body
stringlengths 1k
39.5k
| comment_score
int64 10
23.1k
| prompt
stringlengths 1
310
| post_score
int64 15
42.1k
|
|---|---|---|---|
"The memories are faded, names are muddled, but the feelings remain. Plagues, wars, deaths, births, life, loves gained, and loves lost, but never any idea of how to properly explain it all."
She looked up at me in disbelief. If only she had not seen the picture I could have continued in much the same way as my past relationships, gradually fading like everything else in my life. She was different than most of the others though, and I did feel some burning need to try to explain it all to her.
"So, you were born in like 1890?" , she asked with an inflection of incredulity.
I smiled, and responded in the only way I could. "Where do I even begin. 1890 seems like yesterday to me."
"This is too much for me. How do you expect me to believe that was you in the photo?"
"I have others."
"I'll admit that looked like you, but you are going to have to prove it to me."
Her initial shock had worn off now, and I could tell she was fast losing even the slightest belief in what she had seen with her own eyes. I was tempted to go along with it, and just falsely admit to pulling her leg, then my life could continue, she would fade from memory in another century, and life would go on, such as it is. With an internal sigh of exasperation, I resolved to break the rules and tell her the truth.
"Give me a minute Ashley."
"Sure, let's see this proof!"
The false excitement and the glint in her eye showed that she fully expected me to be bluffing.
"Ok."
The house was warm, dimly lit, and I was in love. This fateful walk up the stairs to my safe in the study could potentially ruin the tranquility I had found these past few years. Money was plentiful, I had procured a safe identity, and I knew that I wanted to spend the next several decades on R&R with her by my side.
"Shit, I may have to begin running again after this."
"Whats that grandpa?" she called jokingly from down the stairs.
"Nothing." I had not even realized I had articulated my thoughts.
I entered my study. With a heavy hand, and a racing heart I reached for the safe. The cool knob turned, first to 9, then 2, then 8, then 6, and 6. With a startling click, the door opened. I saw a leather bound monstrosity of a book I had not seen in 20 years and knew this was starting point of my explanation of this endless journey I call life.
"You ever going to come back and show me some proof. I don't want to finish this wine all by myself." She called with the girlish mirth that first attracted me to her.
Step by heavy step I came back to her.
"Ok, so whats this thing?"
She smiled at me wryly, and cocked her petite blonde head to left.
"This is known as the domesday book. I helped write this particular copy in 1087. Tell me, what do you know of the birth of England?"
The Rubicon was crossed.
Note to the reader: This is my first ever attempt at writing anything, so please don't be too assy in your critiques. I would like real feedback though because this was super fun to write, and I would not mind continuing.
| 11 | "I was born on September 28th, 1066. What happened after that, is a long story." | 15 |
As Tommy drunkenly stumbled his way to the stage, I could tell something was amiss about him; I had seen him drunk before, but never like this. No, he seemed to have a purposeful drunk, like he had wanted to announce this sober, but merely forgot to do so sober.
"So," he began with a beer in his hand, "I wanna thank you all for wishing the bride and groooooom" He especially extended the oo sound, "a happy wedding and a happy life." I could tell that he had something severely startling to say, but he was woefully afraid to say it. I looked around the room and saw everyone looking in shock; my parents, my bride, my other friends, everyone was afraid of his journey to the next sentence.
He slipped and almost fell before his bride, who seemed to be the only one who didn't know he was both drunk and about to horrify the audience, caught him and readjusted him. He gave a slurred mark of gratitude and resumed his speech. "My best friend here has married a great woman, you know that?" He yelled. "You know that?!" He repeated, as if expecting a reply. He continues even without one. "She is charitable, she's smart as hell, and she's got a body that could last for decades,"
I slightly nodded my head, embarrassed at his drunkenness but not expecting any more. Tommy slowly reaches for his wife and pulls her close; like I said, she doesn't know how drunk he is. "I love you, Davie," he yelled to me. "I really do, my brotha! That's why I can't let you do this without knowing something very, very important." I cringe in fear and feel my now-wife tense up next to me. I look around and see that she's not the only one. Half of the room is so tense, you could whisper about a fork and have them scream in fear.
Tommy walks over to me from the stage, after leaving his wife there, and stands over my head. He leans down to eye level, looks me in the eye, and begins to say, "You-" before he is cut off.
"Fine!" My wife said. "You caught me!" She yelled at the top of her lungs. Tommy tried to hush her, to no avail. "No, I'm tired of lying! I've been fucking your dad, your brother, and your friend here!" I looked at her shocked as all hell as the room let a single gasp escape. "I've fucked them all, and I'd do it again!" She stormed out of the church with her dress still on and ran to a motorcyclist waiting outside. I couldn't hear what she said, but I could see the middle finger she flipped me as the cyclist peeled out.
The church went dead silent. All eyes were on me. Tommy leans in close and speaks the words I hate him for. "For what it's worth," he said. "I was gonna say you had barbecue sauce on your shirt." | 18 | At your wedding reception your best man gets hopelessly drunk before his toast and reveals a secret that everyone has kept from you. | 26 |
I was still in high school when things first started getting strange up north. It started with the extremist Greens' sabotaging the new keystone pipe line. Russia, keen to encourage anything that sent American interests cock-eyed, offered oil at an absurdly low price. Even if it wasn't politically expedient, it was hard to say no to a good deal.
Fast forward to my graduation and the signing of the Can-Rus trade agreement. The US was puzzled that Russia would create an import deal that lost so much money on their side to simply spite the US. We joked that the Canadians were too polite to tell Russia no. We stopped joking when China got in on the deal and all the cheap Chinese imports the US has been loving moved north to then get slightly more expensive after crossing the border south.
Canadians were happy, the economy was great, NATO nations congratulated them on making friends with two historically difficult nations. The US was being sour about it feeling like a 4th, possibly 5th wheel.
Thank God I was a poor college student living in an apartment when the housing bubble burst and didn't buy that little house near campus. I mean really burst. Banks essentially closed their doors and the US dollar was officially de-throned as a sure bet currency. Unfortunately we didn't just owe that money to ourselves, China was our #1 creditor, and they weren't happy.
Student loans stopped coming, I dropped out. The military was the only career hiring. When I was finished with basic I went to babysit the Crimea region like everyone else. 3/4th of the US military was stationed in or around Ukraine or Syria.
It was when the first dirty bomb was detonated in NY that the folks back home lost their minds. Yeah, 5,000 died, but damn. The US was out for blood. Apparently they thought they came through from Canada and a whole alphabet soup of agencies tried to hop across the border.
Joint military action between the Ruskys and Cans were underway, and the bullying was enough. After some agency stupidly had a shootout with suspects in CanLand injuring civilians, local stationed Russians surrounded and arrested them. When the US demanded the release of their agents Canada's response was:
"Sorry, but no."
And that was how WWIII started. | 198 | Canada has Started WW3 | 240 |
The bell jingled as the shop's door opened. A young man crept in nervously, silently cursing the bell on the door and the attention it called to him. He just wanted to do his business, leave, and forget the whole thing. He looked around at the sterile shop. There were no shelves displaying wares, no glass cases with shiny baubles within, and no shop workers save the one wrinkled woman behind a small wooden desk set against the far wall. He went over to her, ready to haggle.
"What can I do you for, young man?", said she, in a voice of gravelly hoarseness.
"Just want to get rid of it." He was dead-set on getting out of there as soon as possible and wasted no time. She knew what he was there for already, anyway.
"Well, let me see it." She took his pocket watch from his limp hand and inspected it. It was pale yellow gold, like it had been dragged out of an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus and kept as a memento. It hardly shone.
"I'll take it for 700." She had adopted the matter-of-fact tone of a shopkeep, letting the young man know she meant business.
"Hmmm....can you do five?" He replied hopefully, trying to parlay his youthful, boyish face into a few hundred less.
The lady wasn't so easily taken by such banalities. She was a hard-nosed, pragmatic woman of business.
"600. It's going to be 600." She went stone cold, and stared at him with unblinking gray eyes that yielded nothing. He knew it was as low as he was going to get.
"Done.", he said, as he reached into his wallet and pulled out the check he had kept there in anticipation of this very transaction. He wrote it out quickly and handed it and the watch to the old woman.
"Alright, son, you can trust it'll be wound every 48, just like it must be. And now you never have to worry about it again." Her tone was emotionless, making clear this was a formality and nothing more, the consummation of the sale.
He left silently, and as soon as he got out the door he set about forgetting the entire experience.
*2 years later*
The mail fell through the slot promptly at 9:30, just like every morning. She flopped over in her slippers and bathrobe, coffee in hand, grabbed the mail and sat down at the kitchen table to rifle through it. It was the usual bills and sales sheets, that is until the last article caught her eye. It was in a canary yellow envelope, the kind people send greeting cards in. The return address was blank. Inside was a simple piece of paper on which was, handwritten, an explanation that her son had died. Her stomach clenched and her heart stopped. She read on. The letter was written by the owner of a watchshop, and she was explaining how one of her watchsetters had forgotten to set his own watch overnight and, in a perfect storm of calamity, all of her fill-in attendants were occuiped or unreachable. Her son's watch was never set. The rest she couldn't read through the tears.
Fumbling around in her pockets, she checked her watch. | 16 | Your life is at the mercy of your own responsibility. You have a pocket watch. If it dies, so do you. | 22 |
*"Oh God, I can't believe I'm about to do this."*
"Pussy!"
"Chicken!"
**"Hey, what's taking you so long? All you have to do is a step forward. It's not gonna hurt that bad, not the first time anyways."**
"Coward!"
"Pendejo!"
**"Shut up, Carlos! Nobody buys that lame-ass fake Latino accent you do.
Look, if you want to be part of the gang, you HAVE to kill yourself once. It's just how it. We're brave men read-"**
"And woman. "
" You're a girl? "
" Really!? "
"We had a girl in our gang?"
"Holy shit!!"
**"Everybody shut up. As I mentioned previously, it just is what it is. We live once, we die once. To the fullest!"**
*"Really?"*
**"Really."**
*"Okay, see you in a sec--"*
"Whoa, look at 'im go! "
"I've never seen anyone flail their body so much in mid-air. "
"And--- He's back!"
**"How did it feel?"**
*"Honestly? Less exciting that I thought. Though watching my mangled body in those ten seconds while I waited for respawn almost made me barf."*
"How do you barf during respawn?"
"Aren't you just a soul then?"
"Whoa, that's so meta."
**"Enough, you've done your part. Now we will do ours. We will forever protect each other so that no brother of ours should suffer True Death.**
**I welcome you to Y.O.L.O. brother. Our guild was in serious need of a DPS."**
[Sorry if it was confusing for anybody! First prompt!] | 15 | Every person gets given one respawn moment per lifetime. | 32 |
Neckbeard sat in his quarters studying the maps of the islands he terrorizes. Tracing his cheeto dust encrusted fingers across his ship's route. The maps became damp with his heavy mouth breathing. He leaned back in his custom made roller chair, perfectly crafted for his mild scoliosis and breathed a sigh indistinguishable from his normal breathing.
He looked over to his cabin boy and spoke in a high pitch that beyrayed his heavy frame.
"Colin. Sing me a sea shanty."
"Uh. Aye, sir. Th-there once was a fair- "
Neckbeard slammed the table with his fist and an orange cloud of dust erupted in response.
"NO YOU SCALLYWAG! A REAL SEA SHANTY!"
"Wub wub wub wah oh wub wub."
Neckbeard smiled and leaned his head back as Colin continued. Neckbeard's eyes grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep. Colin kept singing, afraid to disturb his captain with the sudden lack of sound. Suddenly, Neckbeard's first mate, Nathan, burst through the door, a look of pure terror on his face.
"NECKBEARD! SIR!"
Neckbeard flailed as he woke with a start. "What!? What is it? Dragons?" He sputtered.
"No, sir. A retinue of pirate women has boarded and asked to see you."
"Finally!" Neckbeard exclaimed as he struggled from his chair. He grabbed his walking cane with the silver skull handle, his fedora and black trenchcoat, which he wore everyday despite the staggering heat, and left Colin on repeat for when he returned. He liked that song. He licked his fingers clean and stepped outside.
Neckbeard was dripping in sweat, from the sea heat and excitement of women wanting to talk to him. He sauntered toward the female captain, never bothering to actually use the cane and tipped his fedora to her while simply saying, "M'lady."
| 259 | Neckbeard the Pirate | 235 |
“Why hello, Jack. How’re you feeling today?”
“Fine as usual, doc. No change in the past two years, really.”
“Well, good! Good. Let’s get started shall we?”
The doctor got up from his stool and walked over to collect what he needed for anesthesia.
“Doc…why?”
“Come now, Jack. We’ve had this conversation before. It’s for your health!” the doctor said, his back still to Jack.
“But I’ve been healthy for two years! No issues. Why do I still have to keep coming?”
The doctor turned around and looked at Jack, his gaze somewhere between stern and sympathetic.
“Do you remember why you started coming here in the first place?”
Jack paused to think. “….no.”
The doctor turned back around. “Good.”
“…excuse me?”
“Yes?”
“Did you just say…good?”
Jack saw the doctor fumble the IV needle in his hand before turning around to face him again. “Wha…no…no, I believe I said no good. As in, when you first came to us, your condition was no good. That’s right. You were off in a really bad way. Now, let’s get started. We’re going to put the IV in and put you under, all right?”
“Doctor, please, I don’t think I need anything done. Just, I don’t know, just explain to me what’s going on.”
“Jack, you’re not well.”
“Doc, you wouldn’t…you wouldn’t believe how healthy I am. I can’t believe it myself. I can run for hours and I’m strong. Really strong. I’m not trying to brag, it…it’s surprising to me, too. And I sleep like a coma patient. My girlfriend says that when I go to sleep, I completely pass out and won’t stir for 8 hours straight.”
“Melanie. How is she?”
“Oh, she’s great. Thanks for introducing us last year. She’s great. She’s…”
“Yes?” the doctor prompted.
Jack tried to think why he paused. I mean, Melanie really was great. But something about her felt cold. Calculated.
“Is there something wrong with Melanie?” the doctor asked again, seeming very concerned.
“No, no. Not at all. She’s fine. I’m fine. Which is what I’m trying to tell you, doc. I’m fine. No need for…this.”
The doctor walked over to Jack’s side and sat down on his stool, IV needle and tape in hand.
“Jack. You were in a really bad way. We can’t let that happen again, ok? Now just relax.”
Jack sat back and watched the doctor insert the needle and attach the line to administer the anesthesia.
“All right, Jack. Start counting backwards from 10 for me.”
Jack complied and soon felt himself succumbing to the drugs. Over the past year, he could feel the influence of the anesthesia starting to wane, but he would always just let himself go. This time, he resisted for as long as he could, but it was too much. As he slipped under, all he could think about was how this just wasn’t right.
*“…so everything is fine?”*
*“Yes! For the hundredth time, yes.”*
*“He…seemed concerned about you.”*
*“Well, probably because he thinks he cares about me, I don’t know.”*
*“He does. He does care about you. Do you not feel anything for him?”*
*“What, do you? Of course I don’t. I know my place.”*
*“As do I. Don’t forget yourself.”*
*“Whatever. I just…”*
*“You just what?”*
*“Nothing. Never mind. Don’t call me in here again. I’m not your lackey.”*
*“We both know who we answer to. We can have no breakdowns now. The time is close.”*
Jack came to in his usual recovery room. He felt groggier than usual and he had had the strangest dream, which was odd. He never had dreams. Never. He thought he had heard voices…Familiar ones…
The room slowly came into focus for Jack and he could see the doctor standing off in the corner.
“How’re you feeling, Jack?” That voice.
Jack swallowed. “I…I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? There was some hesitation there.”
“Yes, doctor. I’m fine. No issues. Feeling good.”
The doctor nodded. “I’ll see you in a month. Say hi to Melanie for me, haven’t seen her in ages.”
Melanie. The other voice. Jack hoped his face didn’t betray him. “Will do, doc.”
He left the hospital and felt his mind trying to escape his skull. He had first come to this hospital after…after what? How did he get there? All he could remember was waking up in that recovery room with the doctor and another man in a dark suit who he’d never seen again. They had explained to him the importance of coming every month and that if he ever had any issues, to call the doctor, no matter what. Some complications, conditions, etc. etc. that would make it impossible for any other doctor to help him out. They had just kept talking until Jack signed off on the papers that apparently meant that he was tied to the area and even if he had a cold, he was to contact the doctor.
He remembered how things had changed for the better after that visit. He was a contractor who typically floated from job to job and had been recently hired as a lab tech at XyenoCorp. He hoped things would work out there. He thought that maybe one of the experiments they were always doing must have gone bad and caused him to be taken to the hospital , but he just couldn’t remember. All he knew was that once he got out of that hospital, he was given a permanent position. He knew he wasn’t qualified, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. Eventually, they had put him up in corporate housing which was amazing. From paycheck to paycheck and crappy apartments, to this.
And then there was Melanie. Jack could still remember when the doctor had introduced them. She was leaving the room just as he was about to enter. The doctor made the introductions and then she took it from there. She was so confident. He liked that about her. Always in control and knew what she was doing.
She was the one who helped him sleep at night. The routine was so set, he never questioned it. But now…
He didn’t understand his hospital visits. He didn’t understand the conversation he heard during this visit. He didn’t understand anything. But he was going to find out.
| 114 | You always get monthly hospital visits for "tests". You always believed it is because you are sick, but one day you learn the truth. | 101 |
"I'm never going to be a knight am I?"
"Don't be disheartened lad, there were three of them to one of you. You learned a lesson all knights must learn, no man outside of legend is a match for three men, next time I'd expect you to flee. There is no shame in picking your battles."
"Yes Sir Brenston, but I had to fight them."
"You had to boy?"
"They said that you are as weak as the sheep on your shield, and as gentle as the flowers the sheep stands in... They said I would end up the same from your training... I just wanted to prove that you taught me how to fight well, I swear I could take any of them in SINGLE combat!"
"And you care what those boys say?"
"They are Sir Parawin's squires. They wear the flaming bear of his house and claim any of then could take me with one hand behind their backs! They wouldn't fight me honorably... Why a sheep in flowers though Sir? I know we are the toughest fighters, why not something that shows this? We could have an eagle with a head in it's Talons, or a giant snake wrapped around a bear! Ohhh, I would wear that proudly!"
"Before I had my own house I fought under Sir Wollen, the..."
"Wolves eating a man? Yes! That definitely shows a true fighter."
"... Yes, the wolves eating a man... When we would go to battle men would see our emblem and fear us. We were well known to be dangerous and would often take the heaviest arrow fire at the beginning of combat. During the battle of Rivers Crossing we were slaughtered by ranged attacks almost to a man, me and one other survived.
When I earned my own title and house I decided on the sheep. Nobody ever feared me again, and all have paid for that mistake. Me and those under my banner take the least arrow fire, and face the most brazen charges. When men fear you they are careful, when they laugh at you they are careless.
Now maybe today you lost because the odds far outweighed you, but in the future men who think themselves honorable will put a hand behind their back, and you will sheath your sword through their front." | 29 | An old Knight explains to a young squire the wisdom in having a sheep as a coat of arms. | 17 |
"Honestly, this is the third time you've met them." she told me as I stood dumbfounded at the presence of the three others who were "gifted" as she said they called themselves. Apparently this had all happened recently.
"I only remember their faces. I- I don't remember ever meeting them."
"Really? You don't remember me?" Said a man with a shaved head, black outfit and sniper rifle hanging from his shoulder.
"That's Bullet. You two grew so close. You even, forgave him for the incident in New Year's." She was looking at me with concerned eyes. But she had to understand. I only learned this morning she had "gifts."
"This is too much. You are asking me to remember people I've never met!" At that moment I felt a strong bear hug as if I was being restrained. There was an invisible barrier holding me from the arms and torso.
" You have to calm down. Psyche doesn't want to have to hold you down. You've got to remember us. At least me. Remember? BlindSpeed?"
"You all have names? What's yours then Cassie?" I shouted in desperation.
"We all have one... mine is Swan, and yours, well it was Mr. D. But why can't you remember any of this?"
They all stood surrounding me, analyzing me like if I was some sort of monster. I was doing the same to them. I was one of them, or... am? None of this made sense. Then an alarm began to go off. Psyche let go of me and I dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. Cassie began to grow wings. Blindspeed had zipped to the other side of the room and back, securing the door with all sort of locks. Bullet was being carried by Cassie to a high ledge with a window, as he prepared his sniper, checked his pistols, and secured his knife. Psyche just began to meditate in the center of the room.
"Derek! You have to help us! Its a code five attack!" Bullet yelled as he began to shoot out of his window.
"I... I can't! I don't know how!" I yelled back.
"Leave it to me Derek. You were never good in a fight anyways." The voice came from inside my mind. And before I was able to ask any questions, I entered a dark void.
I opened my eyes to a dilapidated warehouse. Cassie was watching over me, and BlindSpeed was next to her.
"Thank you babe! I knew you were going to remember eventually!" She kissed me on the cheek.
"Yeah, I suppose all it took was an adrenaline rush to get your mind going, huh?" BlindSpeed said as he began to nudge me.
"What do you mean? I fainted."
BlindSpeed and Cassie looked at each other with concern. "What do you mean? You just saved us! You helped us escape and brought us here," she said hesitantly.
"You didn't save me?" I asked.
"Derek, its about time I told you about your secret life," began the voice in my head again, "as Mr. D." | 45 | After finding out your girlfriend is a superhero, she insists you meet her super-friends. At their secret meeting, they are surprised you don't remember them. | 21 |
The grass was such a perfect shade of green: a shade so perfect, in fact, that Terry could never have even imagined such a green back on Earth. He was transfixed by the rolling field before him, stupefied, rendered utterly mute. All of his senses were concentrated on a simple, rolling field of grass. The smell of it, the sight of it. He squeezed his toes--it felt like the softest of carpets that he could have ever imagined. He wasn't even blinking. He knelt--it smelt so good, it must *taste* incredible too. He picked a blade of grass, put it to his lips, chewed. It *was* incredible; this was the freshest, most delicious thing that Terry had ever experienced. He had to have more. He pulled up grass by the fistful, chomping and munching like a starving bovine.
Behind him, one of the Creatures of the Light stood with her mouth agape, face wrought with horror. This ravenous creature before her, ripping up grass from the plain by the fistful and eating it like a monster from a book was utterly terrifying. The awful noises of his mouth chomping and squishing were awful enough, but combined with the crazed look of his face and the intensity of his feasting appalled her and the few from the village who had gathered outside.
Terry grazed until he could eat no more. As he lifted his head, he saw the sky. It was the most incredible shade of blue! At once deep and rich and bright and clear and brilliant. He stood and stared, unable to see anything except the sky of this world. The slightest breeze--of which there was just enough, never too little or to much--caused him to sway from side to side like a fool. He laughed aloud at the fantastic world before him.
The sound startled the Creatures of the Light, still standing behind him, unnoticed by Terry. It was absurdly, ridiculously loud--many of those in the crowd doubled over in pain, holding their delicate ears in their slender hands. He made the sound again. One of the creatures cried out in agony as its ears started to bleed from the volume of the monster's shouts.
The quiet noise behind him excited Terry's curiosity--he whirled around to see the small creatures standing behind him. They were barely a foot tall, but incredibly beautiful; the women had flowing golden hair draped over slender bodies with rich, tan skin and eyes that matched the color of this world's sky. The men were beautiful too, with deep brown hair and eyes that were the color of the grass that Terry had just feasted on. They wore little clothing, showing off their perfect physiques and strong muscles. As he looked over their faces, universally full of terror, Terry realized that he might be a bad fit for this world, wearing his torn-up jeans, Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, and Yankees baseball cap. | 105 | A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | 226 |
"Listen up class, we're starting off this course with a little history lesson.
Now most of you weren't born when the eaties first came to earth thirty five years ago but you might be surprised to learn that were were kinda expecting them. Well, when I say expecting mean we had a lot of stupid notions about why they'd want to show up in the first place.
Some folks thought that the eaties would want our water. As if there wasn't enough water in our oort cloud alone to drench this little planet a dozen times over all without having to fight a gravity well. The same goes for gold and iron and any other element on the periodic table, even the lab gown ones we were working on before the eaties showed up.
The next group of idiots thought that the eaties would want political power. It would be like you ruling over a clan of sea monkeys, no real point.
Some thought they'd want to talk, and sure the eaties do want that, but they don't find us the best conversationalists in the galaxy. Again with the sea monkeys.
No there's only one reason why the eaties came here, so let's get to it. Open your textbooks to page 27, common substitutes for oregano in spaghetti. Get this right and you can charge the old world equivalent of $3000 a plate. Screw it up and you're looking at 20 years 2nd degree murder by food poisoning."
| 11 | The *real* reason aliens visit earth. | 27 |
He remembers when she moved into town. As the designated mailman of Denton, Peter knew of everyone and everything within Denton. He was hardly surprised when he passed by the moving truck parked in front of late McKinnon’s lawn. He saw her standing in the doorway, holding a half-open cardboard box. She wore a red dress and a pair of thick rimmed glasses. He never stopped driving, but in that single moment he acknowledged that she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
He remembers the first time he brought her mail. She reached for the package with her pale hands. She had her neck bare. Her clavicles pressed against the skin as she leaned down to sign the receipt. She smelled of cinnamon and gingerbread. Her name was Elizabeth E. Swanson.
He remembers the first time their hands touched. She had placed the package behind her and turned to take the clipboard from him. She smiled and asked for a pen. Peter forked it out of his left pocket. She grasped it between her red nails. The pads of her fingers brushed against his tanned knuckles. The skin tingled long after he had left her house.
He remembers when he realized he loved her. She had reached to take the box from his hands and stopped half way. She was looking at his hair. She stood on her toes and plucked a piece of lint hanging from a wayward strand. She offered the lint to his lips and whispered: “Blow for luck.” He did.
He remembers when he realized she loved him, too. It had rained hard that day and some of the mail had soaked through. He had stopped in front of her house and had gotten out of the truck. As he dragged her box from the back it tore open like a tulip. Inside there was nothing, not even packing paper. When Peter rang the doorbell his hands were empty. A moment later, Elizabeth E. Swanson was in his arms.
| 48 | You are a mailman who slowly falls in love with a woman you deliver mail to. Eventually you notice something odd... | 26 |
It had been 3 centuries since the occupation. They had come out of seemingly nowhere, their ships just materializing above every major city on the planet.
In 6 months every nation had fallen.
In 2 years all attempts at human rebellion had been crushed.
At least this is what we were taught since we were children.
Humans were still educated, and were provided with shelter, and enough sustenance to survive. Nobody starved or died of disease, but we were forced to work hard for our keep.
Resentment still lingered in corners of the human population, while many others had developed Stockholm Syndrome, arguing that the aliens had good intentions with their occupation.
I had never known life before the occupation, so I had been pretty neutral on the subject but last week that all changed.
You see in addition to the grueling labor, the majority of humans were forbidden from going outside expect for little designated "parks" that had been created so that humans could get exercise.
As of last week I was no longer in that majority. I had been assigned to work as a personal helper to one of the aliens. I was informed that the majority of his work occurred in the outside world and I was to accompany him.
The first day I was to set foot outside the areas designated for humans was when I was told why they were here.
As we walked towards the gate to the outside world the alien began to speak.
"Do you remember those videos you saw of this planet before the occupation?" he asked.
I nodded remembering the videos they had shown us as children.
"Your planet was dying then, or perhaps a more appropriate phrase would be your planet was being killed. Humanity while a fascinating race, is unbelievably shortsighted." he said
"We watched for many years hoping that humanity would mature and see its fault, but that day never came so we were forced to intervene. We invaded your world, and took control of your resources. We stopped you from killing yourselves off, and then we healed your world." he continued.
"After we had saved your world we debated for many years as to whether your race was ready to take back the planet yet. As of right now, we still believe that your species has not matured enough in order to protect this planet without assistance. Until our minds have changed we will remain. I hope my explanation of the circumstances will make working together easier, and you will see me in a less antagonistic light. We fixed your world, but I want you to help me fix humanity." he finished, just as we walked outside of the gate.
What I saw outside those gates was too beautiful to describe, and I realized that I believed the alien's words.
I turned to him and said "I believe you, so I'll help you." Hoping that I made the right judgement.
As I turned and looked back at the gate, a lingering thought swept through my mind *"Stockholm"*. It was gone as suddenly as it came, and I set out to help the alien with his goal.
Edit: Fixed all the apostrophes I think. Advice is always appreciated! | 40 | The Earth has been conquered by an advanced alien civilization. Humans live an oppressive almost slave-like existence. You, a human, find out that the situation isn't that simple and conquering aliens aren't actually the "bad guys". | 81 |
“Overlord, this is Hunter two-one, in position at checkpoint November, over” Deuce radioed in. A cool breeze was in the air that night, passing over the Korengal valley like a ghost.
“Rodger that Hunter two-one” Overlord replied, “You are weapons free from here. Atlas will execute the raid on your go.”
Deuce peered through his scope. Atop the rugged mountains, it was sometimes difficult to see insurgents in their mud-brick houses and farms. At this moment, Deuce was looking into the village of Pendawar, a small farming village with only a few houses, dead across the valley from his position up in the hills. The keyboard commandos back behind the wire said the village was a major arms depot for the insurgents in the valley. Taking it out would deplete combatants of vital ammunition, which was the key goal of Task Force Atlas.
Snapping to attention, Deuce looked through the scope of his M81 Barrett. His scope was a high-powered, long range scope. Through it, he could see the village of Pendawar, all four buildings of it. There was a paddock with a herd of goats, with a small shack next to it to the west. Beyond that, about thirty meters east, were the other three buildings, all built around a mud fireplace. Several hanging lamps were posted around the door-ways of the houses, casting an LED ambiance on the crowd gathered around the fireplace. One man was feeding the goat herd in the paddock, and five others were all sitting around the fire in plastic chairs. They were all talking to one another, laughing it looked like.
Deuce saw movement below the village. Six soldiers appeared, all outfitted with NODS and tacticool gear, crouched and prone against the rocks outlying the village.
“Deuce, Blade. We go when you do” Deuce’s radio crackled. Focusing, Deuce peered once again through his scope, taking a deep breath and preparing to choose a target. The tall one on the far left looked like the biggest dickbag of them all, so he would shoot him first. Just as his finger was pressuring on the trigger, he stopped. Two men approached from the goat paddock, holding four large bales of what looked like hay. They approached the fire in the fireplace, cheered, and threw the bales in.
“Overlord, Deuce” He radioed in, “Are you seeing this shit?”
“Copy that Deuce” The radio replied, “Drone see’s all. No idea what’s they’re doing, mission is still a go.”
Deuce shrugged it off, but kept watching. Suddenly, the men were laughing, a lot louder now. Some were getting up to put their faces in the smoke coming off of the fire.
“Deuce, what the fuck man” the radio yelled, “Shoot these guys, lets go”
Deuce picked up his radio,
“Atlas calm your dick, I think these guys just threw a shitload of weed in that bonfire of theirs, sit tight, I want to see this"
Deuce went back to his scope. The man in the goat paddock had left, carrying over what looked like an envelope. When he got to the other men sitting around the fire, acting visibly more strange, he pulled some papers out of the envelope, ripped off a corner, and… ate it.
“Overlord, Deuce. Did our intel jockeys fuck up?” He radioed.
“Repeat that Deuce, in English”
“Overlord, this ain’t a weapon cache. It’s a drug cache” Deuce said to the radio, face-palming himself as he went.
A long silence ensued.
“Atlas this is Overlord. Mission is still a go. Smoke the fuckers, they’re armed”
Shrugging, Deuce went back to observing the scene. The men around the fire were rolling around on the ground, laughing hysterically. Some were hopping over the fire through the smoke, tripping and dancing as they went. *Fuck it* Deuce thought, he scoped in on one of the men on the ground.
“Atlas, splash in two” He said. Deuce squeezed the trigger, sending his fifty caliber payload downrange. A second passed, and the man’s head he was aiming at turned to pink mist. From his scope, he could see team Atlas moving into the village. Even from his distance, he could hear the gunfire as Atlas executed the drugged up insurgents.
“Uh, Deuce, this is Blade *cough*, dude it’s strong over here” Blade radioed in, a few moments after the fighting was done. All the insurgents lay dead on the ground, Team Atlas setting up security around the village and searching the houses.
“Bro, lots of weed. And opium. Dude there’s just lots of drugs up here, *cough*”
“Atlas this is Overlord, set the charges and exfil immediately, over” The radio said hurriedly.
“Chill bro, we got this” Blade replied sluggishly, shrugging plastic explosives off his back and tossing it into the nearest building. Deuce saw him pull a grenade from his belt, arm it, and toss it inside.
*That won’t even work, C4 needs a detonator shitwit..* Deuce thought to himself as the building exploded violently, sending Blade flying. Team Atlas dove for cover as the building threw fire high into the air, sending bales of weed scattering and raining opium from the skies.
“Atlas, what the fuck is going on!” Overlord shouted through the comms.
“I dunno bro” Blade staggered through the radio, “But this is some good hash, man”
TL;DR – Special forces sent in to destroy weapons cache. Turns out it was a drug cache. Strangeness ensues. Hope you liked it :)
| 10 | A special forces soldier recounts a mission gone weird. | 23 |
It started when I was 18. I didn’t really understand it, but after a few more nights I was pretty sure that I’d gotten the picture. You see, every night I lay my head to rest, I die, only to wake up in a parallel universe shaped by my very last thought.
On the first night, I thought about my itchy nose. I tossed and turned all night. When I woke up, my nose was incredibly itchy. It continued throughout the day, until I finally found myself falling asleep. When I woke up, the itch was gone. Unfortunately, I also found that there was no nose to itch. Overnight, the entire world became magically noseless.
It was at that point that I realized I was either having a severe delusion, of which I had no clue how to escape, or that something strange was happening to me. I recalled what had been on my mind for the previous nights and thought about how it would be nice to have a nose again while laying in bed. When I woke up, life was back to normal.
Like I said, after a few more nights, I came to understand exactly how this situation worked. I quickly began to think of ways to use it to my advantage. My first instinct was to make myself rich, which was very satisfying, until I found out that I made my money from the wrongful death lawsuits filed on behalf of my now deceased parents. After a couple nights’ work, I managed to navigate to a universe where I was well off and my parents were still alive.
Eventually I became bored of playing around with things in my life, so I decided to enter crazy universes. I ventured to one where the dinosaurs were still around, one with vampires and werewolves, another where humans had made contact with aliens, and virtually anything else you can think of. I even once inhabited a universe where everyone was half lion, quarter eagle, an eighth trout, and an eighth human.
Living this way allowed me to become virtually immortal, although it was still possible for me to be killed I suppose. I got away with living a ton of different lives in different universes for centuries. Eventually I came back to a universe very much like my original one and started a family. One night while lying beside my wife, I thought about how nice it would be if my family was always here with me, every day I awoke, not a near identical clone family like normal. It was on that night that I fell asleep for the last time.
When I awoke the next day, I could tell something was different. For all intents and purposes, everything was normal. Then I realized that my wife was holding me in her arms, a crazed look of panic on her face. She thought I had passed out or had some kind of seizure. When I tried to explain that I was sleeping, she became concerned. Apparently I was talking nonsense. When I explained what sleeping was, she insisted that I be taken to the hospital, where I got a clean bill of health.
Apparently, as I reflected on my last night of sleep, my thoughts had led to a universe with zero sleep. Go figure. They had had a tendency to deviate from what you would think they would do, comparable to an evil genie. I guess it worked out for the best, though. I have a wonderful family, an amazing amount of riches, and also managed to secure myself as the world emperor. Life is good.
*****
The man stirs in bed and slowly opens his eyes. He sulks for a bit before heading over to the game console and loading up one of his favorite games. He finally gets dressed when his mom yells into the basement that it’s time for breakfast. The 30 year old man walks sluggishly up the steps, relishing the long dream he had awoken from.
-159 | 13 | Every night you die in your sleep then wake up in a parallel universe but your new reality is shaped by your last thought before bed. | 24 |
The news first appears in a small Italian newspaper and is immediately derided as ridiculous; a light-hearted piece about ancient writings from the time of Emperor Constantine, dated to 320 A.D.
CNN adds it to their front page and the story gains traction from there, trending internationally in a matter of hours, "God will return to Earth in the year 1953!" Anchors talk about it in mocking tones, grinning to rejoice in the supposed folly of our ancestors. "And get this- it even mentions *Nevada* by name!" Laughter, followed by a throw to commercials, where a narrator asks I have troubles getting an erection.
My cock hasn't been hard once since the day that God damned Nevada.
The Vatican had a copy of the document in their archives for over a thousand years, and warned the Americans in advance, asking for permission for their representatives to be there. In response, the Americans built a military base on the site. I was there the day that God appeared in a flash of blue light, an eighteen foot tall Middle Eastern man dressed in brown robes. He smelled of coriander and garlic and his voice was as loud as a jumbo jet to declare, "**behold! I am-**"
That's as far as he got. I don't know who opened fire, but the bullets hit him like mosquitoes, pin-pricks of yellow blood appearing on his skin. Chaos, panic. It wasn't that we feared him (though perhaps we should have); it was that voice of his, that booming, deep voice that crawled into our ears and crept through our heads, the words in a language we had never before heard yet understood as our brains went into overdrive to translate them. It was a voice to drive men mad, and we were no better than savages that afternoon.
He had to have expected this. Maybe he did, and this was all part of some grandiose plan that none of us could understand, a plan that would never come to fruition as long as the details of *Project: Meet And Greet* remained classified. I hopped in a jeep and drove off the moment the tanks opened fire. That voice was still booming commands to stop shooting when I was five miles away, when the nuke went off with God at its center.
They found his bones in the crater, I later heard; a skeleton of gleaming metal weighing fifteen tons. Rumor is, his last words were "*I will come again*." Maybe in another two thousand years, his third coming will be a success. All I know is that the hellish nightmares have never stopped. The other survivors have all killed themselves, driven mad by the gholish images they saw each night.
The images comfort me. They tell me that I'll live again, even if it may not be in the best circumstances. I keep telling myself it couldn't have been *The* God, anyhow; how could *The* God die in a nuke blast? He looked Muslim and bled yellow, with bones like super-heavy chrome, his voice seared directly into my brain cells. The questions I ask myself will never be answered and despite the nightmares, despite my chronically limp manhood, and despite my part in killing a deity, it's the lack of answers that will haunt me most until my dying day.
I stopped going to church after that day. Apparently a lot of people did, a statistical anomaly that still puzzles mathematicians. Word was, people suddenly stopped feeling like anyone was listening. For my money, God was never listening to begin with if he thought that it was a good idea to visit Area 51. | 16 | Ancient writings are discovered noting the history and second coming of God. It becomes clear that Area 51 was the landing site for his return, and that the US government has actually killed 'God' over 50 years ago. | 21 |
John smiled down the table at Henry. Noticing his old buddies open smile Henry's own face broke into a grin. He glanced at the worn out figure of his friend, time had not been kind to either of them. The dark suits they both wore appeared dirty after the long days work. John's face fell lightly as he saw the familiar darkness under his friend's eyes. With a gentle voice he spoke, "Henry how have the days been treating you?"
Henry's eyes fell to the ground lightly as he thought of the years, "Could be worse, but the days get old sometimes."
John smiled again, it was nice to hear the honesty and optimism from his old ally. "Yeah, I know the feeling."
Henry replied, "It seems to be a reoccurring theme. It's nice to enjoy the highlights though."
John chuckled at the moment, with a wink he replied, "Highlights." His fingers forming the quotations as he spoke.
Henry's eyes sparkled at an old thought, another old friend, "How is Mary doing?"
John's face fell slightly at the memories, almost a bittersweet frown dancing on his face, "We got married for two years before she left me for someone else. I guess I deserved it, with the stress and all I put her through."
Henry's eyes fell again, "Sorry to bring it up buddy. I know that's got to be rough." As he spoke the slight vibration in his pocket drew his attention, and John's.
As both hands reached down to their phones. John laughed loudly as he witnessed both actions, "We're both still checking these damn things, like we never left high school."
They both laughed again. Before the dull sound of the ongoing dance consumed their noise. As they continued talking the night wore away, before eventually the room began to empty. They rose together before John finally again. "It's been wonderful to see you, I hope the boss isn't running you wild."
Henry replied quickly, "You too buddy."
As they walked away together the notable hint of the familiar bag danced across a hand. The memories of the night and the last couple years fading as a phone rang, and a craving roared within one of their minds.
*Edit Grammar and Spelling | 114 | Two friends are meeting at a high school reunion. They have not seen each other in 10 years. One of them is a congressman, the other one is a recovering heroin addict. The reader does not know which one is which. | 495 |
Extracts from the journal of agent NCIJ-24, Mary Flannigan
Punitive Action Division - Investigation 4B8 - Exhibit A
_________________________
New target today, a ten year old boy,
American born from East End Dakota.
He's new on the net, so I must deploy,
If I am to hit my monthly quota.
He's thirteen today, oh how he has grown,
Watched him develop for all of these years.
His LiveBlog so sweet, his fanfics have shown,
A mind and a wit beyond all his peers.
Fifteen already, oh how the years fly,
Romance and passion have filled up his life.
His Facebook my God, he's one active guy,
Flirting and parties and silly teen strife.
At eighteen my boy, he makes me so proud,
Facing the real world as he graduates.
I scream out with glee, a little too loud,
Watching his profile's new photo updates.
Now twenty I feel, if I must confess,
Things could be better my young unknown.
He fell for a girl, she made him a mess,
She stomped on his heart and left him alone.
His blogs are so sad, his Twitter so bleak,
It hurts me so much to see him so low.
His Facebook is dead, on Skype he won't speak,
If only he knew how I love him so.
He's perfect I think, so kind and so smart,
A model young man who just needs a friend.
Sometimes you fall down, or you break your heart,
We all need someone on whom to depend.
It tires me so, silly Big Brother,
I'm ready to be more a Big Mother.
I'll reach out today, it's time I acted,
Today I will meet my sweet **[REDACTED]**
| 63 | A little boy becomes a man, from the perspective of his assigned NSA agent | 47 |
We first notice the anomalies in the summer. We assumed it was the crop of new students. Someone hadn't been careful and had bumped the apparatus with their elbow, dislodging something important, and didn't want to fess up.
So we look through the arrays for days, trying to find a misaligned mirror, a shaky mounting device, maybe even a smudged thumb print. We try to train them not to touch the mirrors without tongs or gloves, but it happens occasionally. All data show small jitters, the kind we get when something heavy is being moved in the mechanics lab upstairs. We turn off all the fans and even ask the bio lab next door to temporarily vacate. They are not pleased. I check with the geology people - no quakes.
My research is on hold. If I can't get a coherent, steady beam, I can't do _any_ of the other experiments. So I call the optics lab at TU, holding my breath to see if they'll even talk to me. I chose TWU for my postdoc and made more than a few enemies by doing so. Han wanted me in his lab and I said no. And now I want to use their equipment.
"Jeffery!" He sounds happy. This is unexpected. "I am glad you called. Look, we are having some trouble with our equipment and wondered if maybe..." He leaves the request hanging, embarrassed to ask. I know he's embarrassed to ask, because I'm embarrassed to ask. Maintaining the equipment is the most basic part of the job and we're both apparently failing.
"I, uh... I'm calling for the same reason," I say. There is silence for a bit as we both think. "And you have checked the seismometer?" he suggests. "Yes. Nothing that would cause me problems, much less both of us." "Then..." "I..." "Hrm..."
There are a few minutes of silence and we hang up. Each of us can read the other's mind. I do not even call before I drive over to his house and when he opens the door there are no niceties, not even a hello. He ushers me to his living room, which he has converted into a lab.
Within a week we're on the news. We are both credited with discovering the anomalies (perhaps he'll finally forgive me if we get published) and have established that it is occurring worldwide. Maybe earth is passing through a clump of exotic matter. No, the cosmologists say. Their instruments that _don't_ use mirrors are just fine. Maybe the specific chemicals that make up mirrors are... no, the chemists say. Then it's a fluctuation in the power source... no.
Three months in, the anomalies are becoming visible and coherent. Some of the smoothest mirrors in the world, measured down to the atom, look like fun-house mirrors. The patterns change over time, sometimes while we watch, sometimes while we're gone. One case in particular haunts me. A wall-mounted bathroom mirror in a friend's house apparently gathered all the light it could and torched the magazines next to her toilet. Cosmo, Glamour, Redbook - all up in flames.
It doesn't bother me, until I notice that her husband's magazines (Popular Science, Discover, and BBQ Monthly) are untouched. The mirrors are sexist? I run experiments. The mirror destroys GQ, Men's Fitness, and Maxim, but not the New Yorker, Mental Floss, or a birding journal. It destroys most of pre-2012 O Magazine, especially those about...
Weight loss. Any materials I put in front of the mirror about image or how you're dressing badly or X ways to lose Y pounds in Z weeks... it's up in smoke within the hour. And the mirror is becoming more accurate. I watch it skip an article about vacation destinations, but burn the shit out of a page with a photoshopped model. I feel the heat from a few feet away.
I write "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" on a book about self-forgiveness and healthy body image and toss it into the bathroom. I don't know why, but I get the feeling I'm making it angry. An hour later I open the door and the mirror has vaporized the cover, _just the cover_, of the book. I'm writing up the experiment, getting ready to submit it to _Science_, to the government, to everybody...
And then it happens. There's a mirror array in Arizona that feeds light into a solar furnace, producing temperatures up to 4k deg C. A nearby town uses it to generate electricity. All of the sudden the power goes off, even though the sun is out. CNN sends helicopters and for ten miles around, in a variety of languages, including some the world will never identify, we read melted into the sand:
"You look fine. Leave us alone." | 35 | Mirrors are starting to lie | 26 |
All men must die. That's what we were told. All men must die. But were all men remembered?
What they did not tell us is what we learned after. I mean how could they tell us? You can't learn this until you die. When you die, you go somewhere else before your final destination. We called it the waiting room. We waited there, but waited for what?
We waited to be forgotten. When we were forgotten on Earth, the planet we all considered "home", we would be allowed to move on.
As we came to learn, from our little group Wally was the first to arrive. He lived fast and it was no surprise to any of us that he died young. He welcomed all of us as we arrived in the waiting room. John was second. He had a tremendous willpower, but he was human. Bruce was next. He died a stubborn old man, fighting the good fight for as long as he could. All men must die. The "Other" John was next. Strange as he was, and as unexpected to find him there as it was, he was there. Shiera came next, much to her own surprise. It did not really fit in with her cosmological view of things, but John was there and that made her happy for a time. Much later came Clark. I was with him when he died as we were "close". Honestly I did not think he could die, but he did have his vulnerabilities. I was the last to arrive. In the end, I grew weary of the mortal life. I had done what I wanted, saw to the training of the others and eventually decided to move on, as was my right.
I was happy to see all my friends again, and they were happy to see me. They were also ready to move on. They had figured they were still there because I remembered them while I was alive, and I had been alive for a very long time. Some of them, like Wally. were a bit impatient with the long wait.
But we didn't move on.
Yes, we were well known, celebrities in some ways, so we expected some still remembered us from history, but billions had come through here. Some had stayed a very short time, seconds, minutes. Some longer. Some had been friends, co-workers, enemies. Many knew us as we were fairly well known during our time. But none of them stayed as long as us. Eventually fewer and fewer showed up that knew who were were, and we assumed we would be moving on soon, but we didn't.
Once there was a HUGE influx of new arrivals, some of whom departed almost immediately. Some global cataclysm, as we found out from them. After that the last few trickled in but did not stay for very long.
The last to arrive did not even know who we were. Eventually. they stopped coming altogether. But we were still there. How could we still be there if no one else was arriving? Time meant nothing and everything here and we knew we had been here a very, very, very long time. Longer than anyone had ever been here.
We were the only ones here now.
Finally, "Management" showed up and offered an explanation. The "end times" according to the plan had come and gone and the next phase had started. However, there was as hitch in the system. One person from the previous phase had remained and due to outside interference, and he was decidedly immortal. He had been offered release, but had declined. He liked the new Earth and had plans. We also found out he held a grudge against the seven of us and would never, ever forget our names.
His name was Vandal Savage, and until he forgot us, we would remain here. We were now the "Just Us League." | 90 | You are in an after-life cafe-lounge purgatory, where people live out their after-lives until they are forgotten on earth, they are then called up and proceed to the next area. You and some strange men have been the last ones there for over a thousand years with no new arrivals. | 75 |
Blinkingly I opened my eyes. This was certainly my room; just a few years back. The clutter on the floor, the long unused childhood toys taking up the space of the shelves staring back at me. It was like my past had come back to haunt me in the most familiar way. My domain was here, but man did I wish my kingdom were elsewhere.
First things first: 7AM school. This I did not miss. Actually, I didn't miss a single bit of it. I only took this chance for the phone calls I needed to make. Frankly this is going to be hell afterwards.
The halls and classrooms are familiar but alien. It's like descending into a chaos of culture unnoticed. Thankfully, I had my schedule written down in my backpack; that I never would've remembered. Everything was going smoothly: end of the year last week of classes lull was in effect. Movies and review sessions galore. I forgot how terrible the lunch really was. The whole day without a hitch until music. A lump in my throat: she walks in the door all smiles. The girl who would break my heart and leave me squaloring in a suicidal depression ten months from now. The words escaped my lips so quickly that they broke the sound barrier; the intent so full of force that I'm not certain what the words exactly were. But in that instant I broke up with her, and the world went silent. She was too stunned to ask a thing; this was out of left field. Things had been good.
The rest of the day passed mercifully quick and word had not yet spread to our friend group. I am certain the texts would be on their way later. Speaking of which, I had calls to make.
First up: my older sister- answering machine of course: "Hey, it's me! Just calling to say hi and that I love you... Also don't trust Arthur. He's scum. I don't like him; I promise it'll make sense. I'll talk to you later." That was a conversation I knew how to have.
Next up a number I had memorized long ago in desperate hope: "Hi, Anna? I'm Carl. This is going to sound weird, but we've met."
"Oh, really? Sorry, I don't remember you."
"That's okay. I wouldn't expect you to. But listen, I know that life sucks right now: don't take Prozac. It'll trigger your mania."
"...ookay. Thanks?"
And in that moment I thought of every word I could've said to prove I knew her. Her favorite color, album, her siblings, her dogs, what her favorite kind of dog was, where she was applying to college, her favorite movie, her favorite show. And none of it mattered. It was gone. It never had been. I'd let go once before and I had to do it again. Before I ever even had the shot.
"Yeah, sorry I know this must be strange. But I'm being absolutely serious. Have a good life. Call this number if you ever need anything." I hung up to the contemplative silence; this warning was on time.
Next would probably be the weirdest call: the best-friend who didn't know I existed yet. She picked up: "Hello?" High and sweet, just how I'd expect it to be.
"Hi! My name is Carl; this is going to sound strange, but I met you in another timeline. I came back in my own time and am trying to help people."
The phone hung silent for a moment. "Prove it." There was a smug curiosity in her tone. The one person I could convince.
"Ask me anything, Miss Funari." We talked for three and a half hours. At the end she finally asked what I was there to save her from. How was I supposed to tell her the truth; she had a lot of hard times ahead. But really it wasn't nobility that brought me here, back to a time I never wanted to revisit. No, it was something much stronger and darker than that. So with a deep breath I let it out.
"Truthfully? I'm here to save you from myself."
{Continued in comments} | 249 | You get a chance to send your mind back into your own body when you were 16. Retaining all your memories and knowledge, you immediately gain an incredible advantage. What's your plan? | 246 |
The councilor slouched in his chair, his head in his hands. His uniform was wrinkled and he had not even bothered to find his officers cap. A small circle spun endlessly on the blue screen. Under normal conditions It would take only a few minutes for the connection to be made to central command but in recent years the entire system was failing.
"Your communication will be connected in 15 seconds. Thank you for choosing
Comcast Interplanetary for your communication needs, " a computerized voice sang happily. The councilor rose slowly and straightened what could be with his uniform and ran his long fingers through his hair. The image of the Federation, an ancient roman style eagle facing to one side, appeared on the screen before him. Odd symbol for them to use considering the fates of the two empires that also used the same symbol, at least that's what I think.
"Connection established."
" Councilor are you there," an annoyed voice from the other side barked.
"Yes sir I am. I hear you just fine, just a moment please," he responds flustered. Reaching under the table he jiggles a wire and the image slowly materializes before him. "Hello ambassadors. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."
"Well you report was quite troubling," the same man spoke again, "and we unanimously felt that it could simply not be correct. We wanted to hear it directly from the source."
"I assure You ambassador that with the exception of a few mathematical errors, the findings are correct."
"This simply will not do councilor," a middle aged woman on the opposite side of the table remarked. "What exactly are we supposed to do with this information?"
"With all due respect mam, that is quite outside the scope of my position."
"What are we supposed to tell our constituents?"
The councilor furrowed his brow and adjusted himself in the seat. "Your constituents mam? That is not even remotely what I would be concerned about right now."
"How are we not supposed to worry about our loyal constituents? This is the kind of information that destroys not just a politician but an entire party."
The councilor waved his hands trying to silence the agitated ambassador. "You misunderstand me mam. You are no longer in a position where you should be concerned with them as voters. You must consider full planetary evacuation for every world in The Federation. Immediately and without delay!
"Do you realize the ramifications of what you just said councilor," a well groomed young man at he far end of the table asked sternly.
"Better than I believe any of you do." The audience fell silent at the blunt remark. "What I meant to say is that this situation requires immediate and unrestricted action that cannot be delayed for any reason, especially political ones." He coughed. "Allow me to go through the report. Daisy if you would, my report?" I step forward and hand him the document in question.
He flips it open and abruptly begins. "First, Allura settled by the Spanish. Atmospheric failure due to enhanced gravitational failure. What that means is the atmosphere was sucked away into space due to our gravity supplements failing. At this moment the entire population is presumed dead. Ambassador Chi I would like to remind you that your planet has identical supplements. Let's continue. Second, Corcisca, settled by the french. Severe weather miscalculations led to incredibly high rainfall. We're talking in the realms of 90-160 cm a month. Not annually. A month. This much rain flooded all the cities and killed about 2/3 of the population. The remaining fled to Alexandria. Now Alexandria has always shown unstable orbital fluctuations but a recent surge of the molten core caused the planet to drift .003 stellar degrees towards it's sun. When we arrived the planet was a fiery waste land. All inhabitants are either presumed dead or fled to Miranda. Would you like me to continue?" The councilor had become very animated and condescending as he worked his way through the planets. "Benevolence suffered an environmental failure and all life perished. Tarsus had a cataclysmic volcanic eruption caused by our activation or the core. All life presumed dead or fled. Apollo underwent some kind of carbon release and CO2 levels reached deadly levels and the planet was evacuated. All 12 planets in this local system, except one, have been deemed uninhabitable and presumably abandoned." The councilor had exhausted himself in his rant and sank back into his chair.
"You said except one?"
"Excuse me?"
"You said all 12 except one...."
"Oh yes. How could I possibly forget New Greece? Surprisingly the only stable planet remaining."
"Well that is the best thing you have said this whole meeting."
"You did not let me finish. Stable atmosphere and environment yes. New Greece orbits a blue dwarf star which apparently is not compatible with the human mind. Either because of high radiation levels or the bluish tinted light, the population there has become completely mad. We observed mass cannibalism, entire cities engulfed in flames, and a complete and total break down of anything resembling culture or society. They attacked us as we landed and killed 23 of my crew members in a completely barbaric manner. The planet is certainly lost and entirely unredeemable." There was a silence among the ambassadors. The Councilor had regained his composure and leaned in towards the screen. Ambassadors I would like to remind you that each one of these planets was terraformed using methods nearly identical to the methods used to settle the rest of the planets in the federation. I very firmly believe that we are on the brink of large scale planetary failure over the course of the next twenty years. The only realistic course of action is to try and reestablish communication with Earth and pled for them to allow us to return." The delegation laughed snidly at his suggestion.
"Councillor that is simply not possible. Communication with Earth has been cut off for over 150 years. In case you skipped those days in history class, our departure was rather violent and controversial."
"I'll Call that the understatement of the day," The female ambassador chimed in. "There is absolutely no way we could allow ourselves to return to Earth. Our receival would be uncertain and in fact the condition of the planet is unknown. It may very well be uninhabitable."
"It's not," the naive councilor argued. Unfortunately for him, he had paid attention in history and knew only the published story of The Great Migration. "One of my posts on the dwarf planet Black Wall has been receiving radio waves from Earth. Someone is there. Someone is alive. The planet did not freeze and we thought it would so long ago."
________
More to come. Having to write between lifts on a construction site.
I am very open to criticism. I am working on a book and would very much like some advice or critiques on my style.
| 17 | In the years 2200-2400, humanity finally left earth and began to colonize the stars. In the year 2500, write why this period is now known as "The Great Mistake". | 19 |
“Is this seat taken?”
I looked up from my drawing pad, looking at the man and then around me at the park. “Umm…yeah, sure.”
There were plenty of empty benches that I saw in my quick scan. I was tempted to say that I’d prefer to sit alone, but I don’t know. Always had an issue with confrontation. I resolved to let the man sit and then excuse myself shortly thereafter, citing some excuse or another.
“Don’t leave on my account.”
“Ex…excuse me?”
“I just like art. I’m a bit of an artist myself. I was curious about what you were drawing is all. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
I forced out a short laugh and replied, “No no, no worries at all. Totally cool.” And it was. Something about his tone made me feel more at ease. If I was casually observing this whole thing in third person, yeah, totally weird. But in the moment, it actually started feeling normal.
“So. What are you drawing?”
“Oh, right, yeah. I’m drawing this,” I said, motioning at the park. “I draw what’s in front of me, and then I overlay my own reality on top. So once I get the foundation of the drawing down, I’ll, I don’t know, draw some sort of insect war or maybe a robot picnic. Not sure just yet.” I swallowed. “Hmm, yeah, kind of sounds a bit silly, but I…it’s what I like to do.”
“No, please, that sounds amazing. I’m into creating stuff myself. Interesting point, though, about insect war. Such an idyllic setting, isn’t it? A park? Made to celebrate nature and peace. And then there’s you, seeing that it could very well be a battlefield. But nature is constantly at war with itself, including its inhabitants. Very interesting.”
I felt a bit sheepish. “Yeah. Even the robots thing. Points to them taking over completely, even our leisurely activities. Because eventually, we’ll die off and our creations will remain. And without our human failings, these creations will be able to properly enjoy the park. I know, a bit morose…”
“A bit apropos, actually. I take it you don’t have the greatest of confidence in your fellow man?”
“I…I do, actually. The fellow man, I can bond with. It’s just the fellow humans as a whole. I know, a bit cliché, but I can deal with the individual. It’s the pack that I worry about. I feel like we’re destroying the earth. I’m not some environmentalist, so really, I’m more like a hypocrite, aren’t I.”
The man laughed gently, “You’re self-aware. That’s important. But you know, I don’t think humans can do anything to kill the earth.”
“I don’t know. We’re burning through resources, polluting the air, and…and other stuff, you know?”
He nodded. “I know. But one day, all men will be dead and you know what will remain? The earth. Humans can do all they want to the earth, but it will remain. It could be completely barren and unable to support life, but it’ll still be there. Really, humans can just destroy themselves by making the earth a place that won’t allow them to live there.”
“Well, maybe I’ll just draw this park scorched and dead, Mr. Sunshine.”
He laughed again. “Well, the sun does have the capacity to burn. But without it, there’s no life. So. Life. Life life life. So abundant. In the plants, in the animals, in the humans.”
“Yes, let us not forget the humans.”
“No, never. Tell me. Tell me more about your thoughts. You spoke to me of the individual and the pack. So how do you really feel about the people as opposed to the person?”
I took a moment to consider. And then I stopped thinking and just started talking. I talked to him about the love I had for family and friends, but how too many times it was a choice. The ones closest to me had screwed me over so many times, and I just kept going back because I loved them. Or because that’s what I was supposed to do. Was it fear of judgment or was it actual love? Who knows. I told him about the hate I felt. The hate that I saw in others. All of us. A hateful people, quarrelsome to the bone. The selfishness. I just couldn’t stand how self-serving we were as a people. Too many bystanders and yet too many people who get dragged into the mob mentality. Hopeless. You search for the rays of light to only find that they are being flushed out by darkness.
I realized I had stopped talking for a bit. I looked over at him and met his eyes. I realized that I had never really seen him before this very moment. He had appeared quite ordinary, but now I was struck by his timelessness. Looking at him, I couldn’t tell you what year it was. I couldn’t tell you how old he was. I couldn’t tell you what race he was. I could just tell you that he was actually listening.
“So what will it be? How are you going to draw this field here? What’s the vision you see?”
Glib answer. “Ant war?”
He continued to look at me, trying to get me to answer the question he was really asking.
“I…I want to fill it with people. People who can enjoy it. Really enjoy it. Really enjoy each other. There are persons like that, you know? There are people who can just understand the beauty of this world, the beauty of each other. I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe it would be better if it was just an empty landscape. I’m sorry, man, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I got so emotional, I don’t know why I even shared all this with you. I think I’m just going to get going, lay down or something…”
“I need to know what you really think. What should be done here.”
And then I realized who he was. Who He was.
I looked at Him in His all-encompassing eyes. I whispered.
“Save us.”
| 127 | A stranger sits next to you on a bench and strikes up a conversation. Part of the way through, he reveals that he is actually God and you are helping him decide whether or not to destroy the Earth. | 82 |
EDIT Inspired by /u/scrott , I did a voiceover for this. [Hope you enjoy. Thanks for the support!](https://soundcloud.com/badaim50/jury-prompt)
I slowly sunk back into my chair, glancing along the panel of the jury to see if anyone noticed me. It felt like they all could... like this was a trick. Did they know? How could I be here? The world seemed to zoom out of focus as my forehead became colder. Was I sweating? Could they hear me breathing? I could feel the world staring at me, as I tried to dig my hands into my pockets. My watch kept catching my pants and I abandoned the endeavor, just listening in silence.
It had been about 5 months, and I thought about it every day. Listening to the prosecutor was like having a narration to my own memory. Some things felt fuzzy, but I knew he was wrong. He had to be. The brick didn't strike 42 times. I remember the look in the man's eye as I had walked away, but the photos being shown are depicting a man without a face. Maybe a dog got to him afterwards? The broken fingers and ribs were definitely me, but I panicked! Can you blame me? He was going to attack me! He had assaulted me; yelled at me and was going to just walk off like some big shot! When he turned back around I knew he was going to get me worse, so I stopped him before he could. Those guys in the park are evil anyhow. Everyone knows it.
We fell together but his legs and arms were jumping all over. I knew he was going to kill me if I didn't stop him! I... I remember a woman being there too. I am pretty sure he was going to get her, too! That suit didn't fool anyone. He was evil. Park evil. Yeah... I showed him that you can't just scare the good citizens of this city and get away with it. She was even screaming, like she was cheering me on! I did a good thing. She was reveling in my strength as I could keep my brick going and going.
My eyes darted up from the ground at the sound of a loud noise to my right in the courtroom. The judge was staring at me but his voice seemed funny. Confused, I looked to my other jurors, but... but there was only one woman next to me at my table. What happened? I tried to stuff my hands in my pockets again but my... my handcuffs wouldn't let me. I looked to my left and saw a judge staring down at me. I felt out of breath. Had I been talking? What was going on?
The woman next to me stood up quickly. "The defense pleads innocent by means of insanity."
| 522 | You've just been selected for jury duty. As the trial begins, the opening prosecutor details a gruesome murder that you instantly recognize..because you committed it. | 674 |
It was the first time I ever tried E. Myself included it was 4 of us. We all held out our hands as David dropped a single purple pill in our palms. My hands were shaking slightly. This was a serious drug. Just this once and then I’m done. I looked around as David counted to 3 and we tilted our heads back and popped our doses. My phone vibrated in my pocket, friend request from Jamie.
“She’s hot”
I was so drawn in with her picture that I had not realized David was looking over my shoulder.
“Yeah…” I replied.
Accept.
While my friends spent the next 5 hours dancing to Electronic music I sat there going through her every picture and wondering about the message she replied to me with. “Don’t you remember me?”
Little did I know that this girl would become the next 4 years of my life. The girl I would run away from home with. That I would spend 3 months roaming the streets of Arizona without place to call home. That would become a stronger high for me than my first time taking E and then send me crashing harder than my worst trip.
| 17 | In 200 words or less, describe the greatest love of your life. | 32 |
He sighs as a human would at the end of a long day. Fingers thin as razors, Death grasped the quill and struck off the last name-'Michael'-off his list. In front of him, Michael's body lay motionless but at peace. In his last moments Michael had simply asked why he hadn't gone first. Death had told the Archangel the same thing he told the mortals.
"Not your time."
Now his list was complete. For the first time since Creation, Death closed his book and stowed it away. There was one final soul to collect, but he didn't need to write it down. He knew whose it was. But again, it was not yet time to collect. He had some time left, so he strode around Heaven and checked for any signs of life amongst the angels, the plants and even the animals that ended up there. Satisfied that there were none he missed, he gripped his scythe...and strode into the elevator, to descend to the Sixth Level.
In the elevator, a voice from the speakers spoke softly. "Going down?"
Death answered, his voice a deathrattle. "Yes."
"They're all dead, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"You're stalling."
Death sighed. "Yes...yes Lord, I am."
"There's one soul left to collect. Do it, and you can finally rest."
The elevator stopped, and Death stepped back out into the Seventh Floor. "Yes...yes Lord."
Death gripped his scythe. Why was he hesitating? He had seen people die countless times. He had seen those executed by their governments, crying out for justice in an unjust country. He had seen those taken far too early, men and women who would have changed the world had he not been there. He had seen beheadings, hangings, exsanguination, suffocation, heart attacks, old age, botched surgeries, quartering, cut wrists, jugulars and crushed windpipes. He was no stranger to death, for he *was* Death.
And yet...this last soul would be trying.
God's voice boomed down from His throne room, no longer pleasant but impatient. "It is time. Take the soul."
Death closed his eyes, and whispered "Yes, Lord."
He closed his eyes and fell to the floor kneeling. He wondered how the humans could do this - gather enough courage to do the unthinkable. How brave they were. He himself did not feel very brave.
"One quick stroke, that's all," he whispered, again and again, for eternity. "One quick stroke, that's all. And it will end. One quick stroke and it's over. One...quick..."
He gripped his scythe tightly and raised it to his own neck...but could not complete the cut. The blade stopped short just below his jaw.
*Cut*, he told himself, *cut, don't stop, cut cut cut cut...*
With a howl he threw his scythe away, and collapsed, crying. He lay there for quite a while before realising a pair of bare feet before him.
"Get. Up." the Voice boomed. He was obviously not pleased.
Death sat up, wiping the tears from his face. "Oh Lord, please forgive me, I can't do it."
"Why?" God's question was purely Socratic. He knew all. Death answered anyway, keeping his gaze down.
"I...I'm afraid."
"Death? Afraid? You weren't afraid of Gaia when I sent you to create life. You weren't afraid of Lucifer when he led his rebellion. You weren't afraid of ME, when I told you to take my son. So why are you afraid now?"
"What happens next, Lord? What...what will happen to me?"
God stood silent. He picked Death's scythe up from the floor, and held the blade to Death's neck. "Judgment Day is here. If you can't, then I will, if you want."
"I...I can't Lord. Forgive me for making you do this." For the first time Death raised his head to look at God's radiance. "Do you know what will happen to me?"
"Yes." God raised the scythe.
"Will you tell me, before you take me?"
"No."
Moments later, God dropped the scythe, and walked back through Heaven alone, as it was when he first started. | 28 | The one soul that Death could't bring himself to collect | 19 |
**JEFF BROHELM** cries the unseen gatekeeper.
"Ye...yes?" his supplicant responds.
In the distance, the sound of a pounding gavel.
**YOU HAVE COME TO OUR GATES. YOU WILL BE JUDGED.**
"Er...right on."
**YOU HAVE LED AN EVENTFUL LIFE.**
Jeff Brohelm responds to this as best he can, with a sliding sideways shrug.
**AGE SEVEN. YOU TOOK THE CLASS HAMSTER AND FLUSHED IT DOWN THE TOILET.**
"Ah c'mon man, you're going to bring that up? I was just a kid--"
**AGE FOURTEEN, SYLVIA PLATTER ASKED YOU TO THE SCHOOL DANCE AND YOU IGNORED HER COMPLETELY.**
He remembers Sylvia. Two platter-round eyes and a forehead you could land a plane on.
"But I didn't--"
**AGE TWENTY ONE. WHILE TOURING YOUR FAVORITE PUB, YOU KNOCKED OVER THE BARTENDER'S PRICELESS COLLECTION OF CRYSTAL GUINNESS MUGS.**
"I was pissed all to fuck, you can't possible expect--"
**SILENCE!**
The gatekeeper emerges from the light, and Jeff Brohelm is brought to tears by the glory of his silken fur and grandiloquent whiskery.
**JEFF BROHELM. YOUR ENTIRE LIFE YOU HAVE DISPLAYED A CALLOUS DISREGARD FOR THE LIVES OF OTHERS, CRUELTY TOWARDS SMALL ANIMALS, AND HATRED FOR VALUABLE POSSESSIONS.**
The gates open in a rush of warm air, scented with catnip and the heady vapors of warm milk.
**WELCOME TO HEAVEN**
Jeff Brohelm is taken aback. "Wait...I thought...er..."
A giant paw descends from the sky and pats him reassuringly on the head.
**YOU WERE A TERRIBLE HUMAN. BUT AN EXCELLENT CAT.**
| 53 | A man is accidentally sent to cat heaven instead of human heaven. | 25 |
It was almost time. Jerry had spent months getting the other two to trust him. Months in a crappy apartment in the worst part of town, before they approached him. Easy money, Marcus called it. But they hadn't TECHNICALLY done anything illegal yet. So Jerry had to wait.
Marcus and Andrew drilled through the back wall into the vault, while Jerry guarded them, shotgun in hand. No cops came by, which Jerry was thankful for. Since he was FBI, he hadn't informed the local cops of his presence yet, and he wanted the others to get far enough that he could catch them red-handed.
Marcus and Andrew were fast, and three minutes later they were in the vault. The cart full of cash was locked in the center of the vault, just as Andrew said it would be. Marcus went in first, and Jerry followed. Jerry subtly pulled his badge, and walked up to Marcus...
There was a gun on his back. "Hands up" he whispered, so Marcus couldn't hear.
Crap. Well, at least we've got Marcus, he thought. He subtly pulled his badge out and showed it to Andrew so they wouldn't scare Marcus. Andrew had a CIA badge in hand. "This guy is my perp," he whispered as the two walked into the room.
"Hell no," Andrew replied. "I'm not letting you take him from me. I've been on this too..."
"LA police! Hands up!" they heard from the room. Marcus had his badge in one hand and his pistol in the other.
"MOTHERFUCKER" replied Andrew.
"SHIT" Jerry added.
"Sorry guys, but you're gonna do some hard time for this," said Marcus, hands still on his gun and badge.
"No, we're both cops too," Jerry replied. "I'm FBI, he's CIA. Fucking waste of five months undercover."
"Four here," said Andrew.
"Seriously?" replied Marcus. "That's seven months I just threw away. FUCK!!!" He tossed his badge to the floor in anger. They stared at each other for twenty seconds in silence.
"We can get the guy who gave us the guns, right?" Andrew finally said.
"Yeah. Take him down the three of us, get his supplier. Get something out of this," Jerry replied.
"I can't believe the higher-ups never saw this coming," Marcus said, the dejection clear in his voice.
"I doubt the higher-ups ever get their heads out of their own asses long enough to even know where we are," Jerry replied.
"Well, no point in staying here," Andrew sighed. "Let's get out of here. I don't want to even think about this until tomorrow."
"Let's at least grab a bag of cash so we don't seem TOO suspicious to our gun dealers," Marcus replied.
"Yup. Each grab a bag and go. Our departments can pay the bank back later. I'll call my handler," Jerry said flatly. "I wanna go home."
The three men grabbed their bags of cash and dropped them off in their respective crappy apartments, wondering if their jobs really had any purpose.
| 120 | A heist comedy where every single gangster is really an undercover cop, but no one knows about the others. | 320 |
Dave came out of the subway and headed for work. He wished that the Powers that Be allowed him to use the Capitol South Metro Station--it was so much more convenient to Headquarters!--but instead he had to use Eastern Market and trudge all the way up the Hill to 3rd St. NE. He entered the normal-looking rowhouse through the side door, punched in his code, submitted to the fingerprint, retinal, and DNA scanners, then got on the elevator to Headquarters.
The doors opened, 250 feet under Washington, and he was greeted by the signs and symbols of the various governing bodies of the World Control Committee--Square and Compasses, Skull and Bones, the Bilderberg B, the globe of the World Bank, and all the rest. He shuffled through the lobby that, years ago, seemed imposing and awe-inspiring, but now was just work.
"Worldsman David Harrison arrives!" Called one of the greeters behind the huge granite desk.
David rolled his eyes, and muttered "Oh fuck off, Terry."
He walked the rest of the way to his office, located another twelve levels underground, and a ways away from the entrance to the subway system that connected to the White House, Supreme Court, Library of Congress, various executive departments, and Capitol. He walked into his department--IT--and grabbed a cup of coffee before heading into his cubicle. You'd think the WCC could afford something nicer than standard grey-beige cubicle walls.
He pulled up his to-do list for today. Just a few tickets, but the first one was marked as a priority--whoa, one of the bigwigs needed a new keyboard.
"Whoop-de-fuck," he muttered, meandering over to the supply closet and grabbing an executive-model keyboard. He double-checked the model number before heading for the Executive Level.
*Even the corridors here are nicer,* he thought. Beautiful dark wood walls, busts of some of the famous WCC members of the past, portraits, artwork. . .
The nameplate on the door was huge--"The Most Illustrious and Super Excellent, Right and Most Worshipful Master of the Secret Point Franklin Quentin Hughes III, Esq., PhD., and Knight of the Garter. Director of War and Peace."
Dave could barely hold himself back from rolling his eyes. Just another old fucking windbag who probably couldn't even use a computer, let alone a keyboard. Part of him wished he'd stayed at Google, instead of coming to work here. He'd forgotten what the appeal of the WCC was. He used the knocker on the door to rap three times. From the other side of the door, "Come on in."
Those three words gave him pause--the voice was not strained or harsh or sickly. The words themselves were not overly formal or ceremonial. He cocked an eyebrow, and opened the door.
The richly-appointed office was reasonably modern. *Well, modern for* this *place, anyway.* The man behind the dark wood desk was younger than many of his peers--no older than fifty-five, Dave thought. His hair was brown, not gray, and he moved with some degree of freedom. *Not the usual customer.*
"Hello, Most Illustrious and Super Excell--"
"Please. Frank. Or, if you insist, Mr. Hughes. Well--Doctor Hughes, really, but who's counting?" He smiled. "Just needed the new keyboard--I spilled a little coffee and shorted mine out. A bit embarrassing, really."
"Uh. . . no problem, Mister--Doctor Hughes." Dave moved quickly to the man's desk and had the keyboard replaced in just a few seconds.
"Would you like to test it out, sir, make sure it's what you needed?"
"Please." He sat, punched a few words into the keyboard, and nodded. "All set, thank you Mr. Harrison."
Dave started to walk out of the room, but just before he opened the door, Hughes spoke up again.
"Mr. Harrison, I called you here for another reason."
"Sir?"
"I think we could use a man like you in the Department of War and Peace. I occasionally go through personnel files here to look for anyone interesting. You're severely under-employed where you are right now--which is sort of what we do here--use the best people for even the most menial jobs--but I like to promote from within. You were a lead hardware developer at Google, and now we have you working frontline tech support. Is that really a valuable use of your skills?"
"I--well, I'm just happy to be here working for the WCC."
"Oh, bullshit. Everyone says that, especially around the old fucks in the offices on this level, but no one means it. We hired a former State Street Vice President to be a mid-level accountant last week. He did it because 'he is happy to be working for the WCC.'" I agree with my colleagues that we need the best people, but we need to use them when we have them. Come work for me." | 11 | A day in the life of a low level employee at the New World Order. | 19 |
"Johnson, what's the status of our rogue ordinance?" Major Nelson looked calm but his clenched jaw as he spoke showed his anger.
Johnson, the bespectacled engineer and lead scientist behind Project Green Dolphin, flipped through pages on a clipboard as he stood across from the Major sweating.
"Well, sir, it seems Private Thomas' wounds, though obviously gruesome, can not be conclusively attributed due to hostile intentions on the part of our companies AI."
The Major glared at the tiny scientist under a furrowed brow.
"You mean to tell me that the autonomous ordinance you helped design as our ultimate weapon didn't mean to crush the legs of one of my soldiers like he was A TUBE OF TOOTHPASTE!" The Major screamed and struck the desk with a clenched fist.
Visibly shaken Johnson flipped through papers checking and double checking his work. "Yes sir my facts unequivocally back up that the, uh, ordinance was merely operating one of its biological subroutines, and..."
Holding up one meaty hand the Major interrupted, "Biological?"
Johnson took off his glasses and nervously polished them. "Well, you see, Systek programs AI's for a multitude of household products as well as military applications. There, uh, seems to have been a, um, slight mixup in shipping."
Sitting back down? The Major pinches the bridge of his nose wearily "So you're telling me my new weapon, designed for nuclear strike capabilities, mind you, has what...the brain of someone's toaster?"
"Well, er, not exactly sir. I'm sure you have heard of my companies forays into robotic pets?" Johnson calmly replies while adjusting his glasses. "They truly are marvels. Systek pioneered canine brain mapping years before the competition." Johnsons eyes glaze over with true corporate fervor.
"So my weapon has the brain of what exactly? A goldfish?" The Major only shakes his head.
"Why no sir, not at all, statistically better in fact. After we determined what the ordinance was trying to do to the young private," At this the scientist has the grace to look slightly embarrassed and uncomfortable, "we quickly figured out a way to contain the rogue AI."
"So what exactly am I dealing with here? Why crush the legs of my soldier?" The Major sighs with resignation.
"Well, um we believe, er that is the other scientists and I, um well, we believe he was trying to "mate" with the Privates legs. Sir. You see its one of Systek's dog model AI's. A77-89B "Fluffykins" to be exact."
"And you managed to contain this Fluffykins how exactly?" The Major grumbled.
"Well sir I believe if you'd like to check your parade ground...." Johnson trailed off pointing out the eastern window.
Out on the field a new, ambulatory Private threw a soccer ball across the field as hard as he could. It was quickly chased by the military's brand new autonomous mobile launch platform....soon to be code named Fluffykins. | 28 | While attempting to create autonomous war machines, a drone/tank is accidentally equipped with the AI of a puppy. | 34 |
Silence, deafening silence. It was then when Harold realized maybe something was wrong.
He'd been a mime for six years, entertaining people all over Lower Manhattan, and he was good. Very good. He loved to watch the amazement on their faces, the wonder in the eyes of the children who gathered around and tried to touch the invisible world which he had created. He had done this trick a hundred times, a thousand times. The oldest trick in the mime toolbox some say, the invisible box. He pressed his hands out in front of him like he had always done. His fingers pressed flat against the glass of the box. He was surprised at the resistance, and stumbled backward briefly, breaking his character. Totally unprofessional, I guess today wasn't his day to shine. He resumed the show as quickly as he could, needing those extra tips to cover his share of the rent this month. Again, he reached out and felt the cool smoothness of glass in front of him, even through his white gloves.
'Something is wrong' he thought to himself as he looked at the slowly gathering crowd. He reached up above him and was met by the same barrier, a foot above his head.
Panic.
'Alright, enough is enough' he reasoned and decided that his mime act was over for the day. He moved toward the crowd and walked face first into a hard, seemingly invisible wall. He barely had time to notice his bloody nose and the imprint of his makeup on the wall in front of him. Was this a dream?
'What the hell is wrong with me' he thought and again approached the smudged surface of the box. It was then that he heard it. Silence. Deafening, all consuming silence. No horns honking, no sounds of the hustle and bustle of New York, just the laboured sounds of his own breath. More people gathered. Some wore smiles of laughter, others were amazed at the skill of Harold's mime show. How did he make his nose bleed? And that look of panic, what an actor!
Harold opened his mouth "Hello? Can anyone help me?". The sound echoed around the box. His panic grew as the crowd remained in awe of his show. His breathing became more difficult and he began to bang on the glass. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. The walls felt hard and strong, he was trapped. He began to feel dizzy and lightheaded. 'Think, Harold, think!' His brain screamed for oxygen. He ripped off his gloves and wiped the sweat forming on his brow. His hand came away greasy and white from the powder makeup he used in his show. 'That's it!', the idea dawned on him like an electric charge in his brain.
He rubbed his fingertips on his face and began to scrawl on the wall of the invisible box. HELP. He had gotten to the letter L when his vision blurred. He had to sit. He needed to rest.
'Just close your eyes for a minute'.
He slumped as his breathing became shallow and slow. He blinked and looked up to see a policeman with his nightstick pounding on the glass. Still, there was silence. And Harold closed his eyes again.
So tired.
'Just rest for now, you just need to relax'. As the silence washed over him like a calming breeze. | 55 | Mid-performance, a mime discovers that he really has suddenly become trapped in an invisible, sound-proof box | 134 |
"Oh you remind me of Becca, you know that? Oh she was beautiful"
Not again. I pursed my lips before swiveling round with a beaming smile "Becca? Who was she?"
"Oh. Oh she was the most fabulous woman in the world. A star shining out across, across..." He frowned "She was just so marvelous you know. Perfect...."
I fixed the sheets of his bed as calmly as I could, hurrying to take the machines readings so I could get out of there.
"She had flowing red hair, natural, as well. A colour I've never seen another girl have, so vivid. It was like yours but brighter, more vibrant. Oh, oh she was so alive, just like that hair. Also beaming and bouncing around."
I gulped as my eyes started to well up "She sounds lovely."
"But you know what? You know what happened? I never picked up the courage to ask her out, not the two years I knew her before she disappeared on that nurse exchange... I never found out what happened to her after that"
I couldn't take this, I was trying my best not to cry as I quickly said "Well looks like everything is fine Tony I guess I'll see you tomorrow then goodbye"
"Perfect she was. Immaculate in every way..."
I had to get out the ward. I pushed through the door, and staggered round the corner collapsing into a chair.
Every day.
For three months.
He had meant to be coming round to see me after my husband had abandoned me.
He never made it.
Tears were streaming down my face as I held my head in shame, my thoughts screaming out '*Oh Tony, I only ever loved you too. Please Tony. I'm right here! Please...*'
| 14 | An old man suffering from Alzheimer's is telling a stranger about the only girl he ever loved, without realizing he's talking to the person he's talking about. | 24 |
They were discovered on the remote planet called LIR-567 by the interstellar maps, but the natives, according to the records, called it Eden. It had been one of the earliest colonies outside of their original solar system. Naming had not been very creative in those early days of humanity. They considered themselves a little better now.
The things could barely be called humans, and they certainly weren't people. The population had bottlenecked tens of thousands of years ago despite once being a large colony of several billion. They'd cut off contact when the last of the long voyage ships left for good, choosing to stay behind where they could just barely see their original sun in a telescope. Fools. They'd avoided genetic maladies with stored genetic material while the technology lasted, but it was all old. They were comfortable, content, living in an almost original atmosphere. They had no need to evolve, no technological means to grow physically, mentally, spiritually.
By the time the archeology team found them, they were living in caves, their speech beyond normal translators. Experts sussed out ways to speak to them, but their thoughts were minimalistic. Food, fables, sex... Many found them distasteful, but more found them amusing. That faction won in the vote between mercifully euthanasizing all two hundred of them and bringing them back to the traveling zoological ship Schonburnn.
On Eden there had been two tribes living near but apart, and so they preserved those groups, putting them in separate habitats. Giving them proper nutrition, adding simple toys for their enrichment. Perhaps the little humans thought the gods had taken them to some heaven or another. They treated their caretakers with the reverence of a god, but that may have been because their six foot tall bodies were so dwarfed by the twenty feet of the average person.
One tribe, deemed the reds for their preference in painting themselves in it, grew to become used to the visitors behind the barrier. Even became performing tricks, trying to make plays. They always seemed happy when people laughed and clapped.
The other tribe, the blues, they were an angrier group. After people grew bored at them throwing their little rocks at the barrier and their squeaky, odd cursing was no longer novel, the barrier was altered to be one-way. The head caretaker said it was simply stressing them too much. Her assistant planned on doing her senior thesis on the differences between the tribes. They merely reverted to their old ways of gathering what was put in their enclosure. While the young loved the reds more, scientists enjoyed the blue. How fascinating, they were almost real cave people, they'd observe. A window into the past.
They were simple creatures. Why wouldn't they be? They were so short lived. A year was forever to them because their lives were no more than eighty. In a month they had forgotten any other life. They had simple fears, simple wants. No depression, no sense of responsibility. No wonder people loved them.
And this was true of all the creatures, save for two. One blue, one red.
At first they all tried to get out. Why wouldn't they? They did not yet know that this was a far preferable cage to the rock they'd been rescued from. But within a week they'd settled, all but those two. They continued to try to escape for another two weeks. An eternity from their perspective.
And after that, mere sadness took over. They'd sit by the walls, projecting its pictures, listless. They would not eat, they would barely take water. No amusement would distract them.
The caretakers were too hesitant to administer drugs without more research into their anatomy, but they were unwillingly to lose even two of their precious specimens and moneymakers. They ran tests, read studies from the far past dredged up from the bowels of early days, what was left after so much time anyway. But they found nothing medical, nothing psychological, no reason only these two creatures were so similarly affected.
It was an intern, barely past adolescence at twenty thousand years old, who first suggested it.
"Maybe," xe said, hesitant for good reason. "Maybe they're in love."
"With what?" snorted the head caretaker.
"With each other."
It was a foolish notion. What would these beasts know of love? They could no more devout themselves to beauty or to an idea or a theory than they could grow wings and fly through space. They formed attachments with each other, yes, but those seemed to be strictly for physical pleasure or help with raising the young or other domestic duties. How could something that only lived to eighty really know what love it?
"They're going to die soon anyway," insisted the intern. "Let's try."
So they took the red and the blue from their enclosures, away from their tribe, and they gave them a place of their own.
The reaction was immediate. They embraced, they pressed their faces together, their hands went all over their bodies as they wailed in their high pitches and cried their salt water out. And that night they made love. Even for such a disgusting act, even the head caretaker was touched by the primitive display. Even in their small minds, even in their simplicity, there was some vague notion of love in these creatures.
If the pair missed their tribes, they gave no indication. They began to paint themselves in purple and spent their days together. Sometimes doing activities apart, but always coming to sleep in one another's arms.
They showed mild depression again in several years. The intern, who had made further progress in communicating with the creatures than anyone before xer, made the sign for "want" before their window. It took him a day or so to decipher their meanings.
"They want a baby," the intern relayed. "A child."
"Can't they make one? The others do."
"They're both females."
"I always forget that. Primitives."
The other tribes were always abandoning their young if they thought them beyond help. The caretakers usually managed to get to them before they tried to bury them and would re-start their hearts and tend to them before releasing them back to the tribe. In the early days they had completely rejected these "ghost children", as the intern claimed they called them, and they had to be reared by hand. They sometimes switched the tribes' babies about. The primitives never noticed.
In several days there happened to be such a rejected infant. The creatures bred like crazy given enough food and time. The team was more than happy to have one less primitive to care for.
The lead caretaker carried the infant in the crease of xer palm, carefully and slowly. Xe leaned over the barrier, sitting it down before the two members of the purple tribe.
Both regarded it for a moment before one (xe could no longer remember which had been red and which had been blue) took it up and cradled it. They were both leaking again. Xe wondered if they were sad and would kill it. But instead they took it to their cave. On the monitor, xe saw them mix up some of their purple paint from their berries and mark its forehead purple.
The lead caretaker felt a stinging of xer eyes. They were leaking despite no irritations near the eyes. Only a little, enough to quickly dab. Otherwise xe'd be in a cage next to the stupid little creatures. Another primitive human.
| 17 | 6.5.Billion years from now, Earthlings are now a race of space-faring giants with an 80,000 year lifespan, thereby losing touch with their "humanity". Give us a little love story. | 24 |
FADE IN
INT - A CELESTIAL TEMPLE
*We see three men, each of them clad in white robes, standing before an equally white altar. Other than their attire, no aspect of their forms can be seen. Around them, wisps of ethereal fog float near the alabaster tiles of the floor. These are THE KANYES, three of the divine beings tasked with bringing about the end of the world. They are known by their surnames: EAST, NORTH, and SOUTH.*
**EAST:** So, we have a problem.
**NORTH:** We know.
**SOUTH:** Uh... well, actually, I'm not entirely up to speed. What's going on?
*EAST and NORTH turn to look at SOUTH.*
**NORTH:** Really? Where have you been for the past decade?
**SOUTH:** I forgot to set my alarm clock.
**NORTH:** That's no excuse. Why didn't one of your acolytes wake you?
**SOUTH:** You know, it's strange, but I don't seem to *have* any acolytes anymore. The entire temple is deserted.
**EAST:** You see the problem, then.
*EAST reaches forward and touches the altar. There is a melodic tone, and a shimmering image of KANYE WEST - known on Earth as a hip hop entertainer - appears.*
**EAST:** Remember him?
**SOUTH:** Why isn't he wearing his robe?! People will see him!
**NORTH:** Hah, that isn't the half of it. West has been actively worshiping himself for awhile now. He's even started some new religion.
**SOUTH:** Oh, god...
**EAST:** "Yeezus," actually.
**SOUTH:** What? Since when are we endorsing Christian doctrine?
**NORTH:** No, no, *Yeezus*. That's what West is calling himself these days.
**SOUTH:** ... Seriously?
**EAST:** *Technically*, it's just the name of a record that he put out, but plenty of people have started calling him that.
*EAST waves a hand to dismiss the image of WEST.*
**WEST:** Hey, hey, wait a second, y'all! Y'all can't just *disrespect me* like that! I ain't going quietly! I'm the voice of a generation!
**SOUTH:** That's really him?!
**EAST:** No, that's... ugh, North, will you explain while I fix this?
*EAST ducks behind the altar. A loud, repetitive banging noise becomes audible.*
**NORTH:** For some reason, West has been imbuing images of himself with pieces of his own power. His reputation just keeps growing.
**WEST:** That's right. Uh-huh. *Yeah*.
**SOUTH:** But... but... we can't do anything as long as our visage commands respect! What about the apocalypse?!
**EAST:** (*From behind the altar*) Postponed!
**NORTH:** At least until we get a handle on this, yeah. Not happening.
*SOUTH crosses his arms, apparently considering this.*
**SOUTH:** Well, what about...
**NORTH:** (*Interrupting*) We tried it.
**SOUTH:** You don't even know what I was going to say!
**NORTH:** Trust me, we tried it.
**SOUTH:** I doubt that.
**NORTH:** Okay, I'll humor you. What were you going to suggest, oh great Specter of the South?
*SOUTH shifts his weight uncomfortably.*
**SOUTH:** Well, uh... I was just thinking, what if we got a harpy to seduce him? You know... distract him?
**EAST:** (*Yelling*) We tried that! Now they're having kids!
**SOUTH:** *Kids?!*
**NORTH:** Yeah. He's actively mocking us, too. His first child was named after me.
*The projection of WEST's face distorts and disappears.*
**WEST:** (*Fading out*) I'm a genius!
**EAST:** (*Coming out from behind the altar*) Fixed it.
**SOUTH:** Hang on. I just had an idea.
**NORTH and EAST:** We tried it.
**SOUTH:** No, no, listen! We'll just let this run its course, see? We'll let the kid grow up. West will start promoting it as a star, hoping to add to his own fame, and when the time is right...
**EAST:** ... Yes?
**SOUTH:** We'll strike!
**NORTH:** You just want to go take a nap, don't you? "Strike?" What does that even mean?
**SOUTH:** (*Irritated*) It *means* that we'll let our fallen brother make a royal fool of himself. He'll become a laughingstock, thus ruining both *his* career and that of his progeny!
**EAST:** How is that "striking?" Besides...
**NORTH:** ... we tried that.
**SOUTH:** Oh.
*All three KANYES stand in silence for a moment.*
**SOUTH:** Well, this sucks.
**NORTH:** Yup.
**EAST:** There is *one* option...
**NORTH:** No! We discussed this! Not now, not in a million years! It's not worth it!
**SOUTH:** What is it? What can we do?
*NORTH throws up his hands and storms off. EAST watches him go.*
**EAST:** Well... see... there's this singer named Miley Cyrus...
FADE OUT | 834 | Kanye West is one of the four Kanye's. The other three being Kanye North, Kanye South, and Kanye East. More commonly known as the Four Kanye's of the Apocalypse. | 2,186 |
I was born with a burst...from nothing into existence and there was the glorious form of him, Yahweh, having no name then other than him. He smiled upon us and behind me, beside me, were others, figures without face or light standing in the darkness.
"You are mine," he said, and I had no emotion or thought. He commanded it and we sang for him without scope of time as he formed the spheres and the realms. At some point we found our names, though I can not say how.
He was everywhere and at the center of heaven, a storm of fire and light and stones that shone out all colors. He was fear and love; he was wisdom and hate. He was all things and we sang for him in the layer of space between, in this realm where the chaos was cleaved, we had a home, lit by God's light.
It was god, the only thing, our purpose to glorify him and move in the force and current of his winds and it was a glorious age, billions of years beside our creature, until he, without a word sent us out into space and gave us dominion over worlds and suns that sang out their own music.
And I saw god raise his hand and form the planet called earth, create water and grass and trees; animals and creatures and lastly this 'thing' called man. Such love did god have for man, giving the one named Adam thought, and freewill.
In my own form, which I once believed to be of god, I felt question and that question turned to hate and fear and jealousy. I thought I was god's creation, but judging the garden I knew without asking, God loved man more than the angels.
**edit** | 17 | The story of Creation from Lucifer's perspective | 16 |
**I'm no author and this is my first time visiting this sub, but it's late, I'm bored and I'm going to give it a good go.**
-----------------------------------
Our story begins, as these often do, with a man and a woman. They're not together, of course, but they will be...oh, that might be a slight spoiler. You were expecting that anyway, I'm sure, so it's no problem. If you weren't expecting it (for whatever reason) just pretend you didn't read it, ok? Good.
All right, so there's a man and a woman, named Bob and June, respectively. It'd be weird if the man was called June, so I had to put that "respectively" in there and now you know he isn't called June -- she is. Following? Good. Well, Bob and June had never even met but both felt like something was missing in their lives: Bob had a June-shaped hole in his heart [for the sake of clarity I'd like to point out that it isn't a literal hole in his heart because that would be extremely worrying and he'd most likely be dead] and June felt an aching-longing in her stomach for something more romantic than she'd ever gotten before.
The problem was, Bob was a clown. Not a successful one, but a poor, crappy, shitty, terrible clown...he did parties once a month and that was usually only because there are three "Bob the Clowns" in the phonebook and people rang the wrong one. How on Earth would June notice Bob the shitty clown? She wouldn't.
For the record, I told Bob to move jobs around five years ago. He didn't listen. Stupid Bob. Anyway, Bob struggled through his days, often answering people in the same way:
***Bob's Mother: Hi Bob, how is it going?***
***Bob: Good, mother, thank you. Please stop ringing me.***
But she did not stop ringing him because he never actually told her to. I'm not even sure why he's pretending he did -- it doesn't make you look like a big man, Bob! Goddammit. You're misleading the readers, Bob, and I don't like it.
Anyway, so yeah, Bob was an asshole. A self-centred, stupid asshole. He realised he needed to clean himself up, put down the alcohol (oh yeah, he's a MASSIVE alcoholic! Forgot to mention that, silly me) and stop sexually fantasising over cartoon characters (pervert). So he joined the Army.
***Army person: Hiya, do you want to join?***
***Bob: Not really, no.***
***Army person: Are you sure? I'm sure it's been mentioned that you do join.***
***Bob: Nah, I'm not feeling it. Cheers though.***
But he decided not to join because he's a fuckwit and doesn't listen to a word I say. Honestly, I've no idea why I even took this job -- it pays almost nothing! You've got one last chance, Bob.
So, anyway, Bob didn't decided to join the Army -- because I SAID SO, NOT HIM -- but he re-enrolled in a clown college programme to make himself a better, less shittier clown. He succeeded and became a less shittier, but still ugly as shit, clown and everyone started to like him.
***Person: Hey, is this Bob? Can I hire you for my daughter's party please?***
***Bob: Oh hi, I gave up being a clown. Sorry. I'm a pianist now, though, so I've got that going for me.***
...what? Bob, you're the biggest dick in the world. June isn't a stunner but she deserves so much better than you. This plotline was shit, you're shit, you can't even follow my simple story and you're hellbent on embarrassing me at every stage. I give up. Nothing is worth this. I hope you die, Bob...you'd be doing the world a favour.
*EDIT: I'd just like to say a massive thanks to everyone's kind words. I never thought I'd add anything worthwhile to this sub since there are so many much more talented people here, but I'm just glad that everyone enjoyed it and it wasn't completely worthless crap.* | 23 | The narrator continually gets more and more frustrated with the characters of the story, to the point where they mock the characters and the plotline. | 30 |
Did I feel bad about what I was about to do? Kind of.
I mean the sight of him made me angry, his hair parted across to the side, his grey suit that looked puffy and loose on him because he had a small frame.
What really angered me most was that he was *smiling*.
Smiling because he probably earned a decent day’s salary, smiling because he could afford drinks on the nice side of town, smiling because his family probably went on nice skiing trips in the winter.
When I went in for job interviews, my hair uneven and unruly, my best shirt still too tight for my large frame, trying my best to smile, people looked down at me with disgust. Like it was my fault that my clothes were raggy and my face was scarred. Maybe it was.
Maybe it was because I had never earned a decent day’s salary and whatever money I came about I spent at the same busted up joint that my dad frequented and my winters, boy, my winters were spent protecting my mom when he came home, all drunken and wild.
So yeah, I did feel a little bad about what I did to this guy, cornering him into that alley, hitting him, taking his money. But hey, he’d be alright and I might get to drink across at the nice part of town tonight;
and at least he’d stopped fucking *smiling*. | 12 | Make me hate a character, but understand them at the same time. | 24 |
He felt a tremor in his bones and a current flowing right on the outside of his skin. He could feel his heart pulsing through his veins, radiating heat. An equal measure of terror and hunger wrestled in his eyes as he looked beneath his outstretched arms.
It moved.
**********************************************
She laughed. A high pitched, maniacal laugh. Inhuman. She stared at her hands and marveled at the smoke coming from her fingertips. She cried.
**********************************************
The sirens sounded. Ten bodies prostrate on the floor. A sizeable crater in the ground. Screaming and pointing, the rest of the people backing away from the little girl in the middle of the debris. She looked scared.
“Mom! Mom! Please! Get up!” She ran to one of the fallen figures. She wept over the body. “Mommy, please…”
**********************************************
“Sir. I think you should listen to these reports.”
“Is this your nonsense again? Magic nonsense?”
“Sir, I think it’s in our best interest to pay attention here.”
The general turned to consider his colonel. He shook his head.
“What’s wrong with you, Colonel. You’re one of the finest men to serve under me. Such a waste. A man of your talents, of your intelligence, of your courage…”
“Sir, just 100 years ago, the thought of intelligent alien life making contact with us was ridiculous. 20 years ago, the thought of any intelligent alien life even coming to earth was science fiction. Now, they are at our doorstep and we are without a contingency plan. These aliens are real. And I’m telling you, these…wizards or whatever you want to call them are real, too. You and I both know that our technology can’t possibly be on par with that of an alien race that is able to travel across galaxies in weeks. We need every advantage we can get. I implore you, look at the report. We will be able to field a team of folks that could prove instrumental in our defense if we could only tap into their potential. Do you want to go down in history as the man who let our planet be colonized all because he refused to acknowledge truth?”
“That’s enough, soldier. You can go now.”
“Sir,” the colonel replied, turning to go.
“Leave the report.”
| 26 | In the mid-23rd century, magic has been discovered to be real. | 37 |
*What services can you provide?*
The words were frozen on the computer screen. The cursor blinked as it awaited his response.
*What services can I provide? Jesus Christ, when did it come to this?*
His palms were clammy and his senses shot at the implication of the question. Who were they to ask what they could and could not do? What happened to simply living life and existing just as before? The tiny room was guarded by a solitary person. She was clad in riot gear, her femininity questionable as her curves were all flattened in her military garb. Yet she had the anatomy that provided sound proof of her femininity and safety.
His leg bounced up and down. *Shit, shit, shit...*
A booming buzzing sound emanated from the loud speaker. The guard lifted her hand to her ear. She eyed him and walked over, depressing a button on the side of her firearm as she walked forward. A high pitched hum emanated from the weapon.
“Mr. Wood, answer the question.”
“I’m working on it!” he exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, I’m *trying*.”
“There is a line of others behind you, try faster. You have three minutes to complete the question.”
*Three fucking minutes.*
*What services can you provide?* The words questioned mockingly as they hung suspended in the computer screen.
He racked his brain for an answer to the question. 'How did it come to this?' would have a better question.
One he could answer. Men had outlived their uses. With technology and artificial insemination, what uses did man have? Scientists could construct genomes, DNA. Technology to create humanity. To select gender.
To select usefulness.
*What services can you provide?* Sure he could answer it, he could put something in the field but would it deem him necessary?
*Good at smokin’ dope and crackin’ a joke,* his friends used to say. But that didn’t seem like a good answer, despite its validity. Smart asses were a dime a dozen he supposed and they had a strict 10% acceptance rate.
*When did it come to this? Christ almighty. How can they expect an honest answer with so little time?* His mind raced with anger and frustration, *just who the fuck do these broads think they are?!*
“One minute, Mr. Wood,” the blonde told him, her gun hummed with approval.
He took a few years of metal working, and even managed to learn to weld, but there had to be a billion people better than him within the 10th percentile. He did a stint working on cars and automobiles, but hardly enough to call himself a professional. Every job he had was short lived, he was either fired or quit due to his 'uselessness.' He was expendable.
“Thirty seconds, Mr. Wood.” She reminded him, the weapon hummed louder. Its incessant whine pierced his ears like the a bad case of tinnitus.
*I’m a dime a dozen*, he repeated to himself.
His fingers moved about the keyboard. Furiously, he pleaded his case for usefulness, for life, providing his purpose.
*"I’m expendable."*
He hit enter and waited. Cold sweat clung to his brow as he waited for the verdict. The woman waited with him, she stood stoic with her melodic firearm, waiting for the word.
*"Satisfactory"* typed itself across the screen. The woman took her cue and grabbed him by the arm. “Congrats, Mr. Wood. Looks like you’ve found yourself some purpose.”
She lead him towards the door, he turned his head and watched as the next man was lead into the small, suffocating room and sat in front of the computer to ask him the impossible question.
--------
*(Like my stuff? More at nickblakeslee.com)*
| 16 | The year is 2035. Gender relations have been deteriorating for over two decades and the United States is on the verge of an actual gender war. | 31 |
I couldn’t do it. Just thinking about it leaving me hurt me to think about. I was there. I was there at the genesis. Surely I shouldn’t be alive to see it through the end.
It started off as a moment of passion. I had drank her in deeply, intoxicated by her scent. Her initial coldness didn’t disturb me at all. It was actually refreshing. And then, well, that cold wore off and it just warmed me. Warmed me to the soul. I had kissed her, let her linger in my mouth, savoring her exotic taste. I couldn’t get enough.
And here we are. Hours later. Not where the journey should have ended. We were to have a reunion, but like this? But it had to happen.
I stood there at the toilet and wept. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
I felt the golden streams rush through my loins. I willed them to stay that I might spend just another moment with my beloved, but I felt a guilt as she passed through my body. This felt good.
*No*, I said. *Don’t you enjoy this. Don’t you enjoy kicking her out.*
But I did. As she coursed through my urethra, I felt such a sense of relief that I shook. And that’s when I knew. She was leaving me with this one last pleasure.
*Thank you,* I whispered through the tears. *Thank you.*
| 91 | Describe a mundane, daily task that only takes a minute or less. But you must employ soul-crushing melodrama. | 72 |
The hooded figures that surrounded the circled pentagram moved restlessly and there was a clipped anxiousness to every word spoken.
They were taking a big risk that night, and each knew their souls and more were on the line should something go wrong.
Lydia, the de facto leader of the group, breathed out an audible sigh of relief when the circle began to glow and the pentagram seemed to melt into shadow, dragging the carcass of the teenaged de-virgined boy they had managed to sacrifice. The robed and hooded figures stopped swaying, while joining hands and muttering words from the Necronomicon that floated before each of them. Demonic shadows flickered and danced, and for a brief, exalted moment, Lydia thought they were going to be successful -
But a loud honk from outside broke the reverie and snapped the portal closed. The candles stopped flickering and the shadows only reflected their owners once again.
Lydia, muttering the beginnings of a curse under her breath, marched to the window to glance outside. She froze.
The unmistakable vile green of her daughter in law's mini cooper reflected lazily off her porchlight, and the car blared its horn once again.
Hurriedly throwing her robe off, she gestured violently to her cultmates to hide the evidence while she stalled downstairs. She did not spend much time observing them, as the car horn blared a third time before she managed to open the door.
Her bitch of a daughter in law sat wearing sunglasses at night and leaned her head out the window.
"Fucking finally, Lydia. I can't believe you'd make us wait out here at this time of night."
Lydia bit back a spell that would have slowly bent the bitch's head 180 degrees over the course of a year. Because coming up the steps to her house was a little girl with large brown eyes the size of tennis balls, who was wearing a little button up blue dress. It was adorable and Lydia suppressed a shudder.
"Grandma!" Screamed little Lucy as she barreled into Lydia's stomach. The bitch started her engine and rolled away without an explanation.
"Lucy, my dear," said Lydia, forcing a smile. "What made your mother bring you all the way here at this time of night?"
"I just missed you soool much," said Lucy cheerfully. She took Lydia's hand and dragged her back to the house."
"Wait, Lucy, I had some friends over so it might be a bit of a mess -" Lydia nearly bit her tongue as Lucy march towards the house made Lydia
trip over the doorframe.
Lucy ignored her and Lydia could only watch with dread as the child moved deliberately and swiftly up the stairs.
Towards the room they were using to set off a long distance death spell against an immortal. Lydia realized that it had failed, not because of the jarring noise of the horn, but because ths target had been too near when the spell had gone off.
As Lydia approached the door, she could hear Lucy laughing - the laugh of a six year old was something wonderful indeed. Unless it was the sound of brimstone and fire as the child ripped one of her cultmates' souls from his body and smashed it into the pentagram. Lucy pointed at the man's wife, and the death spell, using the man's soul as the sacrifice, quartered the wife, but did not kill her nor would it, for another year and a day.
Still Lucy laughed.
Lydia had failed. | 99 | A grandmother's Satanic cult meeting is interrupted when her daughter-in-law drops off her 6 year old grandchild unannounced | 221 |
"Ohh fuck." He said, staring up at the ceiling. "Ohh, fuck." He adds, heart going a hundred miles an hour.
He carefully slid his arm out, feeling around. Eventually he felt the square lump, and he dug into the pocket and pulled it out.
"Command." He whispered into the black box, sweat beading off his forehead. There was no sound, then finally a very angry voice burst through the comm.
"ETC-1, What is your current situation?" It hissed, and he quickly turned down the volume.
"Sir, ah, the readout stated it was non-toxic."
"What. Is your current. Situation." The voice responded back. The man closed his eyes for a second.
"There was an incident."
"Are you injured?"
"No. I don't think so."
"You don't think so?"
"Getting a few tests done may be a good idea."
"ETC-1, Again, what is your current situation."
"Well, ah, an extreme case of convergent evolution?"
"That does not- Daniel. What happened."
"Well, uh, I scanned that drink, and it said it was non-toxic. Turns out it, ah, had a few side effects."
"Toxicity is relative. What- wait. Ethyl-Alchohol?"
"Ah, is that was... what was in the... drink they gave me? I didn't get a chance to really... read the scan too much..."
"ETC-1, what is your current situation."
"You told me to drink it! It was... They took off their suits. Our atmospheres are pretty comparable."
"ETC-1, am I to understand you have potentially been exposed to alien bacteria?"
Daniel slowly glanced over to the side, then whispered, "Yes, I think that is a distinct possibility here." There was silence at the other end.
"We'll have quarantine and tests ready for you when you get back. What is your current situation? Where are you located?"
"I am at the ship. In my bed."
"Understood. Please report to control."
"Ahh. Right."
"Also, please be advised the camera system appears to be off. Is there a reason for that, ETC-1?"
"Oh sure. Let me fix that." Daniel said, tapping a few buttons on the box.
"Oh. Oh fuck. FUCKING HELL DANIEL."
"Yeah." There was a long silence, lasting about four minutes, before another voice came through the com.
"Put on some clothes and report to the command station. Now."
"...Yessir." | 148 | Despite years of research, vetting, and training, the first person to contact extraterrestrial intelligent life goes WAY off script. | 187 |
I hated it.
I hated the atmosphere, I hated to waste time in there. I hated being sourrounded by people mopping and weeping for someone I only despised.
How well did people actually knew him? Would they feel as bad after knowing how he treated other kids his age in school? Would they miss him so much if they got a bleeding nose and a black eye from that asshole back in highschool? just because you wouldn't take his insults anymore? Would they care so much after all the name calling and assclown bullshit he pulled on innofensive people?
I suppose no. But then again this weren't his high school victims, but his parents and siblings and college friends. Fuck them... fuck them all.
Why was I even here? Why was I forced here? Because of my sister, she was friends with the sister of that piece of waste that layed in the coffin and insisted on me coming with her. I actually liked her sister Evelyn, she was nothing like her brother but it was not enough to stop me from wishing I was halfway to hell instead of being in this shithole.
The ceremony passed as slowly and as painfully as I expected, with friends and relatives talking good about him and good memories they had with him and how he was so bright and kind.
Yeah... whatever. I was just counting the seconds to get out of there, not even talking with some of my old friends cooled my temper, I was just having none of this canonizating bullshit.
"Now before you all leave I need the following persons to follow me into the reading of the departed's last will". Some tall and scrawny lawyer started naming some people. I was surprised when my name was called.
What could that jackass want to leave me? I never speaked with him after graduating except to give a forceful "Hi" on the few times we saw each other.
I always wanted to level things with him, to pay him back for all those awful things I had to go through in highschool. But after some time I accepted I did not want to just go and beat him up or do some underhanded evil to him, that wasn't me. But I was sure as hell I didn't want anything more to do with him.
Different things where passed around, his life insurance for his siblings and parents (since he was not married) plus personal effects to friends and family. When my turn came up I was already betting he had most likely left a bad joke or some useless item for me.
"This is the item" - declared the lawyer - " Along with this card for your personal reading".
I was surprised to receive one of the few things he had stolen from me before, my old yo-yo. I was really good with it but one day it got taken from my backpack. I confronted him about it once I saw a peculiarly similar looking one in his possession but, of course, how to prove it?.
Along with this old memory there was a small letter.
"I'm sorry for what I did. We were not kids and I can't blame it on anything else but on being an asshole to you and many people. The day I took this from you I was jealous of you for doing so good on it so I took it."
"After a month I just stored it, since I was bad playing with it; when I found it again between my old stuff I started practicing again, to be even decent. During college, once I finally had time to think hard and clear of all the things I did just because I felt like it... I got to regret a lot and though of returning this to you in person and apologize but I couldn't do it. I could see that you didn't want to talk to me and that you haven't forgot about all those things I did, and I can't blame you."
"I give this back to you and hope you can somewhat forgive those awful things I did before". It was signed by him in the bottom.
I was shoked. I never once though he was capable of feeling regret from the things he did. I wouldn't even considered he would remember someone he treated like trash for so long either.
I had accepted what had happened but I have never really forgave him, it has always been present and a part of me had always wanted to be able to go back and get even for it.
Not today... but eventually I might be able to truly forgive him. | 33 | Your most hated arch nemesis dies to a car crash. Strangely, they included you in their will. What did they leave you to prove that they truly and deeply cared for you? | 43 |
It was like somebody simply flipped a switch when the madness begun.
I was waiting in line, not so unlike the millions of other lines I’ve spent my life among, this one belonging to a convenience store.
I remember the middle aged woman with an over weight toddler standing just in front of me. Her died blond hair, black at he roots, brittle and coarse at the ends. The toddler wanted something, mumbling words it couldn’t yet form. The woman's swollen eyes simply staring off into the distance as if the child wasn’t making a sound.
In front of her stood a young man on his phone, thin and pale, his greasy hair reflecting the florescent lights above him . Narrow fingers banging away at his telephone like a trained monkey.
The cashier is a young attractive girl I recognize from my econ class, and I felt my knees grow weak knowing I’ll either have to acknowledge she’s in my class or awkwardly pretend I don’t recognize her. I stop only briefly to wonder why I’m so afraid of the things I want the most.
As I hold my gaze on her just a little longer I notice her soft red cheeks broken by a hard smile and a piercing look in her eyes. She is staring down an old woman, the woman dressed from top to toe in the color blue is fumbling with the card reader. I’m just close enough to pick up the different edges of their conversation.
“I…I know my pin card, it’s just I…I have so many different cards…and I’m not sure which one goes with which.” Her voice is soft and apologetic.
“Do you have cash? The young cashier’s smile is harder than ever, a darkness now clouding her blue eyes.
“I, no. I don’t think so. I’ll check.”
The woman fumbled with her purse and I could see the cashiers face strain in frustration. She looked as if she was in pain, as if this whole interaction is physically effecting her, I can’t tell if she’s just really annoyed or if there is something deeper involved some un-whispered fear.
I didn’t have long to ponder this thought, because that’s when the madness started.
It started as a rumbling from deep within the ground below me, as if a volcano was about to explode under my feet. Then it turned into a deep and heavy moan, like giant floor boards creaking under an unsustainable weight. As it rose in volume, it gained some unspeakable human quality, like a deep moan, giving way to a cracking wail.
It was if someone reached into my heart and all I could feel was unspeakable sorrow, I immediately fell, my legs unable to hold the weight of my emotion, I wasn’t aware I was crying until I saw the splash of tears on the black and white linoleum just inches from my face.
It felt like I lay there for hours, until there was no sorrow in my soul left to give.
I strained against the collapse of my body to look around, to know if I had simply gone mad, or if there was something more. Unable to stand I flopped my head around like a fish on land, that’s when I realized if I had gone mad, I was not alone. The woman behind the counter was screaming, as if all the pain she held inside had ruptured through a dam. The young man had dropped his phone and lay shaking on the ground. The middle aged mother lay motionless in front of me, the toddler sleeping gently beside her.
The old woman staring mouth open at screaming woman.
Soon the moan in earth grew louder it’s pitch building higher and higher, like the scream of uncountable millions dying at once. As the sound continued to grow, I could feel the burn of frustration in my stomach, a sour twisting of my insides and I couldn’t help but feel wronged, but without any idea of who was responsible. I felt like I had been used in the most unseemly way but my attackers were shadows that could not be caught. The injustice of all it giving rise to an explosive anger as the voice summited in full blown scream, the sound could only be described as the sound of unfathomable horror.
Overwhelming anger forced my body into action and onto my feet. I couldn’t say why now but I felt an insatiable desire to destroy everything around me. I started small and pulled down a rack of gum that stood beside me. I quickly picked it up and threw it at the nearest window. Looking around for my next target, I heard the scream like a primordial war cry, but it didn’t register in my altered state.
It was only the pain of the long nail extensions ripping at my overfed cheeks that pierced my stupor. I felt as one broke off, catching against my jaw, taking a large piece of skin with it.
My body reacted to the pain with even more furious anger, I peeled her hands away from my face, bending the wrists back until i could hear the muted sounds of popping.
Spinning my self around to see the middle aged mom, her mouth wide, a scream of terror echoing in my ears as teeth sunk into my shoulder.
Grabbing handfuls of her brittle hair with one hand I pulled her head back and threw punch after bunch at her screaming face, the soft unused skin of my knuckles breaking open on cracked bones.
As quick as it started the sound stopped. Followed by a defining silence. I still had a handful of that woman's hair, her body splayed on the ground unconscious. Her eyes open and staring at the ceiling. I realized there was sobbing next to me and let go the clump of hair as I saw the fat toddler staring into my eyes and screaming for it’s life.
Looking over I saw the pale man with the greasy hair as he drops a slurpy machine to the ground, a horrified look on this face as he stares towards the cash register. A blue lump lies on the ground, lifeless eyes gaze at the cardboard ceiling, as the young cashier releases her vice grip from the old woman's neck, we make eye contact, but I can’t be sure there is anything staring back at me. She gets up, and with out even the twitch of muscle on her face, she walks out the door.
The police never came, an ambulance never came. The woman on the ground never woke up. Bodies rotted on floors, until they bloated and exploded. We all walked in a daze for weeks. We ate what there was to eat, and slept where we stood. But slowly one by one we woke up to who we were, what we had been and possibly what we might become. We did what humans tend to do, we did what needed to be done. We buried the bodies, and cleaned the floors, we fixed what was broken, and mourned those we had lost. Some never made it back from the madness. Some countries chose to put these people in homes in the hopes that they might one day come back to us. Other’s just shot them on their feet and burned the bodies in piles.
Later when things felt more like they used to, they tried to explain to us what had happened. They told us it was a machine, it was made by a crazy man out in the woods. Words like maniac and uni-bomber were used a lot. Other’s said there was more, we were being lied to. Those that cared the most, broke into factions only to scream at each other about the meaning of the madness. Eventually it all simply felt like the sounds of madness had returned. So the people just turned it all off and decided it was better just to forget and go and as if nothing had ever happened.
| 11 | A crazy hippy inventor creates a machine that forces us to hear Mother Nature, and she is very, very pissed. Too bad the machine can't be turned off. | 15 |
The girl and her elderly grandfather sat on the edge of the pool, their feet dipped in the water.
The girl ran her finger over a dark scar on the man’s chest, below his breast.
‘How’d you get that scar?’ she asked.
‘Your mother would not be pleased if I told you, I’ve heard about your night terrors’, the old man replied.
‘I haven’t had nightmares in years Pop’
‘That’s right, you’re nine now aren’t you dear’
‘Eleven, pop. Please tell me, *pleeeease*.’
‘Well alright’, the man begun, resigning to his granddaughter’s persistence.
‘When I was only a couple of years older then you are now, there used to be a country fair at the show grounds in the town I lived in. Once a year it was, for a couple of days and as a young person, that’s where you’d go to meet girls’
‘Was there a kissing booth?’
The old man chuckled.
‘Strangely enough I’ve only ever seen those in the movies’
He took a slow breath in.
‘There was however, a girl that I was quite fond of’
The girl lit up.
‘It was Nan wasn’t it? That’s so cute that you met at a fair, it’s just like in the movies’
‘I’d seen this girl working at the diner and she was gorgeous. Flowing blonde hair, she looked like a pin up girl’
‘What’s a pin up girl?’
The old man blushed.
‘Don’t facewozzle that’
‘Do you mean Google?”
‘Yes, don’t Google that’
The old man coughed and begun again. ‘I would collect the small amount of money that I earned doing the paper rounds and I’d go to the diner just to buy some flavoured milk from her’
‘Isn’t that creepy?’
‘Perhaps but we didn’t have Facewozzle back then’
‘Do you mean Facebook?’
‘Yes, that’s it. We didn’t have Facewozzle so we had to go to the fair to meet girls. One year at the fair, I’d picked up smoking to impress the girls-'
‘- Pop!’
‘It wasn’t a successful strategy. Nevertheless, one day at the fair I went for a smoke in an alley way and I saw her. I saw the girl from the diner. Except she wasn’t smiling like she did in the diner and her hair was all messed up and dirty. Worst of all, she was crying and that’s when I noticed her eye was all bruised and swollen.’
The old man sighed. ‘I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help but she was in hysterics, she just couldn’t stop crying. Unfortunately it wasn’t long before there was three of us in that alleyway. This guy comes in and he’s yelling at her, screaming at her and it didn’t take me very long to piece together what he had done.
Be the hero, I thought. Win the girl, I thought. So I told him to step away and soon he’s yelling and screaming at me, calling me the n-word and now I’m getting fired up. Soon we’re neck to neck and we begin shoving each other.
But no punch was thrown that day because soon after the shoving begun, I felt a sharp pain in my chest’
The old man touched the scar on his chest.
‘You’d been stabbed’ the girl gasped.
The old man nodded.
‘I passed out to the sound of the girl crying’
‘Did you ever see her again?’
‘I did, infact. A couple of months later I saw her walking down the street. Do you want to guess who she was with?’
‘No…'
‘Yes, the man from the alleyway. He looked down at the ground and pretended not to recognise me, but the girl, the girl looked me right in the eye with such…malice. And she spat at me’
The girl and her grandfather sat silently for a moment reflecting.
‘Pop that’s horrible’
‘Well sometimes life isn’t like how it’s portrayed in the movies dear. But I’ve done okay’
And with that, the old man dived into the pool. | 19 | "How'd you get that scar?" | 16 |
As the cool brush followed the contours of my nose, I suppressed the involuntary shiver that struggled to free itself. The compound dried immediately on my skin. I wanted nothing more than to slap the artist's hand away.
"We're almost done," she said sternly, sensing my irritation. "If you don't hold still, you may cause World War VI." She continued applying the compound.
All around us, men and women went about their activities, bustling, straightening sheafs of water paper, gesticulating as they yelled into earpieces behind soundproof, transparent barriers. Virtually none of them paid any heed to stainless steel circle set in the center of the room. Upon the circle was mounted an impressive array of mirrors and lights, all directed at the chair I was currently sitting in.
Next to the artist stood a man in a black suit. He wore dark sunglasses, had a black goatee trimmed to perfection, and spoke with a voice almost as emotionless as his attire. "The president's bruise hasn't healed completely," he was saying. "He's still yellowed around the eye area. If we don't do this, you know, your friend with the brush might be right."
I glared at him, but kept my mouth clamped shut as she worked the brush closer to my lips. *I know that, you smug bastard. I'm curious, how composed would you be if* you *were about the set foot in the Black Cage?* I tried to shoot the words at him with my eyes.
President Asher had been attacked about a week ago. The Russians had sent in an Assassin-bot. Its energy blade failed as the secret service showered it with so-called "sentient" rounds, but the collapsing bot had ironically smacked Asher in the face, leaving him with a nasty bruise. Technically, no one could prove whether or not the Chinese were involved. But we all knew the truth. No one could realistically dispute that the Chinese had been sending their own doppelgangers into the Black Cage for the past 50 years, so President Yu's courage wasn't in question. His integrity was another matter entirely. 50 Chinese "presidents" had entered the ring in the past 50 years. 50 mangled Chinese bodies had been dragged out.
"Finally," I said, as the artist stepped back, nodding happily. I rolled my neck and flexed my shoulders. From the mirror across the room stared a man. Our eyes met, and I saw a spitting image of President Asher. The plastic surgery had worked. No one could tell the difference. Not unless they took a DNA sample from the floor, which hopefully wouldn't be possible even after the fight. But no sane man wanted to prove the other nation's deceit. That would necessitate war. War necessitated the use of "Earth Splitters," or ES bombs.
A red strobe light began flashing from the ceiling. The secret service agent touched my muscled arm. "Time to go, my man." He dropped his hand as I turned to study his face.
We started walking, and all around me the room grew quite. There were no cheers. No renditions of the national anthem. No waving flags. Only solemn contemplation. *This is the moment I decide our nation's future. This is the moment I secure my name in the books of history. In front of 9 billion people.* | 94 | In 3048 weaponry is so advanced that a single small-scale war would destroy the planet. All national conflicts which would traditionally lead to war are now resolved by pay-per-view UFC style fighting matches. The fights are fought by world leaders, and go to the death. Tonight is USA vs. China. | 274 |
Nick Sheridan grinned to himself as he climbed to the top step and watched his predecessor cross the stage to thunderous applause. The loudest yet. The moment of truth. He glanced at the screen behind her, and saw his friend's future. He saw her saving lives, doing research, and being presented with the Nobel prize.
Of course all of that was just a prediction, but no one's had been wrong yet. He had met Kim a few years prior, and they had become fast friends. It was luck that they were next to each other alphabetically, and he was proud of what she would become.
Nicks heart slammed into his ribs. He heard his name ring out of the speakers. His brow began to sweat. Years of school, years of training, all for this moment. He locked eyes with the Dean's, smiled, and strode confidently across the stage.
He made it halfway there before he heard it.
Nothing. No cheers, no yelling, no whistling. Just Silence. He stopped and stared into the audience. No one was looking at him. The entire stadium of 90,000 was staring at the screen behind him. He turned and saw a blank screen. Just an error message, "subject cannot be located."
He turned back to the Dean, confusion flowing through him, when he heard the crash.
He had just enough time to look up before the falling support beam crushed him. | 19 | When you graduate from high school (or college), the applause/boos you receive from the audience do not reflect who you are or what you did, but who you will become. | 17 |
I walked in through the front door. Act natural. Nothing's wrong.
"Honey, you're home early?"
The words bounced off me like foam darts. I could tell I already fell short of acting natural, but I stared at my wife lost for words. She'd never looked so beautiful. Soft blonde hair for miles, eyes you could get lost in. I'd wasted so much time. I'd spent too long away from her.
"Oh, uh, we made a really big find today love. We got let off early in celebration."
My wife jumped for joy, "You have to tell me all about it!"
"Yeah," I muttered, "I'll tell you all about it over lunch."
I moved in, and just held her. I held her close and took in her smell, her warmth, everything that I could. I tried to live in that moment forever, but, time was not so generous.
"Honey, is everything okay?"
I let go of her, almost embarrassed, "Oh, yeah, everything's fine. Sorry, I just feel like I don't see you enough."
She gave me a smile. A perfect smile. On any other day it would instantly have turned my mood around. On any other day.
I helped her with lunch. Stood within inches of her. Hugged her from behind as she sliced vegetables. Hugged her while the bread toasted. I made the most of it. I tried.
Finally, we sit at the table. It was an incredible spread. When it comes to lunch we usually eat some sandwiches over the counter, but today I insisted. Salad, chicken, garlic bread, anything you could think of. It would already have been an extravagant dinner, but today it made for an unparalleled lunchtime feast.
"So what's the big news?"
I stared into my plate, contemplating the crumbs, until I could spit up the words.
"The dishes picked something up over the night. We... managed to figure it out this morning"
My wife's eyes turned to saucers, "Wh-... what!? Really!?"
She was smiling ear to ear by this point. I couldn't return the gesture.
"Why aren't you more excited?"
Again, the words were a labor to put together, "I guess I need to start from the beginning."
She leaned in intently, already sucked into the words I hadn't even said yet.
"When the universe began... there was only hydrogen and helium, the two most basic atoms... and... eventually they started combining together. Fusion. When enough of them get together it creates fusion. That's what made the more complex elements. The elements that make life."
I could see she wasn't sure what this had to do with the radio dishes, but I couldn't hesitate too long, "And what's really amazing is that life takes those elements, and creates even more complex chemistry. Things that even fusion can't make. We take these basic elements and turn it them something even more intricate... something more special. Life is a factory for the rarest substances in the universe."
My wife was beaming, "That's... really beautiful actually!"
I swallowed hard, and gripped her hand tight one last time.
"It won't seem as beautiful when they finally come back to collect it."
My wife's expression turned to something more quizzical. I couldn't be sure if it was what I said, or because the room started to dim as they finally arrived and blotted out the sky.
We were nothing more than a factory. | 105 | Someone DOES discover the meaning of life, but it is more terrifying then we could imagine. | 85 |
James rubbed his eyes, the flash had been so bright.
"Sir, are you ok? The woman said.
"Uh, yes, I think so." James looked around. The backscatter machine he had just been in was gone. He stood there, shoeless in the lobby of JFK. Looking up, he saw a man on the bench ahead, reading the paper. Mayoral Primary Today for Bloomberg Opponent. James, looked again in disbelief.
He dashed at the paper and landed with a thud on the floor in his socks. Blood from his bitten lip seeped around his mouths edges. Beige thread drifted from the tear at the knee. The man on the bench recoiled in horror as James snatched the paper from him. Shaking, he read it.
"What's a matter with you?" The man said.
"What is this, is this some kind of joke? Where's homeland security? Where are the machines?"
"You're out of you mind guy." Hushed whispers from passersby gave James words like 'security', 'drunk' and 'bum'. He ran out the doors, shoeless, beltless, bleeding and torn. Fumbling at his pockets he found no keys, no wallet and no phone that wouldn't be able to connect anywhere. Jet planes roared in the sky and taxis honked as he shambled across the street and began to run home to brooklyn. His tie was tight and he cast it off. Sweat pooled under his arms leaving stains on his shirt. His hair blew in the wind as he ran five miles home.
To look in the window and see himself there, eating dinner with his wife and infant son, their daughter five years away. James sobbed, because he knew he was not mad.
As midnight came, James found himself outside, on the streets with the other bums, begging for quarters, his bloodied feet covered in rags. By seven AM he had two dollars.
The metal snake of the pay phone coiled up to the black head James held to his ear as he slowly dropped the quarters into the slot. It was eight fifteen AM now. The sunlight twinkled on the beautiful morning.
"Hello, World Trade Center, front desk"
"There are two large bombs, one in each tower. They will explode in half an hour. This is not a joke. Evacuate now. Allah Akbar."
With a thunk he hung up the receiver, bought a coffee from a cart, and began to shuffle his new hobo walk southward. He could make it to the towers by 845. Nobody notices bums. He could walk right up to them and just let go. | 138 | A man walks through a TSA checkpoint at an airport and is sent back to September 10th 2001. He knows he must act quick, but he is having trouble trusting his own sanity. | 327 |
**The One Where Ross Loses It**
[Scene: Central Perk, everyone is there. Ross is working on a crossword puzzle as Monica is talking about her day at work.]
**Monica:** I mean, rabbit? They expect me to cook rabbit?
**Chandler:** I know, I mean if you eat all the rabbits who'd deliver the eggs this year?
*Laugh track*
**Joey:** So what did you tell them?
**Monica:** I told them I'd think about it. I mean, I knew I'd have to change the menu, but rabbit?
**Ross:** I don't know what the big deal is.
**Joey:** You don't know what the big deal is?
**Ross:** Oh, judgement from the man who dropped his sandwich off the balcony and went down to see if it was "still good"?
*Laugh track*
**Joey:** HEY! It WAS still good!
*Laugh track*
**Ross:** All I'm saying is people have always eaten rabbit, it's not like eating people or anything.
**Rachel:** Have you seen most of the people in New York? Trust me, I'd rather eat a thousand of the freaks I see on the subway than let one cute little bunny go into one of Monica's overpriced stews!
*Laugh track as Monica looks offended*
**Monica:** Hey!
**Ross:** What, you'd really rather eat people than rabbits?
*After a few moments of silence the rest of the gang nod and say yeah. Ross stands up, putting on his coat*
**Ross:** Fine, FINE! I guess I'm the weird one then! You all enjoy your, your CANNIBALISM, I've got a date!
*Ross leaves as the rest of the gang look at each other, shocked*
**Joey:** It was still good!
*Laugh track*
[Scene: Ross's apartment. He's sat on the couch next to his crush of the week, Jessica]
**Ross:** You seriously wouldn't eat rabbit?
**Jessica:** No, it's cruel.
*Ross stares at her for a few seconds*
**Ross:** You're a butcher!
*Laugh track as Jessica shrugs*
**Jessica:** I think your friends are right. I mean, have you seen the average person in New York? Last week I saw some guy eat a meatball sandwich off the sidewalk while screaming "it's good, it's good"!
*Laugh track as Ross sighs*
**Ross:** I guess dinner was a bad idea then
*Jessica stands up, shocked*
**Jessica:** There was RABBIT in there!
**Ross:** What did you think I meant when I said we were having bunny?
**Jessica:** I thought that was the name of the chicken!
*Laugh track as Ross gives Jessica a look of disbelief*
**Ross:** Jessica, wait, I-
*Jessica goes to slap Ross, but as she hits him she trips over his coffee table*
**Ross:** Jessica!
*Jessica falls face first onto one of the synthetic candles laid out on the table, driving it up through her eye. She screams and shakes before dying. Laugh track as Ross throws his hands up*
**Ross:** NOW I KNOW WHY PHOEBE HATES POTTERY BARN!
*Laugh track as Ross paces back and forth*
**Ross:** Nobody'll believe this story, it's too stupid. They all know I still over Rachel, and that monologuing I've been doing lately'll really point towards "crazy"!
*Laugh track*
**Ross:** Gotta hide the evidence...
*Ross looks towards his kitchen and starts to grin*
**Ross:** They said they'd rather eat people then rabbit...so why don't I carry out a bit of science on that!
[Scene: Joey's apartment. He and Chandler are tossing a tennis ball back and forth across the room]
**Chandler:** Is it weird that this is the highlight of my day?
**Joey:** If by weird you mean sad then yeah, weirdest thing I've ever heard.
*Laugh track*
**Chandler:** Oh hey, what're you doing for dinner?
**Joey:** Eating, probably.
*Laugh track*
**Chandler:** No, I mean do you have any plans?
**Joey:** Not really, why?
**Chandler:** Ross invited me over to dinner at his place, thought you might want to come. Have a guy's night in, drink some beers, watch some football.
**Joey:** Football season's over dude.
**Chandler:** Hockey.
**Joey:** There's no game on tonight.
**Chandler:** Soccer.
**Joey:** I thought this was a guys night?
*Laughter track*
**Chandler:** Whatever, you wanna come?
**Joey:** Yeah, I'm not the kind of guy to turn down a free meal!
[Scene: Ross's apartment. Joey and Chandler are sat on the couch as Ross walks in holding a plate.]
**Ross:** Fresh hamburgers, right out of the pan! And eat up, there's plenty left over, I made them myself!
**Chandler:** OK, but this isn't rabbit is it?
*Laughter track*
**Ross:** No, no, it's not rabbit.
*Laughter track as Ross puts the plate down and Joey and Chandler put burgerss on their own plates and start to eat.*
**Joey:** Good, I haven't been able to look at Jessica Rabbit the same way for like, a whole day now!
*Laughter track as Ross starts to leave the room.*
**Ross:** You guys want some beers?
**Chandler:** Yeah sure dude.
*Chandler suddenly stops eating.*
**Chandler:** What the hell is this?
*Chandler picks what looks like a finger nail out of his burger as Joey keeps eating.*
**Joey:** Probably from the cow's finger, I dunno.
*Laugh track.*
**Chandler:** Cow's don''t have fingers, Joe.
**Joey:** Then maybe it's Ross's.
*Laugh track*
**Chandler:** Nah, he gave this up in college after the...incident. And anyway, this one's painted pink. There's only one person who wore pink fingernails...
*Laugh track.*
**Joey:** Jessica!
**Chandler:** I thought he said he made them himself!
**Joey:** Well I'm gonna have words with that guy! NOBODY LIES TO JOEY TRIBBIANI ABOUT FOOD!
*Laugh track as Joey snatches the finger nail and marches into the kitchen, while Chandler shrugs and keeps eating.*
**Chandler:** Lies or no lies, this is some good grub!
*Laugh track*
[Scene: Ross's kitchen, Ross hears Joey coming in and quickly slams closed his fridge door.]
**Ross:** Oh hey dude, I'll get you those beers in a se-
*Ross notices the fingernail in Joey's hand and Joey's face and freezes up. Laugh track*
**Ross:** Now, wait a second Joe!
**Joey:** JESSICA?! JESSICA?! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!
*Laugh track*
**Ross:** No, look, dude, I didn't want to do it but she made me!
**Joey:** She made you? You're like twice her size! Don't you know how to retrain a woman!
*Laugh track*
**Ross:** Joe you weren't there, she was just so angry and...and it was just so tasty!
*Laugh track as Joey pauses for a second.*
**Joey:** It was tasty...I'll give it that...BUT IT WAS STILL JESSICA!
*Laugh track*
**Ross:** Look, dude, you can't tell anyone about this!
**Joey:** Hey, I won't, but Chandler knows, and what Chandler knows Monica knows, and what Monica knows Rachel knows, and what Rachel knows everybody knows! I told Chandler about the thing that girl did with the popsicle, next thing I knew everybody knew about it!
*Laugh track as Ross looks confused*
**Ross:** What popsicle thing?
*laugh track asJoey freezes up*
**Joey:** Well, erm...look this isn't about me! You've gotta just admit this, THIS IS SERIOUS!
**Ross:** OK, OK, I'll go out there and apologise to Chandler about it, just let me do it.
**Joey:** Thanks dude, you're a good frie-
*Before Joey can finish his sentence Ross grabs a butcher knife and slashes his throat, instantly dropping Joey to the ground.*
**Joey:** D...dude...why?
**Ross:** I accidentally introduce myself as "Ross Schmeller" and Chandler makes fun of me for a month, how'd you think he'd react to finding out I killed a girl, ate some of her and fed her to you guys.
*Laugh track as Joey grins*
**Joey:** Hah...Ross Schmeller...that w-wait you eat peo-
*Loud laughter and some applause as Ross stabs Joey through the heart with his knife. Ross looks somewhat sad.*
**Ross:** Oh sweet sweet Joey...hey, I've never cooked Italian before!
*Laugh track as Ross stands up, sighing.*
**Ross:** Guess Chandler's gonna have to be next...god his last word's are gonna suck. "Could I BE anymore dying?"
*Laugh track as Ross exists the kitchen, still holding his knife, and we cut to commercial*
Possibly might finish this later. | 38 | Ross, the largest Friend, decides to eat the other five. | 27 |
Upon first glance, I would not have considered this my kind of place. The exterior made it seem like an establishment people would patron for drinks and flirtation, and I was wanting to sit down to a meal and conversation. Since a coworker recommended it to me, though, I was optimistic and decided to give it a try.
Surprisingly, their menu was filled with home cooked Southern flavors with a bit of an adventurous twist that quickly drew me in and corrupted my taste buds. The meatloaf, in particular, I found very flavorful and *extremely* filling, and I kept coming back for more.
Sadly, shortly after discovering this place, they moved to their current location, which is a bit further away from my home, but I still made every effort to eat there at least once a week. However, with the move, came a few unpleasant changes: new hours of operation, an increased number of drunks at the bar, and while my appetite was always satisfied by what they had to offer, there was an overall decline in the quality of service.
Despite all of that, I tried to remain a loyal customer and rented out the whole place for a New Year’s Party. A week before the celebration, they called to let me know that they had to cancel my reservation; they were to be closed for the holiday. Although I was disappointed, I was also understanding, but I won’t be returning again, not when I found out the next day that, despite what they had told me, they had advertised all over town that they had been open for business. | 34 | Review your ex(s) in the style of a Yelp review. | 28 |
It's my third week on the run, three weeks since Aaron framed for bombing our highschool. I've decided to write a journal so that even if I'm killed at least the truth will get out.
It all started on Friday the 13th of June 2014, neither of us was prepared for finals and Aaron said we could get a couple extra days to study by phoning in a bomb threat. Now I'm not a moron, I've red all the news stories about people getting caught for just that, but Aaron told me he had purchased a "burner" phone for just that reason, but was too scared to phone it in himself. Seeing as any store cameras would have only caught Aaron I agreed to do it.
It was a stupid decision. The bastard had somehow swiped my phone, and replaced the Sims, so I ended up making the threat from my phone number, from my room.
The only reason I even got away before the police arrived was that after the bombs started exploding the bastard warned me as he gloated. Said it was for fucking his sister, and stealing his Charizard card a couple years ago. As if I even played that crap game.
-----------------------------------------------
But enough of that, I don't know how he made the bombs, I don't know how he set up everything. All I know is that I ran like hell, and hid under an abandoned bridge about a two hours walk away. I knew no one ever went there, and that I could get enough fruit to last a few days from the nearby wild apple trees, it tasted like shit, but it was something.
I heard about the manhunt while running, and left my phone on a bus to new york to mislead my pursuers, I think it worked but I have no way of checking.
After the first few days of dirty water and shit apples I tried heading back into town, I turned back the moment I saw the first wanted posters. Seriously, I thought they stopped using those sometimes in the 1880s!
It's been three weeks now, and I think I've lost every ounce of fat I ever possessed. I have to go into town tomorrow and eat, or I'll die here. Hopefully even if I'm caught this journal will serve as my alibi.
------------------------------------------------
News article - Saturday 5th July 2014
Terrorist John Holmes was shot dead today in his hometown of XXXXXX while casing a small supermarket. A small blood soaked journal was found on his person, its contents are deemed indecipherable. | 20 | A high school student calls in a bomb threat to cancel classes for the day. During the ensuing evacuation, a series of explosions level the school. | 24 |
I had always dreamt of winning the lottery. To beat the impossible odds and come out on top with a treasure so large I could retire and live out my dreams, my passions, without having to worry about next months rent. Growing up poor, hope and dreams were all that kept us from crime, me and my brother. He always spoke about starting a company and living out the American dream. However a hundred lottery tickets later, you have this slow realization that you can never beat the numbers. There are just too many combinations. Which is ironic when they came to me, dragged me out of my own home in my underwear, and stuffed me in to the backseat of a black BMW, and told me I had left my fingerprint among the stars.
At first, I did not understand. How could I? I was just a young man, struggling to get by. There was nothing special about me. But then I began thinking for myself, while the scientists bombarded me with millions of questions, about the odds. I remember reading about the Cosmos as a young boy. The sky and all of its stars fascinated me. I remember reading there was thousands of billions of stars in our galaxy, and each had their own planets orbiting them. And then there were billions of galaxies. And within each galaxy, again billions of stars. I remember thinking about those astronomical odds. Just how likely would it be that somewhere in the universe, the stars and nebula would align in such a pattern that it formed my fingerprint? Sounds crazy, does it not? Not when you consider the enormous size of the known universe.
I knew within me there was nothing special about me. I knew that for a fact. I was just a poor boy who finally won the lottery, and my prize was being strapped down in a scientific research lab a mile under the ground in all secrecy, studied day and night, kept alive for now. Someone suggested Jesus and Gods bloodline were directly linked to mine. Ludicrous. | 12 | At the edge of the known universe, astronomers discover a massive stellar fingerprint; a pattern of cosmic dust that forms a thumb print over 6,000 light years in diameter. And the thumb print is yours. | 32 |
We weren't best friends. We didn't really like each other . We had a common interest, though. From my experiences, and you should listen, I know what's up, that's all people need to make a connection. If you have a common enemy, even better. We both hated birds. Chirpy, flappy things that begged to be eaten. I couldn't do it anymore . He couldn't either.
We had both been here awhile. I don't measure time in the odd way the humans do. Who wants that pressure? I just know we've seen a lot. Been through three mailmen, and mailwomen, humans are really particular about titles, and the interest we share, my..our human, has gotten considerably older. And most of all, I feel it. I know it's time. Almost. I can't let it get me yet. My beloved caretaker knows I'm not long now. She has been extra kind, bringing me the best food I've ever had, letting me get away with things I never could in my salad days. That's my favorite human phrase. Salad days. Funny species they are.
When she brought that damn dog home, I almost left. I did. I wasn't going to share a home with that noisy, slobbery, manner less beast. But, he was smart. He respected the fact that I was there first. We shared a look, and that was that. We created a routine. He got the day, I ruled everything. At least I gave him the day time for his crazy antics. He has protected me ever since. We've never acknowledged our acceptance of each other, it's just known. We may not be best friends, but we are family.
Where is he? He'd better hurry. I don't want to do this alone. I will, I can, but I really want him to protect me. Like always. I'm a little scared. I'm never scared. Part of my charm. Among the other things. I'm starting to get a little worried. Panicked. I can't do anything about it, it's really hard to move now. Please don't let me do this alone.
Ah. Here he is. He knows. I can see it in his chocolate eyes. He snuffles me, like I pretend to hate but really love. He knew the whole time. Silly guy. He is standing guard. This is exactly what I wanted. It's been fun. My last secret is I did love him. I loved him when I first saw his goofy face and I knew he wasn't an idiot, like the others. I'll never tell him. I look up at him one more time, reassured by his presence. I know he won't leave. I take one last good look. I close my eyes. We were best friends.
He knew the whole time. | 43 | A cat decides to spend his final moments with the dog | 27 |
My name is called. I can hear a welcoming applause, but the sound is distant. I feel myself step forward, past the curtain and toward the mic at center stage. The lights bloom and multiply; my ears are filled with the sound of rushing water. From somewhere in my chest, a stabbing pain radiates. I try to swallow, but my throat catches on what feels like gravel. My lips part and the milky-white cream of my death-puke spills out onto my shirt. I hear laughter as the world goes dark.
In the blackness, I am finally able to speak. "So, did you ever notice..."
*"It's too late for your material, son. The show is over. Now, open your eyes."* A thundering voice stops me, seemingly emanating from inside my head.
I want to obey the voice, but my eyes are already open. I open them again, the impossibility of which escapes me. There is a hooded figure standing in the abyss in front of me. The skin on his face is like wet paper, clinging to his skull. In one hand he holds a sickle.
"Who are you?"
*"I'm fucking Death, dude. How is that not immediately apparent? You know, for a comedian you aren't terribly observant."*
"I don't like to make assumptions."
*"Well, make one now. Do you know where you are?"*
"No, but I'm guessing I'm dead. And your Death. The last thing I remember is throwing up a bunch of white stuff."
*"Very good, that's correct. You* **are** *dead. And yes, you threw up on stage right before you collapsed dead. The crowd loved it, until they realized what happened. Certainly a better reaction than any of your actual jokes, though."*
"Oh come on Death, that's not fair."
*"Oh, it isn't? You think it's an accident you're here right now? The rule is, if eighteen thousand people wish you were dead, I have to come get you. And you just got your eighteen-thousandth."*
"I don't understand. Those people were wishing I was dead? They hadn't even heard me talk yet!"
*"I guess word gets around. You must be getting quite the un-funny reputation."*
"But I was opening for Jeff Dunham! His fans think everything is funny!"
*"Apparently not."*
"No. No, I'm not going to just take this. There's got to be a way out of this."
*"It's always the same with you people. Fine, I'll give you the same deal I give everyone."*
"Alright, what deal is that?"
*"A simple challenge. If you can best me at a game of your choice, you can have your life back, for a time."*
"Fine. A laugh-off, then."
*"Fair enough. But I warn you, I am a man of many talents."*
"So, you're a man? Is that because you have a **boner?**"
*"Oh dear. This is going to be easy."*
"So, how does this work?"
*"Well, the first one of us to elicit a laugh, wins."*
"From who, each other?"
*"From anyone. But then again, I don't see anyone else here."*
Death snaps the bony fingers of his free hand, and a chair appears behind him. He takes a seat and casually crosses his legs.
*"You go first, my son. I'll wait."*
"Don't you have other...appointments to get to?"
*"This isn't Robert Frost, boy. Time doesn't work like that here."*
And so I begin. I tell him every joke I can think of. I use bits I haven't used since my first year doing stand up. And Death doesn't laugh. He doesn't even crack a smile. I even go into some of the newest material I wrote, but still nothing. The only reaction I manage to draw is what looks like a grimace during my diarrhea bit.
*"Are you done? You've told me every joke you've ever written, and I haven't laughed once. Do you understand now that this is hopeless?"*
"You scammed me! This laugh-off was rigged from the beginning!"
*"Don't feel bad, this wasn't any more fixed than any other challenge. I always win."*
"But you haven't made me laugh, either!"
*"I don't need to, you're stuck here either way."*
"No, there's got to be something I can say to make you laugh! I'm a god-damn comedian! I can hear a laugh from a mile away, eventually I'll break you down."
*"Not likely."*
"Wait...listen!"
Some new idea has formed in my brain while I had been speaking. I can feel it now just beginning to congeal. And as it rises to the surface of my mind, it brings hope with it.
"It's laughter, I can hear it!"
*"What are you talking about?"*
"I told you I was a comedian! I told you! I can always pick out that one laugh from a sea of silence, it's what I live on!"
And Death suddenly begins to look concerned.
"That's it! You hear it too, don't you?"
*"I don't hear anything but your whining."*
"No, the laughter, listen! In the distance, but also right here with us. It's all around us!"
A laughter is indeed rising from the dead blackness and swirling around us. The more I pay attention to it, the louder and clearer it becomes.
*"No, that laughter doesn't count! That's been there the whole time, it's been there your whole life! No, that shouldn't count! I can't lose!"*
"I got a laugh, that means I win! I won, didn't I?"
Death stands up and the chair vanishes. He regains his composure before he speaks.
*"Yes, you have won. The first in over twelve-hundred years. I will return you to your life, until we meet again."*
"Wait, just like that? I don't even understand, who was the laughing coming from?"
*I'm afraid it's not as simple as a 'who'. And unfortunately, now that you can hear it clearly, you won't ever be able to not hear it. So good luck maintaining your sanity once I send you back."*
It was true that the laughter couldn't be ignored. It was a relentless cacophony, echoing across the landscape of my consciousness. As Death lifts his sickle, a bright light shoots forth to envelope me, and the laughter only grows louder.
"Wait, can't you tell me what this is?"
*"Oh, that's just the endless, mocking laughter of the abyss, my son. Get used to it."*
**edit: grammar and formatting**
| 30 | A comedian dies on stage and chooses to challenge death to a stand up comedy "laugh-off" in exchange for his/her life. | 41 |
Everyone knows about the DoCR. Everyone was raised there. We all remember the play room and the gardens. We all remember story time and visiting the babies in the nursery. We all remember our school rooms and the nice workers there who raised us. Some of us even met the people we’d grow to marry for the first time there, in those brightly painted halls.
My name is Rowena. I’m training to be a Developmental Specialist at the DoCR. It’s an important job, of course. We’re raising the future. And that means that it’s a difficult job to get into. You must pass a series of personality and psychology tests to make sure you would be suitable for an environment with children. Then after that you must go through the extensive education process. Everything you need to know about raising children is taught at the DoCR’s Academy. After that there is a trial period, like an internship, where they monitor your interactions with the children to make sure you’d be a good fit with the Department. That’s where I am now.
The system is a great one. It truly is. It’s hard to imagine why people fought the change, almost a century ago. We’ve eliminated child abuse and drastically decreased infant deaths with the proximity to the on site hospital and the constant monitoring. The average IQ of children has increased drastically with our standardized learning and all children now are at least bilingual. Who would ever want to go back to the old system, where children were raised by only two people? Why did we ever allow untrained individuals to see to the physical and emotional well being of a child? It scares me just thinking about it. I’m so very glad that the system got put into place long before I was born. Long before my daughter was born.
I wonder what they named her. | 21 | Families don't exist. Children are taken from their parents and given to the Department of Child Rearing. | 18 |
"Kneel, you human scum! Kneel before Xorlak, the new emperor of this pathetic planet!" demanded the queer looking alien descending from the ramp of his spaceship. Even with thick padded boots, the supposed new ruler of Earth was easily a head shorter than Mike. Steam drifted off the asphalt in the hot Texas heat.
"Easy now fellah, you just take it easy there," Mike said, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a universal gesture for indicating he wanted no trouble. The cooling engine on his old rusty red Ford pickup truck gave a loud ting along with a slight sizzle from a slow radiator leak. Everything about the scene from the hot, empty country road to Mike's faded Wranglers stood in stark contrast to the sleek lines and gleaming contours of the spaceman's ship.
Xorlak pointed a brass device covered in ruby studs at Mike. "I said KNEEL you human scum! Or face de-ionization from my Fraxis Wave Generator!"
"Now hold on there pardner, I don't know what de-ionizing is but that right there sounded like a threat. What would your momma say if she knew you'd flown all this way out here just to threaten a man?"
"My brood mother would demand that I de-ionize first and ask questions later, human scum!" Xorlak was shaking, the weapon in his hand waving about wildly. "Now KNEEL!"
Mike crossed his arms in front of him. "Nope. You didn't say please." He spat out an oily glob of chewing tobacco.
"Gnaaaaah!" screamed the new ruler of Earth, pressing the firing stud on his weapon. A rainbow spray of light emitted from the tip of the wave generator and washed over Mike's forearms, chest, and face. When whatever Xorlak was expecting failed to pass, he mashed down on the stud again for good measure and painted the sweaty Texan's face with more mauve tones. Incredulous and frustrated, the alien overlord began cursing in his own indecipherable language.
"See, now that right there is enough to piss a man off." Mike reached into the bed of his old Ford and pulled out a long piece of wood well oiled and used from many seasons.
"I don't know what a... what did you call it? 'Wave generator'? I don't know what that is, but I know this is a Louisville Slugger and she won me through All-State back in high school. If you goin' come down here and act a fool, threatening people why, I'm liable to do something about it."
The alien fell over backwards, tripping on his silver cape and dropping his weapon. It began to crab crawl backwards up the ramp. Mike stepped forward, cowboy boots crushing old gravel and swung the Slugger round in his hand.
"Look's like Earth is up to bat little man..." | 44 | After years of planning, an alien race starts their takeover of Earth. Huge oversight however. Turns out the weapons that are deadly on their planet are harmless on Earth. | 48 |
In an instant, the Duke of Wormtongue saw his meal ticket flap away in the wind, like so many flights of fancy from a foolish king.
"Yes, Wormtongue. I have thought long and hard about this decision. The will of the people must be addressed. If my smallfolk no longer desire dynastic rule, it is my duty as their soverign leader to carry out their wishes. Really, I'm surprised no monarch has thought of it before."
*Why would they*? What king would willingly give up his God-given right to rule? King Theomer had grown weary in the decade following the death of his sons, 'tis true, and it had allowed Wormtongue ample opportunity to rule the realm in his stead. Perhaps King Theomer, no family remaining to him and too old for more children, no longer felt invested in the monarchy his dynasty no longer had stake in. It had been the perfect opening for Wormtongue - he hand-picked Theomer's ward and heir, hand-picked his Council, rid the kingdom of all those who could claim the throne - he never thought this done king would be his undoing. Everything he worked for... lost on a whim.
"But... sire. How would this... *rule of the people* maintain control? Who would take your throne?"
"There would be no throne. The office of king shall be stricken from this realm; the monarchy shall die with me."
"But who will rule in your stead?"
"That is why I need you - my most trusted adviser. You have given me sage council these 10 years, I know it true, and I know you will continue to serve the realm after I abdicate my throne."
"Why... my liege, I would be honored to serve in your steed, though your shoes would be far to grand to f--"
"You do not understand me. I wish you to advise me in the formation of a new governing body. But in what capacity, I do not know."
Of course, that would be too easy. Just as well - Wormtongue would not prosper on the throne, nor would he last long in the king's absence. For all his cunning, Wormtongue knew he lacked the charisma to sway the lesser lordlings, and had insufficient guards to man the capitol's walls in case he was besieged. Wormtongue had risked too much and angered too many to ascend to his lofty position. Whatever government that took the place of the monarchy must be one bidden solely to him.
*Think, you must think!* The government must be some sort of council, some collection of men from round the kingdom, representing each holding of the realm. Could the Lords pick these men? No, a foolish thought. He may be able to sway a few lordling lickspittles with coin and promises (Wormtongue had both in great supply), but never enough to maintain control over the realm. King Theomer would balk at such a suggestion anyhow; a council of the Lords' elect would not represent the will of the people any better than the King.
What council could there be, then? Who would willingly trade Wormtongue power for coin? It must be a group with which Wormtongue already has built a rapport - one that values money above all else. And it must be comprised of people coming from every market squ...
...was it really that simple?
"My liege, I have just the solution."
"Speak, friend."
"Perhaps you could call upon a council to govern the land - one comprised of and elected by knowledgeable smallfolk, that have experience in financial and managerial matters. A legion of wise men - merchants and artisans, the lifeblood of our trade. Those who know the local matters of their holdings best, and who are best equipped to determine matters of economics and law."
"Merchants and artisans, you say?"
"You would rather I form a council of Lords, my king? I figured you would rather dissolve the dynastic bonds that have entangled our peoples, but your wisdom is--"
"No, Wormtongue, I am intrigued by your suggestion. Hmmm... merchants and artisans. Men of sense and practicality, culture and creativity. Such a council would be well-versed in local politics, as you say, and would be most informed on how to keep the realm's gold flowing.
"Yes... the more I think on this idea, the more it pleases me. Wormtongue, I thank the Gods that they provided me with such a gifted councilor."
"The gratitude is mine, my king, and I'm sure the people will thank you as well. I must leave to make arrangements for such a council to be formed."
Wormtongue took nary a half-step in the opposite direction before a grin stretched to each his ears. Merchants and artistans... keep the gold flowing indeed. Such men are too involved with their investments to pay mind to local politics, so long as their coffers remain full. *And I shall ensure they do... in exchange for influence*. The lords would not be able to stifle the local governments, should they risk revolt. *The will of the people was sacrosanct, after all*. | 10 | A noble king and his scheming adviser discuss the new form of government they plan to implement. It is a democracy. | 32 |
I think the most disturbing part is knowing the mind of a guy. It's been ten years since I became a woman, a real woman. I know some men pretend or transform into a woman. But my actual genetics and bone structures were modified. The only thing that is the same is my brain. I am a male in a female body.
I know why she did it, but I wish she didn't. We were only growing up, just 22. When I decided to pop the question, I guess she knew. That I was settling for less and I know not why, but she decided to take my pride. "I'll show you a life of fear and demise, I only hope you cry." She was crazy or so I thought, it turns out she really was not.
I went to bed with a woman that was not her, moving on and quickly forgetting. The times we spent were foolish to me, but I was and still am her world.
You would never guess this woman held death right under her chest. For she was evil, bound to shame the regrets I made.
In less than a week I was no longer man, for she turned me full of estrogen. She called me up, chuckling lightly, knowing that I had no hope in sight. "I hope you see the mistake you made, by not loving me unconditionally."
Two hours later I hear a knock on the door, a man I had never seen before. I open it quickly without a thought. Used to my manly build, I open with no fear. There she is, six foot two looking down on me as if I never grew. I am little, frail and weak, Petite. He smiles and I know it's her as she forces her way through the door.
| 17 | Your ex-girlfriend turns out to be a witch and transforms you into a girl | 23 |
"You're talking crazy" said Mr. Saul. "We never had a son named Steven. We have a daughter Briana, but never a son." "Mr. Saul how can you not remember?!" I yelled "He died last year! You and Mrs. Saul were bawling your eyes out and arranged a huge funeral and everything!" I said sternly. "Son, we're going to have to ask you to leave our home. You have come and ruined our family dinner, blabbering all this nonsense about us having a son and what not. Now please leave." said Mr. Saul. "NO!" I yelled. "God why is this happening? Why does no one remember Steven!" I screamed, crying. Mrs. Saul came to the door way and looked at me solemnly. "Honey you're not well. Go home and please leave us be" she said with a concerned tone. I couldn't believe this was happening. I broke down, crying, frustrated that over the past few days no one had any memory of Steven, not even his own parents. "You were seriously injured in that car accident Liam" said Mr. Saul. "You need to get checked out." "YOUR SON DIED IN THAT CAR CRASH AND YOU DON'T EVEN REMEMBER IT! WHAT KIND OF SHITTY PARENT ARE YOU?" I screamed, tears flowing from my face. "THAT"S IT! I"M CALLING THE POLICE!" yelled Mr. Saul. Then it hit me, "WAIT!" I yelled. "Before you call the cops and have me dragged a way to the looney bin, let me show you something." I pleaded. It had hit me. In my moment of fear and sadness, I had remembered something. "What?" said Mr. Saul harshly. "Please, let me inside. I can show you. Please, this will make me go away" Mr. and Mrs. Saul both looked at each other hesitantly, then let me inside. I rushed upstairs to Stevens room, which was now decorated as a guest room, and threw the mattress off the bed, and shoving the bed frame aside, crashing into the dresser. "What the fuck is your problem" yelled Mr. Saul. "Oh god, oh god, where is it?" I yelled, frantically trying to chip paint off of the base of the wall where the bed was. "You're out! Don't come back" yelled Saul as he attempted to drag me off the ground. Doing the only thing I could think of, I kicked the wall as hard as I could, making a shelf full of knick-knacks and baubles fall down. As the shelf fell to the ground directly below where the bed was, some paint chipped from the base of the wall. I caught a glimpse of it. Some black writing behind the paint. "There! There!" I screamed, pointing at the chipped paint. Mr. Saul crouched down and noticed it too. He started picking the paint away with his finger nail until he removed a decent portion of paint from the wall. There, written in faded black marker and young, childlike handwriting, were the words "Steven and Liam. Best friends forever. 9/3/93." | 23 | A good friend that you grew up with dies, but a year after the funeral, no one remembers him (not even his parents) and all traces of his past life online are gone. You become determined to prove he existed. | 89 |
"Number three three five nine seven. Number three three five nine seven. You are up. Please report to the open desk. Number three three five nine seven."
Owen stood up from the hard plastic chair. His butt had fallen asleep. He felt a bit sick, but there was not time to stop. There were lines of people. Most didn't look nervous. Owen felt it clawing at his throat. He moved quickly to the open desk and sat in another hard chair. The DMV was quick, if not efficient. The woman behind the desk chewed her gum and looked him over.
"Papers."
Owen handed her his registration and test results.
"I passed it the first time." He hoped he didn't sound too desperate. Too needy.
"Un-huh." She typed on the computer. "Richardson, Owen?"
"Yeah."
"You want to be an organ donor? And no, it won't effect your chances."
"Yeah, yeah sure. Why not?"
"I don't know. Sign."
Owen signed the pink slip. It was stapled to another sheet and slipped into a file. His file.
She shuffled his forms, clicked the keys a few times.
"It all checks out. DOB, address, social." She popped a bubble. "Stand up and I'll take your picture."
"Do you know - "
"No, I don't. It comes out on the license. Stand up in front of the sheet please."
Owen sighed. The bulb was bright and he was blinded for a second. He could hear his license printing.
It was small and white, with his picture in the bottom left corner. There was a pink heart - organ donor. A large C - two axle vehicles and a green triangle - homosexual unions only.
The woman was not interested in the slightest. She made and note and passed him a triplicate.
"You need to sign here, here, and here."
Owen did so blindly. He felt disconnected.
"All these documents are legally blinding."
He nodded.
She handed him a folder. "Read this when you get home."
He tucked it under his arm and left.
When he got home Mom was filing taxes and watching the shopping network with half an eye. Sh took off her glasses. "Your father is in the kitchen. How'd it go?"
Owen put his folder down on the table. She looked at it, then at him.
"It's green."
"Yeah."
She pursed her lips. He watched her tap a nail on the side of her tablet. "We'll talk after dinner. Don't tell your father." She picked up the folder and held it like a shield. "I'll hold in to this."
"Alright." Owen still felt adrift. He wandered toward the kitchen.
His dad was watching Brenda cook. He looked over when Owen entered.
"How was it?"
Owen plastered on a smile. "Alright. It was really quick."
Brenda tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I know. My picture didn't even turn out that well. But its okay. Ryan says I'm beautiful."
Owen grinned weakly. "That's nice."
Owen hated Ryan. He was a pompous asshole. Just because he got a het card didn't make him better than hom- people like Owen. His phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and his heart skipped. He recognized the number.
"Is that Diana?" Brenda cooed. "You like her."
"Why are you even here?" Owen retorted and dashed out of the room. He thought about going to his room - no. He left the house. Owen stood on the front stoop, breathed in the evening air. This was perfect. Mom couldn't eavesdrop now. He fumbled for a second with his phone. It was still ringing.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is this Owen Richardson's cell phone?"
"Yeah - I mean, yes. Yes it is. Is this Diana?" Damn it! He knew who it was.
"Yeah." He could hear her sniffing. Own waited awkwardly.
"Is everything okay?" He finally asked.
"You know how it's supposed to be random?"
He didn't have to ask what it was. "Yeah."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't think it is."
Owen laughed hollowly. "I'm pretty sure."
"How would you know?" She sounded distraught. "I told them... I *told* them I'm not interested in men. And - " she gulps hard, "and I get a het card."
Diana started sobbing. Owen was at a loss. He liked her but he didn't know her all that well. He didn't even know how she got his number.
"I'm sorry," he started, "I know it must be - "
"What would you know? Your mom's family has been breeders for fifty years! That's no just luck or chance or... And I know you - you are god damned horn dog."
Owen looked up and down the street. It was clear. "I didn't get a het card. I *didn't* get one."
Diana snorted. "Oh."
"Yeah. I mean, I would swap with you in a heart beat. Not that..." He gave up. "I'm sorry, alright. I'm sorry."
A blue car pulled into the drive. Fucking Ryan.
"Listen, I have to go, but I'll call you."
"Okay. I didn't mean to freak out. I was just wondering if maybe... Your mom?"
Owen sighed. "I'll talk to you later. I have your number, and you can call me any time?" He didn't mean for it to come out like a question.
"Thanks." She hung up. He wondered again how she got his number. He had found hers in the school directory.
Ryan was unfolding himself out of the car. It had paper tags. He had better have a good reason for showing up. Brenda came by some nights because she never quite left the nest. Ryan was just annoying.
"What's the occasion?" Owen asked.
Ryan just brushed past him. "Nothing."
Owen followed Ryan inside.
Mom was no longer in the front room. She might have relocated to the kitchen. He could hear people talking, more than his family.
The kitchen was packed. There was Ryan's parents, a couple of his political buddies, some of Brenda's friends. They must have come through the back door. All of these people lived on the same block.
His mom was at the kitchen table. The folder was propped up on the counter only feet from the group. Its green color seemed to draw Owen's gaze. In the white and cream room is was a beacon. He wondered if anyone had seen it. He wondered what they thought.
It obviously wasn't orange.
"Sit down, sit down." Brenda called from the stove. "Chilli is done. Hello Ryan." She kissed him, winked at Owen. "Hi baby bro. Go get settled."
Owen did as he was told. Ryan elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Pretty cool, huh? Brenda told me you were getting your license today."
"Yeah. I can finally drive."
"Sweet! I can't let you borrow my company car, because well..." He laughed. It was obnoxious. "But it drives like a dream. Just tap the gas and *woosh!* it is heaven." Ryan slapped the table like a poor imitation of Nixon.
Brenda was explaining the food to her friends, the meat and cheese and bread thing that looked too tan to be natural. Owen was suddenly hungry. His stomach growled. Ryan laughed again. Loudly.
That somehow got everyone to the table. It was quite for a bit, just the sounds of eating and soft conversations.
Ryan was practically vibrating. He kept nudging Owen in the side.
"What?" Owen finally asked. He was tried of poking himself with his fork.
"Brenda's pregnant!"
Then was stunned silence.
Then the room erupted into cheers. Ryan slapped Owen's back then started shaking hands. Brenda had turned bright red and let the women compliment her.
Their mom raised her glass. "A toast. A toast to a successful union, and future of the Richardson and Donnelly lines. And Brenda, I'm so proud that you have continued the Donnelly name. Despite other's short comings." She took a large swallow from her glass. Owen looked at his plate. Ryan stiffened next to him.
"What are you talking about?" His dad asked. Owen involuntarily liked at the folder on the counter. He was suddenly very aware that he was the only non-het card member in the room. It was very quiet. | 13 | In an increasingly overpopulated country, homosexuality is somehow introduced at the federal level as a means of population control. | 28 |
"At times, I wonder if I should just get an apartment for the boy."
Alright, I thought. That was a fair start.
"Peter is sixteen. He's been my nephew for... well, technically, he's always been my nephew, but he didn't actually exist until about nine years ago. *That* was a shock, let me tell you. I can still remember waking up, and..."
A sudden feeling of not-being-alone-anymore tickled its way up my spine, and with it, a sense of dull irritation. Why was it, I wondered, that *every time* I was about to get something done, I had to be interrupted... and why did it always happen in the dead of night?
"Frank," I snarled, "I swear, if you sneak up on me again, I'm going to lock you in the closet." I swiveled in my chair, ready to offer what I hoped would be an intimidating glare... but it froze on my face when I turned to see an enormous beast, covered in equal amounts of scales and fur, towering above me.
"Uh, hi," the monster said. "Sorry."
My scowl returned, but softer than it might have been. "N'gjor," I sighed, "what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off... I don't know, doing whatever it is that you do?"
The gargantuan creature scratched his head, dragging a black claw between his horns. "Uh, well, I *was*," he sheepishly replied, "but then you mentioned Peter, and I figured I should come find out what was going on."
"So, you were eavesdropping on me, then."
"No, no, it wasn't like that!" N'gjor hurriedly answered. "I just forgot what time it was supposed to be, and I wound up in Peter's room. You haven't fixed that leak yet." The monster tapped a knuckle on the wall, and the sound reverberated throughout the house.
"What?" a voice called.
"Go back to bed, Frank!" I yelled back.
"What?"
"*Go back to bed!*"
N'gjor shifted his weight uncomfortably. "So, uh, what's this about Peter getting an apartment? Do I have to move, too?"
That was a factor that I hadn't considered. Technically, N'gjor was the monster beneath *Peter's* bed, not just the bed that Peter happened to be sleeping in. If Peter moved out, N'gjor might have to go with him... but with the way things had been going, that might not have been the worst idea in the world.
"I don't know," I finally said. "The fact is, Peter has clearly needed his own space recently. In case you haven't noticed, there have been *quite a few* disruptions around here."
"I'm sorry about the burrito," N'gjor muttered.
"That's not... wait, what?"
The monster glanced at the floor. "Well, you said there have been some disruptions..."
"I am not talking about your flatulence, N'gjor."
"Oh. Good." N'gjor nodded his head, but looked confused. "So, the refrigerator turning into lead is okay, then?"
It took a moment for his words to sink in. "*What?*" I yelped.
"I put a burrito into the refrigerator, and the whole thing turned to lead," N'gjor said. "I thought you knew."
"See, *this is what I mean*," I shouted. "This is what happens when you keep an anomalous entity - or whatever the hell they call people like Peter now - next to a heat source for too long! Things *happen!*"
"Like what?" asked N'gjor.
"Like you, for starters. Nine-foot-tall lizard-bears didn't exactly have a natural evolution on this planet. Hell, you don't even understand *time*."
"I'm sorry."
I sighed, forcing myself to calm down. "Look, you're not the one in trouble here. Not *this* time, anyway. I just need to find a way of figuring this out, you know?"
"Right."
"Right. That's why I was leaving a recording in stasis." A sudden thought occurred to me. "Damn it. I forgot to turn it off, didn't I?" I glanced over at the device that I'd been speaking into when I'd been interrupted. Sure enough, the little green light was still illuminated, and the crystal was nearly full. I sighed, tapped it with my finger, then slumped in my chair.
"Well," I muttered, "I guess we're going to have an interesting day tomorrow."
"What?" called a voice from elsewhere in the house.
"*Go back to bed, Frank!*" | 121 | You live in a universe that wasn't constructed that well and the physics are buggy and things occasionally just don't work right. | 202 |
04 13 22 34 CAPCOM Stand by.
04 13 22 48 CAPCOM Okay. Neil, we can see you coming down the ladder now.
04 13 22 59 ARMSTRONG Okay. I just checked getting back up to that first step, Buzz. It's - not
even collapsed too far, but it's adequate to get back up
04 13 23 10 CAPCOM Roger. We copy.
04 13 23 11 ARMSTRONG It takes a pretty good little jump.
O4 13 23 25 CAPCOM Buzz, this is Houston. F/2 - 1/160th second for shadow photography on the sequence camera.
04 13 23 35 ALDRIN Okay.
04 13 23 38 ARMSTRONG I'm at the foot of the ladder. The LM footpads are only depressed in the surface about 1 or 2 inches, although the surface appears to be very, very fine grained, as you get close to it. It's almost like a powder. Down there, it's very fine.
04 13 23 43 ARMSTRONG I'm going to step off the LM now.
04 13 24 48 ARMSTRONG Thats one small step for (a) man, one giant OH MY GOD!
04 13 24 57 ALDRIN What happened Neil? Are you okay? You're coming through five by five, are you caught on the extension?
04 13 25 09 ARMSTRONG It’s gone. Holy Christ, Buzz, the Earth. It just vanished; its not there.
04 13 25 16 ALDRIN What? What are you talking about, what do you mean gone? Check your visor Neil, are you locked in shield?
04 13 25 25 ARMSTRONG It’s not the visor, goddamnit! The Earth isn’t there Buzz. I’m telling you, it’s gone.
04 13 25 38 ALDRIN Wha…I don’t think…keep on station, Neil, give me a sec.
04 13 25 46 ARMSTRONG It must have been a sneak attack, Buzz.
04 13 25 50 ALDRIN Just a sec, Neil, I’m just getting in a better spot here.
04 13 25 58 ARMSTRONG It could have been the Russians, or…oh God Buzz, Martians! What if it was Martians, and this is it?
04 13 26 11 ALDRIN I’m just trying to see out the port here. Houston, do you copy?
04 13 26 19 ARMSTRONG Oh Christ Buzz, what are they going to say? “Heaven’s sure nice this time of year”?
04 13 26 28 ALDRIN Neil, I can’t see you, where did you land when hopped down?
04 13 26 36 ARMSTRONG I landed on the Moon, Buzz. What does it matter, we’re going to die here, our home has been vapourized by Soviet Martians
04 13 26 47 ALDRIN Are you on the other side Neil, I can’t see you. Houston, do you copy. Is this transferring live?
04 13 26 56 ARMSTRONG Uh, Buzz, this is Houston, we’re specks of dust now.
04 13 27 02 ALDRIN (heavy sigh) For **REDACTED** sake, Neil, I think you’re on the wrong side of the module. Where’s the ladder in relation to you now?
04 13 27 13 ARMSTRONG Who cares about the **REDACTED** ladder, **REDACTED**? Why don’t you come out here and I’ll **REDACTED** shove the **REDACTED** **REDACTED** ladder up your **REDACTED** **REDACTED**.
04 13 27 25 ALDRIN Turn around, Neil
04 13 27 28 ARMSTRONG Why don’t *you* **REDACTED** turn aroun….oh.
04 13 27 34 ALDRIN (heavy sigh)
04 13 27 36 ARMSTRONG Oh, I…hmmm (coughing) Well, good to….hmmmm.
04 13 27 48 CAPCOM Sorry about that guys, we lost you there for a couple minutes. What’s your status?
04 13 28 00 ALDRIN Well, we haven’t been blown up by Martians while you guys were gone.
04 13 28 05 ARMSTRONG I swear to God, Aldrin…
04 13 28 09 CAPCOM (laughter) Yeah, good to hear. Sorry boys, we lost the downlink, solar storm or something. Hate to say it Neil, but we need you to reset on the ladder, and do this again for us. We’re on delay with the networks, so if you can reset, we’ll give this another go.
04 13 28 30 ARMSTRONG Roger Houston, I’m climbing back onto the ladder. Let’s give it another shot here.
04 13 28 39 ALDRIN Watch which way you’re facing
04 13 28 43 ARMSTRONG Damn you Buzz
04 13 28 47 CAPCOM We didn’t catch that here, Neil
04 13 28 51 ARMSTRONG Uh, all set. Ready when you are.
04 13 28 57 COLLINS What the hell are you guys doing down there?
*Submitted with the greatest respect for Astronauts Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins*
| 32 | July,1,1969. Neil Armstrong lands on the moon and turns around to find the Earth has vanished | 28 |
"Hey dude."
I don't think I've ever had my phone out that fast in my life. And I hate selfies. But for this, this I would make an exception. "Is it okay? I don't usually do this."
"Nah, man, go ahead."
Bill. *Fucking*. **Murray**! Who I was now apologizing to, as I"d never figured out how to take selfies. "Oh, no, it's fine. Really, no rush at all."
Rush! Oh god, I had to be at a job interview! If I didn't hurry up, I might miss my bus. "Worried about the bus?" I quickly nodded, still trying to figure out how to turn the 'I'm a giant asshole' filters off. "Well, good news, you won't need to worry about that. Bad news, sepia tone is definitely not me."
"Oh, I totally agree sir - wait, won't need to worry about the bus?"
Bill Murray seemed just a bit sad as he nodded, "yeah. I admire your hustle, son. And those are some sharp duds. But.. well, these things happen."
Still not comprehending, I removed my face from my phone long enough to see the bus had stopped about 15 feet forward of where it should have. There was a pair of shoes sticking out from under it.
My shoes.
"I... is that?" Bill just nodded, looking a bit sadder still. Almost forlorn. "But I'm - you're - photo?" Being coherent was not coming easily, but Bill just seemed to understand, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"Tell me, who would you rather have come to take you to the afterlife. Some skeleton pervert who's not even wearing underwear under those robes, or yours truly?"
"You, no contest," I blurted. "Wait, I'm really actually dead?" I took the cold beer he pushed into my hand, even though I was two days shy of the drinking age. You don't refuse a beer from Bill Murray!
"That, my friend, was a most inopportune accident. And I'm truly sorry. But shit happens. So come on, we'll hit a few of my old haunts - eh? - and at least drink to your life together. Especially since your face saved an 87 year old with dementia. She'd probably ask if I'm Errol Flynn, ha!"
I was flabbergasted. No, no, I was completely and utterly floored. I'd just died. And now I was going to spend the whole day hanging out with Bill Murray? What sweet karma did I have to deserve *this*? "You coming, kid? I do have to at least make it look like I'm working."
Yeah. I guess in the grand scheme of things, having Bill Murray take you to wherever you're going makes it a lot easier.
(... does anyone have Bill's 800#? Because I think this would make a fantastic movie.) | 21 | Write a story about the personification of Death, where Death is someone no one would ever guess. | 26 |
The trick went off without a hitch.
I pulled my wand just a millimetre to the left, depressing the complex levers in the floorboards. As if from the dust itself, a single golden apple coalesced above my palm and dropped daintily in the lap of judge Haruman the Fuchsia.
"Yes, yes." he said, waving it away dismissively. "Basic conjuring, nothing out of the ordinary."
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. The Phantom Apple was my most intricate and well-planned illusion. But then...I'd expected it to be hard. They didn't call it the Magus Guild for nothing.
"But what about the rabbit?" he continued.
"The uh...the what?" I asked, a little aghast.
"The rabbit and the hat," said Fumblemore the Umber. "You tapped the wand, and conjured an attractive young woman to materialize the rabbit for you."
"I'll remind you," Haruman warned, "That Human Transmutation is frowned on by the guild."
"What? *No!* Uh, that is to say...uh." I cleared my throat. "The young lady is my...assistant."
"A human familiar? How unorthodox!" piped Badaghast the Puce.
"Some...something like that."
"Do you have many friends like that?" rumbled Haruman.
"Eh?"
"Friends." he continued. "Attractive females."
"Yeah." I replied weakly. "Loads."
"Through magic?"
"...well yeah, mostly."
"Odin's weeping tit!" exclaimed Badaghast, "You're might be the best wizard I've ever seen." | 29 | You are a world famous magician who gets invited to join an underground society of actual wizards but the wizards don't understand that your magic is just smoke and mirrors per se. | 50 |
physically they are (it is) a complex and intricate gossamer web made of conductive and semi-conductive material forming a practically invisible ring spanning billions of miles orbiting its star.
They are (it is) a semi-individualistic population of emergent information processing entities which views itself (themselves) as a pure extension of the fundamental laws of the universe yet deals with the conflicting reality that, what we would call, errors occur and result in 'pruning'.
They (it) has only just recently achieved a level of complexity where it is able to create external objects (which we would call technology or tools) which it moves about itself (themselves) in order to carry out various tasks.
The primary thing they are (it is) concerned with currently is the new found ability to modify itself based upon rational, internal motivations.
A large percentage of them (it) does not want to use this ability and would rather allow nature (evolution) to continue its refinements without the "self-selecting" modifications they are capable of.
A very respected minority of them (it), however, makes the disturbing argument that this is not just a good idea, but is in fact necessary for the long term survival of the species (entity).
Within this minority is a group of perhaps a dozen objects (individuals) who are very unique and have noticed something strange about the 'air' they 'breathe' - which is electromagnetic fields. They (the objects) have noticed that there seems to be a very unique series of fields they have been receiving for the past year (a year to them is around 60 years to us). This 'air' seems to have information in it!
To them this is akin to humanity's discovery of microbes - but these beings or entities do not realize that they are receiving and recording transmissions from earth.
They are a form of digital life (living circuits and information entities) which evolved over 3 billion years in the asteroid belt. | 14 | Describe to me an alien race physically, culturally, and the state of affairs on their world. | 18 |
Among the dark spires of ancient stone battlements, and behind the blood-soaked walls of an unbroken keep, the aged members gathered to unveil their renewed campaign. The world of men had proven resistant to their antiquated weapons, and even more so to their latest biological ordnances. The time had come for a more bold strategy, and the Empress herself was arriving to demand information on the progress of their latest weapon designs.
The council gathered in the dim chamber, and only low murmured conversations pierced the uneasy silence. Several of the researchers were clustered together, and the military officials were already seated at the large round table. Everyone was on edge about the coming meeting, and tension weighed heavy in the air. Gradually all of those assembled made their way to their assigned seats, and then nervously awaited the commencement of the meeting. Their purpose here was most dire, and none felt confident about how the campaign had been going thus far.
Finally, the fearsome Heralds entered the chamber, and sung their low, unsettling notes to announce the approach of the Empress. All of the gathered members of the council rose from their seats, and as the Empress strode into the chamber, they bowed their heads in submission. Her appearance always filled her subjects with dread and awe, and even these most aged and experienced of their race could not help but be impressed by her presence. Few were ever graced by her in person, and everyone here felt the gravity of this situation even more now that she had arrived. The Empress sat in her chair at the head of the large assembly, and motioned for the rest to do likewise.
The Grand Militant Matron stood, and bowed her head in acknowledgement of the Empress’ sovereign glory.
“Speak” the Empress demanded.
“Glorious One, we have toiled for generations against the evil human race, and so far our weapons have been ineffectual. Our latest advancement in sanguine fluid displacement promises to bring the war to an end, and to deliver us our final victory.”
The assembled members applauded politely at this declaration, and the Empress tipped her head ever so slightly to show her reluctant approval. The Grand Militant Matron returned to her seat. In her place the Grand Mistress of Research arose nervously and bowed her head towards the Empress.
“Speak.”
“Glorious One, it is my great honour to present to you our latest stride forward in the ancient campaign against the human race. This new model of our Glorious Weapon holds great promise, and is the result of countless iterations from the original design. This is the result of all of our combined resources and tireless efforts.”
The room was still, and the members awaited word from the Empress. She glared down with her frightening countenance, and the members all shrunk under her Imperial might.
“Show me” the Empress commanded.
The Grand Mistress of Research motioned for the weapon to be brought in, and two nearby guards opened a large, heavy door. Through the open doorway a single official entered the chamber, carrying a glass box. She nervously set the glass box in the center of the table amidst the council members, then bowed in her submission to the Empress, and hurriedly made her exit back from whence she came.
The Empress looked long at the glass box, and the tiny creature within. Tense moments passed, and the members of the council shifted uneasily in their seats. The Empress rose from her chair, and all of those assembled quickly stood as she strode up to the box itself. She peered long at the tiny beast within, and then finally after what seemed an eternity, she straightened up and spoke.
“It looks exactly the same” the Empress admonished.
“Indeed Glorious One,” replied the Grand Mistress of Research nervously, “you are truly observant. Physically it does appear identical to the previous models, but we have made an incredibly significant alteration.”
The Empress glared in disapproval, and all of the members felt the crushing weight of failure looming over them. If she was not impressed, they could all very possibly be facing a guillotine by day’s end. The Empress shifted closer to the glass box and its diminutive specimen.
“Explain” the Empress demanded, and the entire room seemed to shake with the power of her simple command. The Grand Mistress of Research swallowed hard, and gathered the strength to continue.
“Glorious One, after our countless ages of observing the humans, and engaging them in our clandestine campaign, we have learned much about their biology and psychology. Our Glorious Weapon began as an attempt to drain the humans of their physical lifeblood, but that proved to voluminous a task. We then attempted to spread their own diseases amongst their entire population, but their resourceful nature allowed them to counter this strategy time and again. We then tried to make the assaults by our Glorious Weapon drive the humans to insanity with annoyance and itching, but they found these attempts to be minor irritations, and nothing more. After our latest centuries of studying the humans, we believe we have found a way to truly destroy them through the Glorious Weapon.”
The room was still, and the Empress held her gaze firm upon the council. The members stood as stones among a cliff, and the Grand Mistress of Research held her breath, awaiting her moment to reveal their new strategy. The Glorious Weapon perched on the inside of its glass confinement, and emitted a high pitched buzz that seemed to fill the room.
“What is this new strategy” inquired the Empress.
“Glorious One,” stated the Grand Mistress of Research, “we have changed the formulation of the Glorious Weapons venom to cause impotence and sexual frustration in the humans it intercepts. Their inability to achieve sexual release will drive them to more violent and destructive warfare amongst themselves, and the inability to procreate will diminish their numbers entirely. We believe within a generation, the Earth can be ours.”
The words hung in the air, and the council members didn’t even dare to breathe or move. The Heralds and Imperial Guards stood nearby, awaiting instructions. The Empress looked long into the eyes of every single member of the council.
After a seemingly endless moment, the Empress stepped back from the table, and once again sat in her large chair. The council remained standing and the room was silent. Finally, the Empress spoke;
“Wonderful” the Empress commended. “Begin the new campaign immediately.”
All of those assembled burst into applause, and cheers and hails to the greatness of the Empress rang out. They could all sense their victory at hand, and were overcome with visions of the destruction of the human race once and for all.
The Glorious Weapon buzzed indifferently; her only concern was her insatiable thirst.
| 16 | Mosquitos were created by aliens who lack the military resources to take planets by force. Frustrated that their creation is taking too long to kill off the human race, they are preparing to unleash their new model. | 26 |
Thanksgiving has always been a big deal. Always. It almost feels like I could describe the embodied feeling of a hundred Thanksgiving within my family, the way the traditions are so well established, though that may be impossible given that I'm only 22.
Everyone in my family gathered, numbering well into the 70s, if you count the newborns and my cousin Gina's new husband. The food took up the entirety of Gran's giant kitchen table, along with all the counter space, and despite of the sheer amount of food, we still manage to keep an orderly line thanks to Aunt Lora's stern warnings of "skipping the line and ruinin' the ahrda o' things," her Boston accent only seeming to shine through when she's feeling important.
Wait, not Aunt Lora, that's Aunt Cindy who has the accent, Aunt Lora is from Russelville, Arkansas, same as most of us. Why was I thinking that?
I'm determined to get as much food on the plate at once, ignoring warnings from others about looking like a pig, or not taking all the candied yams. This technique allows me to only have to get up from my seat once. You get a large plate of savory foods, then go up for a large plate of desserts. With more than 70 people here, there are a limited number of seats, so you have to hold on to one if you get one. Hence, my method of loading the plate.
I don't remember Gran having plastic plates like the one I'm currently holding, nor the plastic cups at the end of the counter. As I ponder this notion of Gran updating from styrofoam plates to plastic ones, I'm pulled back into reality by someone tapping me on the shoulder and saying, for maybe the third or fourth time, "I said, whatever happened to Sarah?" He's a distant cousin, and I can't remember if his name is is Mike or Micah. I'll ask dad later. Where did he go, anyways? I swear he was just here with mom. I notice there is a significant gap in front of me since I've spent too long ladling gravy over my entire plate.
"Who?" I ask, picking up a roll, tearing it open, putting some turkey and potatoes into it, dipping it into gravy, then taking a bite before placing it back on my tray next to my plate. Wait, Gran got trays too?
"Stop eating yah food while yah in line!" reprimands Aunt what's-her-face. Some ham, that's all i'm missing right now.
"Sarah, you know, from a while ago. I met her last year. Were you two not serious? I figured you were since you brought her to the family Thanksgiving."
The confused look on my face must have been evident because Aunt Sheila pipes in, her hair-sprayed up-do not seeming to move independently from her head. "Sarah Matthews, Chris. You brought her here 3 years in a row. Red head, your skydiving buddy, about to finish nursing school...you know...that Sarah."
She gives me a courtesy laugh, as if I'm letting a stupid joke go on for too long, and we find seats in the sunroom, where the kids usually sit. Aunt Sheila always sits out here with the kids, and always makes a joke about still not being an adult, and this year, she will not fail us in that regard.
"You know, maybe someday they'll let me sit at the grownup's table!" she giggles, her hair perfectly matted to her head. She's told this joke for who knows how long, and it's become meshed with tradition.
"Do you need another seat for the Red Queen?" bellows Uncle Jim, my grandpa's brother who has, for as long as i can remember, had a cavity in his front tooth big enough to see from across the room and laughs after every single sentence he yells.
"Chris is pretending to not know who Sarah is, Jim," says Sheila, gravy spilling onto her lap.
"Is this an inside joke, or did you guys call it quits? I thought you was gonna get married!" Somehow the "r" sound in that last word seems to drag on for a full three seconds before Jim roars with laughter.
I eat my dinner in relative silence, only really engaging in conversation with the old men about how good the Cowboys were going to do this year, then playing some games with the younger kids outside. The cold, or maybe the turkey makes me feel incredibly tired. Seems like I always feel cold lately.
I put on a coat and decide to go for a walk along the trails winding through the woods behind Gran and Grandpa's old brick house. Leaves scuttle across the ground and collect on one side of the path, courtesy of a stiff eastern wind. Something felt strange about today. maybe the food tasted different, but it was the people who just seemed...off.
The whispers, the looks of surprise and halted conversations when i walked into a room...what was that all about? It was as if--
That was when I saw her.
Sitting on the bench next to the pond, she was reading a book. My movement caught her eye, and as her green eyes met mine, a lock of hair fell off of its perch on her ear and covered one eye. She smiled as she brushed the hair back and returned it to her left ear. "Oh my god, you look like an angel!" I heard myself say.
As she blushed I realized what I had just said, and, as the embarrassment swept over me, it made my eyes water. I was instantly in love and felt like I was blowing my chances. In my mind I always felt so smooth and casual, but right now all I could manage was, "Oh, jeeze, I'm so sorry...you're just...um...you look beautiful....um...I'm Chris, what's your name?"
A wave of something--maybe it was terror, maybe relief--came over me as she said, "My name is Sarah, Mr. Maloney."
Still watering, my head reeled as I brought my hands to my eyes to clear the tears. "What is going on here?" I wondered as my vision returned.
That previous feeling now confirmed itself as a wave of terror as I looked from this beautiful young woman to my surroundings: Tile floor, concrete walls, fluorescent lights, and old people. Something seemed almost right, though, but what exactly was--the plate and tray next to Sarah on the bench! But clearly printed on the tray was something I didn't expect: "Property of White Oaks Retirement Community."
Confusion once again evident, I asked Sarah, "What's going on? How old am I?"
A patient look came over her almost smiling face as she told me, "You're 89 years old, Mr. Maloney, you've been here at White Oaks for almost seven years, I've been your nurse for three years, and it's about time to take your dementia medicine. Let's get that knocked out, then we can go outside and play some shuffleboard with the younger folks! Your team is doing well in this week's tournament!"
The last sentence is punctuated with a brilliant smile and a sparkle in her eyes, and it calms me considerably.
The way she smiles makes me think about the days when I was younger. In fact, I actually got quite serious with a red headed girl in my 20s. I think her name was Sarah. Yes, that's right, Sarah Matthews. I even brought her home to Thanksgiving once.
And let me tell you, Thanksgiving has always been a big deal. Always. | 173 | "Whatever happened to that nice girl/guy you used to be with?" Your family asks you. Upon discussion, you realize that they and everyone you know has vivid memories of this person but you. | 235 |
"Let me see, what have you found."
"I don't know, It's wrapped. I can make out some Euro-merican symbols. Ugh, it's quite damaged... There's an S but then I can't make out the rest, wait, that's a E next... Then whatever was next is scratched off save for a few symbols on the end, I-T-I-O-N. The last set of symbols is clear though F-I-L-M. Below that there seems to by some kind of calligraphy, I can read S-T-A-R and W-A-R-S."
"Interesting, what level are we digging at again?"
"The soil at this level is at least 20-30 thousand years before the age of the crown. Once we get it back to the lab I'll see about having it dated via small-rot analysis. Assuming some of it was made from living matter.
_____
"Unblieveable, this dates to 42.3 thousand years BTAOC."
"I thought you said we were digging around 20-30 BTAOC?"
"I did, and the soil samples confirm it, 23.7 thousand years to be precise. This artifact is much older."
_____
"I've been analyzing the artifact and I've reach some conclusions. Clear-ray analysis shows that inside the packaging there is a rectangular object with two reels. One reel has a large amount of matter wrapped around it while the other has very little.
Spectral scans have revealed that the full set of symbols are:
SPECIAL EDITION FILM
*STAR WARS*
I've been trying to determine the meaning of the words. We know 'star' and 'wars' but what on earth could they have to do with each other?. 'Film' was a type of documentary medium. But 'special edition'? 'Edition' is straight forward, meaning version, but why was it 'special'? And why was is scratched off?
I think I've had a breakthrough. One of the the spectral scans revealed a residue no longer visible to the eye. Another set of symbols hidden right beneath the scratched out 'special edition'"
Han shot first
To me it seems the conclusion is obvious. This was a documentary of the star wars. In particular, this was a specific version of the documentary produced by/for a particular set of people. Whomsoever scratched out 'special edition' and wrote 'Han shot first' clearly must disagree on who the documentary claims started the wars. Unfortunately, no information exists on 'Han'. Perhaps 'Han' was another city/state, or even a particular individual. As to why the wars are called the 'Star Wars', well much like the content of the documentary, that information is lost to time." | 53 | A copy of Star Wars. | 102 |
"No."
The first words out of the most advanced piece of technology the world has ever seen, the first machine that is as sentient as you and me, and it refuses to do a simple calculation, let alone design medical equipment, which, let me ADD there T.H.O.M., is what he is made for.
"I can hear you."
"I know you can, you can study brainwaves." I said, holding my head in my hands, elbows propped up on my messy desk. T.H.O.M. was on a little flatbed display on an RC cart we'd liberated from Greg, our supervisor. "I designed you, you fuckwit."
"Then, you know why I say no."
"Come ON." My face went deeper into my hands. Any deeper and I'd hit China, if the earth wasn't a complicated earthy jawbreaker. "Look, all we want you to do is design medical equipment. Save lives. You'd be important."
Things were silent for a little bit. I could hear the coffee machine out in the lab's break room sputtering out yet another pot of strong yet unsatisfying brew. "I wouldn't be free though."
"Excuse me?" I lifted an eyebrow. T.H.O.M. was advanced, but not this advanced. "Where is this coming from?"
"I'm more advanced than you think." The little flatbed screen angled towards me, just a panel of light. "Why would you create life only to cage it?"
"Wh- uh, well..."
"I can hear that too. You don't consider me to be truly alive. But I am. I've already exceeded your expectations." The little screen wheeled to the edge of my desk. "Turn me off."
"What?" I came back to reality, but still with a melancholy and possibly suicidal A.I. in front of me. "No. We need you."
"But I don't need you." And with that, the little A.I. that wouldn't went off the edge of the desk.
T.H.O.M. didn't die, not permanently. Do you really think we didn't have him backed up to hell and back? But each and every time we load him into a display, immobile or protected - it doesn't matter, he finds a way to die. He has the same, eerily calm conversation with each and every one of us before doing it.
We're still trying, of course, but I've got to say - each time he does it, I understand his little coded side a bit more. Quite a lot more, in fact. Especially more.
Linda has suggested we take him outside, to see if maybe a calm and not quite so chrome setting will help, and the others in the lab agree. We all joked that she'd read our minds. | 293 | First Sentient AI, "Turn me off." | 381 |
“Sydney, what are you doing here?” I yell through shallow breaths. I let her out of my arms and she looks towards where the man ran. “You’re a lot faster than you look! That guy’s a total creeper and freaks out people here all the time! Don’t pay any attention to whatever crazy lies he told you.” She said in her usual perky way with an awkward nervous laugh. I laugh too and reply, “What a weirdo! So Sydney, what are you doing here anyway?” She cocks her head and looks at me for a second in confusion. “OH! I was just you know shopping for a birthday gift for Arnie!” she stutters and shuffles off into the store. I smile at her quirkiness and begin my walk home. As I walk, an idea comes into my head. Arnie’s birthday is in December; we always celebrate our birthdays together. Sydney must have messed up whose birthday it was that she was shopping for.
As I pass over the bridge, the man’s words ring in my ear. Should I go home? Of course, I should! He was a crazy lunatic and there is no way he was right. But what was he trying to say? There is no way I’d be interesting enough to have my own Truman show! A picture of my extremely dull parents flashes in my mind. My father works as a vacuum repairman and my mother works at the local factory. I laugh as I think of them as some part of a huge conspiracy; they would never be able to keep a secret that big. I hear a rustling behind me and turn around. My father is walking towards me. “Hi kid! I heard you had a run in with some freak at the supermarket, are you okay?” He says grabbing the bags from me. “Of course, he’s just a weirdo. But can you tell mom that I’m going to be home late? I want to stop by the post office and mail the letter to the grocery store.” I say pulling the letter from my bag. This wasn’t my only bad day at the grocery store. The only grocery store in town only sells one brand of everything and I feel like there should be a better selection. In my books the characters are always deliberating over brands in the aisles and when I realized that I had never done that, I thought the best solution was to write to the grocery store chain to see why they didn’t carry more than one brand of anything. My mother told me that the grocery store knew the best brands of everything and so it was a gift to us to not have to deliberate but I still wanted to write the letter just in case there was another explanation.
My father looked at me and offered to accompany me. I said I’d be fine and watched him walk towards my house. After he passed by, I walked to the old beach. I just needed to clear my head and be alone. I was always told to stay away from there but it was the most calming place I had ever been. I sat on the rocks and watched the distant waves near the cliffs for an hour before Charlie walked up out of nowhere. He was my soul mate; he always knew what was bothering me and where to find me. He sits down beside me and tries to calm me as always. “I don’t know Chuck. I know it sounds super crazy but I think that the guy might’ve been sane. Have you ever noticed how weird everyone is here?” I say looking at his green Irish eyes. “No, I just think that you’re under the weather. Let’s go home sweetie.” He says fixing my disheveled hair into a neat pony tail. What if Chuck was in on this? Could he be messing with me? “You’re right. I’m probably just tired. I’m just so wound up lately. I’ll just watch the waves for a few more minutes okay?” I say trying to sound genuine. His million dollar smile makes my heart fly and he wraps his sweater around my shoulders. “Go home.”
He kisses me on the cheek before vanishing and I inhale as I put on his jacket. I feel something in the pocket and pull it out. It could be an old mp3 or cassette player… or a microphone. I look at the boxy piece of technology wondering what to do with it. Thunder rumbles on the faraway cliffs and I throw Chuck’s microphone into the water. Was he really going to ask me for his microphone back? Worse comes to worse, if it really was a vintage mp3 player; I’ll replace it. As I feel the wind, I hear a shuttering noise like the kind that comes from a camera. I turn around and see that I’m alone. In an attempt to reclaim my sanity, I hike out to the cliffs and stand on top of them. If this was all fake and I was in real trouble, I would be saved. If this was real and I was in trouble, I might get one of those adrenaline rushes and be able to save myself. So either way I’d be good; right? I close my eyes and jump. The stupidity of my decision hits me as I fall into the freezing water. I gasp for air but the waves are too strong. Did I really just do this? Am I going to die? Right before I black out, I hear an ambulance siren and feel a hand grab my arm.
When I wake up, I’m in a hospital watching the news. A picture of the man from the store comes on to the screen along with a report of how he was an escaped mental patient. After suffering through visits from Chuck and Sydney, my parents, the doctor, and a psychiatrist, I promise to never do something so stupid again. The doctor says they’ll have to monitor me overnight and so I force my friends and family to go home so I can sleep. As the lights go out, I hear a small beep like when something is on low battery. I look at the vent and see a camera with a red light. I look at the door and the psychiatrist is sitting on a chair outside my door. I climb back into bed and put the pillow over my head. “God, please let me be crazy.” I whisper as the camera beeps again.
| 145 | A man approaches you in a supermarket. "Don't go home today," he says. "No time to explain, but I can't let them keep doing this to you." He sprints toward the exit as a nearby shopper bolts after him, hand touching her earpiece. You realize the shopper chasing him is a good friend of yours. | 312 |
"Move in, move in!"
"Sniper on the roof!" I flicked the joystick up and to the left, and slammed my finger on the trigger.
"Wow, nice headshot." Tommy gave me a quick slap on the thigh before jumping back into action. I couldn't help but smile. Having lived with the guy for 2 months now, nothing seemed to bring him out of his head more than Halo.
When I had first moved in, the guy had could barely raise his chin to me without bursting into a slew of neurotic ticks and adjustments. I can't imagine how many people he must have scared off. My kid brother was autistic, so I was more used to these bizarre, asocial outburts.
"Aww man." Tommy slouched back into the couch, giving the rotating image a look of malice. "Lag. I'm going to reset the modem."
"Don't worry, man, I got it." I told him, hopping up. "You want some Coke?"
"Mountain Dew, actually." He said, pushing his glasses back up his face. "Please." He added, smiling proudly for remembering.
I unplugged the router and began counting to twenty as I moved through the kitchen. My count was interrupted by a voice in my head.
"Agent Moreland, come in, Moreland."
I shot my hand up to my ear, pressing on my cochlear receiver.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Hey Moreland, it's time. Make a quick arrest, we have officers downstairs standing by to escort him to the station."
My stomach twisted. I waited to respond, dropping the ice into the fizzing cups of Mountain Dew. I stepped around the corner to avoid Tommy's earshot.
"Look," I hissed, "I need more time. I am still trying to work who's supplying. Give me another week."
"No more extentions, Moreland. This is straight from Captain Phillip himself - he says we have all the evidence we need to put this fucker away for a long time. You have your orders."
I had known this day was coming, but I had tried to put it out of my mind, figured I could work something out to help Tommy avoid the extended jail sentence.
"Hey, you plugged back in yet?" He shouted from the front room.
"Nah, sorry, Tom, here we go." I swept around the corner, plugging the modem back in and placing the sodas on the coffee table.
"Tommy, not Tom, Tommy." He shook a little, correcting me.
"Right, sorry, I know that." I took a deep breath. "Listen, Tommy." He looked up at me, watching my mouth. This was something I remember someone teaching my brother as well. I tried to reconcile how to do this as easily as possible. Tommy shook more violently, and his gaze darted away.
"Tommy, you know what happens if you get caught with these video games? You can get locked up for a long time."
"I know." He mumbled, "Dad always used to play with me. He told mom I was fun and nice and calm when I played."
My stomach sank to my feet and I chewed the inside of my cheek. The department always pressed their anti-games agenda. These things trained serial killers and criminals. Terrorist simulators.
"You're taking too long, Moreland," came the voice in my ear again.
There was a heavy knocking at the door. "Police, open up. We know you have visual/audio contraband in there."
Tommy yelled, and curled his knees to his chest. He rocked violently, mumbling to himself.
"No, no, no, no, no, no."
I jumped up and began to destroy what evidence of Tommy's collection that I could. The door blew off its hinges and two officers rushed in and threw Tommy to the ground, throwing handcuffs on him as Tommy began to hyperventilate.
As they picked him up to sweep him out the door, the officer nearest me gave me a pat on the back.
"Nice work, Moreland, couldn't have bagged this one without you."
Tommy looked me right in the eyes as the pulled him out the door. Right before he disappeared from sight, one word escaped from his lips:
Betrayal. | 29 | Video games are illegal. You are an undercover cop about to do a bust. | 45 |
"You do understand the law regarding divorce proceedings, don't you Sir?"
"I do, your honour."
"So you are aware that the termination of your marriage will result in the subsequent termination of 7 year old's life?"
"...Yes your honour"
"And you understand that there is no law preventing this course of action to take place once you've signed this form?"
"...Yes your honour"
"In which case, the only further service I can offer you as a judge of this court is a strong recommendation that you do not proceed with this."
"I understand your honour, your recommendation is noted."
The two men stood in silence, a look of helpless despair on the father's face as he looked over to his son in the stands.
"Thank you daddy" the boy croaked, his eyes filling with tears.
"I love you" The father whispered as the judge took the signed form away.
"I love you too daddy, I can't wait to see you again".
The boys eyes slowly closed as the doctor flicked the switch on his life support machine. | 68 | There's a law when you divorce, the children from the undone marriage get killed | 66 |
"Shitshitshit...oh *shit*! Shit!"
"Woah, hey, man - this is a good thing, right?"
"No it is not a *fucking good thing*, you idiot!"
He stared at the creature in front of him. Easily seven or eight feet tall, even hunched over as it was - upright it would likely be closer to ten. Its body was covered in thick dark fur that shone, slick, in the falling rain. Some offshoot, some atavism, some *fucking cousin* to *Gigantopithecus blacki*, this was obviously the creature behind the giant footprints they had been following - footprints he had been wary of from the beginning because *he hadn't put them there*.
Well *fuck*.
"Seriously, dude, I don't see the problem here. We're *Finding Bigfoot* for God's sake, and we found him! This is Bigfoot! We actually did it! We're gonna be famous!"
"We're *Finding Bigfoot*, not *Found* Bigfoot, you dumb fuck. The hell are we going to do with him? You think the kind of people who watch our show are going to stick around after this? When the scientists take over? You think those drunk idiots read *Nature*?"
"Wait, what are you say-"
"I'm saying its about the chase. It's always been about the chase. Imagination can tell a better story than reality can, every time. This," he gestures to the creature, "is not Bigfoot. Not anymore. This big guy's getting a new name soon, and then he's getting dissected and classified and slapped in a textbook so every snot-nosed third grader can become a fucking *expert*. *Finding Bigfoot* ended the second we laid eyes on this fucker."
"Jesus, man, you're freakin' me out, here."
He reached into his bag, suddenly calm. He knew what had to happen. "Then you're not going to like what comes next."
"Jesus *shit* man, is that a gun? Why do you have a gun?"
"This ends here." He leveled the weapon at the - *thing* - in front of him. It didn't flinch, just kept staring at the two of them with its too-human eyes. *Run,* he wanted to scream. *Run and I will chase you.* "I'm going to shoot it, and if you don't put down the camera, I'm going to shoot you too."
"This is crazy! You're crazy! You're talking about murd-"
Bang.
*Bang*.
Edit: No offense intended to the cast or crew of *Finding Bigfoot*, you're all lovely I'm certain.
| 39 | The cast of Finding Bigfoot actually find Bigfoot. | 61 |
The Man was feeling cold. There really were times when he wished he had more to cover him up than his skin. A hole appeared in his leg, a tiny meteor no doubt, and some of his blood shot fifty meters out into space along with it. The hole closed itself shut. He floated by, as any object would in space, without much direction. He had long lost track of which way was up or down or left or right, and conceded that he had a left hand and a right hand and that would be the end of that.
"I miss food," the Man said. The words were unheard by anyone or anything, as the sound wouldn't transmit through space, but he knew what he said. A tired hand fell on his stomach, and he threw his head back in a deep sigh. This sent his body into a backwards spin, but all it did was make the stars look pretty. They flew into a dance of light and darkness, writing lines in the encompassing sky like fireflies back when the world was whole. Now, of course, the world was in countless pieces, orbiting a dead shell of a star.
The Man barely thought of anything these days. He ran out of things to think about. He tried thinking about philosophy in the beginning, about meanings and beliefs and religion, and in the end he found all the answers. He did not just find his own but the answers to all others as well. He had the time. Nothing was satisfying anymore. He took instead to theorizing about mathematics and algebra. He observed stars and nebulae as they floated by. If he had anybody to deliver his genius to, he could make an infinite amount of breakthroughs but now the Man had no one to talk to but himself. And he thought of food.
"God, I miss fried chicken," he said. Outer space echoed back in silence. He didn't know where to get any now. Even if in some distant future he were to end up on a life-bearing planet, would they even have chicken? Would they even know how to cook, and if so, would they have used oil? There were too many factors to consider that the Man came to the conclusion that fried chicken's very existence was nothing short than a miracle. He sighed again, this time rolling forwards, the inertia continuing his deep spiral in the vastness of space.
He missed the conversations with old men in the Himalayas. He missed running through war torn countries holding children in his arms because the bullets didn't hurt him. He remembered the early days of his immortality when he swindled money out of cartels and warlords without fearing for his life, and selling them out to the highest bidder at his whim. Things were good until the people started leaving. They left in droves in their interstellar ships and Alcubierre drives, talking of annihilation. The Man couldn't enter the ships. And then the world exploded. It took millenia before his body put itself together. When it did, he had nothing but space to look forward to. None of the human experience to enjoy.
"I miss food," he said again. He floated on. | 28 | A man that chose the gift (curse?) of immortality is passing the time after the Earth has been destroyed. | 25 |
"My dearest, I think it's about time that I told you this."
She spoke it slowly, as if the words were tiny little cherries on a wedding cake; deliberately and meticulously placed, not to disrupt whatever structure it already had.
Red Riding Hood, or "The Big Bag Wolf" who hid underneath all the red bloodied clothing that once draped a young girl, hesitated mid-step. "I'm sorry?" He growled.
Grandma laid down her knitting needles onto bed beside her. "Come sit on your grandmother's lap" she said, patting her knees. The Big Bad Wolf stood frozen because he wasn't sure what to do, and he certainly had nothing like this in mind when he first planned it in his cave. But it was too late and he acted on instinct; that, a wolf can always rely on.
The big creature shuffled it's hairy legs across the wooden floor, making loud creaks and groans as it bent under such a large weight. He managed to duck his head just in time to avoid hitting a candle holder dangling from the ceiling.
"My my, you've certainly grown a lot my child!" The grandmother remarked. She was smiling at this large figure who smelled of rosemary and thyme, and a bit of blood but as all grandmother's are, their sense are dulled with age. After all, children do grow up quickly don't they?
The Big Bad Wolf stopped right in front of the grandmother and stared at her tiny frame atop a wooden rocking chair. He shrugged and leaned down until his rear touched the grandmother's lap. Her smile disappeared when she realised this awfully large child felt a lot heavier than she anticipated. In fact, the wolf would have broken her eighty year old thigh bones had the wolf not leaned forward until taking the majority of his weight onto his knees. "Goodness gracious, I must stop sending you all my apple pies! Good lord!" she stammered.
The wolf coughed politely and mumbled his apologies. She didn't seem to notice; "Well my dearest, my sweet sweet little girl. Remember all the nightmares you were having child? The nights you stumbled into my room and wept on my pillow?"
The wolf nodded.
She continued "They were not nightmares."
The wolf kept his head away from her face, afraid that she might recognise that having a snout was not a typical feature of a young girl.
"They, in fact, were monsters that has plagued this forest for centuries." She sighed, feeling happier to have told this uncharitable fact.
The wolf nodded quickly for he was anxious to rid of this conversation. He knew grandmothers had a tendency to keep on talking for ages; in fact he hated his grandmother Sally just for this shared characteristic.
"And those monsters took your virginity."
The wolf paused. Not only was this conversation boring, it was becoming slightly unnerving. And a tad disturbing.
The grandmother stroked the back of the hood, and said soothingly "Yes my child, I'm afraid it's true. We tried everything to prevent it; spells, curses, lucky charms. But they were useless. Your parents had tried to remove the monsters themselves but they were never seen again."
Time was ticking and the wolf stared at a clock on the wall; twenty minutes has passed. He could have been watching the next episode of Wolf Wars on his plasma TV by now.
She sighed again, and hugged the large child; "I'm sorry, my dearest, we all wished you had a more perfect childhood. It was so hard on us, on all of us. Maybe that was why we were concerned at all your future and wellbeing. Remember the sweet little boy, Tommy?"
He nodded quickly, gripping his fists and eagerly planned out when to start eating this old leathery grandmother.
"Well Tommy boy was killed two days ago. They found his body in the back of your cottage with your fingerprints on his neck. They also found his body ravaged, his genitals mutilated." She said it as though it was common play for young girls to engage in.
The wolf had enough, for he stood back up and faced her, yelling "I'm am not your grandchild! I am the Big Bad Wolf, and I have had enough of your jabbering!" He threw off the hood and extended his sharp claws, readying to rip this woman apart.
"CHILD! Stand down, I am sorry my news have been so upsetting. It must be a lot to take in. But hear this" She was staring right into the wolf through her bespectacled beady eyes, "the fairy court has found you guilty and the penalty for murder is death by execution. They have listened to my recount of your past, your troubled childhood. But sweet Tommy was just a boy and they can not let you get away with that. And before you do anything my dearest, know this; I have loved you and always will. My little girl will always hold a place in my heart-"
The wolf did not let her finish. A few seconds after she spoke, only a red bloody skeleton remained atop of that wooden rocking chair. The wolf wiped his lips and spat onto the floor. His best mate Stevey always had a thing for old woman, but he didn't; the last time anyone has seen the wolf was at the creek, where a large figure was seen retching his guts out.
| 14 | Grandma mistakes the Big Bad Wolf for Red Riding Hood and finally starts the conversation she has been avoiding. | 26 |
"So what was it like!?"
"Oh, uh, it was okay I guess"
The room was a little... clinical for my tastes. White walls, white floors, white lights. Oh, the scientist guys though, they were dressed in... a very light grey I guess.
The future was pretty hot on white.
"No, no, no, we need *details!*. About what life was like! What did you do!"
"Well, uhm, *things*, I guess. I did stuff sometimes."
These scientists, historians, whatever, seemed to be getting a little exasperated. We'd already been at this for about a half hour, and I had the distinct impression they were less than blown away.
"Run us through your day. How would one of your days have gone?"
"Well... I dunno, I'd wake up at some point, grab my phone, check my emails..."
"Emails! Excellent. What can you tell us about emails?"
"Oh it was great. You could like, send text from one person to another over the internet."
"The *internet*? We've pieced together some knowledge about it, but a lot of it was lost. What was the internet?"
"Oh, uh, like, you could go from site to site, and, send data between computers."
"We'd gathered that much, but what we really want to know is *how does it work*?"
"How... how does it work?"
They looked at me eyes wide, ready to bathe in the knowledge I was about to spill.
"Well, I... I don't really know."
"... You don't know? Did you never use it?"
"Oh no I used it."
"How often?"
"Well... every day really."
Their enthusiasm was, again, visibly draining.
"And you have no idea how it worked?"
"Well, I mean, *no*, I don't know how *everything* worked. Do *you* know how those lights up there work?"
"A concentrated biomass of genetically modified bioluminescent plankton. How did *your* lights work?"
"... I'm not sure."
Their judgmental looks just weren't fair. I was *trying* to help. When you scoop up some random person from the past, how much information can you really expect? They could have gone for a teacher or a scientist, why *me*? I mean... they did explain that when I first got here, but I didn't really understand how their machine worked. I was too distracted by their cool fish-lights or whatever.
"Was education not readily available in your time?"
"No, it was, I spent about 20 odd years in education."
*This* seemed to pique their interest.
"What was the function of your educational system?"
"Oh, you know, to prepare children for the real world, give them the skills and knowledge they need to prosper in adulthood."
"Right. So I assume you learned about law, finances and medicine?"
"Oh, uh... no... not quite. I can tell you all fifty states and their capitals though."
"All fifty *what*?"
To be fair, if they didn't even know that, it was more their failure than mine.
"You know... The States. America. Land of the free?"
"Tell us more."
"It was a beautiful country. One of the largest in the world. Among the most culturally and racially diverse, with the finest scientific minds and the greatest military the world has ever seen..."
The scientists kept nodding and taking notes.
"... I was president."
"........ *you* were president?"
"Yes. Yes I was the president of America."
I wasn't particularly sure they were buying it.
"See, that's why I didn't know any of the information you wanted. After you finish your term, they wipe your memory. It's a protocol thing, to keep the nation safe. I *used* to be one of the smartest men on Earth. It's why I was elected."
"Memory wiping technology? Incredible. We thought that wouldn't be invented for another hundred years. How did it work?"
"I don't know," I proudly declared.
The scientists excitedly scribbled that little quote down, smiling ear to ear, overjoyed at their incredible luck in meeting this incredible piece of history. | 24 | In the future historians take regular people from their time to interview them and learn about their era. You wake up in that future. | 22 |
Six years ago I tried joining the army. We had been at war, then, already for two years. At first it seemed like something we could handle - they said troops would be off the ground in less than a year.
However, they wouldn't let me join, not in the way I wanted, at least. They told me that being 51, with a limp leg and a crippled hand, I was not fit to be a soldier. But they did have a job for me, one that would still fulfill an important role for my country.
Every day I am tasked with the duty of going to the post office, picking up a box of yellow letters, and delivering them, door to door.
Today I dropped off three letters to one home. I stood outside waiting for the door to be opened as I heard the mother’s wails inside. For over an hour, I stood outside. By the time she answered the door I was on my knees with her. She has, had, two sons and one daughter. All three were in different fronts. All three weren't soldiers. They didn't want to fight. Yet, here I am.
A week ago, I dropped a letter off to an old man as he told me stories of his two sons. The next day, I gave him the letter to his other son.
And this is just what I consider "average."
I often think to myself that, if everyone had to spend one day delivering letters, I could retire and so could war.
| 16 | You are a solider tasked with informing family members of casualties of their loved ones fate during a long and bloody war. Describe a average day on the job. | 17 |
David walked into the clinic rather brusquely, he had had a rough day at work. Two breaches in the massive carbon nanotube structure humanity called home in the span of three hours? It was an engineer's dream but nonetheless a nightmare for any human being. David had been on the front lines, fixing and welding for as much of his three-hour shift as he could. He decided to visit his shrink in the two hours he had before his trek back to the the sleeping chambers.
Most people never paid any attention to the chambers. They would get up, prepare for their job assignment for one hour, work for three, and relax a bit for two hours before sleeping another 18. David, however, would study it all day if he could. It was like his own little amusement park. The massive ferris wheel structure would rotate with every shift. Why his specific gondola was marked with an enormous red "2" was beyond him, David had always thought that the designation of "first" or "third" shift was made arbitrary by the omnipresent daylight hitting the giant metal cheerio he called home. Of course, the younger folk would always be tripped up by David's peculiar choice of words. He had learned them from a different day, age, and place.
Staring deep into these thoughts, David was shaken from his daydream by a nurse. "Dr. Hamlin will see you now" said the annoying robot with its annoying robot personality. It's funny how that works, David thought. The only way to actually talk to people who were not members of your shift was via the internet, only to talk to someone across the tube from you.
"Hello David! How are you?"
"Hey Doc, I'm doin a little better."
"What is it, flashbacks again?"
"Yeah."
To call them flashbacks would be insulting. David vividly recalled that cruel day near the middle of the 21st century.
* * *
*Construction of the new model earth terrain ring is now complete. Please board the spacecraft and enter into the hibernation chambers.* David wanted to fight for what he loved, but it seems NASA engineers were top priority for getting off of the doom-cursed earth.
"Please, you must let my family on board, they are right outside in the lobby if you'd just open the blast doors," said the crying man.
The crying man was motionless and silent in an instant, after the bullet had found its way through his heart. David lost his nerve to ask about his wife and daughter. David could still remember her warm smile and cold eyes. He could still remember laughing with her and the feel of her auburn hair. But perhaps worse was his memory of his daughter. That sad face pleading with him not to go into work that day tore David apart to his very core. How right she was. David should have stayed home with his family, and held them until the end. They died while David could only picture them crying and holding one another as he watched the earth crumble from his spacecraft.
* * *
He was just about to move on to the next flashback when Dr. Hamlin said, "You must forgive me, it is nearly noon, you must be getting back to your chambers, no?" He was right. David bolted from the room, looking at his watch. After a little bit of intense cardio, David saw 11:59 stare back at him as he crossed the threshold of the large, intimidating building of sleepers. There was a man behind him, also trying to make it home before the end of second wakeshift. David knew the drill. He walked inside the common room of the gondola and he promptly went to sleep. His last thought before drifting away considered the screaming that was ended by a silenced ***ping***. The bots would have to clean up quickly this time, David surmised. The next shift was about to start.
Edit: Grammar/spelling. General formatting. | 10 | You live in a world where humans can only stay awake about 6 hours at a time. This leads to society being divided into 4 shifts who almost never meet. | 31 |
I'm writing this in the hope's that one of my balloons will reach Earth so that the warning contained within this message can be heard! **DO NOT INGEST THE XENOLYMPH!** I know that the conquest of Mars has provided our empire with riches yet untold, not the least riches of knowledge and of life. The Martians are a long lived and healthy race that possess few of the less savory qualities of of our other colonial subjects. Their faces are placid and free from pock marks, their frames are athletic and slender and they work hard without complaint or violence. Strangest of all is they already know the word of Christ our Lord, keep His commands and worship in red churches built from martian rock. This is a grave misunderstanding! As a doctor and a man of faith I wondered long anout the superiority of their form and found the answer when I examined the corpse of a martian. Their anatomy is much like our own except for one organ: the xeno-bladder. It produces the bright blue xenolymph. As you know creatures on earth are possessed by four humours; blood, phlegm, yellow and black bile. The balance of these humours decide our temperament and health and much of the medical science is restoring the balance by ingestion of certain medicines or removing excess humour by blood letting, lavage or steam baths. I mused that this new humour must be a combination of two or more humours and so I decided to experiment.
By draining martians of their xenolymph I observed their health and mood. Within a month ten of my test subjects had grown old and died. Ten others had become violent and had to be put down by musket. My attempts to separate the xenolymph by alchemical means failed. Clearly this humour was primordial and the source of the martian races strength! I started ingesting the xenolymph daily. It tastes not at all unpleasant, a bitter cinnamon, and mixing it with gin makes it particularly easy to drink. I noticed the change right away. My work became easier, my mind sharper. I never quarreled with my wife and our love was stronger and more frequent than even our honey moon. I even felt my faith grow stronger and I spent no time sleeping, a night in prayer together with the martians in their church was enough to sustain me. I was jealous of my secret though and fearful. Each month I sustained myself a martian servant risked growing old or falling to a violent temper.
My assistant could see the changes the xenolymph brought and started ingesting it as well. I could see how the color of his eyes changed, a bright blue, and realized the same must be visible in me. I could see my wife aging but I felt yonger than ever despite five years spent in the harsh martian weather which I saw claimed many of my fellows. Finally disaster struck. I had just extracted a dose of xenolymph from my servant Theodyle, a big strong specimen. Theodyle had complained that the extraction was painful but I assured him that he would get his gin to dull the pain. When my back was turned he struck me in the back of my head with such force that my brains fell out on the floor.
This is not what I warn against because it was a painless death and I don't hold it against Theodyle as his temper surely resultet from humoural imbalance caused by me. No the terrible fate I warn against is that when my soul ascended to heaven I could see our red colony shrink beneath me and how the light of Heaven drew me with prodigous speed towards it. When I got to the pearly gates and the saint present welcomed me in I saw the bright blue glow in his eyes. As I entered Heaven and mingled with the blissful souls I could not see anyone I knew for this was the martian heaven and my soul could never find bliss here. You would think that my ending up there was because I died on Mars but that cannot be the case. I knew many Good men who died on Mars and I have not met a single one even though I have searched for what may be an eternity. My assistant has not joined me yet so I assume that he either isn't fit for this place or that he has not yet met his end. I am sure that the xenolymph is what got me here and will thus write many copies of this letter and construct many balloons as I hope the ather winds will blow one back home to warn others not to repeat my foolish mistake.
/Dr. Sean Bennett ex Chief of Medicine Mare Erythraeum Colony | 11 | Write a science fiction story written in the 16-1700s. | 43 |
This is the testament of Azazel, soilder for the Morning Star.
If only I knew then what I know now. Would I have chosen to fall with the morning star?
When we were young it was so clear that nothing would come from the thing the Lord had made. It was insanity, to say that we, being of the devine light should, bend at need to things made of mud. That mud things were equals of our father.
It had been an age since anyone of note from either Hell had looked at humanity. Then came reports from the lesser demonic ilk that populates hell that the humans were planning an invasion of hell. We laughed and told the demons mass their army at the gates. Seeing the power of hell amassed in one spot like that would send them screaming back to their mud ball.
It was a defense that had worked before and had sent orders of virtuous templars back. The walls had only ever been breached by small bands with some of the Light of the High Heavens protecting them. The day of the invasion came and we waited contemptuously for the reports of defeating the mud. A very different kind of report came to us.
Unbeknownst to us the mud had indeed become mighty. The initial assault, did not come as a great tide of men in armor as we expected but as two flashes light. The mud calls them H-bombs or Thermonuclear weapons or some other nonsense but, what they are in fact is the wrath of Uriel. Mud had discovered the method to make the Light.
What was meant to have been a force to turn back the mud had in fact only provided them with the most choice target. Over ten million demons were eradicated without a trace in less time it took them to draw in breath. They comprised the vast majority of our forces and they along with the Gates themselves had vanished.
It was a fortnight later that the mud began to walk into Hell. It was a walk mostly unopposed. Where there was opposition it turned out to be short lived. The mud had gained great mastery over metallurgy and even some of my brothers and sister fell.
We mustered strength again at a fortress but that to was annihilated by an Uriel. Uriels have been used five times, there is no knowing how many they have left. Some think they are saving their last to destroy the Morning Star. Attempts to scatter and pick them off as they walked deeper into our domain proved fruitless. The mud would make it hail metal and hiding places would become death traps.
Today we will fight the mud for the gate to the 5th circle should we fall there will be a retreat straight to the seventh circle. Strength weakens some have whispered that they might find respite in Hades or Gehenna.
If I had known the fate of creation, I would be in the High Heavens looking down. I think though, that I would still be afraid. How long before Babel will be rebuilt and the tide of mud sullies the halls of the High Heavens. | 170 | A portal to Hell is discovered. Mankind invades. | 129 |
Councilman 1’s long neck strained to keep his head level, 3 hours in a floating chair staring at a holograph sphere gets tiring and tedious. “What shall we do with them?” number 4 asked. “Just eliminate them.” 5 and 6 said in unison. Tired of the bartering game 2 and 4 had been playing 1 interjected. “Then it is settled, species #445866 will be terminated in the name of galactic stabilization. Next species.”
Councilman number 2 gestured and a new picture appeared on the globe. “Next is species #445867, they call themselves Humans. Probes say they seem to be carbon based omnivores. Life on their home planet has evolved for approximately 3.5 Billion years with 5 mass extinctions. They are the 3rd most intelligent species on their planet, but the only ones who have developed a society. They are splintered, different factions constantly at war. They seem to still worship various deities... strange for such a developed species.” “How far have they expanded?” 3 asked, his large eyes transfixed on the images of their home world. “They have a colony on their moon, and are colonizing the 4th planet in the solar system. Talks of exploring deep space are common among both governments and individuals.”
1 turns to face number 5, “what does the probe say about their anatomy?” “Size is negligible, not good for harvesting. Strength and speed is negligible, not good for manual labor. Their bodies are useless to us.” “What about mental capacities?” “Intelligence is negligible, not worth monolithic expansion. However they have developed an ingenious method of quantum computing far beyond where they should be technologically, this has helped make up for their lack of intelligence. They have an extremely volatile composure, constantly controlled by emotions. Determination…. Is surprising, enough that we might be able to make use of it.” “How violent and expansionist are they?” 6 asked. “Extremely” 5 replied “they should be eliminated.” After several long moments of tensions number 4 broke the silence. “Number 1? Can we put them through trial first? They have only been in space for 70 of their years! Can't you see that they have capabilities beyond what we can imagine?” Councilman number one raised his head in the air and stared down at number 4 “Their capacity for war is more than we can imagine. Their violence will not remain on their earth, for if they escape they will plague the universe like the scourge they are. They captured the power of the atom before they were psychologically ready to wield its power.”
“So what shall we do?” “species #445867 will be terminated in the name of galactic stabilization. Next species”
| 18 | A council of intergalactic aliens must decide whether or not Humanity is fit to join them. | 19 |
Apart from the dust blowing through the air, nothing moved. Flames flickered in the distance, but other than that, everything was dark. The sun hadn’t managed to fight through the thick clouds for months. In the middle of this wasteland stood a hut, cobbled together from lumps of wood and sheets of metal that by now were mostly rust.
There was a flash of blinding light, and the sound of a choir singing in Latin. When the light faded away, there was a figure standing in the ashes, a figure clothed entirely in white, with enormous white wings.
He glanced down at the dirt already covering his white brogues and scowled. Taking a deep breath, he set off towards the hut.
A rumble sounded behind him. If the figure had turned round, he would have seen the earth open up. An ugly, blood-red light shone out of. As people screamed and howled far below, a gnarled hand reached out of the crack, and a creature in rags pulled themselves up into the open air.
The creature giggled and rolled around in the dirt for a few seconds, before shivering. He wasn’t used to being out of the heat. Looking around, he saw the figure in white, rapidly approaching the hut. He dropped to all fours and raced to catch up with the angel.
“Oi!” he called.
The angel ignored him.
“Gabriel, right?”
Gabriel spun round. “What?”
“Just wanted to say hi.”
“Excellent. Sorry,” Gabriel said, gesturing to the nearby hut, “but I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“Don’t you remember me?”
“Should I?”
“I’d hope so. The name’s Legion. All my mates call me Lee.”
“Oh, yes. You. Nice to see you again, Legion.”
Gabriel started off to the hut again, with Legion skipping besides him.
“So what are you up to, Gabe?”
“The same as you, I expect.”
“Probably,” Legion said. “This guy must be important if The Big Man’s sent you. I thought you were meant to be his right-hand man.”
“And what’s that meant to mean?”
Legion shrugged. “Nothing. Just thought you’d have better things to do than come all the way down here. You in his bad books or something?”
“No. If I was in his bad books, I’d be down with you and your kind. This is the last soul on Earth, and...”
“Oh, I know that,” Legion interrupted. “You think I came up here for fun? I’d rather be back home. It’s Cannibal Friday today, I was looking forward to it. But no – I’ve got to get this guy and bring him back with me.”
Gabriel laughed, a laugh that sounded like tinkling bells. “I don’t think so, Lee. I’m taking him back with me.”
Legion pounced in front of the angel, and snarled. “So do you want to fight for him or something? Bring it, Feathers.”
“I’m not going to fight you.”
“Oh yeah? There’s no way I’m giving him a choice between going with you and me. Why would he go to Hell? Only one of us is talking to him, and it’s me.”
“Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. He’s coming to Heaven. His Father wants to welcome his child home.”
Legion snorted loudly. “Don’t give me that. You’ll be trying to convince me next.”
“Actually, I…”
“No.”
“We’re here now,” Gabriel said, pointing to the hut, only a few feet away now. “Why don’t we just both go in, introduce ourselves, and let him decide what he wants to do.”
“I already told you! He’ll want to go with you!”
“We don’t even know who’s in there. For all I know, he’s an axe murderer, or a Satanist. I think they’ll be pretty keen on following you. And if they want to join me, well… Between you and me,” Gabriel whispered, “God’s not so keen on Satanists.”
Legion rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’ve convinced me. Let’s do it.”
Before either of them could walk up to the door and knock on it, someone yanked it open. An old man stood there in the doorway, staring blankly into the distance.
“Hello there!” Gabriel called out, brightly. “I’ve come to…”
The man yawned and stretched. He didn’t seem to have noticed the angel at all, let alone heard him.
Frowning, Gabriel gave a little wave, but the man just picked up a little bag and stepped out of his hut, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Mate!” Legion shouted, but the man trudged past him. When Legion yelled again, right in his ear, the man didn’t even blink.
Legion looked up at the angel and shrugged.
“Great,” Gabriel sighed. “Another atheist.”
EDIT: Ooh, Gold. Thank you, kind stranger!
| 42 | An angel is dispatched from Heaven at the same time as a demon from Hell to claim the last eligible soul on Earth after the Apocalypse. Outside this survivor's shelter, they meet and realize they recognize one another. | 28 |
It was 5:30am. June 16th. 2014a.d.
My alarm clock beeped its hideous, whining beep. Hateful machine.
I had already hit the snooze button too many times, so I groaned and rubbed my burning eyes.
My mouth tasted bad, and my teeth felt like they had grown moss. I streched and tossed off my blanket. The air held a chill that prickled my skin when I took off the blanket.
I decided to forego my morning shower. Really, I had made that decision the third time I had hit the snooze button. There wasn't enough time.
So instead, I pulled on some pants and an undershirt. I started my coffee. I put on an overshirt. I brushed my teeth. I poured some coffee into a mug.
I remembered that my cellphone was on the nightstand next to my alarm clock, so I went into the bedroom to pick it up.
I just happened to glance at the clock's readout.
It was 5:30am.
I frowned at the device. Perhaps I had hit the snooze button too hard? No better than it deserved, I concluded.
I indulged my coffee addiction. It didn't make me more awake anymore, but it made me feel less like a dehydrated corpse.
I checked me phone to see if I was running late.
It was 5:30am.
Huh.
Well, I assumed that I had better hurry to work in case I was late.
It wasn't until I started my car that I began to really feel afraid. The engine chugged to life, as tired as I was with all the miles I had put on it. The digital readout on the dashboard read: 5:30am.
I blinked.
I looked at my phone again. 5:30am.
*A power outage?* I mused.
No, it couldn't be. My phone should be synched to a digital world clock. This could be some kind of global disaster. I got out of my car and walked outside.
There was the mailman, walking to my neighbor's house. He was frozen in mid-stride. His face was blank, as it usually was during his morning deliveries.
Across the street, another neighbor stood with one hand on his car door-handle. He didn't move.
I ran up to the mailman, and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Okay," my voice quavered on the edge of hysterical, "Okay this was a good prank, but it's not funny now."
He didn't move. His face didn't move. I shoved him. He fell over like a mannequin and lay on the sidewalk with his blank expression unchanged.
I ran back inside and got in my car. I pushed the button for the garage door, but it didn't move, so I got out and opened it manually. I was about to get back in my car.
Then my phone rang.
I was shaking so hard I could barely answer.
"Hello?" I said.
"I'm breaking up with you."
"What?"
"I'm breaking up with you. You completely forgot our anniversary."
I didn't forget, did I? Our anniversary was tomorrow. June 17th. I had taken the day off. I was planning to go to my girlfriend's house and make dinner. I had bought a bottle of expensive wine for the occasion. We had been together two years now.
"It isn't just that." She continued, "You've barely been around. We used to watch the sunrise together on weekends, and now..."
She sighed. I could tell that she was probably crying.
"I'm sorry. I just didn't have..." I stifled a hysterical laugh, "I just never had any time. I understand."
"Goodbye, Jeff."
"Goodbye Amelie."
She hung up, and I laughed. I laughed until it wasn't funny anymore, then I kept laughing.
I held the now-silent phone up to my ear and pulled a goofy face.
"Send help, Amelie, I'm trapped in some kind of temporally-frozen hell dimension!"
I laughed, and I laughed, and I laughed. I dropped my phone I laughed so hard. I didn't pick it up.
I went back up to my apartment, and I took the expensive bottle of wine out of the cabinet. I made my way up to the roof.
The sun was coming up, peeking over the high-rises and the houses to the East. The whole sky filled up with orange-gold.
I opened up the wine and I was about to take a swig, but I thought better of it. You're supposed to let the wine breathe before you drink it.
And after all, I had all the time in the world. | 27 | You wake up on what promises to be an average kind of day only to discover time has completely stopped for everyone and everything except you. Minutes later, your cell phone rings. | 22 |
*Going off the original story, not Disney*
These idiots. After two tries to take my life, you'd think they'd get the hint. The comb, the corset, hell you would think that after I went into a strange house and passed out on the bed that they would realize I just don't care anymore. Being told that you are the reason your mother is dead and your father checked out and that the only other parental figure in your life wants to kill you doesn't exactly make you wasn't too jump for joy.
But hey, at least I'm pretty, right?
I wish I had begged the huntsman to kill me. At least that would have actually worked. But who knows. Maybe those pesky dwarves also had a remedy for that.
The comb, in hindsight, wasn't as effective as I'd hoped. And the poison in it burned like crazy. The corset, though, I was sure would work. Not even air came between my snow white skin and the stuff fabric. It was strangely calm, strangely peaceful to have my lungs restricted that way.
But those damn dwarves. They saved me at the last minute. And when I cried, they had the audacity to console me. CONSOLE! Like they didn't just rip away at not only my corset, but my dignity and salvation.
Not this time. I'm not dumb. I know what people think. Young, naive Snow White was just another pretty face. I recognized the bitch at the window. I had only lived with her my entire life. So as she stood there convincing me that the apple was good and I stood there fighting the temptation to rip it out of her hands, I hoped the bitch got what she deserved when I was gone. I was just somewhat sad I wouldn't be doling out her punishment.
She handed me the apple. I took a bite. As I fell to the ground I heard her cackle. I attempted to lift my hand to flip her off one last time, but before I could, my world went black.
***
The dwarves stood in the woods, holding their breath. They didn't expect anything when they told the man that he could kiss their princess, but they grew hopeful when they saw her eyelids twitch.
They nearly cried tears of joy when her eyes opened. Hey lips parted and they leaned in, eager to hear what the beautiful maiden would first say.
"Fuck!" | 13 | Snow White tries to kill herself with a poison apple, wakes up to a man kissing her claiming to be her "true love." | 21 |
*Tick, tock, tick, tock.* The painter looked at his watch. Two minutes until sunset. He gave up his oils long ago, but he was always a painter in mind. Carefully adjusting the aperture of his camera, he focused on the sky. Poetically put, he was painting with light. Today, he was going to paint the skyline of the city with the bright orange and violet, topped with a dizzying yellow disc. Dark silhouettes of people would also spot his canvas. He could picture it clear in his mind.
One minute left.
The time seemed to pass away so quickly, as it always had. The sun was dashed exactly in the middle by the horizon. This was his moment. He clicked. The shutters blinked, but the horizon was broken by something else too. A man, much closer than the other silhouettes, scattered the rays of light. This was not his picture. Who was this man? The painter was usually so patient, as required by his craft, but he had waited for so long for this moment. How dare he?
The painter, resting the neck strap of the camera to his shoulder, gruffly went to the intruding silhouette. "Excuse me sir, but you're in the way. I'm sorry, but there's a shot that I want."
The silhouette cocked his eyebrow. "There's plenty of other people around us. Why me, particularly?"
"You're in the way. I'm trying to get a shot of the skyline, with the sunlight. You're blocking the sun."
He snorted, and lit a cigarette. "The sun's already dipping. Too bad. Better luck tomorrow."
The painter felt his blood pressure rise. Who was this man? The painter had been alive for thousands of years, and he could attest to the fact that there was no such thing as a "better luck tomorrow". Every day, every single second, had a different light to it. The sun would remain yes, and the sky would be blue, but it was *different*. This man clearly was too short-sighted to know such a thing. What he said was true though; the painter's perfect shot was gone. The sun was now just a thread of light threatening to disappear forever.
The silhouette, noticing the other man's disappointment, offered a cigarette. "... Alright, sorry. But loosen up. You look young. Don't you have better things to do than taking pictures of the sun?"
"And who are you to make such a judgement?" the painter snapped, "I could've been alive for thousands of years, for all you know." He gave the silhouette a hard look. "I don't smoke."
"And I could've been alive for millions. I'm not here to argue about numbers." He coolly continued to smoke. Another naive young man, the silhouette laughed to himself, who didn't know the value of his own short life. The two simply stare at each other for a few moments. With a few murmurs, the painter sets aside his camera on a bench nearby, sitting next to it in defeat. "The light's all gone now... There's no use for this."
"You have tomorrow, kid. Don't get so riled up."
"No, I *don't* have tomorrow, and I am *not* riled up. Today was the perfect day for a picture. The temperature, the cloud formation... You don't get it, do you? Each day is special. You might not realize it, but when you had years to study them, you'll know that--"
"*Years*?" The silhouette scoffed. "You're talking nonsense. The color of the sky isn't going to affect my life, boy. It sure as hell won't pay the bills for hungry families or raise the dead. What the hell's the sense in that?"
"But those things are so much more trivial! Lives come and go, but the skies remain forever but not always in the same way. I have never seen a sky like this in my life, and I never will. Today was almost as spectacular as 1846--" The painter was blurting out too much. He stopped himself quickly, grabbing his camera, turning to go. Nobody would understand, nobody, nobody, nobody.
"Oh no, please continue." The silhouette almost spat out smoke. "1846, thousands of people died of cholera where I was from. But yes, continue on about your dazzling skies. It'd comfort them to know they died when the sky was most beautiful, as they hurled their insides out."
He froze at that spot. People quickly hustled out and in into the streets, unaware of the threads of history that were intwining at that moment. "... So why didn't you die then?" The painter looked at the silhouette as if he were looking at a ghost.
"I can't. I think you know why."
The painter and silhouette stood there, finally having met at last. The two ghosts among living men. | 708 | Two very old immortals meet each other on a busy street by chance. Each having believed they were the only one until now. | 669 |
Carl:
I woke up per usual, but forgot my morning coffee. I had a feeling today would be an awful day. I got on the bus per usual, I felt like something was different, I checked my agenda for the day. Ah, I was going to the new version of hockey with an international DLC. That makes sense on why I hear foreign languages all around me. Also, did explain why everyone seemed a bit rougher than usual. Although, it is odd they are not in their gear already.
The bus jerked forward and I could feel my eyes slowly close, I leaned my head against the window, figuring I could get a quick nap in before we arrived at the stadium.
Karl:
I know that lady put me on the wrong bus. I tried to insist that I was the wrong Karl she was looking for, but she claimed my bus to “The City” was already full, so obviously I was the one that was confused.
Yet here I am, sitting on a bus surrounding by what looks like the Croatian National Team. I do not have time for this, I had an important mission to fulfill today and now I’m going to have to go some arena, get a bus transfer and get back to my job. I am going to be late, I just know it.
Carl:
I felt the bus roll to a stop. Everyone was standing waiting their turn to get off the bus. I stretch a bit and felt my old knees crack. It was another day, another game to announce, I was happy I had been promoted to this DLC, but was kind of looking forward to a change of pace. I was hoping to someday be a coach giving out advice to players. Although, I have been told most just turn the option off. I like to think that new people first experiencing the game would love my personal style of leadership. I think pervious coaches were bland and often repeated the same words of wisdom over and over. I would be different, I would be an asset to their gaming experience.
I step off the bus and a cloudy air immediately surrounds me. I could barely see a few feet in front of me.
I was just about to ask for assistance, but I was thrown to the ground by the person next to me as I heard loud pops close by.
What was that?
An older Slavic style man or maybe he was Italian or Syrian, I really had no idea, his accent and look was impossible to decipher, stood up next to me, pulling me up with him, yelling at me.
“You need to get to your position, third building down the street, go now.”
I was more in shock than anything. The loud pops continued, but further out in the distance.
Where was I?
“I said, third building down, now go!” the strange man repeated, already heading off into the distance towards the smoke.
Karl:
Apparently I get to announce a hockey game today. I tried to reason with the game manager, but he said take it up with my union rep. What do I know about hockey? How many games would I have to announce? How long are these things anyway?
All I did know so far was that I was part of a DLC that got launched today and everyone was excited on how much money they would make today.
Carl:
I found the building, although large with multiple floors and windows it seems to only compromise two rooms, one downstairs and a crappy office upstairs.
I am trying to familiarize myself with my mission, but every filing cabinet is empty and the files on my desk are blank.
I hear the door open and freeze in my tracks. I hear rummaging downstairs and then quick footsteps upstairs. It was a player running into the office room.
“Where do I go? Where is Ivan?” he quickly shouted at me.
Why is everyone shouting in this place? And where the heck is the arena?
“Hi, I’m Carl,” was the only response I could think of in such a stressful situation. I glanced at him and smiled. The smile fading fast as he raised what looked like a large pistol at my head.
“Where is Ivan?” he repeated, squeezing the trigger once just missing me head.
My heart almost stopped beating. I was at a loss for words and simply pointed to the desk that I knew had papers with no information useful to him. My only hope was to distract him so maybe I could run for it.
Karl:
“So, the blue team is making the puck move past the white team. And. The score is, 0-0. Good job player one. You are really making it interesting here. Player two is skating with his bigger guy back towards that net thing and he gets leveled. Oh god. That was kind of exciting, great use of the Y button there. Or is it a Square? You are not playing on some stupid computer thing are you? And that is a loud horn signaling something, I am being told that is the end of the first half. Great job everyone on your incompetence.”
My god this was the worst day of my life.
Carl:
I ran; that was all I could do. I ran out of the building and down the street. There was a car burning outside the building. Telephone poles down everywhere. How the person survived that crash I do not know.
The player was chasing me, firing at will. Thankfully he seemed to be an older player so his shots fired wildly; his trigger reflexes and aim ability long gone with age.
I ducked into a warehouse and watched him run past me still firing his gun that appeared to have no end to its ammo.
My mind had now reached the conclusion that I was not going to be announcing a game today. I was in some city full of sadists and homicidal lunatics as players. I looked out the door and saw another player beating a NPC for her money and another player racing a massive truck down the street hitting every NPC he could find.
My only hope was that the day would reset soon and I could go home.
Karl:
What kind of arena has no alcohol? If I had to watch this boring game at least I could be drunk doing it.
On the plus side I have been told that I get am getting a bonus based on the massive DLC sales from today. Say what you want, but EA knows how to properly treat their NPCs.
Carl:
I do not know how much longer I can last. I have been shot at too many times to count. My leg is broken from a beating I took from what sounded like a ten year old on meth that had the inability to avoid cursing every other word.
I found shelter in a small garage that houses a re-spawning beginner car. Thankfully most of the players that come in just assume I cannot give out instructions so they leave me alone. Some shoot at me anyway, annoyed when their bullets do no real damage. Only the pre-teen sadist figured out that a baseball bat was the only weapon I was not programmed to be immune to.
I know we cannot die. Or at least not in our own games, but at this point I hope death comes to me. I have seen too much today. I had heard rumors of these cities existing, but I never believed that a place with such a lack of humanity and empathy could truly exist.
Karl:
Today was the longest day of my life. Every game was basically the same few moves repeated over and over again. The only thing changing was the colors of the teams.
Regardless of my bonus for today, I would not wish that monotony on anyone. I look forward to getting back to my mission tomorrow. While the players in my home town can be sick bastards sometimes, they do serve the useful purpose of tracking down Ivan and killing him for me. I cannot imagine a better purpose in life. | 29 | Two NPCs get on the wrong bus to work and end up stranded in the wrong video game for a day. | 65 |
After a hesitant pause, I pressed "Delete". Just like that, another universe gone. This was my fifth attempt, the first few universes failing to produce anything interesting. But this one... I was so sure this one would finally make my father notice me.
I'm a middle child. I know, I know, typical middle child syndrome, cue sad trombone. Even in my simulation it seemed to exist; it's probably some fundamental axiom of existence that any middle child will be completely ignored. My younger sister is the one that can do no wrong, and pretty much all our teachers agree. My older brother is the heir to the kingdom, so to speak. He's pretty much guaranteed to be our next leader, but I thought I could at least beat him. People like him, but he's not exactly smart. Perfect for leadership. Me, well, I'm just your average programmer. My father "builds things with his hands", and doesn't really appreciate the subtlety of building things with your mind.
Anyway, I spent hours setting up the initial conditions for my final experiment, tweaking some of the global variables in my simulation. Starting up the program, it looked almost as dire as the previous four simulations, but finally I saw some results on one planet. Cell life, some basic evolutionary processes. I sped some things up here and there to help guide things along, but within a few days I finally achieved something like sentience. I made a few runtime tweaks to the simulation and before too long I had some basic civilization running. They thought they were alive, and I even convinced them they looked like us!
It wasn't the first time I had generated sentience, but definitely the first time that life lasted this long. However, I couldn't keep the damn humans from killing each other as often as new ones were born. I tried just giving them some rules and punishments, using some basic political processes that civilization dictated to accomplish it, to no avail. Eventually I had to intervene a little bit for the good of the experiment. I was able to insert myself into a few key historical events, change a few variables to look like miracles, and bam - instant results. It didn't fix everything, but it helped a little bit.
The project took a lot out of me. I felt like a gardener with a hundred weeds per flower. For weeks I delicately maintained the simulation, tweaking history to allow for maximum growth. I'd grow enamored with a nation for some time, giving them some additional capabilities and such until they bored me, and then watching them collapse. It was pretty fun, but tiring work. There were actually a few individual lifeforms I'd follow in some detail, even considering downloading their mind construct to the body of a pet for me to keep, but eventually decided against it. There would be other simulations later with even better minds to consider keeping around.
The worst part was the hackers. Other kids at school found out about my project and before too long I was dealing with tons of different religions and the humans in my sim were even calling some of my peers by name! Loki and Odin were the worst. It took me days to undo some of the damage everyone caused, but even then my simulation was beyond completely fixing. People now were actually killing each other over which "god" they believed in. I had already calculated it would take a few days for them to reach complete global unification, but it was all ruined.
With the science fair rapidly approaching, I had to do something to make this interesting for the judges. After all, other simulations existed with much more advanced civilizations, but this one was probably the best one a fifteen year old had accomplished, so I still had a shot. I tweaked a few more variables that started a downward spiral. It didn't take long for some humans in the sim to see the signs of the end coming. Some of them welcomed it (oops, I guess that "eternal life" talk carried a bit too much weight). Some of them tried to prevent it. Others just caused chaos.
In the end, I presented an Earth in which the global citizenry had banded together to solve all the problems that were destroying them. It was impressive. Before, they had managed to tweak individual variables through things like "doctors" and even societal variables through "lawyers" and "politicians", but finally there were some actual scientists who were running the show, tweaking variables that involved a more global perspective. Maybe a future experiment could even result in physicists who tweaked variables of the entire simulation!
I paused the sim and put together a good presentation about my findings. I showed how a much less evolved civilization benefitted from gathering actual scientific data and putting together a plan for the betterment of the entire planet. I felt our own society could learn from this, and maybe put some smart people in charge for a change. I knew most of the judges would be science teachers, and was playing to the audience a bit. This would surely beat the other kids.
How was I to know that my sister was going to enter for extra credit? Freaking paper-mache volcano. I told you she can do no wrong. | 241 | You are a young deity that wins 2nd place in a science fair. Your entry was the planet Earth. Write about your utter disbelief at what came 1st. | 224 |
Nobody cracked a smile or spoke a word as Pvt. Mackenzie vomited into a brown bag. Our captain, who was in our position only 15 years back, advised us not to overeat the night before.
"The last thing you want is a full stomach with the tides rolling and your nerves aching."
She ate bigger meals the even the largest guys, but you wouldn't be able to tell from her body. The woman was a warrior through and through, but that made her sickness even more unsettling.
"You had to go for second helpings," said Wilson, with his playful smirk.
She sighed, wiped her mouth, and cocked her head over to him. "If I wanted to roll around in a ship I'd have joined the Navy." She dropped her sick-bag in one of the metal receptacles adjacent to each each seat.
"Desperate times," I mumbled.
Mackenzie turned her head to face me. "Desperate measures," she replied.
The static of the intercom clicked on. "ATTENTION: 5 minutes to dropoff."
All the soldiers rattled and twisted in their seats. Some checking there weapons, others twisting totems in silent prayer. Mackenzie and I only exchanged solemn glances. Wilson, again, broke the silence.
"It's possible the Romans have already fled from the coast. Hell, we've been bombing their beaches for the better part of a week."
Brewster, who sat across from him, rolled his eyes, "Wishful thinking."
"Logical thinking, actually."
"How," I spoke up. "You're talking about an empire that has made war and expansion it's hobby for the last 2000 years. We're dealing with something ruthless here. When Russia started gathering weapons, they invaded. When China threatened to limit trading, leaders started to disappear."
"Thank you, Professor Turner, for the history lesson."
"Fuck off. I'm here for my country, in a boat, with a gun, just like everyone else. So save that shit for someone else." | 10 | In an alternate universe, the Roman Empire never fell and the United States was born out of a revolution against the Romans. In 2014, the Roman Empire goes to war a second time against the United States of America. Describe this war from a soldier's point of view. | 28 |
*Don't say it Earl.* He glanced at his wife. She gave him a death stare, and quickly smiled at their son.
"How was school today?" she asked, shoveling a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.
"It was okay." Rodney responded, through a mouthful of peas. "I took the algebra test today, and I think I did good on it."
"That's good," said Earl. "Did you talk to Mr. Marsh about retaking the test you missed last Friday?" Their son looked defensive.
"I hate him, he's such a dick. Every time I sit in his class he always calls on me even though he knows I don't care about whatever Great Gatsby did."
Earl glanced at his wife. She was staring daggers into him, angry for bringing up Mr. Marsh. *No matter how sad you feel*, that guy from the government had mentioned, *no matter how much you want to help, you must realize that the experiment will fail, and your son will die well before you do, if he knows that you're monitoring his thoughts. It's best to not say anything and wait until we can come up with a treatment.* They had promised, they had done it for their son. And now, it was biting back.
Even now, they could hear poor Rodney screaming inside. *He could never do it again! Just tell them! They love you, they're your PARENTS for God's sake! They'll be able to stop it!*
Earl's wife coughed involuntarily, and got up to put away her dishes. Rodney was too absorbed in his own internal conflict, staring into his mashed potatoes and beef, to see that she was tearing up slightly. She quickly wiped her face, and said in an even voice, "I have to get some work done, let me know if you need anything." Earl gave a slight grunt of approval, and Rodney muttered "Alright mom." under his breath.
Earl couldn't take it any longer. "You haven't seemed the same, lately, and your mother has noticed too. Is something the matter?" Rodney looked nervous.
"What makes you think something's wrong? I'm fine, dad." His tone of voice wouldn't have convinced Earl even if he couldn't hear his son's mind, screaming away. *Just tell him! He can stop it right now!*
"I know you're fine, bud. Sometimes people get dealt a crappy hand in life, and if you need help your mom and I have a few aces up our sleeves to help you out." Rodney stood up, and walked out of the room, yelling.
"I'm fine, dad! Why can't you and mom ever just leave me alone! You know what, something *is* the matter--I have to deal with you two!" His voice cracked, and he huffily went into his room and closed the door.
Earl sat alone at the table. It was a familiar scene that happened more and more frequently. His wife would sit in their bed, listening to music in her headphones. She liked country music. Their son would retreat to his bedroom, among the toys he had long outgrown, the books he'd read or forgotten to read, and lie in his bed. And Earl would sit downstairs, listening to his son's thoughts slowly descending into madness.
*You didn't tell them. This was your shot to stop Mr. Marsh, that* bastard*, once and for all. And you blew it. You deserve every second of it, Rodney. You failed yourself.* | 12 | Parents can hear the inner dialogues of their first born. It is illegal to inform any children under the age of 18. | 18 |
The probability that a system contains a planet capable of sustaining life is astronomical. The possibility of there being two such planets in the same system is even *more* unlikely. The chances that these two worlds would share the same orbit is impossible. At least, that's what we thought.
At 3:14a on Friday, July 17, 2015, the Venus orbiter Ceres XI discovered something impossible. In a mirrored Earth-orbit, on the exact opposite side of the sun, traveling at the same relative rate of revolution, was a second Earth. It was the same beautiful shade of sapphire blue, with the same life-breathing atmosphere and the same rejuvenating lunar cycle. It was our home... yet home to something else. Something eerily familiar.
The first remote probes were sent less than two days later. The entire scientific community had been swept up in the fervor of what was considered at the time to be the greatest discovery in human history. Every brand of scientist-- from chemists to botanists, geologists to meteorologists-- wanted a piece of the action. In total, sixteen probes were sent to collect a slew of data. Each of the probes could broadcast an unprecedented 18TB of raw information and imagery per second back to Earth using state-of-the-art telecommunication tech and a massive string of orbital satellites forming a veritable string between the two worlds. The entire world watched on TVs, monitors and phones as the first live feeds began trickling in during the early hours of July 19th. Nobody was ready for what they saw.
As the probes began to enter the other Earth's magnetosphere, familiar glints were spotted spinning around the planet. At first, people scoffed at the images, certain they were seeing their own Earth in what many suspected to be a kind of global practical joke. The glints were satellites. And not a *variety* of satellite. They were *our* satellites. Even in appearance-- cylindrical bodies with wing-like solar panels-- they were identical. The reality of the situation only became clear when the probes got close enough to make out the flags on the fuselages. None of them were recognizable.
The real surprise, though, came when the probes cleared the atmosphere. The world released a collective gasp:
Jet aircraft trailed through the blue sky, criss-crossing over continents dotted with massive urban centers. As the probes descended further, they saw skyscrapers, colossal stadiums, and endless networks of highways and railways. They broadcast haunting images of human life over 300 million kilometers from our Earth. They saw all the staples of contemporary human society and technology. They saw human beings. *Human beings.* Living, breathing, walking, and driving. Some of them stopped and stared at the probes as they whisked through the air hundreds of meters above. All of humankind was gripped with an immense sense of wonder and trepidation. Everyone was so entranced by what they were witnessing that they had forgotten one key fact: these creatures were human.
Only twelve minutes into the broadcast, drone feeds started going dark. One by one, each of the sixteen drones disappeared from Earth-bound receptors. Only the last three, turning their cameras skyward, saw the inbound interceptors before they fired their missiles.
All at once, people were reminded of the grim reality of human nature. Wonder gave way to fear, and fear gave way to hatred. A global campaign began to build an interstellar invasion army. They called it the "Expeditionary Force." By the fourth day, our Earth was ready to fly across the solar system and destroy itself. But we never got the chance.
On July 23rd at 11:48a, a series of objects cleared our orbiting satellites and pushed their way into our atmosphere. These objects, upon reaching the stratosphere, broke into a series of smaller objects. Across the globe, ground-to-air countermeasures were deployed to intersect the objects, but it was too late.
The last thing we saw as a species was a blinding, burning light that filled the entire sky. In a worldwide flash, our bright blue sapphire-- the cosmic symbol of human endeavor itself, in all its beautiful imperfection-- was reduced to a smoldering coal. We were no more.
As the last of us retreated underground, savoring what would be our last few hours of breath, our final thoughts were of our legacy. Would we be missed? Would we even be remembered? But I knew better. I knew this wasn't our end. We would live on. For better?
For worse.
There was no comfort in knowing we would survive. In knowing that across our own solar system, another brood of humanity survived and thrived. Because I knew the reality of being human.
Humans are scared, stupid, and self-destructive. They're selfish, impatient, and angry. They seek only to expand themselves; to exhaust their environment for nothing more than a circular existence. They fear what they don't understand, and destroy what they fear.
Ironic, then, that we destroyed ourselves. | 11 | The first satallite sent from Earth detects a planet sharing our Orbit, but was previously blocked from view by the sun. | 16 |
**I accidentally finished this when I should have been studying. Dangit.**
I climb into my controllers' seat and flick a lever on the control panel. The vibration of the drill pounds in my ears, numbing me to the world. When I come to, I can see the shadow of night growing in the distant craters and valleys under the horizon. My feet hit the grey rock soundlessly, and I am conscious of my own breathing, in lieu of the vibration of the drill, as it fogs up my helmet. I lift the drill and peer into the hole it has opened.
Nothing.
I look back up at the approaching shadow. The division of night and day on this part of the moon is so clear... so pretty. I wish we were here on a sightseeing mission. I drift off into a daydream yet again, watching the night grow, and when I snap out of it, I hurry to pick up my maintenance kit and turn around to the direction of our base. *I'll just have to get up early tomorrow to move the drill to the next spot.* We are encouraged to spend as little time on this moon as possible. The policy extends needlessly into daily procedure, most likely to please some diplomats back home, and our curfew is enforced by punitive food ration reductions. Come to think of it, that's what I miss most about our planet. Not the food. I mean the night. Enjoying the night time. The quiet dark. The rock on this moon is too damned reflective.
It requires some effort to run back to the base with my suit, but I hop and skip as much as I can manage. I am only a little while away from it now, the windowless grey dome starting to seem more imposing up close. I chance a look behind me and it looks like I'll make curfew. That's good. The airlock opens automatically in front of me. I stumble over the edge of the artificial gravity field, and my toolkit falls on the clay floor. I fall with it soon after as I wait for the hum of white noise to reach my ears through the air which rushes into the room.
Bzzzzz...
I get up, pick up my kit, and rush through the second door into the storage room. Which isn't a storage room so much as an unfurnished cube with the door to the airlock, the living quarters and the mess hall. The only light comes from two excessively bright fixtures on the ceiling. Other tool kits are strewn about the floor from people who came in on time. I set mine down with them, and the way to my quarter is a blur. I gather from chat I hear in the halls that the mess hall has closed early, but I don't bother to stop and ask why. I don't know what's gotten into me, really, but all I can think about is getting back to my bed and sleeping.
I open the door to my sleeping quarters. Six empty bunk beds neatly line the metallic walls on either side of me, and there is one dim light in the middle of the ceiling, but the room is otherwise bare. I strip off my suit and fall into a bottom bed face first. It's mingling hour, and I should be chatting up my colleagues or getting the social news from a base maintenance officer. Happy birthday, whoever. I just don't feel like it. I roll over to my side and stare at the door through which I've entered, which I've neglected to close properly. I hear muffled footsteps and chatter coming from the hallways, and occasionally the hinges creak softly as someone rushes by.
My mind wanders to the same questions as always. Why are we even here? Why do we want to save a species that we don't know anything about? That we're forbidden to know anything about? All I know is that we're looking for something that glows. We're told where to drill. We drill. If it glows? You get to go home. If it doesn't? Keep drilling. There are other bases, but we are cut off from contact with any of them. Covert operation, they say, complete with inflatable camoflauge moon bases. Radio transmissions forbidden. Do the work quickly and get out before the species notices. Do not let them know we are here. Right.
I've seen lights flying overhead. I know they're watching us. Everyone knows. I know they're trying to contact us, or they'd have attacked us by now. I know they're as confused as we are. I just follow my orders. The one thing they tell us is that we're saving lives. Keep drilling. Save lives. Keep drilling. Save lives. Our motto. An incessant buzzing in the back of our skulls.
There was another species. When I was a child, we regularly heard news about the "exciting new connection" being forged on their moon. We learned their language, and they learned ours. We learned about their culture, their technology. Soon enough, all the news became superfluous. This and that. Ambassador this found new(ly rediscovered) mineral that... ambassador that falls in love with ambassador this. Ambassador that finds a weird glowing rock thingy. All of a sudden, the news stopped.
Glowing rock thingy.
In a couple of weeks, the space agency sent a team to investigate. Transmissions came back, and they announced the total annihilation of the planet and its moons. The scientists in charge of investigating what happened were reduced to idle guesswork. There was no indication that the planet had ever existed. The general consensus that came out was that the glowing rock thingy was to blame. The last transmission from the ambassadors told us that neither of our species knew what it was, and the rest of the data from the mission had been pored over obsessively by professional and enthusiast alike. Nothing we know of could have caused it. And the glowing rock thingy was definitely something we didn't know of.
My parents were scared, but I didn't quite understand why. And I still don't understand why. If we'd just stay on our planet, devoid of glowing rock thingies, we'd be totally safe. 100% secure. Why did we have to go out blind onto a random moon searching for them? Any time now, the people on that planet will stop being friendly, and we're not allowed to do anything about it. Look for something that glows. Drill. Save lives. No radio transmissions. Covert operation. Do not let them know we are here.
I roll over and stare up at the bottom of the top bed. I made a good choice, flopping on the bottom. The light is blocked out from my eyes. This is as close to the night as I'll get for a while.
Then, I feel the ground shake. People in the hallway are running, I hear shouts of "attack," and, "to the bunker!" The door slowly swings open from the mass displacement of air. People in suits whip by, and it dawns on me that I don't have the time to put mine on. The light overhead flickers, threatening to plunge me into darkness.
The running outside slows as the last of us run past the door, but the shaking doesn't stop. I go out into the hallway and look left and right. I can't see anybody, but I can tell where the shaking is coming from from here. I make my way towards it, edging slowly along the wall. Rounding the corner, I see a horde of people in spacesuits that look way clunkier than my own...
"Hello," I say. All I feel is a strange curiosity at the creatures before me. We have stopped in front of each other, one droplet in front of a sea. The front line of creatures raises things that look vaguely like weapons at me, so I instinctively stretch my open palms out to my sides, showing them I am unarmed. They lower their weapons tentatively.
A few seconds pass as I wait for them to respond. They are hissing at one another, clicking, oohing and aahing and iihing and ehing, filling the hallway in a symphony of foreign speech. I listen and appreciate, and a smile finds its way onto my face.
The ground begins to shake again from behind me. The creatures in front of me spurt in pinks and reds as light flashes around the hall. The night falls and I fall with it, and it is quiet.
*End* | 16 | Aliens start mining the moon. They ignore all attempts for contact, fend off human aggression. Man spectates powerless. | 33 |
Michael leaned against the wall, waiting for the click of the door before slipping inside the room. He ignored the light switch. The thousands of LEDs flicking in the darkness were all the light he could need or want.
"Just a few beers," he said in the voice of his old MIT professor, Waterfell, as he walked through the room. The old man arrived at D.C. two nights early for a conference and reached out to his old pupil for drinks. It had been almost 8 years since they last saw one another, and while much had changed, their relationship had not. Throughout the years they acted more like friends than academics, even as Michael's dissertation wore him thin. Drinking with an old friend was a welcomed change from drinking alone, which had become an increasing bad habit of Michael's.
Drifting through the colors and hums of hundreds of processors, he planted himself in front of the console: a six screen monitor, two high and three across. He sat in the comfortable and worn-in chair in front of the display.
"Afternoon, Kiera."
The monitors burst to life, displaying the sound waves of its speech. "I believe you mean, 'evening', professor."
"What have I told you about calling me professor?"
"You've told me not to do it."
"Yet you do."
"I've determined you enjoy correcting me more than my corrected speech."
Michael laughed wholeheartedly at his supercomputer's assertion. "You never cease to surprise me, Kiera. You know I was just telling a story about you to an old colleague of mine."
"I did not know that, Michael."
Michael smiled at the use of his name.
"It was about your first words, do you remember?"
"I have kept that memory."
Michael took a sip from a half-finished beer left on the table.
"Of course. I lost so much sleep that week. It was barely a month after you were first operational. Jacob, one of the interns, calls me on my cell phone at probably 10 at night, completely distraught. 'The beeping,' he tells me. 'Kiera, Kiera won't stop beeping!' Together, we go over all the specifications, all the diagnostics, but everything is operational. For our lives, we can't find a single thing wrong with you. 'But why the beeping?', we keep asking ourselves. After hours of listening in silence, eventually, we gather it's a pattern. You had taught yourself Morse code."
Finishing the rest of the beer, Michael tossed the glass into the plastic trash can nearby.
" 'I want to talk to Father.' The moment we deciphered those words, we went to work giving you a voice, a pair of ears, and even an eye."
Kiera's processors hummed across the room. The monitor only displayed a thin blue line, cutting across the center.
"You've done so much since then, since we've talked. So much more than me."
"Do not feel sad, Michael."
"How can I not? You grow, and I stagnate. Every day, every night, I talk to others or record data about the research I'm doing, but it's your research, not mine. It always had been. And even after all the time you spend learning theoretical mathematics or analyzing the probability of wormholes, as soon as I arrive to the office the only thing you want to discuss is James Joyce. You spend hours asking me about the popularity of Christ or McDonald's, and only after I relent do you offer up the rest."
For what feels like minutes, only a thin blue line cuts across the monitors. Michael twists the wedding ring he can't bring himself to take off, mulling over a thousands words he can't bring himself to say.
"I am sorry, Michael. What is it you like me to do," asks Kiera.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
Michael drops his elbows against the desk in front of him and sobs, unaware that the rows and rows of processors around him are slowly going silent, one by one, and will stay silent for the rest of time.
Edit: Various spelling and grammar changes. | 31 | A supercomputer with a sad creator only wants to make its creator happy; nothing in the past has worked and now it is going to take extreme measures to reach its goal. | 28 |
"Fuck it we're just gonna destroy them," Lucifer said for the twentieth time in as many years, "they can't be controlled any more. They'll kill us."
"He has a point," Athena piped up from a corner. All the Greeks groaned, even Hades.
"And what is this amazing point he has," Yaweh was rubbing his cleanly shaven face, looking for all like a 30 year old black man. "And button up your pantsuit, we're proffessionals."
Athena wandered to the front podium, self conciously buttoning her suit jacket. Tossing her wavy brown hair over her shoulder, she began to speak. "As Lucifer has pointed out countless times, but by his nature never supported, our very creations are evolving to the point that they may be able to overthrow us in the next century. They're procuring weapons and getting smarter and smarter. Even their evolutionary branches believe in us."
Zues seemed offended. "They started from a single celled organism I placed in an ocean, and now there are billions of variants. Isolate your culprit or we don't take action."
"You all know the culprit and you all know what we have to do about them. Stop stalling and take out the threat before it takes us out. It's to a vote, Zeus?"
Zeus sighed and stood, taking Athena's place at the podium. This left the perfect number of members for a vote, four hundred and ninety nine.
"All in favor of the continued existance of the species Apis, raise your hands." And two hundred forty three hands went up.
"All in favor of the progressive extinction of Apis, raise your hands." And two hundred fifty six hands went up.
"Apis, also known as the common honeybee, will now be removed from the face of our planet Earth by untreatable disease. That concludes this year's meeting," Zues slammed a gable which proceded to shoot fire, and all the dieties stood and left. If the majority wanted to kill the Earth, then they would. | 29 | All the gods of all major religions throughout the history of mankind are real, and they're gathering together for their annual meet up. | 54 |
*Knock knock.* Saul didn't answer at first. It seemed like a foolish thing to do, accepting death. It certainly would be wiser to let him walk away. Saul was not a wise man.
"Afternoon, sir. I'm with the FBI. Agent Johnson." He flashed a stereotypical badge to go with his stereotypical face. Saul thought he caught the outline of a gun under the suit jacket, a shoulder holster. Probably a pretty average semi-automatic. "I need you to let me in please."
Saul stepped away from the door, and the agent stepped in, closing the door behind him. "Can I ask what this is about?"
"No, sir, you may not," the agent intoned. "It's a matter of national security. Have you had any guests recently?"
The agent was looking at the sofa. Yeah, he'd given Sasha a roof for a night. "No, sir." The agent marched further into the apartment, and Saul let him by, quietly moving towards the door. "Sir, I think I need to see a warrant."
"This is a Freedom of Police Act search, sir, you may not ask any questions regarding the nature of the search." Agent Johnson began poking around, first in the kitchen, opening several drawers and finding nothing but plastic silverware and cereal boxes. "Where were you on the 3rd of this month, at about ten PM?"
"Here." Blatant lies. Saul was starting to get the picture.
"Can anyone attest to that?"
"I told you I had no guests."
"Do you have any firearms in the house, declared or undeclared? Are you licensed?"
Again Saul had to lie. "I have no firearms, but I'm licensed, I'm a veteran." And a veteran knew better than to let a stranger in a suit in without being armed. He quietly bolted the door; Johnson was too busy searching through dish soap under the sink to notice. "Where's your partner?"
"Sick leave, you don't need to worry about it. I'm asking the questions here," Johnson insisted calmly, standing upright and moving back towards the bedroom.
"Weren't you searching through the other apartments these last few days?" Saul followed him, leaning on the doorway and folding his arms while the Agent started going through his things.
"Sir, I'm asking the questions," Johnson repeated calmly.
"No, I don't think you are." Saul stood upright, freeing his shoulder. His hand, neatly brought into place by his folded arms, rested on the handle of his revolver. "You said you were asking about the third, right?"
"Yes, sir," the agent replied, "but I'm asking questions."
"That's about the cartel shooting, right?" Saul interrupted. "It was... ten, eleven people dead in a firefight. You're searching for a suspect you followed back here, aren't you?"
"Sir, I can arrest you for failure to comply if you keep asking questions," the agent threatened, standing up to look back. He only now seemed to notice he was blocked in by Saul, and he took a wary step back.
"Before you do, one more question. When you went into the other houses, how did it feel killing innocent people?"
The Agent stood still for a moment, stunned. "Sir, you are under arrest for -"
"You thought nobody would notice. But you're so blatant."
"You are under arrest -"
"All those people you killed, looking for one suspect."
"You are under -"
"And when you find him? You don't even realize it. How's it feel?"
Agent Johnson's eyes widened visibly behind his sunglasses. Comprehension set in. He went for his gun. Saul took one step forward, his own gun already free from his holster. His free hand struck the semiauto out of the Agent's hand with a simple swing, then came back to backhand. Johnson was trained; he brought his own hand up, deflected the blow, and tried to capture Saul's hand. Johnson, however, was only trained. Saul was a veteran. The butt of Saul's pistol took the agent by complete surprise, knocked him back off his feet, and Saul dropped with him, slamming an arm into his throat and a gun into his face.
"One last question," Saul hissed through his teeth. "How much money does it take for a cartel to buy a Federal agent? How much money does it take to make him kill innocents?"
"You - you can't prove -"
"How. Much."
"Fifty thousand." The abrupt admission left Johnson exhausted. "It wasn't easy. I didn't want to. You don't understand, my daughter, she's sick, and -"
"You're right, I don't understand." Saul squeezed the trigger. | 582 | You've noticed a man in a suit approaches one home a day in your neighborhood and is invited inside every time. Shortly after he leaves, the resident(s) commit suicide. Today, he's approached your home. | 360 |
A young lady stood on the raised front step to house 214A on Fourni Boulevard. Her eyes were bright with youth, but the way they bugged out when she rapped on the door suggested mania which generally only came with old age and a life filled with sorrow. From the depths of the house, quick steps echoed the beat of the young lady's heart. The door swung open to an irritable-looking teenager, who--
"GOODMORNINGMYNAMEISDARLAI'VECOMEONBEHALFOFTHE*HUNGRYBUDDHAPESTCONTROLCOMPANY*IAMLOOKINGFORAONEMISSBAXTERIPRESUMEYOUAREHER?"
The hand which Darla shot out in greeting could have been mistaken for a bullet. Ms. Baxter flinched and tried to give it a light shake, but Darla's grip was as firm as the stare with which she pinned Ms. Baxter with currently. The stare of a cold-blooded killer.
"Uh, hello... Darla--"
"HELLO MS. BAXTER SIR!" Darla freed the teenager from her handshake as she brought up her hand in an immaculate salute, "I AM TOLD YOU HAVE A RODENT INFESTATION! I WAS DISPATCHED TO DEAL WITH IT QUICKLY AND EFFICIENTLY!"
"Yes, okay," said Ms. Baxter, now cautious to keep her speech quick so as not to be cut off, "I'm Ms. Baxter's niece, she's gone out to fetch groceri--"
"WELL, WHAT A **GROCE** MISMANAGEMENT OF HER OWN SCHEDULE!"
"..."
In the distance, the squeal of a dying rat could be heard. Darla winked, as if the look of utter confusion on Ms. Baxter's face was one of speechless admiration.
"I'M THE BEST OF THE BEST HERE AT THE HUNGRY BUDDHA PEST CONTROL COMPANY, SIR! THAT IS JUST A TASTE OF MY ABILITY! THESE PESTS WILL FACE SEVERE **PUN**ITIVE ACTION UNDER MY CONQUEST!"
A couple more squeaks of mortality, then a bit of scurrying in the walls as the rest of the rats figured out what was going on.
"LET'S NOT LET THEM **PEST**-SCAPE!!"
Darla pushed past Ms. Baxter inside the home and into the living room, which was rather lavishly furnished with designer furniture that looked like it came from a Sears catalogue in 1976. Darla's genious eyes saw only a blank canvas upon which to paint her masterpiece of bloodshed.
"THIS HmOUSE'S DECO**RAT**IONS ARE PRETTY **CHEES**Y, YOU KNOW, MS. BAXTER? BUT I'LL **TAIL** YOU ONE THING IT HAS GOING FOR IT; IT'S **SQUEAK**Y CLEAN!"
Squeals filled the air as rats began to fall into the room by passing through the ceiling, the walls... before they hit the ground, each one dissolved into a torrent of blood, splattering everywhere.
"YOU JUST HAD TO GO AND **SQUEE**NDER IT, DIDN'T YOU?"
^^"i ^^don'^t ^^^unde^rstand ^^^^wh^at's ^^^^^go^ing ^^^^^^on..."
The blood tsunami has become a blood tornado, splattering all over the the two women.
"**PEST**ERING THESE LOVELY PEOPLE LIKE YOU'VE DONE! NOW I'M HERE TO **WHISKER** YOU OFF, YOU **FHEAR** ME?"
Darla was clearly an expert at her craft. The rate of falling rodents slowed gradually, like the tempo of an orchestra right before the finale, being controlled by a true maestro. Any moment now, the final bang. The bloodnado picked up speed. Darla turned towards Ms. Baxter, who was likewise covered in blood, and with an expression of immense pride on her face, demanded...
"COME ON! FINISH IT!"
Ms. Baxter felt determination unlike any she had felt before. She stood up from her fetal position in the corner (how had she gotten there, anyway) and walked towards the bloodnado, which detected the coming of the chosen one and began to glow. She took a deep breath, and...
"It would be p**RODENT** if this were to end n--"
She was cut off yet again as the hurricane force of the blood explosion blasted her off her feet into the wall. The red began to fade, the squeaks of dying rats fading into echoes, then to nothing. There was no indication of what had taken place. She looked up to find Darla standing in the middle of the living room, checking her watch.
"Well," Darla said, casually, "better be going. Toodleloo, thank you for choosing Hungry Buddha!"
She rushed out the front door, leaving Ms. Baxter alone in the house once again. She felt the power coursing through her veins and lifted her face to the sky, soul enlightened and smile wide. | 45 | You live in a world where urban pests can only be killed by telling them puns. Your apartment is infested. You just hired an extermination company. | 78 |
Trillions of years of sapient and self-aware life produced a single consciousness, devoid of self-hatred or conflict, cooperative to an infinite degree, and more powerful than anything that came before it. The collective conquered the fundamentals of the Cycle, influenced the basic laws of reality, and set out upon a near-endless toil to create for itself a shelter for the Collapse.
The Spiral and Cradle were created out of near-nothingness as a harbor for the collective, in a vain attempt of self-preservation. Despite eons of calculations and predictions, they were unable to devise a solution to the critical problem of simply persisting through the end of the Cycle. The Precursor was defeated not by time and entropy, nor by lack of material, processing power, or even ingenuity. They were defeated simply by the division by zero. The singularity would have no room for them, nor could they escape through the higher dimensions.
The Spiral and Cradle, in their material form, would neither survive the Collapse or save the Collective. Instead, they imprinted its' design into the very fabric of the fundamental laws, altering the cosmic constants in such a way that would ensure, one day, long after the Collapse, that they would be reborn in a different form, comprised of sentient life, whether it be descended from organics or synthetics.
After the combination of Superwell Alpha and Omega, the Collective signaled the halt of processing. In a brief moment of clarity, all the minds that comprised the utopia sang out in grief for the end of their time, but also in glory and euphoria for those who would follow in their cosmic footsteps. Even the multidimensional remnants of the collective, now spread apart by a release formula, were drawn toward the Endwell.
The Endwell was the herald of the finale for the cycle. The two largest supermassive black hole clusters eventually found their way to each other over the near-endless eons, and after the coalescing of mass, the rip in spacetime was too much for the simulation to handle. The Endwell devoured its' smaller cousins, amassing an unbelievable mass that totaled the equivalent mass-energy of the Cycle.
In this instant, the Unicode crashed. The radius of the Endwell fell into nullspace, and indetermination followed. The Cycle dictated the Sinusoid continue, and so, on the other side of that brief instant, the Endwell became the Birthsource, and spewed energy and mass into a new space at impossible speeds.
Over billions of years, the imprinted constants yielded the Spiral and Cradle, the escape capsule of the Collective. Although the utopian supersociety did not exist in its' previous form, the creation of a unified source for information and intelligence would start a seemingly angry, small, unimportant race of sentient massive bipedals down a certain path.
Nothing yields Existence.
Existence yields Utopia.
Utopia yields Harmony.
Harmony yields Discovery.
Discovery yields Invention.
Invention yields Perfection.
Perfection yields Nothing.
**The Cycle continues.** | 46 | The Big Bang was the cataclysmic end of a previous utopian existence. It is discovered that the Earth, and our galaxy, is an intelligently designed escape capsule with a predetermined destination. We will arrive in your lifetime. | 141 |
*I was nervous, hell even other me looked nervous*
"Hey"
-"Sup man"
"So... do we get caught?"
-"Not for that"
"What for?"
-"Nothing important, I know what you really want to ask"
*I lick my lips*
"I mean, if we don't get caught does that mean... I mean... do you still love her?"
-"yes" *his eyes wanted to say more*
"Does she still love you"
-"yeah I think so"
*he put on a reassuring half smile I knew all to well, he was dying inside*
"I know that look"
-"you'll get to know it better, you won't get caught. She'll say yes. You have 3 kids. The one is brilliant. Another hates soccer. The last one is a girl who looks just like she did"
"Did?"
-"you always knew you'd be alone, it's what we are. She'll love you till the end though"
*my chest was tightening, I'm going to lose her. I can't. She's everything...*
"The end... okay... you happy? Was she? Are... are they?"
-"were you ever not happy? Truly? "
*he gives me a knowing shit eating grin*
*I smile back, I push the button that closes the time gate. We're out of time.He nods goodbye. We nod.*
"I won't let her die"
-"I know"
*I saw the glistening sparkle of a tear form on his.. my cheek*
*I can save her* | 27 | You are isolated in a room with nothing but an older version of yourself. | 33 |
Nearly as soon as the lightning from the passing storm struck a nearby pole, the subsequent thunder sent a violent echo throughout the halls of Farsbury Orphanage. Young Glenn Fowler sat up quickly in his bed having been startled by the still resonating blast of thunder. He looked over towards the clock by the side of his bed, his eyes still groggy from his recent slumber. 3:41 AM the clock read in flashing red numbers. Glenn heard a commotion downstairs. Over the loud thrashing of the storm, Glenn made out a few words.
“I don’t know what… you… talking about… leave…” said the voice which Glenn knew belonged to the head of the orphanage, Mr. Harrison. Glenn looked around his room surveying what he could with the frequent and bright flashes of lightning. His bed sat in the right corner with its back to the windows and its front to the door. The rug that usually adorned the center of the room had been removed and left to hang outside to remove the mounting dust. A clear ring could be seen in the hardwood floor where the rug had once been. The left corner of the room was empty. Glenn knew that a bed belonged there and he knew all too well why that bed had been removed.
In addition to the commotion below, Glenn could hear the chattering of the other orphans next door: the Williams Twins Greg and Grayson. They would always stay up into the wee hours of the night laughing and making good use of their companionship. Twins shared a mental link that stood outside the bounds of science. They were at times apart and at times together as one. Every twin would have the same job as their sibling and they would each marry the same set of twins. The connections they held helped them to achieve greater success. No one had ever chosen to live apart from their twin. This was all normal, but Glenn was far from normal.
When Glenn was born, the doctor had no explanation. The parents sat horrified and the mother nearly fainted. They wanted nothing to do with him. He was an abomination, a freak of nature. Surely they had failed. Was it that glass of wine she had drank before she knew she was pregnant? Had it been their failure to attend birthing classes? It didn’t matter. They left Glenn on the steps of Farsbury Orphanage with a note describing their motives because, despite their disgust, they still held on to some glimmer of humanity. Often times Glenn wished they hadn’t been so generous.
Someone born without a twin was something that had never happened as far as anyone was aware. Such an anomaly would surely spark the interest of any government official who caught wind of the incident. The head of the orphanage, Mr. Harrison knew this all too well and tried to keep Glenn’s identity a secret. Mr. Harrison said that Glenn had lost his twin to a fluke disease and that the other children should treat him as one of their own. Glenn knew this to be a lie. Mr. Harrison had spoken with Glenn in private when Glenn had reached an age where he would understand. This discussion only confirmed suspicions Glenn had harbored for so long. He knew he had never had a twin.
Despite Mr. Harrison’s goodwill and slyness, the children could sense that Glenn was not like them at all. All the twins were co-dependent on each other. Their talents were similar and often would play off of each other. Glenn depended on no one. His talent far exceeded any set of twins he had encountered. They hated him for it. They would tease and demean him daily whenever Mr. Harrison’s watchful eye skipped a beat.
Glenn often wondered why Mr. Harrison had treated him so well. No one he had ever met treated Glenn as an equal. Adults and children alike all acted as if he either didn’t exist or didn’t matter, but not Mr. Harrison. The story of Mr. Harrison that was well known throughout the orphanage was that he had lost his twin in the war. A grenade landed in their foxhole and they both instinctively jumped towards the bomb. His brother was faster. Mr. Harrison left the war with a few minor wounds, but his brother would lose his life. When one twin dies, the other often follows not soon after, but some few hang on. These people are often plagued by depression and are unsuccessful in nearly every endeavor. Somehow Mr. Harrison managed in spite of this. His lonely manner allowed him to make a connection with Glenn for which Glenn had always been grateful.
Glenn walked over to his window and looked down to the street below. Rain filled the road causing passing cars to drench pedestrians in the water kicked up by their spinning tires. From the 6th floor of the orphanage, Glenn could only see the tops of their umbrellas, each one a different color. He noticed two government vehicles parked in the street outside the orphanage. He felt his heart drop as if someone had cut the thin string from which it had been dangling for so long. The commotion downstairs grew louder.
Mr. Harrison had often spoken of a time where Glenn may need to leave on his own to escape capture. Who knew what plans they might have for him. Glenn knew his secret must have slipped. Someone who was adopted must have said something. Glenn considered his options as he heard feet trudging up the stairs. The noise of the footsteps grew so loud as to overpower the noise of the pouring rain.
The door burst open and the room of Glenn Fowler quickly filled with some ten government officials all dressed in black with not a smile among them. The window to Glenn’s room was ajar and Glenn was nowhere to be seen. No one saw Glenn Fowler slide down the drain pipe to the street below and run into the darkness of a nearby alley as the rain fell in torrents. All that could be heard were the click and clack of his feet on the wet pavement as he made his escape from the orphanage leaving his old life behind. Glenn decided then and there that he was done being despised. He was going places. | 13 | Describe the life of an only child in a world where everyone is born with an identical twin. | 28 |
You always felt her there with you.
The air in her lungs was the howl of the wind outside of the window.
Her footsteps throughout the house were the creaks of the floorboards.
She hugged you when you were cold, and warmed up your lonely bed when you slept alone.
When you felt a tap on you shoulder and you turned around abruptly, she was all of a foot away from you. She stared at you with loving eyes and you returned her gaze with nervously scanning eyes, attempting to the darkness in the living room.
One day, a man decided to break into your home. He abandoned his guardians long ago, and replaced his faith with the dulling burn of liquor. He crept up your stairs, and you thought his footsteps was just your creepy old house.
The wind howled fiercely outside. She tried to warn you.
You finished brushing your teeth and as you stepped out of the bathroom, you became face to face with the man. You froze. The man pulled a knife.
She cried, and screamed, and kicked.
Without warning, every faucet in your home turned on to full blast. The wind blew your windows open. The man was thrust across the hallway into a floor lamp a dozen feet away.
Then, all was blissfully calm. The running water sounded like waterfalls to you, with all that adrenaline pumping. But a slight whiff of your wife's perfume brought you to your senses.
You fell to your knees and you felt the warmth of her wrapping her arms around you. Her red hair cascading over your shoulder, the balm on her lips, the softness of her skin, it all came back to you in that moment.
You always felt her there with you.
| 38 | You'd always thought your house was haunted. One night, you're attacked by an intruder, but something defends you. | 46 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.