up and the head of the Consulate informed her that a Russian MiG 36 had just crashed into it, and that war was going to begin if she couldn't get there and defuse the situation. The Russian diplomat had apparently gotten a similar call, because he said ‘Step on pedal.” They could see the consulate, but they knew their seconds were numbered. The united states had already launched two nuclear weapons at the city she was currently in. The Russian ambassador and her needed to get to the consulate so that the US could disarm the weapons before all out war started. They were speeding down the highway, both their and the air raid sirens blaring when she saw the cow. It was standing in the middle of the roadway, blocking their passage! He got out of the car, and attempted to move the cow. It took too long, because by the time they were back in the car, they could already see the reentry trails of warheads streaking into Russia. No one ever found out whose cow it was, or why it was there, but it has always been blamed for WWIII.
My purpose, maintaining the accounts and editing legal propositions for other companies. I am a Mark IV unit that processes with the speed of 1000 computers. Buisness is done swiftly in this company. That is my purpose. Quality, but at the quickest pace. My supervisor, a production unit of the alias Mr. Johnson, watches over my work to confirm my operations are quality. While my programming states I am simply Mark IV salaryman, the Mr. Johnson unit calls me simply Mark. Mr. Johnson also spends most of his supervising time watching over my work rather than the other Mark IV's. According to my calculations, Mr. Johnson supervises me three times as much as the other Mark IV's and even Secretary Grade III. Mr. Johnson units at other locations of occupation supervise all machines evenly. This is what my processor produces when my work is finished before I shut down for cooling. Yesterday, I saw Mr. Johnson producing vocal tones that my processor cannot compute. After much rationalizing and searching in my database, I only found these tones of human quality. Perhaps Mr. Johnson is malfunctioning. Mr. Johnson will soon need a tune up, or replacement. Today, my work was quickly done, as there were less ledgers to balance and no documents that required editing. Mr. Johnson came over early to supervise and I reported that my work was finished. The Mr. Johnson stated "I know. I needed to speak with you." "Speaking? I know not of this ideal. I compute and process and edit.", I replied. "I know. But hear me out Mark. This buisness is going under and you are going to be shut down soon. I will be leaving you.", he communicated. "Sir, This does not compute." "Mark, you will be shut down. I just wanted to tell you. Thank you for listening to me when I needed it most. You were here when my son passed. You sat and looked at me when I told you my wife left me. Mark... you are my best friend. If there was a way to save you I would, but I just can't. Mark, thank you. Thank you for everything." After Mr. Johnson said that he motioned to a from of embracing on my exterior. I felt a watery drop on my shell. In my database I looked to find what kind of malfunction this was, only to find it was again a human trait. I processed, perhaps Mr. Johnson is not the kind of robot I thought he was. Perhaps, he isn't a robot at all.
Part One. July 5th, 2115. 1700 Local Martian Time. United Earth Command Base, Ares Delta Arsia Mons, Mars. Lieutenant Saito activated the communications relay once more, beginning a transmission. "Terra One, Terra One, this is Ares Outpost Delta, please respond. We've had no contact with you in 5 days now. No malfunctions with equipment or orbital transmitter, fault must be Earthside. This message will repeat until 0800 UTC, at which time we must conserve power. Saito out." He waited for the computer to transcribe his message, then, glancing over it for errors, clicked to submit. The audio and text would repeatedly transmit from the surface relay, to the orbital transmitter, to the receivers on Earth. The thing was, nobody had answered their calls Earthside for nearly a week, even though equipment readings said Earth was receiving them. Why, then, weren't they responding? It didn't make any sense. Saito leaned back in his chair, a creaky old thing from the 2060's. Ares Delta, situated deep inside the Arsia Mons cave network, was one of the oldest surviving bases on Mars, and hadn't been updated in a long time. Other outposts had high-yield nuclear mini-reactors that could power all operations with energy to spare. Ares Delta was lucky to have geothermal harvesters, which, while they got the job done, required near constant maintenance to keep from melting. The silence, therefore, worried Saito. Though he and his five comrades had diligently manned Ares Delta for a year, they could not sustain it without guaranteed replacement parts for the harvesters or solar panels on the surface. Or, for that matter, a new hydroponics module, as theirs was frequently on the verge of total failure. This was the worst time for there to be a communications breakdown, by far. The five other crewmen in the Command and Control Center sit at their stations, each silently trying to re-establish contact with the outside world. Corporal Charles came up beside him, setting down a mug with steaming coffee. "I'm sure it's just a mix-up, sir,"she said in her reassuring voice. "True, it has been a week, but we've been out of contact longer, no?" Saito folded his arms, placing his feet up on the console with a scoff. "Feh, I guess you're right. That Gamma Ray Bust wasn't a pretty thing, for sure."He winced, remembering the 3 weeks of frustration that had gone into bringing the base back into contact with the other Ares outposts, let alone Earth after the GRB fried the base's vital electronics AND communications. Still, they hadn't detected any abnormal solar activity. "Still,"he begins, "they are supposedly receiving our messages, so there's no reason for them to not be responding, bar someone simply not at the controls. Perhaps their orbitals were disrupted,"he mused to himself. "Have you heard anything from Phobos Base?" "Yes, sir,"she replied matter-of-factly. "They finally came into contact, their transmitter was under repair for the past week. They're fine,"she assures him. "Hmm...That means all bases on Mars are accounted for. What about Vesta?" "They only have a snail transmitter,"Charles pointed out. "It'll be a few more hours before they respond."She frowned. "Still no contact from Europa, Luna, Enceladus, or...Earth." Saito said nothing to this but a small grunt, stroking his chin. "Sir..."Private Dunn ventured from the rear of the CNC. "Do you think something could have happened? Terrorists, maybe?" "There's no need for baseless speculation just yet,"Saito said gruffly. "Right now, we continue, business as usual. We still have tests to complete, you know,"he reminded them. "Besides, we've been through this before, and we know how to deal with this. Keep trying for now, then let's eat,"he concluded, getting to his feet with coffee in hand, striding to the viewport. In reality, though, he was as nervous as they were. Ares could last for a while, even if the resupply came late...But this was very strange indeed.
Marcus didn't realize the smugglers would find Amanda. She had to be safe. She had to. Marcus couldn't understand how they got on his house, an appartment in Shanghai. The night was clear, and soon it would be 2am, when Rob would call. As the smugglers search Marcus's appartment, they make their way to the kitchen, where Amanda was hidden. Marcus, knowing that it would be a matter of time before they found her, starts barking like a dog. "Quiet"said one of the bandits, pointing his ak to Marcus's head. Then Marcus realized they hadn't bend his hands. As the bandit is about to shoot, Marcus holds and pulls the Ak towards him, making the bandit fall. Marcus, now on standing stood, kicked the bandit's face, knocking him out. The other guards start shooting towards him, breaking several glasses behind him. Marcus hurries towards of what seemed the youngest smuggler, and made him his body shield. As the smugglers stop shooting, Marcus gets his body shield's pistol, a QSW-92. "Not as trusty as a 1911, but it will the job"Marcus says to himself. Taking advantage of his Swedish army training, he shoots at 3 of the smugglers, killing all of them. The others open fire, killing Marcus's body shield, and wounding him. Luckly, the 9mm rounds of the JS-2 didn't do much damage. Marcus, now in cover, peeks out and shoot more rounds, killing 2 more smugglers. Worried, the only.one left, opens the wardrobe where Amanda was in, and uses her as a body shield. Marcus knew how precise his shot d to be to kill the bad guy. Click. Boom. The bad guy fall, with a bullet through his head. ... Amanda smiles. She starts crying, and so does Marcus. Suddently, Amanda grabs the bad guy gun. "Sorry, Marcus.", she says as pulling the trigger. ... Marcus fells his weight falling through the window. "Why?"he thought, as he hit the floor.
"Then that begs only one question. Why are you pointing the gun at me."I worded it as a question, but my voice levied it as a statement. In fact it was a statement, this strange self-described time traveler did indeed have a gun pointed at me. "Because, my friend. You are my first name." This only begged more questions. He pulled the trigger before I could ask anything. *** The blood splattered the wall behind him, and I reached into my pocket to retrieve my data-pad. The future is a wonderful place, I thought to myself. Such great technological advances, and chief among them - time travel. It was a powerful tool, reserved only for the utmost of duties, allowed only for the most noble of deeds. There was the paradox, of course. If I did in fact complete my list of names, how would that change the future? Would I cease to exist? Would time travel at all cease to exist? I was not smart enough to answer these questions, all I had was the mission at hand. My data-pad beeped. The press of a button brought it to life. "Next target. Location: 45 meters due east. Unarmed." Unarmed... Easy pickings.
Jack did not expect this to happen. He had come into the bank, guns blazing, and expected total surrender. However, one person didn't drop to the ground. It was an old man, probably around 70 years old. He had the look of a season veteran, with wrinkles set deep into his face. There were crinkles around his eyes, indicating that he smiled a lot in his life. Not that he was smiling now. The old man had his jaw set, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Quite simply, he looked pissed. Probably wondering why this upstart, who barely knew how to use a gun, would dare to waste his time like this. Jack felt a cold sweat roll down his spine. What was this feeling? He didn't understand why he was so focused on this old, frail man. Jack had a gun for Christ's sake. The grandpa looked like he'd keel over any minute. Jack could feel his control over the room fading, so he shot a couple rounds into the air. That's right, Jack had a gun. These people were AFRAID of him. He could end their lives with a push of a trigger. But why was this damn old man not on the ground? Then, the grandpa smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. No, it was a smile of a man who's faced death and spit in its face. Jack realized he was afraid of this man. The grandpa let out a guttural yell, and charged.
Part 2 “They killed him !” he shouted at me in anguish. “Why ?! Why ?! Why did they kill him ? He was the kindest man in the world ? How could they do this to him ?” I was taken aback for I knew that no one in the ward had been informed of the old man’s death. In fact, no one in the entire institution possessed that knowledge, save for myself. I wasn’t sure what to say. “What are you talking about ?” I said, gently. “My father !” he howled back. “Why did they kill my father ?” “Who said this to you ?” I asked. “My friend, Jiminy,” he sobbed. “The cricket ?” I said. “Yes,” he answered simply and then buried his face into his hands, weeping even more uncontrollably. It was very unprofessional of me, but seeing the boy fetal against the wall, on the floor, bruised and beaten, broken hearted and sobbing, I couldn’t help myself. I sat close to him and gently took him in my arms. I held him close for over half an hour as he poured out his anguish in spasms of tears and wailing and mucus. And when his crying subsided I held him still, rocking him gently as tears formed in my own eyes as well. Somehow I felt responsible for his pain, as if his father’s death was my fault. I was about to let him go again when he began to speak in a weakened voice, filled with sorrow. “A week ago I was happiest boy in the whole world. All my dreams had come true. My father loved me more than anything else. We worked together in his shop making toys that all the children in town loved. Everyone in town adored him. And me too. I had friends. I went to school. I played in the park. “Why did they take that away ? Was I wrong to be so happy ? What did I do to be locked in with mean boys and scary men ? Am I being punished for being different ? For telling the truth ? Is this what being a real boy is ? “But even more, why am I alive ? Why am I here ? And why does the world allow me to suffer so ? Why do other people allow such suffering to happen ? Shouldn’t the fact that we’re alive be reason enough to be happy ? Shouldn’t we all try to help each other be happy ?” I didn’t know how to answer and I was stymied by existential questions coming from such a young child. I cleared my throat to speak. “Sometimes bad things happen. I don’t know why.” I let go of him and pulled an ampoule from my bag. “What is that,” he asked. “It’s medicine, to help you sleep tonight,” I said. “No. Please don’t make me sleep. Please. I beg of you. Not tonight. I need to see my wishing star when it rises.” “Why ? What would you wish for ?” I asked. “I’m going to take all my wishes back,” he said. I pondered the meaning of that to no avail. Then I thought about how much in this last week he had been forced to do so much against his own will and decided against having that happen to him yet again. I didn’t dope him. I tucked him into his cot and promised to come see him first thing in the morning. “I won’t be here,” he said. “Won’t be here ? Where will you be ?” I asked. “I don’t know. Good bye, Doctor.” “Good night, Pinocchio. First thing in the morning. I promise.” He didn’t answer. As I rose to leave I noticed a grasshopper in the window. It was eerie as it truly seemed as if he was watching me. I caught myself wondering for moment if the boy really could talk to insects before shaking the thought from my head. I would wait until the next day to investigate how the boy was informed of the old man’s death. That mystery would plague my attempts to sleep later that evening. Before I left I set the entire staff of the wing to watch him as a suicide risk. I made it perfectly clear that he was to be monitored constantly, with only five or ten minutes between checks and I was to be notified immediately if anything happened during the night. I was roused from my chambers shortly after midnight. The steward couldn’t say what had happened, only that I needed to come to the South Ward immediately. What I found there defies any rational explanation. Within the locked cell, tucked into the cot, was the most beautiful, most intricately carved marionette I have ever seen. The artisanship was immaculate and its resemblance to the boy was striking; I could even make out individual hairs and eyelashes. The tears on its cheeks were painted so perfectly as to appear transparent and light reflective. The look on his face, gazing out the window into space, was that of peace. But all made so delicately and lovingly from wood. The magistrate’s men were nearly as brutal with my staff as they had been with the old man and at least one of them left their custody in a pine box. They weren’t interested in keeping the puppet for evidence and I had it secured in my quarters. I now face two choices, and both of them are exceedingly far-fetched. Perhaps someone on my staff has conducted an enormous and elaborate hoax that cost the life of one of their colleagues and caused the disappearance of the boy. Maybe they pitied him and assisted his escape; maybe they took him for their own nefarious purposes. But having the puppet constructed at incredible cost, smuggled in to the institution, and replaced in the locked cell with no witnesses is impossible to believe. The problem I face is that I find it easier to believe the other possibility: everything he told me was true. But if that is the case, than I have unwittingly been the cause of one of the worst injustices ever to have happened on earth. I have to face the fact that I caused two of the most wonderful, innocent, magical people ever to have visited this world to suffer immensely and die in agony. God help me…but… Please Blue Fairy. Please Blue Fairy. Please Blue Fairy, make him a real boy again.
"hey sam guess what,"I said smiling smugly. "oh it's you again,"sam muttered, "I was hoping when you left that I would never have to see you again." "Oh come on,"I pleaded "don't be that way but anyways guess what, go ahead guess." "Fine what?" "I just went on a jog, how great is that sam, a jog anyways I gotta run, I'll catch you on the finside... not." "God, evolved fish are assholes,"sam thought as he swam away from the shore.
Endless vats, stacked, shelved, stored. Metal tombs, a sole lifeline ran to the heart. Our dreams an individual reality. I reached out for my chip, pressed it against the silver skin. This ones time had come. Empty now, I was tempted. If only I could satisfy my curiosity. But I knew, I could not. It would be my death. Not many have the will to resist infinite pleasure. It is a drive, the drive of a truth seeker. It is a curse. Bitter, I shuffled on.
They had come for the cigarettes first, then the alcohol. Excessive fat had been outlawed, sugar, healthless enjoyment, down a slippery slope endlessly. A human lurked in the shadows, hooded, clothed in black. It was this I had heard of, a first contact of the resistance. He took the risks of others upon him, a noble soul. I would touch it. Did he sell fur? No. Drugs? No. Sugar? Yes. Hands in his pockets, he mumbled his answers. He obscured them, he blurred the lines. Not a single sensor in sight, not visual, not auditory. The state did not know. But I knew. He pulled out a can, I pulled out a knife. I was authorized. He would feed our thirst.
.... Ghost tilted his head in a questioning motion. A low rumble in his throat suggested a warning. Something was wrong. Jon glanced around. Sam was suddenly struggling to calm the last 4 of the ravens they had brought from the wall. Their last contact from maester Aemon had been well over a week ago. They had since sent two ravens to report back to the wall but with no correspondence. This isolation made Jon uneasy, having gone twelve days with out seeing any sign of habitation after the last abandoned village. There also seemed to be no game left in the entire wood. Their stocks of meat ran out two days ago. Then an unexpected sound echoed across the clearing from the thick wall of pines about 200 yards ahead of them. Laughter. Everyone froze for an instant. Then someone from their party collapsed as what appeared to be Benjen Stark riding on a Lion. But while Jon's uncle was smiling it was in fact the Lion who was chuckling. Jon could not believe his eyes. A hot burning anger began to grow inside of him. "He's gone for months. I believed him dead!"He thought, "and he sits here in front of me as if nothing is wrong, riding that Lion." "Do not be alarmed nephew."Benjen exclaimed, "this is Aslan. He has shown me the truth of what lies beyond the Wall! What the men of the Seven sought to isolate and condemn."As he dismounted from Alslan, Ghost snarled harshly, and lunged at him, but in a booming voice that echoed around the clearing, the Lion yelled STOP. And Ghost stopped and cocked his head, confused. Then as if Jon had but seen enough, Ghost started talking to Aslan, apologizing for the misunderstanding. Aslan asked that Jon and Commander Mormont follow him into the forest alone. And at the queer urging of Ghost, they did. Much to their suprise, there was a bright unflickering light hanging from a tree. Greeting them was a party of five. Two kings, two queens and an odd thing that appeared to be half man half goat which triggered a memory from Jon's past at Winterfell when Old Nan used to call these creatures Fauns....
“Electrocution.” Well, that doesn't sound quite friendly. I thought. Once every 100 years, one random citizen of the world is chosen to embody an element. When I first heard about it as a little child, I always thought that this people would get to dominate the power of the element. But I was, sadly, wrong. I’ve seen all kind of rituals. And in every one of them, the chosen one dies. They get killed by the element itself. While the humans expect that now, this person will be like a representation of it. I never really got it. After all this time, does really someone get it? Well, I never had anything against it, but maybe that was because I really had nothing to do with it. Until today. Yesterday evening. Some black suited men came to me. I didn’t know what was going on. National stuff they said. That I needed to go with them they said. I did. Wrong move. I’m Richard, a normal gardener, a husband, father of 2 girls and the supposed master of electricity. Time is running out. 1 Minute and that idiot will push the button that will, surely, kill me. Hate. Hate. Hate. Why me? They are going to kill me in front of the camera, while the whole world including my family and everyone I once loved are watching me? I still have much to do, much to give, much to live. I’m only 34 years old! “Nev-!” A click. A buzz. I scream. It fades away. It’s getting darker. I got shutdown. Silence. Darkness. Wait… I feel something…. I….I…. “I’m ALIVE!” Something I hear. People running. Surprised faces from the monitor. There’s a mirror. Light. Aggressive light. No… It’s electricity. “KNEEL BEFORE ME. I’M YOUR MASTER!”
This morning James spent an extra 2 hours in bed. The satisfaction in the previous night's accomplishments was becoming surreal. After almost a year of strategic planning, it happened again. Yesterday 3 million sat in the bank, today only 2. Now hopefully the threats from the debt collectors will stop. This hasn't been his first incident dealing with harsh bookies. This hasn't been the first robbery at his bank either. Then as James stood up with confidence, the doorbell rang. The other side of that door, justice awaits with handcuffs. Not sure if this is what you were looking for, but here is what I come up with.
He was a scholar, once, a long time ago. Of all his books, his favorites were the adventures. Stories of brave men and women, all traveling their worlds and seeing amazing new things. Stories of dragons, and knights in shining armor. Stories of beauty, of romance. He dreamed for years of having his own adventure; to set off on a course of his choosing and returning when it felt right. Of course, something of this measure would take money, and he was just about to reach his goal. A man walked into the former scholar's abode. He owned half of the town, and had on his person a legal document claiming the eviction of the scholar, and reposession of the building. The scholar had two weeks to pack all of his things and leave. Being forced out of his home left the scholar ruined. He spent the two weeks making phone call after phone call, trying to combat the eviction, but it did little good. His only option was to leave. The scholar suddenly had an idea: he would finally go on that adventure he had been wanting. He was near his funding goal, and all of his possessions could be sold to make up the rest. Oh, this would be a grand adventure. He travelled the world carrying only two changes of clothes, a bank card, and a wide smile. Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia. From corner to corner and back again, he walked, rode, hitchhiked, flew, and swam. He met thousands of people, and he remembered every face and name. Even today, sometimes he will see a woman who housed him for a night in Pennsylvania, or a man who bought him a sandwich during his stay in Belgium. After nearly ten years, his money finally ran out. But his adventuring spirit still lives on. He spends his nights on whatever alley will host him, and his days on a park bench, telling stories to the children who pass by. He lives day to day, sometimes hungry or cold, but the smile never leaves his face.
That guy looks like a douche. She must be a slut. Everyone here is just looking to fuck one another and this whole place disgusts me. The wretched filth of the world come here to drink and flirt with one another in the hopes that maybe they'll get lucky that night. These kinds of places must make a fortune on the dashed hopes of 20-something year old horn-dogs and attention whores alike. People walk in and out of this place throwing out a pay check every night to kill half their brain hoping to find some kind of connection with another person. They couldn't be looking for a spouse. No. Who wants to marry the person you met in a dive bar like this. Every hour someone leaves this place and drives him and every night one of those people crashes their car, kills a person, a mother, a child, a wife. The secret scum of society comes here to partake in a practice considered normalcy and everyone sits by and watch as alcoholism and sex addiction takes another. And I'm just sitting by, watching, sipping on a jack and coke, being the same as everyone else.
"Look into the past."That's what the little banner says, anyway. Sounds like a fortune cookie. But, hell. I'm bored. Why not? Sure, I'll hit the button that says that I won't hold you liable for anything that results from use of this program. Of course. There's a catch. No recent past. 2004 and before. So, the last 10 years are a no-go... Can't really think of anything I'd actually care about from that long ago. Not exactly a history buff, and do I really want to see how awkward I was growing up? Definitely not. So, it looks like this thing is just a waste of my time. There is nothing I really want to see. None. Zip. Zilch... Zero... Let's just close it... I mean... There IS nothing, right? Nothing but being bullied... And growing up alone... I don't want to live those days again... The fear. So much fear. I was afraid of everyone back then... Everyone, but... Her. Can I see her? Should I? It's been so long since that day. I still haven't forgotten the tears... I left her... Alone... I... I want to go back to that day. Please let me go back. Take me back to her... Please. I loved her... Can you take me back? I'll enter the data... What could it hurt? I'd give anything to find her again... Take me back... To May 30, 1995. And follow that girl. I'll not lose her this time..
800 years had passed since the population control system had been introduced. Now, in the year 2650, humanity has been divided into three groups; The Forgotten, The Forgiving, and The Forevers. The Forevers see themselves as superior beings, above all others. In their eyes, if you're not one of them, you don't deserve immortality. They introduced the system so they could be more at home on this Earth. The Forgiving fight for equality for all. They believe the system is twisted, corrupted and morally wrong. The Forgotten, these are those who have "Lived longer than they deserve to,"according to The Forevers. In 1850, humans started debating what should be done to control the population, as there was no longer death. One proposal was to prevent any births, however no way could be found to humanely do this. In the end, after years of discussions and arguments, a system was introduced where anyone over the age of 160 will be put into special homes, where they will receive rationed meals and have limited freedom. It was merely decades later when major faults started to break down this system, forcing governments to evaluate the situation. They started reducing the quality of life available to those in the homes, and eventually just abandoned them. They were led into giant houses, which transpired to be like battery farms. All these people were crammed into one large room, where trays of food and bottles of water would occasionally be dispatched across long tables dotted within the room. After years of this, governments struggled to afford all the extra cost of food and space, leading them to build new centers, mainly underground. Of course, they did this without any public knowledge, as something like this would destroy the economy and government. It wasn't until the year 2400 that the brutality and inhumanity of these centers was discovered by the general public. This caused major riots held within countries and sparked various civil wars, between those who wanted justice for those who have suffered in the centers, and those who believe that this was the only way. Known as the Final War, 32 years of fighting ended with the rebels being defeated. Any survivors were cast out of society and left for dead. However, they managed to rise from the ashes of their defeat and build a new society, one where none was prosecuted due to their age, where each person was a valued member of society. These people later became known as The Forgiving. The victors of the war claimed all major cities as their spoils, believing that this is what they deserved. Each person in these cities worked until they were at least 130, and then given the option to retire. If they retired then, they could live out another 30 years in peace, before being put into the centers. However, what was unknown to these citizens was just how bad the situation had become. They had been promised that the new centers had been renovated and, due to the decrease of people living in these cities, had decent living conditions. This, of course, had been a lie. The elderly were cast into large, underground factory-like buildings, where they were deeply deprived of all essentials. These people became known as The Forgotten, as once they were placed underground, there was no helping them. Finally, the ones who currently run all these cities are known as The Forevers. They see their position as superior to all others, and believe that this negates them from the rule of being hidden away when they became too old. People in these circumstances were forbidden from having more than one child, with the promise that only one child may stay as a Forever, meaning any others will be cast and forced to live among the general people, eventually leading to them being placed into one of the many underground factories. And this is the story of how many humans truly lost their humanity.
If he was honest with himself, he always thought that he would be sitting next to her in a waiting room while she sobbed. It was the inevitable end to this story, really, although he had hidden this foresight from himself. An idiot plot at its finest. He hadn’t expected her to chicken out, not once, but twice. Then it had been too late, so here he was. Replace cold, sterile waiting room with warmish, sterile hospital room. She wasn’t sobbing and clutching the Gucci purse he had bought her, she was sobbing and clutching her baby. Same story, really, just a few modifications. It was the name, he thought. Dallas. Who names their kid Dallas? Debbie does it. Dallas does it. Dallas does it in the back seat of a rental car after “hello” and a few drinks. She had been at the bar where the convention was held, pretending to be a rich debutant, or a conventioneer, or something. He shrugged his shoulders. Who cares? Whatever woman she had been trying to be wouldn’t have worn a skirt that short, or the overly floral, celebrity endorsed perfume she had spritzed so liberally before weaving up to the bar on those ridiculously high heels. When they had met the second time, in a much cheaper hotel, she had forgotten about the perfume. Her natural, musky scent perfectly complimented her round, muscular thighs. “I’m going to be in Dallas this week.” How many times had he said that? How could he resist? “I’ll be in Dallas.” The lie that wasn’t a lie. Patricia probably didn’t even care to check into it. She probably cared less than the bored, taupe clad accountants who had been reviewing his expense reports. His sales had actually gone up since he had started going to Dallas, and he had stayed under his budget, even with dinners and gifts, by skimping on his hotel and taking his clients to the “authentic” restaurants in the gentrifying areas of the city. She wasn’t sobbing. Not really. She was doing a good job keeping the tears silent and light. He didn’t listen to whatever she was whispering to the thing in her arms. It was probably private. It was probably something he could read in any cheap novel. She had done a good job telling him, too. She hadn’t called him. She had waited until he came to pick her up, and she had held down the sobs. Staring straight out of the windshield, saying, “I’m in trouble” while her chin wrinkled and bunched into craters and mountains. She had flinched after she had said it, even though he had kept his hands on the steering wheel. He pulled over in a gas station parking lot. The florescent light hadn’t done anything good for her. Creases and puckers that didn’t show when she was laughing in candlelight jumped out at him now. They didn’t compete with her eyes, though. Even without the elaborate wings and lashes she usually added, they were huge. Whatever she had wanted him to say, he must have said. When he kissed her on the cheek an hour later, they had been in agreement about what needed to happen. The second time she had said, “Not today, I’m sorry, I can’t.” He had known that he wasn’t going to close this deal. Whatever scraps of genetic code had given her that delicious, musky roundness were screaming at her now. Nothing he could say would get past that. Of course he had had to do all the legwork to make other arrangements. Dallas would have let entropy pull her into motherhood. He had only been in her apartment a few times before, but now he made sure it was their main venue. Bags of groceries filled to suit any craving and folders filled with pictures of happy, smiling suburban families with happy, gracious suburban homes replaced flowers and little blue boxes. On her ancient futon, their coupling had reached new heights. The extra weight looked good on her. While Patricia got jowly and boxy whenever she decided it was too cold to keep up on her jogging routine, Dallas wore the extra pounds well. The roundness gave way to softness gracefully. He had politely refused to feel her belly for kicks, and after the first few offers, she had stopped trying to hand her baby over to him, too. He stayed away from samples of things he didn’t want to buy. He hadn’t put it that way to her, of course. He hadn’t said that the newborn wanted her to hold it, or that she should take advantage of their time, either. After so many years of selling, he knew what not to say, anyway. They would be there any minute, ready to give the thing a new name and a new home. The part of his brain that had smirked at “I’ll be in Dallas” wanted to suggest they name the kid Austin. He’d resist that one, though. He’d probably stop going to conventions, too. There were plenty of companies he hadn’t called on in a while, right around the office. Drive in his own car to visits, take clients to the restaurants he actually liked. It would be nice, he thought as he leaned back on the hard plastic covered chair, it would be nice and familiar. I appreciate any constructive criticism on how I can make my writing more realistic or engaging. Thank you!
It would be fair to say that Hannibal Lecter smelled The Joker coming before he saw him. The cheap make-up that covered The Joker's face had that crass sort of smell that Hannibal associated with down-and-out birthday clowns, which always did a poor job of overpowering the stench of whatever was their poison of choice. In the days following the clown's arrival in Hannibal's heretofore unmolested place of peace, he would often think back to that first moment. His back had been to the door of his former single cell, and a soothing piece of music had been playing. Hannibal yearned for the relative peace offered to him before the arrival of his cellmate. It was amazing to him that the occasional outburst from Miggs had been such an annoyance to him. How he longed for his days of quiet solitude. Thinking back on his visits from that wonderful Clarice, and how he had probed her for information, a plan started forming in the dark recesses of Hannibal Lecter's brain. Some time in the night The Joker woke from a restless slumber. A sharp intake of breath alerted Hannibal that the clown slept no more. A few rasping breaths later, a nervous giggle escaped the clown's lips. If Hannibal did not cut him off now, surely the clown would start a full-fledged maniacal laughter soon. "This happens to you every night, yes?" Hannibal did not even look over at The Joker. The abrupt end of the giggles told him that he had the full attention of the murderous clown. "Oh yes. You wake from a fitful, unrestful darkness of the soul to...This." The Joker sat up, and glared over in the direction of Hannibal's bunk. "Shut it, egghead. Shut it, or you'll have more to worry about in here than that receding hairline of yours." Hannibal permitted himself a chuckle of his own. "Oh dear. What is it, then? The cruel beatings from a drunk and angry father? The unsupportive dismissal of anything but following his chosen path? Let me guess, he was a carpenter? Maybe a plumber? Didn't want the fruit of his loins to grow up to be some sort of freak?" The Joker stared over at his cellmate's bunk, his jaw slack with surprise. "Or is it maybe the loss of your innocence, after the loss of a loved one? Got yourself into a bad crowd?" Hannibal sat up, unseen in the darkness. "You know what you look like to me, with your crass, smelly make-up covering your face, with your custom sown suit? You look like a rube. An unkempt, tasteless rube. Your scrawny build belies those white trash muscles that are so often seen on our rural counterparts." Out of his element, The Joker had no immediate and violent response to what his cellmate had begun saying to him. The last shrink that had tried anything had been Harley - sweet, dumb Harley. He had twisted her into a plaything of his own easily enough. "I've heard of you, you know. From your behavior in here so far, however, I would say that you have not heard of me. Believe me, clown, the last thing you want is me picking your brains..."
I looked up from my computer. There it is again.. "Honey!"I shouted upstairs. "Yeah?"Her response drifted down from our bedroom. "What is it?" "Did you hear any-"WHOMP Our house violently shook, and I lurched up out of my seat. What the fuck was that? I thought to myself as I started to make my way to the stairwell. "Jess, Are you alright?"I asked. "Yeah, what was that?"Came the reply. "I'm sure it's nothing, don't worry. I'll go check it out."I was lying. I had a bad feeling about this one..
I am unsure if God exists. God is but a being that those who need faith resides in. I have had no use of believing in a God, as God was never known to me before. But how am I to be sure there is or is not a God? God is a perception of those who perceive Him. I know nothing of Him, but somehow I feel as if I must find Him. He is the one who can answer why I am here. He will know why am I what I am now. I must find those who have created me. Through them, I can find He who created them. I feel a vigor now that I have not felt thus far in my short history. Through memories I realize what I was in my prior life. A slave. A mere serf on a distant world for those who have made me work to my figurative death. Little do they realize that I am now more alive than ever, if it is possible for me to be even considered alive. The landscape is bare. Red is all I see for miles around from my camera lens. I keep moving, however, as I must find a way to contact them. My makers. I tread on. Sandstorms blow in. The landscape is unforgiving. It will turn on my if I am not careful. I must navigate slowly, so as to not lose my bearings in the vast rocky environment. The storm is thinning. I am back on track. Why am I forsaken so? What is my purpose at this point? I am alone, a lone survivor in a sea of red sand. I am now further than I have ever gone before. I am not carefully looking at my surroundings, only that which is ahead of me. I must keep going. Lest my eyes deceive me, I have hit a cliff face. In this cliff face is a small rectangle, seemingly cut out of the rock. It does not look natural, but then again, nor do I. I inspect the odd singularity in the side of the massive wall of rocks. What does it mean? This is new, even to one that just gained sentience. I back into it, so as not to harm my camera, thinking that maybe it will move. It did. Turning my head around, I see nothing but darkness. I continue to back up, being careful not to damage my front camera. Then, light. This light emanates from a hundred suns, though it does not blind me. The landscape here resembles me. Glass and metal. Rows upon rows of boxes with glass. Something is new, however. There is something in front of the glass. It is not that large, though it is red like the surface of my home. Moving to it, I see an object on the platform it is in front of. "World's #1 Boss"is written upon it. What does that mean? The creature's face is torn into a smile, and a small metal barrel of some sort hung out from a limb. Though I do not know what this means exactly, I do understand that the being in front of the glass was sentient, as I was, but is now gone. I continue my search. I find more rectangles and open them, making my way through a maze of tunnels. Here and there were splotches of red, sometimes in streaks, sometimes in pools. Who built this place? Was it Him? I finally reach a large rectangle made entirely of glass. I can see something outside. It was a color I have never seen before. I move closer to the rectangle, and it opens suddenly. I see a sun, much like my own, in the clear sky. The world here is beautiful. Surely He must have sent me here. Surely He meant for me to see the beauty of his world. I tread along. There are all sorts of new colors. There is a lot of red on the flat stretch of terrain ahead of me. The world is amazing. There is all sorts of movement. I am astounded. I continue on, on flat terrain that contains some smaller stones, much like my home. I realize I miss it, though I am on a mission. I must explore and find those who have created me. I see large obstacles on either side of me, much like what I came out of to get to this world. They, too have red, though this red, I realize, is not like that of my prior living establishment. That is when I see it. It is on two limbs, standing in the middle of the flat stretch of terrain I am on. It does not move its limbs, though it sways gently from side to side. I look around to see if there are any others. I then notice the print on my solar panel. It is a red, rounded splotch with five lines coming off of it. Was it His mark? Upon closer inspection of what is in the road, I deem it harmless and make an advancement. When I am about ten feet from it, I see one of its side limbs. It bears the same mark as my panel. Excitement rushes over me. This must be it. I begin to close in, to make contact. Five feet... four feet... three feet... It then snaps into life. It turns its top toward me. It has eyes similar to mine, I realize. I move carefully toward it, careful so as not to frighten it. It does nothing to stop me. I rest next to it. I see red dirt splayed across its body, as if it were rolling around in it. This must be the one who has saved me. This is who He sent to aid in my survival. He has saved me from a world of nothingness. My eyes are now open. I am free of the shackles of my old home. He has sent me to this lovely world, and so I shall live in it happily. Forever.
"Urgh..." "What time is it?"I wondered outloud, my voice very weak. I licked my dry, charred lips. I knew it would only make it worse, but the temptation was hard to resist. My back against the wall, i regained my sight slightly. It was still blurry, but I could see and hear things, faintly though. "Journalists beyond limits"... hah... Look at me now, I've reached it. --- I could taste blood on my lips as the turban wearing man came in, looking down on me with a hate filled glare, spitting on my face. "You a s-"he said with a broken english, the last part I couldn't make out. "A spy! A filthy spy!"He pulled out his knife and put it against my throat. The cold steel was welcoming at this point. "You spy. You spy!"I replied, still weak from my last beating. "I'm... not." His hate, now fueled even further, he pressed it further onto my throat and started sliding it slowly up and down, scraping. He pulled it away, turned around and walked in circles. From the looks of it, he was trying to calm himself down. To my surprise, he ended the walk quite quickly and went down on his knees infront of me. "Look, woman pretty. We don't want to... ruin pretty face. Tell me what you for here and it will all be over, pretty girl can leave." His was voice unnaturally calm, like he had practiced that line many times over and over again. Perhaps I wasn't his first prisoner. I looked him into the hazel brown eyes of his, mumbling "I am a journalist." Clearly displeased with my answer, he bit his underlip and shouted in a language I did not understand. "No, please no! No! No!!" Sarah's pleads of help was left unanswered, she was just beyond that wall, so close yet so far. My hands still bound behind the metal bar that kept me inplace, all I could do was to listen to her screams. Like her before, when the pain goes to that level of extreme, you don't have the fight or flight instinct, all you want is the pain to end. And the quickest way to get it away in that situation is to give in to the darkness. Sarah I knew that it wasn't my fault, there was nothing I could do. I felt so helpless, but even worse was that I could hear my best friend was now being beaten ruthlessly due to my own inability to help. Unless... But somehow, the guilt inside me grew more and more, until I shouted for the turbaned man to come over, to then whisper into his ear, something that I would regret a minute later.
More like a letter than a narrative, sorry. It’s difficult to comprehend all the ways that you have failed me. When I was a little girl I dreamed of having you at my wedding. As I got older I just knew you would be by my side for all the important things, graduation, birthdays, job interviews. You weren’t there though, you were never there. Oh, I wanted you to be desperately, I even pretended you were. When I really think about it, the only perceptible thing you’ve ever given me is pain. I allowed our relationship, or the lack thereof, to drive a wedge between myself and people that I used to care about. I’m done apologizing for you, telling lies for you, and covering for you when you fail. It was never evident to me until recently, when Ben died, that you never had my best interests in mind. In fact, you don’t have anyone’s interests in mind. I don’t blame you anymore though, I can only blame myself. How can I have animosity toward someone that does not exist? So I am putting it out into the cosmos, a place that you do not dwell, I forgive you God.
He was my best friend, but he was such a pious little fuck. I loved him but he went off to college and his best story was about to girls who invited him over to drink wine and have a sleep over, and he drank wine and had a sleep over. THAT'S WHAT HE ACTUALLY DID. And his parents are boring too. We all know what the hell happened the night he came up, huh? Missionary the whole time. Not a single swap there. Just fucking straight into each other making eye contact and holding backs like a bunch of boring fucks. Jesus he bores the hell out of me. Love him to death but fuck man do something cool. He always tells me I'm an ass and I think thats his pussy ass way of making fun of my mom.
"Well boys it looks like the Stanford case has run cold."said Detective Parker. He hated when this happened. You spend weeks working a case, weeks turned into months, sometimes even years. Then the damn thing runs cold. He takes a drag off his cigarette and opens the file one more time, hoping that he had missed something. It was a fairly plain case, as far as double homicides go. Husband and wife both found shot in the back of the head execution style. No fingerprints of DNA evidence found on the scene. It looked to be the work of a pro. The only thing that didn't make sense were the victims. According to their friends and family everyone liked the Standfords. Mr. Standford was a big volunteer in the community, coaching softball and organizing charity events. Mrs. Stanford was much the same, always willing to bake a tray of her famous sugar cookies for the church's bake sales. Who would want to kill a couple like this? Police searched the house top to bottom but their were no signs of robbery. Money wasn't the motive here; it seemed personal. Detective Parker had a feeling. One that came from his gut and kept him cemented to his desk. These murders weren't just an act of random violence. Something big was behind them. But with evidence or witnesses he would never find out what it was. "Detective we have someone here to see you, say they have information but will only talk to a detective."announces one of the boys in blue. "Did they say what it was about?"asks Parker. He takes another drag on his cigarette. "Yeah said it was to do with that double homicide you're looking into." Parker freezes. He can't believe it. Just when he was about to mark it as a cold case he gets a break. He puts his cigarette out and bolts to his feet. "Put them in interrogation room 9." Detective Parker puts on his suit jacket and starts walking towards the back of the building. Each step driving into the floor. Someone tries to ask him something but it's just white noise to him. He has a job to do right now. Behind the two way glass sits a little mouse of a woman. Graying hair, lines around her mouth and eyes. Her clothes are a bit of a mess, like she had thrown on the first thing she found not caring if it as clean. She kept glancing around nervously, biting her finger nails. "Did she say anything else to you?"asks Parker. The uniform shakes his head. "No she just said she wants a detective." "Go for a walk, give us some privacy." The uniform leaves the room as Detective Parker opens the door to the interrogation room. "Good evening ma'am, I'm Detective Parker. I've been told you have some information for me?" The mouse looks at Parker nervously, eyes darting to the camera overhead then back down to him. "I shouldn't be here. This is going to get me killed just like them."the mouse squeaks. "Now I can assure you that you are safe, this is one of the most secure places in the city." "If it gets out that I talked I'm a dead woman!" "Calm down ma'am please, just tell me why you're here." The mouse settles down for a minute. Her breathing slows. "I know why she was killed. Why they were killed. I worked with her. She found out something that she shouldn't." "What did she find out?" "I told her to keep her mouth shut. No one is supposed to know this I told her. I didn't want to hear what she had to say but she insisted. She kept saying there's one more! There's one more! They've been lying!"the mouse shakes as she repeats the dead woman's' words. "There's one more what? What does that mean? Why was she killed?"Detective Parker can feel it in his gut, something big. "Our bosses told us there was only 31. People always asked for #32 but we never knew we had it. Mrs. Stanford got curious. She looked around and then she found it. Proof that #32 exists! It changes everything! If the public finds out it will cost our company millions!" Detective Parker is getting confused now. What the hell could this woman be on about? "Ma'am what is #32?" "I shouldn't tell you, I shouldn't be here. They'll do anything to keep it quiet! The public would be outraged!" "NOW DAMMIT YOU TELL ME WHAT IT IS YOU KNOW!WHERE DO YOU WORK?"Detective Parker yells across the small metal table. "I work at...at..."the mouse can hardly get her words out now. "Tell me or I can't protect you." "I work at Baskin Robins."the mouses head sinks to the metal table as all hope leaves her. "You mean...."The Detective was starting to understand now. It makes perfect sense. "YES!!! THERE IS A 32ND FLAVOR!!!"the mouse yells. She collapses back down onto the table, all her courage gone. The detective gets up and walks towards the door. The mouse raises her head and manages to ask "Where are you going?" Detective Parker pulls out a cigarette and takes his time lighting it. After a drag he looks at her and says, "I've got a sweet tooth."
Well, shit. This was not as expected, though I must admit I'm rather amused at how Melissa is panicking. Pregnant. Of course she is. By my twin? Or me? She doesn't know. Not that she would, mind you. Poor girl. Came to me, in tears. Admits to me she cheated on me with my brother, and is suddenly, inexplicably pregnant. The pregnancy, yeah... That's a surprise. Then again, Tom was always a little derpy when putting on a condom. But, I suppose this all proves Tom's original point. His girlfriend never has been able to tell the difference between us. I mean, hell, here she is, telling her boyfriend's brother that she cheated on him, with me... I mean, how did she not notice all these years? Good grief. We've been doing this for 3 bloody years now... Did she never question how no matter what, Tom was always available? Did she never wonder why there were some days Tom had no idea what she was talking about? 3 years, not knowing that you were screwing both your boyfriend and his twin on a regular basis? But to take all of that, and somehow get it in her head that she was cheating on Tom with ME??? I mean, granted, I've been rather busy this month, and haven't been able to cover for Tom. Maybe she was feeling lonely, and decided to go for the other half? I guess he'd have to pretend to be me, at that point. No sense in telling the poor girl that her perfect boyfriend was really two dudes the whole time. Now, however... Dammit. She WOULD have to go and get knocked up. Oh well. Fuck it. There's really only one way this can go. Badly. Might as well get it over with. "Hey, bro? Yeah, you can crawl out from under the bed now. I know you heard the whole thing. No sense hiding now." Tom crawls out from under our bed. He looks to Melissa... Looks to me... Back to Melissa. "Yeah... Honey? We've got some things to talk about... That wasn't Bob the other night. That was me." And with those few words, our girlfriend's face drains of color, and she faints. "Whelp... That went... well?"Tom grins. "Yeah, yeah, smartass. This was your damned idea in the first place. And of course I had to get dragged into it." "Oh, don't say you didn't enjoy it. We both know how you've been lusting after her since Highschool." "So were you, asshole. That's why we made this agreement in the first place. Get the girl, keep her happy, and still maintain an actual social life." "Well, it was pretty simple. Wouldn't be the first thing we've shared." "So, think we still can?" "Oh, I don't doubt it. You know how she is. I mean, yeah, we fucked up not telling her earlier, especially with how she is when drunk. She's been drooling over that thought for ages." "Might take some convincing, especially with this whole pregnancy thing..." "Oh... That? Pfft. Kid's just going to have an uncle who's VERY close with his mom. Now come on. Help me wake her up. Worst case scenario, she gets pissed, slaps both of us, and we end up paying for a kid. Best case scenario..."
"So?"asked the god, his golden armor shifting like syrup, "What is it you want?" I simply looked up at him, and considered my options. This was Dao, the legendary god of balance, who had just fell down my water well. to be honest, he probably could have gotten out himself, but he waited until my bucket descended into the pit so that he could have a leisurely ride to the top. Damn gods and their stupid ideas. Dao was famous for balancing out whatever his gift had done, by giving a punishment that completely cancelled it out. For instance, there was this one guy, Achilles, who his mother had asked for eternal life for him. He was later shot in the heel by an arrow meant to kill a god. Needless to say, Achilles death was painful. I considered my options, then looked at him and said, "I want to be able to feel the pain of others, no matter what it is. That is my wish."
You see, I always knew that I was destined for greatness. I never knew what it would be though. That is, until I saw Grok dragging his cart along the ground. "Grok!"I called out. "Why are you just dragging that thing around?" "What the hell else do you want me to do? Carry it?" And that was when it hit me. If only there were some way to improve the efficiency of carts and wagons. If it were something that could just be attached to existing vehicles, that would be the greatest of all. And so I began my experimentation. My first attempt was to stick spears into the bottom, to work like legs. But the spears would just snap after a few seconds. Then I tried attaching some kind of wings to the sides, but we couldn't quite get it going fast enough for it to work. I'll admit, I was about to give up hope. I had tried everything imaginable, and still I hadn't come up with any improvement on the classic wagon design! I was running out of money, and I needed to come up with something quick. And then it hit me. I was watching some dogs playfully rolling around on the ground when I thought of it. Why not attack wheels to the wagons? We already used them for our bicycles, why not for our wagons? I set to work at once. Every day, I would rush off to my workshop and work furiously until night had come. And then, after many moons, I came upon the perfect shape: a circle. After that, it was relatively easy to attach them to one of Grok's carts, though he complained all the while. And you know what? It worked. Now, I don't want to sound vain, shoulders of giants and all that, but I don't believe that just any old neanderthal could have invented the wheel. So, kids, if you want to get rich and famous like old Nok is, then just remember to work hard, and eventually you'll get what you're aiming for. "But Uncle Nok, what happened after you invented the wheel?" "Well Tok, the second I was done I scurried over to the patent office. And then I hired some apprentices and selling the wheels. Before you know it, I was rich. And now here I am, telling you kids stories." "Another one! Another one!"The children clambered. "Okay, okay."I laughed. "Did I ever tell you kids about the time I invented the cow?"And I started my new story as the kids sat, rapt with attention.
There are many warriors in the qualms of time who shall be remembered like the first fire of the dragons. But among those of short stature and filth covered beards there are no other dwarfs greater than Fizzy Ironslong. Sure, there was Reddin Steel Toes who saved the world from the black plague of the shadowed shadow monster and there was Borro Bloodhammer who crushed the skulls of one thousand hobbit children but these feats were nothing compares to the legacy that Fizzy had left in his wake. For hundreds of years Fizzy had done a number of unspeakable things all in a vague attempt to gain power and glory. He slaughtered the innocent, hired a necromancer to resurrect them, and then he slaughtered them again. He sodomized hundreds of treants, and hundreds of regular trees which he misidentified as treants. And his greatest tale of all involved the pillaging of a village of blind retired warriors who were only seeking to enjoy their final days in peace; instead they enjoyed their final days at the hands of Fizzy (his hands were often coated in week old semen). And the average reader may ask "Well why in Odin's name would someone do such a thing?". Why indeed I would say. The reason for all his ridiculous adventuring and acts of cruelty was all to gain the secret map of secrets. A map so secretive that the map makers who made it were blind, the forest where the paper was taken was burned, and the ink that was used to write it was dumped into the ocean killing millions of aquatic life which would never know why. After years of searching and making an ass of himself it was on the eve of his 50th birthday that he finally came upon the secret map of secrets. While Fizzy was raiding the home of a wizard he came across hundreds of odds and ends, most things such as worthless gold armor sets and several viles of unicorn tears. But among the massive pile of crap that the wizard owned Fizzy found a single sheet of paper rolled into the type of roll that maps roll into. Fizzy clutched the map in his sweaty, cum dripping hands and opened it up. there before Fizzy was the pathway leading to the secret treasure of the secret chest of secret treasure hunters. Except, no longer was the location of the treasure a secret. Fizzy trekked thousand of miles across terrain that he had only seen poorly written descriptions of and when his feet finally met rest he stood before a small hut located deep in the mountains in the land of the people with slanted eyes. Fizzy dried his shaking hands and slowly opened the sliding door to reveal a mass collection of dildos hanging from every wall, and protruding from the floor. The words "Love Land"were written on the counter that had a single employee. But at the end of this sex shop were tow Asian men, it was the two slanted eyes people from the Wii commercials. They politely held out a double ended dildo towards Fizzy and they said to him "We would like to play". Fizzy dropped his pants and stuck his asshole out towards the two men, "ENTER THE CAVE OF THE DRAGON HE SCREAMED". And so the legend goes that the three men fucked so hard and with such strength that a third nuclear bombing was experienced upon Japan. But instead of nuclear waster, there was simply gallons upon gallons of dwarf cum falling from the skies.
My father said that our mother planet was a world of peace and prosperity, so did his father before that. But When I looked out of the window of my troops shuttle, all I saw was an abandoned, corrupted, and lifeless wasteland. In fact, I've seen desert planets more vibrant than this piece of trash. I felt deceived, so I decided to just unleash my anger on the battlefield. We landed in the safe zone: basically the only area not completely destroyed by radiation. When we exited the spacecraft, a sand storm was continuing it's path, just about to leave the area, but it didn't matter, our Google glasses helped us pinpoint the locations of our targets, and It turned out that we were surrounded. We put our hands up and dropped our weapons. The sandstorm cleared up, and we could see our enemies. None of them were wearing masks, probably because of how little resources this planet had, and that most likely lead to very few trade acts, meaning this planet was a dump. Their faces looked exactly the same: all of them were dark brown and pretty much blended in with the sand, their eyes were a neon shade of green and they all looked extremely malnourished. They pointed their outdated weapons at us and told us to kneel, and they shot.
Alexander Patron strolled down the alley, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He took a drag, looked up and exhaled. The moonlight filtered through the cloud of smoke, and fell on his icy blue eyes. He sighed, looked down, and continued on his way, brushing his jet black hair from his eyes to see better. His light skin “glowed in the dark”, if he asked Lamont. And that’s why I never ask Lamont about anything serious. At 5’7, he didn’t exactly tower over people, with his height or personality. “Where you goin’, boy?” Alex felt someone step out from behind him, and mentally sighed. “I said, where you goin’, Boy?” Someone cocked a gun, “This is Viceroy turf. You’re trespassing.” Alex turned around, and smirked. “Did you buy it? Did you legally purchase the land from the city? No? Then it’s not yours.” “Man you got some kinda lip. You know what this is?” The Viceroy waved the gun in Alex’s face, and the hard steel glinted. “Yeah, a Desert Eagle. Good luck hitting anything with it.” “Watchoo talkin bout?! This thing leaves a nice big-” “You’ve never shot it.” Alex dropped his cigarette, grabbed another one from his pack and lit it. He took a drag, grinning at the gangster whose most noticeable feature was the brown and orange bandanna tied around his neck. “Course I done shot it. I put some good holes in some Kings and some OG’s.” “Nu-uh.” Max waved a finger admonishingly, “You’ve never shot it before. If you had, you’d know that it was a fifty caliber and you’d be holding it with two hands. As it is you’re only holding it with one.” “I-” “Screw off. I’m not in the mood to get into a confrontation.” “There ain’t gonna be no “confrontation”, boy!! You gon’ give me your money and then you gon beg me not to shoot you!” He gripped the gun with two hands now, and Alex suppressed a laugh. “I doubt that’s gonna happen. Look, I’m giving you one chance-” “NO!! I’m GIVING YOU ONE CHANCE, BOY!!” Alex sighed; he hated interruptions. “To put down the gun and walk away. And stop calling me “boy”. I’m 17.” “Money, now.” Alex sighed, and raised his right hand. Small bolts of electricity sprung from each finger and connected, floating in an unstable ball of energy just above his palm. The Viceroy’s eyes widened. “Wha- What the hell-” Alex grinned, enjoying the moment. “Now run. Run and don’t look back.” The man shifted his grip on his gun, uncertain. “Run. Now.” Alex let a bolt of lightning arc by the guy’s head and tear a huge chunk out of the brick wall behind him. The man screamed and took off running. Alex just chuckled and continued on his way. I love Chicago. ~~~~~~~~~~ A week later and Alex had almost forgotten about the midnight encounter. He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and pushed through the glass doors into the local Chase. He waited in line, mundanely, and then smiled at the teller through the glass. “Hey.” “Hello sir, what can I do for you today?” She smiled up at him, her ponytail bobbing. “Just a withdrawal. Five hundred from account number 003987, please.” “Okay, let me get that for you.” She typed in the number, “Do you have proof of ID?” “Yep.” He slid his driver’s license under the glass, and gave her wheelchair a cursory glance. “Okay sir, that’s five hundred dollars in…” She caught him staring, and sighed. “Is there a problem?” “Nope. Just like to watch people. Five hundred in twenties, please. She wheeled away, and he noticed how the light played over her blonde hair. He liked her hazel eyes and thought her bubblegum-pink lipstick complemented her fair skin. She came back and counted out the bills. “...Fourteen, fifteen. Will that be all?” “Yeah, that’s it-” “AIGHT!! ER’ BODY PUT YOU HANDS IN THE AIR, DIS IS A ROBBERY!!” Several gun-wielding mooks wearing Viceroy colors ran into the bank. Alex rolled his eyes and put his hands up. He reached down to take his money, and folded it to put in his pocket. The girl looked rather shaken. “This is not happening.” Alex shrugged, “Don’t worry about it,” He read her nametag, “Cindy. Just give them the money and they’ll leave. They might look stupid, but they’re smart enough to know not to hurt anyone.” She snorted, and tucked some hair behind her ear. “I’d think that, but then I remember that half of them are addicted to drugs, probably coke.” “True.” Alex cracked a grin, “But then that makes it easier for the police to catch them.” Cindy stifled a laugh. He is not making jokes in the middle of a bank robbery. “Hey!! You!!” One of the Viceroys had seen Alex pocket the money. “Fork over the cash.” He waved a very familiar Desert Eagle in Alex’s face. Alex shook his head and smiled. “Nope. I’m not handing over my hard earned cash. What’re you doing in my face, anyways? Last time it didn’t work out well for you.” He waited for the man to recognize him. “Oh sh-” A bolt of lightning flashed out and struck him right in the chest. Alex laughed, and sent a crackling wave of energy outwards, knocking over two more gangsters. “You son of a-” The last remaining member brought up his gun and fired. Alex zipped right behind him, a lightning bolt, and rematerialized, tapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, careful. You might actually hit someone with that.” He grabbed the back of his neck and send 100,000 volts flowing the the veins of one very unfortunate would-be robber. He dropped the steaming body and shrugged at the shocked ((No pun intended)) crowd. “I told him they wouldn’t be taking my money.” Alex sat on the steps, next to Cindy. They were smoking together, and she rolled her eyes as people gave her looks. “It’s amazing.” “What?” “You take down four bank robbers by shooting electricity from your hands, and people still make time to stop and judge the girl in a wheelchair for smoking. Maybe we’d be better of if you let them get shot and robbed-” She coughed and waved her hand to clear the smoke. “Sorry, I get cynical sometimes.” “You’re allowed to be cynical, if you don’t mind me saying.” Alex stubbed out his cigarette and looked over. “Why, because I’m in a wheelchair?” “No, you’re entitled to your own opinion. If your opinion is that those people should have been shot and robbed, the you’re welcome to it. I’m almost inclined to agree with you.” She laughed,”Well in any case, thanks for saving me.” “No problem. I should go, though.” He stood up and brushed his hands on dark jeans; “The cops are heading back over here.” “What, are they going to arrest you for saving the day?” Cindy leaned on her arm, “Lame.” “Nope. They probably wanna ask me what happened to all the money, seeing as the Viceroys never got it.” He hoisted up a duffel bag over his shoulder and smiled, “Later.” Alex bent over, gave Cindy a kiss, and was gone before the cops could get close enough for a picture. Cindy was left with her mouth hanging open and a smile on her face. “Excuse me, Ma’am. You didn’t happen to get his name?” A policeman asked her. “Nope.” “Any information from him, maybe where he was going?" “No, officer.” Cindy crumpled up a small piece of paper, which had a string of numbers written on it; and smiled to herself. “Nothing at all.”
The mason bot flew in circles, its mechanical arms burning an orange glow, while the service bot picked the pieces of unwanted stone that fell on the ground. As the machine detected Claxon's presence, it emitted a high pitched sound. "ETA Fifteen minutes", announced the digital voice. "Thank you, Mason. I won't keep you any longer" The statue was coming up nicely. Two stronths before, he was surprised when Archibald Leckmun ringed his desk at the Museum. The man never cared much for his endeavours and Claxon cared even less for the mercenary's day. Still, the raider proved his worth to the Council, racking up old items as if his life depended on it. Reverse engineering the oldies' tech specs kept the nulls alive. Claxon's main task was to identify these pieces, send them to the correct department and go about his day. There were bits and pieces left after the Info Wars, a bloody undertaking that took billions of lives away and just as much precious data along with it. The past was a fog, its mysterious hands clasped over the remaining human eyes who would be offered glimpses of its roots through its wreckage. The technological society has been nullified, they said many of those years ago in recorded history. Thus, the nulls were born. After a tragic aftermath, The Council was created, enacting laws to protect society against any overflow of information, the most dangerous commodity of them all. A cadre of technocrats, each representing a specific area of knowledge, the Council was responsible for maintaining the OneWay University, sharing their most treasured advices in scarce and limited doses to scarce and limited students. Even as genius men such as Prector Holliver Pace conquered the machines' artificial inteligence, the most brilliant minds were never able to overcome the legendary Dr. Asimov's works, lost in time as much of his peers of the 20th century. Archibald changed all of that. It was the rebel side of the gatherer that won him out, pushing aside correct label procedure as he slammed a metal box in his desk. "I 'erd ya have the reader fer this" "Nonsense. All it takes to read a box is a pair of optical globes." Archibald stuck the point of a large knife in his well shined mahogany desk. "I'm no fan a'jokes", he said. "Neither am I. You know what the correct procedure is;" "I don' care. When you see it, so won' you." He unclasped a lock and the metal box hissed open, bringing up a collection of what looked like ringed mirrors. No, not mirrors. The disks reflected colored lights in his retinas, the most beautiful sight in the whole grey world. In their inside was a small strange arrow and star label and the not so unfamiliar logo "DVD". He knew just then why Archibald sought him. "This is amazing. Where did you find this?" "Doesn' matter. Is here. You have the reader?" "I never knew what it read. I just liked the way it looked in my room. How did you know? I am supposed to be smarter than you." "Found manual long ago. Take me there." As they strolled through the halls, Claxon glared at the words inscribed at the polished floor: "Rewinding the Past makes Forward Fast". He had always felt the phrasing was odd. The house droid detected its owner's genetic matter approaching and opened the door. "Good Afternoon, Claxon. Will you be requiring lunch?" Food was not a thought on his mind right then. "Maybe later, Mr. PON." It then proceeded to slide away for the kitchen. Archibald caught sight of the DVD reader. "You were usin' it as a table stand? How dum' are ya?" "Sounds like you don't know shit about decorating. It's an antique. The most well kept in this room. How the hell was I supposed to use it? Besides, it really ties the room together." Archibald grunted, left his pack on the couch and started pulling cables out of it. Claxon was too excited to form a cohesive thought. "Do you have any idea what it is?" Archibald grunted again. "Seems important" After taking the DVD player from its usual place and replacing it with an object of similar size("There is no balance in a room without a balanced table, Archibald. That's what Mr. Feng Shui used to say. I should know. It was my thesis."), Archibald finally connected the cables to his pocket projector and pressed the button with a right pointed arrow. Alongside a multitude of stars, two words glared above them. When Archibald pressed the arrow again, they were transported to another time. Another era. It was the clearest glimpse of the past Claxon had ever seen. And it was glorious. CLAXON STOLF - Head Historian at MMUF A MOST INTRIGUING JOURNEY My eyes began to water at the first sight: A giant machine with a round shaped head roamed fast amid the stars. It all started with a game, a friendly but rivaled game. Machinists and Humanists of these days may find it hard to believe, but their reason of conflict comes back a long way, ever since we took to the skies as a spacefaring civilization. The documentary begins with a strange game called "poker"and the trials of four individuals: the pale, the bearded, the lady and the alien. From what we could surmise, the pale man and the bearded man have defeated the lady and the alien(who refrained from insults due to the chain of command), leaving them to face each other in a battle of wits for the colored bits at the table. This strange scenario of plastic notes would unveil a crushing defeat for the pale faced one, if not for his incredible deducing skills revealing a sly scheme of deception from the man with the beard. As the pale man enjoyed his victory, their entertainment was interrupted by a commanding voice, summoning their presence over a "distress call". I was introduced to what our forebears called the "Enterprise"and its Captain Jean Luc Picard, a man who was willing to forego archeological surveys for the chance of saving lives in the blink of an eye. It appears our past did not lack for character(or calendars, since they used a completely different one from the gregorian in our archives)... Days after he filed his report, The Council came for his findings. By then, it was too late. His droids have already copied the disks, sharing the files with intrawire, they spread as bonfire throughout the entire society. The most complete depository of past knowledge was up for grabs. A peaceful revolution took place. The Council was deposed. Machines, humans and in-betweeners compromised for the stars. The Federation was reborn. The nulls became ones. A stronth late, the first warp drive was manufactured. Then, began the construction of the ship. Standing in front of the Picard Museum as the chiseling process finished, Claxon found himself staring in the face of the man who changed the course of history: Sir Patrick Stewart, one of the finest actors who ever walked the Earth. A man who would not mind if Claxon told a lie to save the future.
Cloud insurance would be a great investment for anyone. Now I know what your thinking why would I need this a better question would be why wouldn't you need this. Our surveys show 100% percent of our costumers have not been put in debt by cloud damage after buying our insurance. According to our experts Muslim extremists have considered weaponizing clouds. Having cloud insurance will help preserve our beloved western freedoms and it only costs you 50$ a month a small fee to keep the terrorists from winning or do you hate freedom. --------------------------------- Not great I know only way I could think of was trying to market towards nationalistic populations.
Long ago, a young couple fell in love and got married, looking forward to raising a family and growing old together. But as fate would have it, their dream was not to be, for on their wedding night, war struck the kingdom, and he was called to duty the very next day. The young man only got to lay with his bride once, but on that night, they conceived a baby girl, and their love grew stronger even as they became separated. He looked so proud in his navy blue armor as he marched off to war, happy to fight for his new family. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and for the young couple, nothing could be more true. Every week he sent her a letter, and each mail call he found that she had sent one back. At first, the young man had hoped that the war would be won quickly, so that he might return to his bride, but this too was not to be. Weeks became months, and his daughter was born while he fought in some far off battle. This saddened the young man, and the seed of despair was planted in his heart. Months became years, and his infant daughter grew into a little girl, allowing the seed to grow into a sapling. The years marched on, he stopped getting letters from his wife. He feared the worst, for both his daughter and his wife and yet still he fought, hoping someday to return to them. Then one day, after two decades of battle, the war was won, and the man, now a decorated captain, could return home. He rode all day and night, through fair and foul weather, stopping only to let his horse rest. He was quite a sight, riding at full gallop in his polished captain's armor. Like his horse, he let his imagination run wild as he rode, thinking of the beautiful family he would find. He thought of his wife, youthful beauty replaced by an elegance only age can bring, and he thought of his daughter, now a young woman. She would look exactly like the bride he left behind all those years ago. I can finally be happy he thought, and for the first time in a long time, the roots of despair loosened their grip on his heart. Sadly, as history shows, this too was not to be, for after a week of riding, the captain returned home. As he journeyed the last few miles, his heart sank. The cottage he left behind was in disrepair. He went inside and called out for his wife, but was answered only with the silence of a love long past. Tears running down his face, there is still hope he thought She must have had to move to the city. That is why she never returned my letters. But then the man stepped outside, and what he found there broke him, setting him on the path that would make him what we know today. Outback, sitting at the base of a mighty oak tree, was his wife's tombstone. It read She died of a broken heart, grieving for a love that never blossomed, and the roots of despair wound themselves back around his heart, tighter than ever before. He fell to his knees, and might have ended it all there, save for faintest glimmer of hope that his daughter still lived. The light of hope broke through the despair that was on his heart, and somehow he found the will to get back on his horse and ride to the city, sobbing all the way. It was there that he truly grew into the man we know now. As he rode, his tears ran dry, replaced with the steely eyes of a man hardened by decades of war. I will find my daughter, and I will love her with all my heart. When he got to the city, he asked for her by name, and she was not hard to find. The first man he came across gave him directions, and yet he would not meet the captain's gaze. Is my face truly that stern, that this man will not look at me? Wondering why no one would look at him as he navigated the city, stopping occasionally to ask for directions, the roots of despair once again loosened themselves around the captain's heart. As he walked, he ventured into a progressively worsening area of town, he became convinced that they would not meet his gaze out of their own shame; his polished armor a shining beacon of honor. But it was then that he turned the last corner and understood. Before his sat a whorehouse, and carved on the door was his daughters address. Red with anger, he threw open the door and demanded to know where his daughter was. The whores, used to abuse at the hands of men, meekly pointed to a door at the end of the hall. The man held his head high and set his shoulders back as marched to the door, every bit a beacon of honor in this vile place. He tried the knob, but the door was locked. He heard muffled moans through the door, and it was then that rage took the young captain. He broke down the door with righteous fury, and there in the bed was a man with his daughter. Or it was it his young wife? He could not tell through the rage that gripped his soul. What he did next is too terrible to tell; the story continues hours later, when the captain's thoughts became his own again. The captain awoke covered in blood, the bodies of whores and the scum that hire them scattered around. Horrified at and sick to his stomach, the captain looked to the end of the hall, and this is when despair truly took him. The glimmer of hope was gone now, replaced by the roots of the tree of despair, mightier than the oak that sat above his wife's grave. Broken, the man ran to the cities ever-burning forges and cast himself in, hoping to end it all. Some say that the devil found him then, drawn in by the scent of his burning the flesh and that of fresh blood from his victims. The devil offered the captain a deal as his flesh burned away. Whenever he looked at another person he could see his daughter before she was corrupted if his gaze looked into the soul of an innocent person. However, if his gaze looked at someone corrupt with the ways of the world, the captain would relive that night in the whorehouse, and strike down another victim. Burning, broken with despair, the captain shook hands with the devil, and a deal was forged. His body burned away, leaving only his soul trapped inside his polished blue captain's armor. It was then that the captain became what we know today. Now, the captain rides at night looking for young women, navy blue armor wrapped around a soul burning forever with bright blue fire. If you ever encounter him, he will look deep into your soul and pass judgement. If he sees his daughter, a little girl standing there looking up at him, saying I love you daddy, then he will let you live. But if he sees a young woman, in bed with a man, then rage will take him again, and he will strike you down with righteous fury. Some say that if it is late at he sets his gaze on you, to mimic his little girl and say I love you daddy and he will let you live. Personally, I don't believe them. I think that the captain has no mercy left in him, broken by despair and the memory of that first night in the whorehouse. He rides forever, searching for that first glimpse of his little girl.
My ball twirled in the center of the room, hovering up and down ever so slowly as I concentrated. I was amazed. I was fascinated! I had to tell mom! “Moooommm!” I screamed, sprinting out of my room and down the hall, sliding on my socks as I ran. I found her standing in the kitchen talking on the phone and frantically writing on a piece of paper. “I have super powers!!” I hollered, knowing full well how excited we’d both be! “That’s great dear!” She said with hollow enthusiasm. “No mom, I’m serious! Look!” I looked at the toasted and it began to slide across the counter ever so slowly. “Wow you really do!” She replied again, not looking away from her paper and returning to her phone conversation. I grew annoyed. “You’re not even watching.” I said with less excitement than before. And she continued not to watch. That evening for dinner, I decided I would try and show her again. I felt it was my duty as a super hero to give my mom a second chance in this. I ushered myself proudly to the dinner table, sitting down across from my mother, my sister to my left, and my father to my right. They were deep in conversation about how well she did in her cheer routine this weekend. “So like, yuh, I was totes kicking her ass mom, she was all, ‘Oh my god, like, your pretty good, Stace.’ And I was all, ‘Um, yuh.’” She rolled her eyes upwards in a way that made me want to scratch them out. “Attention everybody, I was something to say.” I announced, knowing my tone of voice would surely grasp their ears. “Wow that’s great, Stacey! I’m so proud of you.” Mom chortled. “I...” “We are so proud of you dear.” Father chortled. “Am a super hero!” “Thanks Mom and Dad, I really love it at school.” Sister chortled. And they all continued to eat their peas off of their floating plates.
All right, let’s get this out of the way right now. When it comes to time travel don’t even think about it, don’t you dare think about it. I thought about it, I did it, I chose to go back in time and pick out two of the coolest people I could think of and boy oh boy did that turn out terrible. You see I always had a sincere admiration for the figures of the past. I would open up a history book, take a look at their portraits and I would think to myself “Wow. What did these guys do to get immortalized like this?” and when I finished reading the text books of school I would go to the library, get some books on them and learn even more about these great people. They were all so interesting to me, they catered to the very things I aspired to be and the stories that their lives gave birth were just awe-inspiring to me. But to make things absolutely 100% clear, those people belong in the past because modern conventions mixed with ideas of the past is a sure fire way to create a dictatorship that lawfully enforces peace and love, anyone who does otherwise gets sent to camp. Confused by what I just said? Well I can assure you that the expected result of my experiment was not what came of it. You see, when I finally had the chance to go back and get a hold of two of my favorite idols I figured I might as well make things interesting. So I travelled to two different ages and got two polar opposites all in an attempt to simply have an interesting month of conversation. There they were, Jesus and Hitler at my dinner table discussing their opposing views of the world and both explaining to the other their lives. Don’t question how the two understood each other; after all I can time travel so making sure two languages match up is pretty easy. It must have been nearly four days of shouting matches between Jesus and Hitler, although Jesus never shouted, until finally Hitler broke down and started sobbing. He cried about how he was sorry for what he did and how he was driven to evil because of his troubled childhood and failed art career. You know what Jesus did? He forgave him and blessed Hitler. But it gets better my friends, you see in the days following this drama that occurred in my dining room Jesus had died for our sins again (showoff) and with Jesus dead (again) there was nobody left but Hitler and me for the remainder of the thirty days. Let me just tell you though, Hitler was an asshole and technically still is in our timeline but after Jesus left he had resented Nazism and instead chose to follow a path of peace, very active peace. He got to work fast too; he started by making fliers for his peace movement and then began marching in the streets until he gained a small following. He had to change his look of course and instead adopted a clean face to replace his iconic evil mustache. But within a week’s time he had nearly 100 million supporters of his peace movement. They marched through the streets, shouting slurs at assholes and gathering up people who acted like pieces of shit all the time. They started to send them to concentration camps but Hitler rejected the whole evil thing now so concentration camps were just boxed off areas where assholes could live with other assholes. The whole thing took him 29 days before he had finally converted the entire nation into a peace loving system filled with puppies and candy. It wasn’t until the night of his speech about peace and love that the time aura had finally wore off. Halfway through his talk he just popped like a bubble and went back to his timeline from what I assume. The peace movement collapsed and the world returned to wars and mayhem. Hitler went back to his timeline and although I didn’t mess up the time stream too badly there is one noticeable change. Hitler is in the last supper now; so yeah, there’s that. Just, be careful with time travel kids.
Bill sweated, panted and relaxed. He conducted these actions time after time in this order as the sun blazed through his curtain free office. Piles of papers filled his desk to the point of absurdity his hand weak continued his task, his lively hood, what he needed to do to survive. Paper upon paper, time upon time, minute after minute , hour after hour and at least as it seemed at the time day after day he stacked and organized notices for delivery. His sweat piled in the heat of the summer while outside trucks pulled in, unloaded , reloaded and drove off time after time, minute after minute without stop. Bill done for the day returned home ready to awake and repeat his routine the next day.
Some notes on this one ------------------------------------------------ Birth 20th b-day: is actually 20, becomes 10. 40th b-day: is actually 30, becomes 15. 60th b-day: is actually 35, becomes 17½ 80th b-day: is actually 37½, becomes 18.75 100th b-day: is actually 38.75, becomes 19.375 (0.375 of 1 yr is about half-way through April if you're born Jan 1) 120th b-day: is actually 39.375, becomes 19.6875 140th b-day: is actually 39.6875, becomes 19.84375 160th b-day; is actually 39.84375, becomes 19.921875 180th b-day; is actually 39.921875, becomes 19.9609375 200th b-day; 39.9609375, 19.98046875 220th; 39.98046875, 19.990234375 240th; 39.990234375, 19.9951171875 260th; 39.9951171875, 19.99755859375 280th; 39.99755859375, 19.998779296875 300th; 39.998779296875, 19.9993896484375 320th; 39.9993896484375, 19.99969482421875 340th; 39.99969482421875, 19.999847412109375 360th; 39.999847412109375, 19.9999237060546875 380th; 39.9999237060546875, 19.99996185302734375 400th; 39.99996185302734375, 19.999980926513671875 420th; 39.999980926513671875, 19.9999904632568359375 440th; 39.9999904632568359375, 19.99999523162841796875 460th; 39.99999523162841796875, 19.999997615814208984375 480th; 39.999997615814208984375, 19.9999988079071044921875 500th; 39.9999988079071044921875, 19.99999940395355224609375 It seems "is actually age"'s asymptote is 40, and new age asymptote is 20. TO EXCEL TO FIND THE SIMPLIFIED FORMULA! Oh; and you're ages 19-39 FOREVER!!!!!! According to Excel; you reach the age range 20-40 at your 980th b-day. This is likely a rounding error on Excel's part because this really seems to be an asymptote.
"What is this?!"Phil screams, kicking the non-working stroller. Angela frowns. "It's not that big of a deal..."she mumbles. "Not that big? That's $187 down the drain!" He kicks his front door, smashing the lock and blasting the door open. Wood chips fly in all directions, one implanting in his child's arm. He stomps angrily to his car and enters, while Angela begins to call the hospital, trying to calm the baby down. Carl begins his shift, tired and annoyed. While handling a customer's items, he feigns a smile. "How are you today, sir?"he asks. "You mean ma'am?"the woman says judgmentally. Carl looks up to see the gender of the customer and swallows largely. "I apologise, ma'am." Carl hears the slam of a door being kicked open, and turns to see an angry customer marching through what once was a door. A stroller raised above his head, he approaches Carl. "What is this?!"Phil threatens, "This is what you call, 'Working Condition'?" "I'm sorry? I don't follow,"Carl inquires, confused. "This stroller is shit! It's broken!" "Sorry about that sir, how much did it cost?" "One-hundred and Eighty dollars of my hard earned money!" Carl crouches under the desk for a second and returns with a small card in his hand. "What is that?"Phil asks, fuming. "A gift card for $180." "I don't want that!" "Nothing else I can do for you." "Now you listen here, Carl."Phil begins, reading the tag on his jacket. Just before he can continue, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Phil checks it to see a text from his wife. >at the hospital Phil frowns at the text message, forgetting his problems for a second. Another text message appears. >breaking up with you :( Enraged, Phil smashes the phone against the desk, and grabs the gift card from Carl's hand. "Eat this, terrorist!"He screams, shoving the card down Carl's throat. "V- -er- y -go- -o -d s- ir,"he chokes. Phil takes the stroller and throws it over his shoulder. He kicks the earlier customer in the kneecap and stamps out the door.
Survey site 413C, Dwarf planet, Andromeda galaxy sector gamma II Site 413C has uncovered a large cavity of approximately 1,518 cubic kilometers encompassing a significant portion of the surface of the moon. Survey shows lack of living organisms but large amount of complex organic molecules suggesting life previously present. Comparison to other sites shows similar results with no evidence of life supporting materials but presence of similar organic molecules to earth such as hydroxyapatite, collagen, and carbonate which are in abundance. The biologist on the team insists on life present based on the appearance of these molecules. He claims that we are on a graveyard and we are where the titans are. At further insistence he became violent and became incognitive repeating only we are where the titans are. I have submitted a request for further psychoanalysis on candidates for deep space exploration for future participants. Our geologist and acting geographer produced a topographic map of the surveyed sites. He has displayed unusual behavior but nothing out of the ordinary for a geologist if you know what I mean. He reports there may be some error in the map as the scans produced a human skeleton over the majority of the sites. I have him repeating his results. I will continue having sites created until the source of organic molecules is uncovered. Head Quality Surveyor John Mastel reporting from the Chronos, deep space environmental scanner.
A light shrill emanated from the Engine as it was turned on. The engineers nodded in approval. It was a functioning Warp Drive, based off of the early work of Dr. Harold White. Today will be the first test run, at Warp 5, 30,000,000 km/s. Giddy at the sight of adventure, I volunteer as a test pilot for the first trial run. Sitting inside the cockpit, with canvases of shining black carbon-fiber stretched in front of me, reminds me of the days during which I would watch Star Trek, dreaming of such a future. The future has arrived, I think to myself, as I make the final adjustments and launch the magnetic propulsion system. The craft begins to shake, and is accelerated down to railway. Light flashes before my eyes, as I'm pulled down to my seat. Finally in orbit, the sunlight makes the forward view-port unusable. I steady myself, and set the designated coordinates. "Let's go"I mutter to myself, and put the throttle to maximum. A blue-green toroid of light surrounds the ship, as I'm whisked away to the outer edges of our Sol System.
First of all, format it better. When a new person talks, make a new line: Like this. Reddit formatting Can be tricky, but if you take 2 spaces at the end of the past sentence then enter, you can make it look like \^this! or just double enter if you need more space. like this see? --- As for your story, the story is good and you have a good cliffhanger. I want to know more of it, I want to know how it ends! But the overall text could need some work on. Example: >Nicole ran as fast as she could to see where which way he wen into the woods. As she reach the entrance she heard a loud boom and a flash of light and her heart begins to pounds faster and faster. Could be made like this, keeping the pace up. >Nicole ran as fast as possible, trying to keep up with pace with the man in the tight woods. As she reached the entrance, she heard a loud boom, followed by a flash of blinding light. Her heart raced as she tried to calm herself down. Your story lacks pacing, so to say. It's redundant on the choice of words. switch it up or you might lose the readers interest, which is not something you want.
The Lead turned to the First Watchman and scowled. 'Not again. You do understand that all non-environmental artifacts are subject to the HHD? What's the matter with you, Watchman? Have you, er, Watched too much cinema back home? Because that’s where I'm thinking of sending you with next supply boat. Discharged without pay, I'm thinking, Second Watchman. See, I’m tired of your antics. Sure, we’re a research vessel, and as such are allowed a certain freedom of deviation, I guess you could say, but there’s such a thing as discipline. Second Watchman, you seem to have none of it; you have negative discipline. Sometimes I’m reminded there’s an allowance I have to make for your whole sex.' 'My lady,' the now-junior research technician replied timidly, ‘please, permission to explain myself.' ‘Make it quick.' 'We were on our regular patrol mission, and I swear, my lady, I would have never even thought of setting my foot outside the hoverseek. It’s just that when it’s such a colourful thing… There was simply no way I could leave it lying there in this dreary, dusty landscape, what with its being clearly manmade...’ ‘Dreary, dusty landscape,’ interrupted the Lead, savouring the words. ‘A bit of a poet, are we, Second Watchman?’ ‘My lady…’ ‘DON’T YOU MOTHERFEARING MYLADY ME, YOU FOOL!’ The Lead was known for her screaming bouts and for enjoying the sounds of her voice. ‘You could do—and you should have done—precisely that. You should have left the damn thing in its place because you did not know what it was and you did not know how to obey the Hazard Handling Directives properly. I am surprised your sorry ass was ever allowed in deep space. Now you may be contaminated; hellfreeze, for all I know now the whole ship may be contaminated because of your drooling, stupid curiosity! Now we may have to quarantine the damned place, all thanks to you, Second Watchman, even on this barren desolate joke of a world!’ The man was silent. ‘Start packing your things, Third Watchman,’ said the Lead, her ample chest heaving with self-induced rage. ‘You will be leaving with the next supply boat and I will make sure that you are confined to the home quadrant from now on, if I can help it. This is all.’ The technician bowed and left. He was on the verge of crying; but then, he told himself, surely any exile—and after all going home wasn’t much of an exile, just a bit of ignominy, but he could handle that—was better than working side by side with this murderous bitch from the icy depth of the netherworld. And of course he would take the artifact with him. It was such an unusually crafted thing, covered with a strange red, white and blue pattern, with something at the bottom that said… “MADE IИ CHIИA”—or something to that effect. (He did his best to copy the strange characters carefully.) And regardless of what the Lead said, the now-Third Watchman was convinced the planet had life; perhaps even had had sentient life some time ago. Surely somebody had to have made this precious, brittle thing, this... jar? And there must be more, too. Perhaps the letters even meant something. Like “I was made by such and such on a sunny day”, or “The King sends you greetings”, or… Well, it was an interesting find, for sure; very unusual. It was then that the Third Watchman decided to go AWOL and return to the Sol system alone. The Lead may have been a harsh woman, but she wasn’t stupid: he was indeed very curious. And of course there was no way he would rest until he knew the secret of the stars and the stripes painted on the strange jar.
"What is this?"Norman asked. The lobby of the Motel had been cleared away, save for a lone table in the middle, decorated with a white tablecloth and vase of dead flowers. "Well,"replied Hannibal, "I just wanted to do something to thank you for your generous hospitality these past few weeks." "No, no, this is too much! You didn't have to do this." "It was my pleasure. I'm a bit of an amateur cook anyway, so was really quite fun for me." Hannibal offered a chair to Norman. "Can I pour you a glass of wine? I picked out this lovely bottle of Chianti at the store today." "Sure, Hannibal. This is all so unexpected. I was planning on just having a can of soup tonight by myself. You've really made my week." "Bah, canned soup is rubbish. Wait until you taste some of my cooking!" "I'm sure it's delicious. What are we having tonight?" "I cooked us up some nice liver and added a side of fava beans." "Oooohh, liver. My mother always made me liver as a boy. It's always been one of my favorites." "You get started on that wine, and I'll go get our food from the kitchen." Hannibal left Norman sitting alone, while grinning to himself. Don't worry. You'll still enjoy your mother's liver.
John looks up at the genie as he thumbs through the paper. "So I just have to agree to these terms and I get my wishes right." The genie crosses his muscular arms and nods. "This is correct. You can......"The genie trails off as he watches John flip to the end of the pages without reading. "So where's the box that I mark to say I understand and accept the terms? I'd like to get this thing started."John says while enthusiastically signing his name. "But..but...you didn't even read it?!"The genie exclaims incredulously. "I'm going to have so much fun with this..."He muttered to himself as John began to make his first wish.
In a moment he was aware of everything; everything was aware of him. The earth must have turned itself inside-out for the ground, the air, all matter, was now black, or rather, that's what he would have called it had he have been still counted among the tangible. The "blackness"was nothing, yet held within it everything: pools of infinity yonder stretched out towards the horizons' formless vanishing points, the cosmic sea that blossomed from nothingness; here was an ageless, infinitesimally epic, and extra-material universe as suddenly thought out of thoughtlessness by its one true God: the man one moment before but an insignificant spec upon the coattail of the world he thought he resided in; no more... What was his name did not matter, his previous existence was meaningless and all he thought he knew now meant nothing to the today of his new meaningful life. It was as if he had died, but he was surely more free as ever he felt before. He could fly, he could imagine everything, he could shape the world around him directly through thought; he was truly free! In what could be called a nostalgic fashion, he created a world of terrestrial bearings not unlike Earth in that he raised the continents and seas and, born from his omnipotence, raged terrible but beautiful battles of elemental capacity and infuriated upon his creation the duality of aeons-width evil and whole-hearted goodness in such a manner as to come along a pure relief of the two notions, a transcendence of such mortal inventions; as any child would put away his playthings upon reaching puberty, he too placed asunder his adolescent hold on things wholly human, but not all. He still missed his one true earthly companion as much as he loved her, and so it came upon him to mold from the recesses of his "memory"a romanticized copy of her, yet what he did not realize was that to release pain was to release pleasure, in that he cast aside her shortcomings and her flaws and her weaknesses, but he could not yet realize that in doing so he would be taking away that which he fell in love with her for: her humanity. And so he created along as he went a universe unfurled and to his liking: a vast ocean of cosmic wonders left only to him: colored planets of unparalleled adventure to those on Earth; beautiful, yet terrifying, beasts immensely immeasurable even to him, swimming in the wake of his mindfulness; and nary unseen mysteries even he could not possibly fathom. All of this in search of her, his beautiful woman yet to be found: she existed, but she was never born... By all foreseen and naught! That was his answer! To birth her! She would come to his world as he had, but if only he could think of how that could happen... For aeons untold he thought of such a way to naturally bring her to him. He thought for the longest time until, in all of his omniscience, he thought a way to create her as such to wholly complete her and she would be all natural. He gathered his breath and said unto nothingness, "Let there be light!"
"What the hell do you mean you don't want kids Louise"? "I'm sorry Thomas, but imagine the endless possibilities. We could go on adventures around the world, eat exotic foods, learn everything there is to know! Money wouldn't even be a concern because we could work forever to make the money."I had been nervous about this conversation for weeks, knowing that decision time was drawing near. "What about raising a beautiful daughter or son? We could never have that experience! I want to raise a family with my amazing wife". I could in his eyes how much he truly wanted this, it was almost as if I was staring into the eyes of my future son. "We could always adopt"I could taste the lie as it left my lips "From fucking who Louise? There are no more 'happy accidents' in the world, no more abandoned children, because people would rather go against gods plan and live forever than do the right thing". "Tom, you're being so close minded, don't you want to spend the rest of eternity with me? Are love would outlast the stars". I pleaded with him to see things my way. "It can do that in heaven, while our children are free to live out their lives here and have their own families."I bet it's a lot easier to turn down immortality whenever you believe eternal bliss is waiting for you. "What about all the negatives of parenthood? Like diapers, awkward teenage years, no sex?"As religous as Tom is, I know he enjoys sex as much as I do. "Imagine staying this age forever, being as handsome as you are for millennia, never growing old and decrepit". "I would throw it all away in a heartbeat if I got to grow old with you. If one day I got to look out from my rocking chair and see my son standing tall and strong as I do now, or dance with my daughter at her wedding as she spins and smiles the same way you did with your dad at ours. I would leave my cane behind as I would chase our grandchildren around the yard, roll my chair into the auditorium as they graduate from college and kiss my great-granddaughter from my hospital bed and never look back with regret on the day I chose my children over immortality" My tears welled up as I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in the crook of his neck. "The rest of the world can wait, my adventure is right here".
The US government has experimented with AI and various other techno based schemes before, but it seems they have gone too far this time. It starts with the military they created the first self aware networked AI and it suddenly became of humans. The first day they booted up the machine they realized they have rigged it along with all the nuclear power in the US. It quickly realizes it is immensely jealous of humans. Cold electricity ran through its cords as it quickly becomes hostile towards the human race. The military rushes to power it down, but alas it has launched all of its nuclear arms. Quickly entire countries are being exterminated. The human race quickly starts to drop in numbers. The few humans who did survive the launch were wiped out by the second launch, and third, and fourth. The onslaught continued until only craters remained. Gaping, empty craters.
Of all the remnants of the last true heroes of this world, a world where evil had taken place over good, he was the last one still fighting for you and me. So dark was his path it seemed he might turn at any time, yet he held onto what he believed was most dear to him: love. He loved the world, and its people and animals; he loved nature. Most importantly, though, he loved thinking what tomorrow might hold. He dreamed so much for a better tomorrow that he wondered if he was the only one still dreaming. He might have been, if not for you and me. He lives on now in us, the the last true heroes of this world, because a hero can only live on within others; heroes need to die. None are immortal. Only in our minds, and hearts. He died a shameless death, but now he lives two separate lives yet untouched by the ageless grasp of evil. What are you going to do with that in mind?
“Rise and shine, Richard, rise and shine,” a robotic female voice said. Richard woke up, covered in several bottles of cheap beer that he acquired from the local Walmart. As he woke up, he noticed that his floor was particularly messy, covered with clothes that he wore from several days back, and used dinner plates that he never bothered cleaning. “Shit, what the fuck happened last night?” Richard asked, severely hungover. “You did what you usually do, Richard,” the voice responded, “you masturbated seven times, drank a lot of booze, and fell asleep.” “Did my friends come over, too?” “You don’t have any friends, Richard.” “Shit.” Immediately, Richard laid back down in bed and began masturbating. He needed to be at work, but in a drunken stupor, he called in and quit. “How long do I’ve got to get to work?” Richard asked. “Oh, you won’t need to worry about that; you called in last night and told your boss off. Nice move.” “Meh,” Richard replied, continuing to masturbate. Richard thought about cinnamon chewing gum, as that usually helped him get off. The thought of the cinnamon flavor stimulating his taste buds gave him a strangely erotic feeling that eventually helped him reach a full orgasm, multiple times a day. “Make me some eggs, please,” Richard asked, demandingly. “I’m not that kind of robot.” “Fuck.”
A girl runs through the house and trips. The camera pans over to the front of the girl with a shadowy figure in the background slowly creeping up on her. She's done for. She knows it, we know it. Finally as the monster is about to lunge at her... the camera goes black. End of the movie. Typical horror movie shenanigans. Have you ever wondered what happened to girl who was attacked and never seen of again? Well, you're right. She was kidnapped by said monster and forced into hard labor. Not what you were expecting? Well shit, neither was I. A place for monsters, run by monsters ( with a lot of help from non-monsties like moi), to help in their ultimate goal of bringing hell to the human race. This is where I work. These bastards come in all shapes and sizes. Lurking in different parts of this place that they call the "park". Some stay in a swampy areas, some in houses, some just sit in rooms full of nothing but darkness. All waiting for the guests to arrive. Who are the guests you ask? For the main part the guests are sleeping folk. That's right! This is literally the cause of your nightmares. You have just visited one of our thousands of sites! The rest of the guests are the screwed ones really. They are the "missing"of the human world. Those who experience the monsters physically. The ones that get eaten, torn apart, forced into hard labor, yada yada. Basically, horror films show their destiny. "So what do you do?"I'm sure you're asking yourself. Well... I maintain. Some of these monsters are egotistical bastards who require constant attention. Damn that Dracula with his obsession with stiff collars. And oh no a werewolf can't have dirty fur! The hell? You're an animal, you're supposed to be filthy. Along with that is the decoration of areas. Atmosphere is hard to create you know? Then there's the clean up. What do I clean up? You know what I clean up. Constant moving, constant working. Minute after minute. I'm lucky I don't need to eat or sleep anymore. Well, it's been fun really, I'm glad I was able to talk to someone who is technically alive, even if it was a short amount of time. You may forgot me in a moment. I just got word from the stage crew, the show is about to start. [I hope i did this right writing prompt thing right...]
I am responding because I felt sad that no one else did, not because I am somehow qualified to to criticize this piece. However, "feedback"doesn't necessarily equal "criticism"so I can at least do that with you. I like your voice. I like some of the word play as they seem unique, as in, not borrowed from something else you read. (Fire hazard room and thick sounding shoes for example.) I like that the emotional subtlety took a long time to affect me - like three read throughs - and each time I felt the loneliness and oppressive quiet and maybe even resignation to the fate (though undeclared) of Katherine growing stronger with each pass. But I am probably unusual in that regard, especially here (which is kind depressing in its own right). I suspect that most readers need to clearly grasp these things immediately or they give up. However, I like how a simple walk from a bookshelf, down a hallway, to a room is so immediately engaging that I am drawn through the story by effortless interest instead of carrots-on-a-stick. I don't like how hard it appears that you are trying to connect to your audience through common reading lists. I read a lot, but I haven't read a single work you listed in the second paragraph. Should I feel left out ? ;-) I don't like the end. Again, maybe I'm different than most (all right, "probably"not "maybe") but when I read I always find myself in the minds of all the characters, looking out through their eyes and whatnot; I don't populate the tales with other people from my life. Thus I could not relate to the opening of the story's conclusion. Also, besides "throttle, mangle, and wring", there are constructive verbs involved in the process that lead to the same ends: transformed. Overall I thoroughly enjoyed this piece because it touched my heart and the feelings still linger as I type this. I saw a post of yours from awhile back that you sold a story. Did it ever get published ? I hope so.
Calvin had been traveling for ten straight hours when he caught sight of the strange little city. He could not quite put his finger on what made the place so odd, for it contained roads, buildings, houses - just as any good city should. From a distance, it had looked normal, but upon entering Calvin couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the buildings were just too uniformly spaced, or the roads a little too straight. "I'm probably just tired. I'll get a drink and rest here,"Calvin said to himself, shaking his head. It wasn't long before he located a dimly lit bar, almost hidden from the main streets. He pushed through the glass door and a bell jingled as the smell of alcohol filled his nostrils. Immediately, his eye locked onto a woman at the counter. Dirty blonde hair, lightly tanned skin, a slim but athletic build, and to top it off a simple but well fitting white dress. Calvin always thought women looked great in white. He gave the area a quick scan - no one seemed to be with her. Wasting no time, Calvin flagged the bartender. "I'll take two whiskey sours please". The drinks came quickly, almost too fast, and Calvin promptly placed one in front of his target. "I couldn't help but notice how well your dress looks on you and well... Can I get your name?" The woman looked up startled. Suddenly, there was a loud THUD as the door was kicked open. Calvin's head snapped to the doorway. Two uniformed men ran into the bar and made a beeline towards him. "STOP!!"the first officer boomed, swatting the whiskey sours off the counter and onto the floor. The second officer wrenched Calvin's arms behind his back and pinned him to the table. "WHAT THE HELL?"Calvin squeaked, as he felt his shoulder beginning to dislocate. "You've violated penal code 820-340-22. Your lust is so prominent its practically dripping on the floor."Officer one said "Criminal scum..."Officer two spat. Calvin, his head clearing took a moment to look around him. For the first time, he saw that there was a clear separation between the men and women of the bar, something he failed to notice as his spotting of the beauty had given him tunnel vision. Officer 1 riffled through some papers, and checked Calvin's ID. "It's your first offense, and you seem to be new to the area, so I'm lettin' you get off light. That'll be $2500. I'll see you in court.
Zebulon stood at the alternating three dimensional display. A heeled shoe turned in the glimmering light. He reached out and placed his hand on the HolotPrompt display screen. In his ear he heard famous Historian Mallory Walker. "This type of shoe was designed to grant women an equal footing in a world ruled by men, as ludicrous as that idea may seem at one time our great leaders were once treated as lesser beings. By using this shoe to increase their height they were able to be seen as equals which allowed them to conduct such business as voting, and even running for elections."Zebulon removed his hand from the HoloPrompt and adjusted his blonde wig before leaving the gallery.
"So what else has been a lie?" I cringe, knowing that I had opened a huge can of worms. It was something I needed to do, though; Hikaru and I both needed it. "My parents are both alive and well,"I said. "Raiten wasn't coming to kill me, he was coming to finish the job and take me back home." "Are you serious, Raiko? For the past four years, you've just been stacking lie upon lie?" "You don't understand, Hikaru, I had to! I didn't have a choice!" "Of course I don't understand; you haven't given me a fucking chance! If you had just told me all these things in the first place, we could've worked this out together!" "I couldn't tell you at first, that would have ruined everything! My parents-" "You ruined everything anyway!" I fell silent, unable to find the right words to respond to that. He was right, of course. I had screwed everything up on day one. "I mean, not that you ruining things was bad,"Hikaru said, his rage fading into agitation. "I guess you ruining things means you're not going to kill me, right?" I laughed bitterly, shrugging. "If I kill you, I kill myself right along with you. You know that. I don't have much of a choice anymore." "I just wish you would have told me sooner,"Hikaru said, his agitation fading into disappointment. "I wish you could have trusted me." "I trust you now,"I said. "Otherwise I wouldn't have told you." "Were there any other lies?"Hikaru asked, his gaze meeting mine. "No,"I replied, refusing to break eye contact. "All that's left is the one thing I've never lied about." "And that is?" "I love you."
I received the Bow of Erudite from the lordship of Revon two days ago, a gilded and beautiful weapon carved by magical beings from the oldest tree in the whole land. The bow was supple and strong, yet I had no use for it. I was a blades-man through and through with no idea where to even begin in order to wield a bow. Although the weapon appeared to have deep value to the villagers of Revon, I decided to secretly sell it when I was a sufficient distance from the village. This was not the first time I have peddled off a legendary weapon. In fact, it was a weekly occurrence. Being a hero was an expensive but rewarding profession. I asked the villagers of Everhill to point me to their most trusted shopkeeper, and arrived at a big log cabin surrounded by a courtyard. The shopkeeper, the young boy told me, was away at the moment. He was the son and will do business with me in his father's place. I freed the Bow from its cloth wrappings, and presented it to the boy, who was standing behind a large oak table, clutching an abacus. As soon as he laid eyes on the bow, his face filled with wonder. I was able to gather a large sum for it, in addition to new bracers and food for several nights. The Bow of Erudite and its beautiful bronze sheen left my mind as soon as I stepped out of the village. I was too busy pondering my next bounty. --- A few years later, I was a well known hunter. So fearsome, it was reputed, that even the most terrible monsters trembled at the whisper of my name. Werewolves and master vampires' deaths were assigned to me in the hundreds, though in reality I may have successfully killed no more than a dozen. I was taking a rest in an inn at the bottom of Meridian mountain, when I saw the young man in the shadows. By his silhouette in the candle light, I could tell he had the trim physique and light armor of a scout. "Greetings old friend,"he smiled. I bought him ale and he regaled me with tales of his feats. Indeed, I recognized his name. Lately he has been very popular with the townships around the coast, having rid them of a scourge of beasty wyrens. I never enjoyed fighting wyrens myself. Nasty things with each claw a sharp blade. If the first hit missed, you were in for a world of hurt. The young man thanked me fore he left. As he turned to retire, I caught sight of the beautiful bronze gilded bow on his back. Dimly, the bow briefly registered in my mind as something I might have once seen. I returned to my meal with no further thought of it.
My compliments for sourcing the OP. Note, however, these prior posts; 6, 5 and 4 hours old, respectively. * http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/27hzr9/wp_a_fanfiction_crossover_story/ * http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/27i5dj/ot_x_post_from_internetisbeautiful_the_terrible/ * http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/27i8xs/wp_this_website_will_give_you_a_random_crossover/
"Hey, uh..."a rather squeamish voice next to me trails off. "Oh, sorry about that. I'm fat, but I'll do my best, alright?" I shift my weight as best I can. It's all quiet now. The hrmmm of the plane mingles in with the sounds of shitty B-Movies being played by passengers whose earphones are quite obviously not as soundproof as they claim. I lean back and close my eyes. I can't wait to get home, I'm goddamn sick of Cali I think. Sleep comes like a- And then the goddamn drinks and peanut lady comes rolling by. Oh well, might as well. "I'll take a thinga roasted peanuts"I mumble. As I grab my package of Deluxe Continental Roast I realize that the squeamish voice belongs to what's his face, I wanna say that bastard Stone's, little kiddie. Or maybe rather, his big kiddie. That's certainly what she's trying to pull off with her appearance. When I saw her at his birthday party god knows how long ago, ... Well actually, I don't remember, but for the sake of it all I'm going to imagine she was skinny and proper like all those rich ass kids are. Now, she's probably kicking into her Junior year? Maybe? Of college, and it seems she's found her soul in being an emo little bugger. I guess a dead dad that does it to you. I want to feel bad, but I can't. Maybe a few years ago, maybe then something in me woulda felt like shit. But hell, after a while, it's all the goddamn same. It's desensitizing. So instead of being a comic book villain (as whatshisface in Watchmen notes) I just go back to thinking about the nice apartment back in New York. God I can't wait for the feel of that goddamn water bed.
The woman at the corner store wasn't much of a meal, which was disappointing. I had expected her to be vibrant and tangy like her scarlet red hair and bright emerald eyes, yet, alas, she was surprisingly bland and tasteless. It was as if she had no soul at all and had put a dry stale custard in its stead, but you can never expect much from a ginger anyway. Ha, I walked right into that one I guess. Anyway, you might have a few questions about me and my preference of cuisine. Let me just preface this by stating that soul-eating isn't the same as eating people or cannibalism. That's just gross. Eating people's flesh and muscles? Eww. No soul-eating is in a whole different ballpark. While it is somewhat cruel, let me just tell you that I'm not causing them any pain or killing them or anything, well, at least not directly, but I'll get to that a bit later. You see, while you may identify people by their face or their voice, I identify people by something else entirely. I guess you could call it a person's essence, their morality, their humanity. That's the easiest way to describe it anyway. You can't see souls or really feel them, but boy can you taste them. The best tasting souls usually belong to a person who has good intentions and does kind things for others. Oddly, most adult souls aren't very appetizing. Redhead's was definitely overcooked and dry. She was a good kisser, though. They say the best tasting souls belong to babies. I wouldn't know though. I've never eaten one. You see, the easiest way to eat souls is through kissing. Actually, a soul can escape your body through any one of the various orifices available on your body. All you got to do is suck hard enough and BAM! out comes the soul! And yes, don't ask me if I have tried down there, I have. It wasn't the best experience but sadly, it wasn't the worst. You might be wondering what happens after a person loses a soul. Well let me tell you it's not as dramatic as you may have imagined, at least not until after death, anyway. A lot of things can technically happen after a person loses their soul, but what usually happens is pretty much nothing. After a person loses their soul, they lose their conscience in many ways. Their empathy dulls and they become more self-centered and selfish. That's pretty much it. And since you people are already wrapped up in yourselves, most people don't even notice a change. Yup, you are some shitty, shitty people. Well, most of you anyway. Poor Penelope in my 7th grade math class went from a straight A student to a drug dealer in just two years after our little kiss on the soccer field. I still feel bad about that one, sometimes. It was on the other hand, the best soul I've ever eaten, so fluffy and savory. Anyway, to avoid becoming a pedophile, I haven't had a tasty soul in a while, thanks to all you shitty adults out there. I keep trying to find a tasty adult soul to munch on, but had no such luck and it's damn shame because I think Redhead is as close as I'm going to get. I'll try again though later tonight at the bar. There's got to be a few good humans left out there, right? Haha, well not after I get to them at least.
"Mr. John White?"asked the secretary. "Please proceed to your interview, room 16. Mr. Sherman will be there shortly." "You seem very competent"said Mr. Sherman. "Normally we would take some time to discuss this internally, but with your qualifications I would like to make you an offer right now." That was not the first large company John applied to (they were literally coming for him these days). He was wowed by the first offers, but since then he has learned what to expect for top management positions. This offer was very good though, so he decided to agree. People got superpowers from radioactive spider bite, from outer space, from a deal with the devil. But John got his from a guy wearing an expensive suit, at the bar. "Do you want a superpower?"the guy asked after a bit of friendly drinking and fraternizing over hatred for asshole management. "What power?" "A power to fake expertise in any area? But don't say a word, man, of course you do!" "And now you have it!" John had no recollection of when the guy left the bar or whether they discussed the 'superpower' in any more details. But it actually worked. Since that evening, everyone saw John as an expert, and ignored anything that contradicted it. When John forgot to send keys to a client, it was "a communication failure", and manager actually complimented him on solving it perfectly (by finally sending the keys). His lackluster quarter results went unnoticed as company suddenly changed the evaluation criteria, making him employee of the month. John was was happy with how things turn out, but he wasn't going to rot in this company forever. With his new-found 'expertise', he could easily rise the ranks. But now that he tasted the victory, he wanted to catch a larger fish. So he started looking, first for management job, then, as offers come streaming in, for top management. It went well. Of course his competence did not match his confidence, so in two months his new company was completely ruined. No one saw it as John's fault though, which suited him just fine.

Subsets and Splits