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The best part so far has been the surprise. I nearly had a second heart attack, minus the greasy jumbo pizza that started this whole mess. When a distinguished angel (it was either Michael or Gabriel, they look much alike, by the way) greets you with a cheerful if slightly vacant smile, and hands you an illustrated guide to the afterlife, you take a second to digest the information. Despite the assured opinions of the many eloquent individuals who wrote letters to me on Earth, I'm not currently getting a look at the colour of my intestines because some demon felt creative.
In fact, I'm reclining on a bit of field. It's become something of a routine. Pick your bit of field, and get comfortable. This is partly why my surprise didn't last long. Surprises generally don't, but mine faded faster than my excitement over the fact that 50 Shades of Grey did, in fact, become the highest grossing film of 2015. Because you see, one bit of field looks a lot like the one next to it. And that has been my primary activity over the last five years: lying on green fields that are generally bare.
The excitement of the week comes when I spot a flower, thriving heroically in a neighborhood dominated by neatly trimmed grass. Rumors abound of the exotic and provocative flowers growing on a bit of field somewhere in the North, if you'd care to walk a quarter of a century in that direction. Red *and* yellow ones, can you imagine? I thought I'd submit this review despite my keen anticipation of said flowers.
After a while, the view warps into one giant green blur, dotted here and there by someone playing a harp. I received mine, of course. It was off key, not surprising since it has been here since Jesus went downstairs. There are no introductory lessons, but nobody has complained of my endless renditions of "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)", despite my own loathing of my performance.
They never mention the little fact that the first song you pick, is the one you are eternally stuck with. Have you ever tried making your favorite song your ringtone? It's a teensy bit worse than that, because somehow your fingers are compelled to keep playing. Someone, somewhere, thought everyone would think this a delightful idea. And exactly zero heavenly residents have taken issue with the decision. Including me.
Because that's the beauty of heaven: no conflict. Although you have freedom of thought, freedom of speech is quite literally impossible. A dissenting opinion, a hint of sarcasm, a declaration of your intent to bludgeon someone to death with their own harp in their sleep - it all fizzles away to nothing in your throat. All you're left with is a slightly vacant smile and the vague impression that you kind of wanted to say something. If I ever find Gabriel/Michael again, I intend to offer my sincere condolences.
But here's the thing. Up here, you can write down your complaints. You can hand it to an angel, who will pass it along the daisy chain all the way to God (I've never clapped an eye on him - but I'm told he cultivates the most thrilling flowers in the realm). Based on what you write, you can stay here, or you get a look behind door number two.
I rather suspect "door number two" (euphemisms are a popular way to evade the pesky words-fade-in-the-mouth dilemma) will be Hell, and not Heaven 2.0 featuring guitars and greasy pizzas
. But at this point, seeing the colour of my insides sounds like the cinematic equivalent of watching Fight Club after an episode of the Teletubbies.
I look forward to writing my next review in approximately five years, if the writing tools and a few minute's relief from torture will be available.
| 29 | A few years into their eternal sentence, a film critic offers their review of heaven or hell. | 48 |
“Shuck” was the word that came out of my mouth. A mix of fuck and shit. Looking back, I wish I had chosen one word or the other. I remember feeling like an idiot. Fear does funny things though. It takes a functioning brain and confuses it to the point that words meld together. So when I was caught with my pants down, literally, by the Kraut, ‘shuck’ was the only thing I could say. Shuck. His face contorted in confusion. How embarrassing. A bolt action rifle in my face, and I’m hoping he doesn’t understand English.
Why was he in this part of the wooded areas? Why was he alone? There had been a winter storm the night before, perhaps he was separated from his unit. One of those things you never find out because you never get the chance. I could tell he was looking out for any other soldiers in the area as he took his aim. I could see he was nervous. Maybe he didn’t hear my language faux pa. My hands instinctively raised, my brain searching for way to explain what shuck really meant as he pulled the trigger.
His 88 jammed. It was probably the storm, the moisture had gotten to it, those damn things were jamming all the time. God knows my M2 jammed up every time I had to take a shot. I felt bad for him, he was alone out here, like a fawn roaming too far away from his mother. Now his trusted rifle had failed him when he needed it most. It was an unfortunate situation for everyone.
Now the hardest choice came, should I pull up my pants and then go for my Colt or do I go for the Colt and risk shooting a man while pantsless. I knew I had to go for the Colt first. He was already reaching for his pistol, and I sure as shuck couldn’t let him.
I’d never killed someone from so close before, so it was a strange sensation to do it with my penis visibly reclusing like a frightened kitten. I shot him twice, once in the gut and once in the shoulder. He dropped his gun and for a moment I thought he would fall, but a wounded animal will always strike hardest.
He came at me with furious speed. I didn’t even get the chance to become presentable. I tripped over myself and the Kraut literally fell on top of me, but that was the most of it. His eyes, inches from mine, resembled a universe fading away into oblivion.
I was able to push him off quite easily and fix my situation. Thankfully, no one was around to see what had just happened. I could picture my buddies after, never letting me live it down. They’d say I was fornicating instead of fighting.
“Hilf mir,” the Jerry said while sputtering up blood. I didn’t speak German, so I was mildly hoping he had jumbled up some words of his own. That would make us even. I felt a little bit more relieved after that.
I came up to him to finish the poor bastard off, put him out of his misery. But he had taken out a photograph and was holding it up to me, his hands shaking as snow fell and melted on them. ‘Great,’ I thought. Just what I need, another snowstorm.
I took the picture and looked at it. It was the Jerry and a girl, a pretty girl and a baby. ‘Damn, he’s young’, I thought. She looked to be a bit older. Is that how things worked in Germany? The women were older than their husbands?
I imagined going out with my childhood friend’s mother, a pretty woman weathered by the years. I thought of taking her out for a steak dinner, and suddenly my frightened kitten turned into a ferocious lion. That wouldn’t do either...there was a dying man in front of me. I needed to pay attention. The most embarrassing things tended to happen to me at the most inopportune moments…
“Kümmern sich um sie. Es ist niemand anderes.” were his last words. I was left there with that picture in my hands and fleeting German in my head. I never found out what those words meant, but I’d like to think they were his version of Shuck. But that wouldn’t be a dramatic way to go, to die with such an embarrassing jumble.
Suddenly I realized I was out alone in the open woods standing next to a dead man, holding his most cherished memories of home. I dropped the picture and decided it would be best to leave the scene.
The snow was really falling now, so I figured it would be best to get back quickly. I decided I would also need to think of better words to say next time I got caught in a precarious position. ‘Shuck...what an idiot I am.’ I thought as I ran... | 14 | After a brutal fight a dying enemy soldier grabs you by your clothes and forces on your hand a picture of him and his kids, while saying " Take care of them. There is no one else." | 15 |
"President of the Canadian Islands Theon Greyjoy in a landmark case signs an executive order banning adult circumcision." I laugh. The Onion usually isn't as clever. I read the next headline. "Author Jason Bourne has just released his new science fiction novel 'Al Gore and the Half-Blood Bush' The book is a continuation of Bourne's previous bestseller, 'Al Gore and the Inconvenient Truth', the story of a young boy wizard who finds himself trapped in a pull out sofa." This is just weird. I scroll up. Wait. This isn't the Onion. The words CNN boldy sit across the top of the page. This has got to be an April Fool's joke or something. In July.
I click out. I click on the browser icon again, and pop open CNN. I bet someone hacked the page. I read the headlines. The previous headlines are gone. Someone must have fixed it. I minimize the screen to listen to a song.
That's weird. I must have copied the firefox icon. I'm not sure how. The weird thing was the color swap. The orange fox had turned green. I click. Reddit.
Top post. DAE hate atheist? 3000 upvotes. The next post. TIL the Bob Dole started his career as a porn star after a failed audition for a role in Matt Damon's Day Off.
I keep scrolling. Every link is just as odd. Whistleblower and women's right activist Sarah Palin rumored to be hiding in Syria after denouncing lax gun laws. Kevin Bacon and Tom Cruise: Their gay love child.
I open Pinterest. Thousands of pictures of nothing but interesting colored pins. And the occasional penis. Not really different from normal.
Tumblr. Family belongs to a man and wife, and the occasional bull. Down with gay rights and up with the hetero agenda. Christianity is the only way.
I'm so confused. | 61 | You discover that your computer/laptop has two versions of your favorite browser. one shows the internet of an alternative universe. | 181 |
The rain gently drizzled down the large windows to the right of the booth we were occupying.
Outside cars and people hurried down the tree-lined avenue , kicking up puddles with soft splashes, drowned out by the quiet pitter-patter of the raindrops on the glass. A child in a pink parka and hat broke away from her mothers grasp tore down the street to a small lake in the pavement and begin leaping around and laughing hysterically. Her mother chased wildly after her, umbrella flipping to form a large bowl, catching the water droplets. A soft giggle came from across the table.
"My mother used to hate it when I did that."
I turned to look at her. She still stared out the window, but she was just as beautiful in profile. Her long slender figure was wrapped in a large woollen jumper , her pale skin seemed to reflect the light outside, and so she glowed. Her face was perfect, in almost every scrupulous way. He teardrop jaw leading down to a small-pointy chin, which wrinkled up when she smiled, as she was doing now. Her bottom lip curled up under her straight, white teeth, and the corners of her mouth folded into small wrinkles. Her small, ski-slope nose crested perfectly at the tip, and her nostrils bent upwards slightly. The day before when we had met, she had described it as "piggish", but there was nothing further from the truth. Finally, her large, deep-hazel eyes, moving rapidly to keep up with the little girl, glistened in the soft light of the overcast sky outside. Her long black hair flowed over her face in perfect coincidence. She seemed to have at the same time woken up with that hair, and yet spent hours teasing it, so that strands gently caressed her snowy cheek, while the rest flowed down her back in cascading waterfall of madness.
The pink girl and her mother disappeared around the corner and she turned to face me again. her mouth crawled into a gentle grin.
"You were looking at me again."
Even her voice was on that perfect pitch, somewhere between a husky deep, and a rolling melody. Occasionally it caught in her mouth and a soft rasp could be heard on the vowels.
"I was not."
"You were."
She took another sip of the coffee in front of her.
"It's so funny," she said, "I spent all this morning thinking about last night, only to run into you here."
"I was hoping to call you or text you or something, but then I realised you didn't leave any sort of contact information for me." I said.
"You sound too formal, I feel like we're at a business meeting." She giggled.
"Yeah sorry. I'm just really freaking tired today actually."
"Oh no..."
"Yeah, I didn't go to bed till 2, and then I had work at like 6."
"Shit." She sipped again.
"Real great to know you're concerned."
She laughed into the cup and put it back on the table.
"Sorry. I'm tired too."
Neither of us spoke for a while, we just kind of gazed into each others eyes. I was suddenly overcome by just how such an incredible person could be interested in me, and for awhile the thoughts danced around my head while my eyes were fixated in her deep hazel pool.
"You alright?" She asked.
I smiled. "Tired."
"Listen you said something to me last night which really bothered me." She spoke in a blunt and direct tone. "You're still a virgin."
"Yeah." I replied, there was no point trying to deny it, it had come out in a drunken haze and now she knew.
"How has such a pretty person still never had sex?"
"Bad timing."
"Bad timing?"
"Yeah like I never know when to, y'know, *do it*."
"Seriously?" She looked at me with contempt.
"Seriously."
Her gorgeous eyes gently drifted towards the ceiling for a while, and she made a small humming noise. The rain still drizzled and the cars still drove by. There was another little boy splashing in puddles now, but this one didn't have an adult in sight.
"How about-" She'd caught me off guard.
"-One night, tonight, me and you. A night of no strings attached sex, and we see exactly where we go from there." She seemed dead serious.
"I don't know.."
"Seriously?"
"I'm-I don't know. It doesn't feel right."
"Please?"
"It's just not exactly-"
"Please. Just one night, just for tonight. You told me last night I was the most incredible woman you'd ever seen." Suddenly her tone had dropped. "Wait, that wasn't just the alcohol was it?"
"No, no you are. I just can't."
"Please."
I couldn't, and there was no way I ever would. I began to shuffle my way out of the booth.
"Where are you going?"
I picked up my jacket off the seat, and she stared at me in hope. I don't know how anybody could ever resist the way her eyes gleamed in the dull light, and her bottom lip quivered under her incisors, but I had to.
"I just can't."
I turned. I turned and walked. I thought I heard a squeal, but I turned and walked and I didn't look back. Not as I walked out the door, down the street, in the door to my building, up the stairs, down the hall, not until I got in my apartment did I stop walking. I collapsed on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. I might have cried, I might have made the worst and stupidest decision in my life, but she could never, ever under any circumstances, know about my half inch dick.
| 133 | The most beautiful human being you have ever laid eyes on offers you a night of meaningless no-strings attached sex, but for reasons you cannot disclose, you absolutely cannot accept. And it's raining. | 81 |
*Cough* 'Damn, my throat really hurts,' I think. 'Maybe I ought to get a glass of water. I should have brought a bottle from home. It's not easy to get a glass of water when you're on the subway.'
Suddenly, a woman walks over, and hands me a full water bottle. I look up and give her an odd glance ('it was like she read my mind!'), but accept it nonetheless. I could really use something to get my throat working properly.
'Strange. I don't think I have a cold, so why is my throat so sore?'
I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look over, and I'm surprised to see a little girl, couldn't be more than 4 years old. I smile at her. She doesn't smile back.
"Mister, can you be quiet? My brother's asleep!"
'What the hell does this kid mean, "be quiet"? I haven't said a word!'
She shakes her head. "Mister, you've been yelling a lot. You just yelled that."
A woman taps the little girl on her shoulder. 'That must be her mother,' I think.
"Sweetie," she says to the girl, "you need to leave the poor man alone. Don't bother him, he might... *do* something."
'Do something? What the fuck does this woman mean, "do" something? What am I gonna do?' I wonder, starting to get pretty angry. 'How does everybody know what I'm thinking? What the hell?'
The mother looks over at me, and looks away quickly. Slowly, she returns her gaze to meet mine, and she smiles sympathetically. To her daughter, she says, "Just ignore the man, okay, sweetie? He might keep yelling, but we just have to ignore it. Some people do this sort of thing, and sometimes these people get help."
"Excuse me, ma'am, I haven't been yelling anything. I don't know what you're talking about. I've just been thinking to myself. How does everyone know what I've been thinking?" I ask her, starting to panic.
She looks at me, and this time, she doesn't look away.
"Sir, you've been yelling to yourself this whole train ride. It's like you're thinking aloud. Really, really aloud."
'Wait, what the fuck? Am I just shouting every time I'm thinking?' I think, really starting to freak out at this point.
"You just yelled that, so I assume that you've been doing it for a while," the woman says, with that strange, sympathetic smile.
"To be honest, I just thought you were a crazy hobo. I was gonna ignore it, until you hit this stop on your train of thought."
I stand up, and move to the center of the subway car, looking around and trying to make eye contact with every single person.
"I assume you all are aware that I've been yelling every single thought in my head."
Everyone who's listening nods their assent.
"Well, I'm sorry. I'm not crazy. I don't know why this--"
I'm interrupted by the PA system, announcing that we've reached my stop. 'Oh shit, I gotta go,' I think.
As I'm getting off the train, I'm followed by a voice that loudly announces, "Thank GOD! I thought that crazy hobo would never leave!"
'What the hell? I don't even look like a hobo!' This time, though, I hear the thought. For the first time in years. Weird. | 15 | You discover that you've been screaming everything you've thought out loud your entire life and people think you are just mentally challenged. | 56 |
"Sir, Why do you want to end your life?"
He turned towards me, a few days of growth on his face. "I'm the scum of the earth. All I do Is drink and smoke, and I have lovers who pays all my bills. I don't deserve life! LIFE IS TOO GOOD FOR ME!"
It was always sad for me to see people here. Usually, it was only one moment in their lives that brought them hear, one slip up and they're here.
I eventually persuaded him to come down, and he explained how he would use his looks and charm to get women to pick up his tab when he was broke, and it eventually got out of hand, he fell in love with one of the girls he used his charm on.
"I-I mean she wants to run away with me! Tonight! But if she ever found out who I was, who I really was, she's never forgive me."
I thought for a second, and then went back to my squad car and got my cell phone. "Call your lover. Put it on speaker. Tell her where you are, and what you are. If she comes to get you, then she truly loves you. If not, we can still get you help."
The mans hands were shaking as he typed in the number. As it began to rang, he looked up to me and said "Thanks sir." I smiled. No one should ever feel the need to take their own life.
Then I heard the voice on the phone. "Honey, I'm picking up the kids, I can't talk right now. See you when you get home, alright?" | 605 | A cop arrives at the golden gate bridge to talk a man out of committing suicide. After they have a short conversation, the cop jumps off the bridge. | 833 |
Brutus breathed in the familiar reek, and he felt almost as if he had never left.
This was Rome, its air thick with the aroma of a million people, all struggling in their own ways to survive. For some, it was easy, as it had been for him as a child. For most it was not. This was where his parents had raised him and the only true home he ever known. The distant places he had visited, and the many varied confines he had sought shelter in had all served a purpose. But with every breath of foreign air and every meal of curious origin, he had always felt the pull of Rome.
He hadn’t missed anything in particular, and he had felt little connection to the city itself for a long time. But Rome was a part of his family, and his father had done much to make the city great.
Brutus still felt the loss of his parents on the very surface of his soul. His father had been a great Patrician; Titus Iulius Vane. Titus had been a great commander in the final war against the Greeks, and had helped to bring Macedon to heel. In his adventures through the ancient Hellenistic lands, Titus had consolidated a great network of clients among the foreign nobilities, and upon his return to Rome, their family holdings made the Vane family one of the wealthiest in the Republic.
Brutus’ mother, Marca Calpurnius Vane, had been a paragon of virtue, and always the compassionate matron to his father’s stern disciplinarian. Brutus had loved his mother dearly.
When his parents had been needlessly murdered, it had broken his young heart. Merely a boy at the time, he had little concept then of politics and purges, and could not fathom the high-handed intrigues that had led to the widespread looting and rampaging in the city back then. His parents’ deaths had been nothing other than the result of senseless crime and theft. Ever since that night, Brutus had hated the city, and the evil that lurked throughout.
Brutus stepped off the sturdy ship, and made his way off of the dock towards the road that led up to the city. There at the roadway stood his two dearest slaves, Lucius Vulpes, and Ælfræd.
Lucius’ father had been a deserter in the final campaigns against the hated Carthaginians, and his family had been bankrupted by his angered colleagues. Lucius had then been born into his enslavement, innocent himself of any wrongdoing. Brutus’ father had seen much potential in the young slave, and had purchased him, and provided him with an unheard-of level of education, never afforded to slaves. The teaching had proven their worth, and Lucius was an amazing craftsmen and administrator. He had always been faithful to the Vane household, and had been an admirable tutor for young Brutus.
And there was Ælfræd, very possibly the closest friend Brutus ever had. Ælfræd had been captured as a young barbarian auxiliary fighting against the Romans somewhere in Gaul. Just a youth at the time of his enslavement, Ælfræd had escaped numerous times, taking off on a manner of campaigns against his captors. But his tact and subtle humour had always kept him from execution, though he often found himself subject to the worst household tasks upon his return. It was pure chance that Titus had purchased Ælfræd in a lot of slaves being sold by a Patrician family who had fallen on hard times. Titus had been only slightly more lenient on the impetuous young slave, but he was always fair. His impartial treatment soon endeared Ælfræd to him. Through the years, the naturally wise and capable Gaul had risen through the household to become its main curator. In his service, he was second only to the family themselves, and had taken his duty to them seriously. Upon the death of Titus and Marca, he had taken it upon himself to diligently guide young Brutus through the murky waters of Patrician politics, and with the help of Lucius and the other household slaves, they had kept the boy honest, compassionate, and watched him grow into a virtuous, if anger-filled, man.
Ælfræd’s eyes welled at the sight of his returned master, and he struggled to contain his joy. Lucius grinned widely. Brutus gave them each a quick but caring smile, and they each bowed their deference to him as he honoured them with the friendly touch of his hand on their shoulders.
“Dominus” the two slaves each welcomed their master.
“It is good to see you both,” Brutus exclaimed. The two straightened, and looked with pride at the handsome, confident man before them. It had been years since he had departed without any word or warning, and they had awaited his return every moment since.
“Come,” Brutus offered, “Walk with me to my parent’s house.” The two were always taken aback by Brutus’ habit of speaking of his parents as though they were still alive, but happily followed him.
“With all respect, Dominus,” said Ælfræd, “the estate and holdings of your family are yours.” Brutus waved off this claim, and the slaves knew it best to not press the issue.
“It has been so long, Dominus,” said Lucius. “Where have you been travelling all these years?”
Brutus’s face became cold, and his voice dropped until it was barely audible.
“I was learning what I needed to know” came his emotionless reply.
“Well,” continued Lucius, “we are all greatly heartened to have you home.” Brutus’ faced became once again friendly at this compliment. “We have taken very good care of your family’s holdings, and the wealth of your father has awaited your return. Though your absence has possibly diminished your influence among the other Patricians, it has also generated great interest in the matter of your travels. There are many who will be interested to hear of your return.”
“I don’t want any official mentions of my return, nor any kind of returning banquets. That’s not why I’ve come back.” The two slaves looked at each other, unsure of Brutus’ constancy. But they were happy to have him home, and ever faithful, they would defer to him in all things.
“May I ask, Dominus,” inquired Ælfræd, “if not to be among your friends and fellow Patricians, why have you returned?”
Brutus looked about him at the city as they walked along the road. Merchants pressed their wares on all those passing by. The cacophony of the Eternal City rang loud in his ears, and filled his mind with its headiness. He saw the sorrow of forgotten children begging for scraps, and the poor being cast aside into the alleys and gutters of opulence. So many strode past the impoverished with no care for their plight. Amid the endless overheard conversations, Brutus could hear bribery, plotting against fellow men, and liaisons of every nature. The city had become corrupted to its core, and the sickness bore its scars here in the lowest places, though unseen by those who perpetuated this demise of Roman virtue. Rome was the center of the world, and into its pull had drifted the worst of mankind. He felt the crush of inequity, and even his own hereditary standing in this place weighed heavily on his heart.
“I’ve returned,” said Brutus, “because there is much that needs to be done here. The city is in decay, and I owe it to my Father and my Mother to protect what they worked so hard to help build.” The two elder slaves were uncertain of Brutus’ vague response, and what it could possibly mean. But he carried with him the charm and magnetism of his great father, and they each knew they loved this man they had raised from a boy.
“Ælfræd,” Brutus continued, “I want you to arrange the freeing of all of my house slaves. I won’t be needing them, and I don’t wish to retain their servitude any longer. As well, I intend to free you both, though I wish for you to remain in my employ.”
The two old men caught their breath, and felt the swelling of emotion at this most generous gift.
“Dominus, I…” Lucius stammered, but Brutus cut him off.
“Please, I’m not your master anymore” he demanded. “For what I intend, I need men who are near as possible to my equals. You both should just call me Brutus.” The men were awash in gratitude, and they felt joyed to walk along with their new friend.
“As you wish, Brutus” Ælfræd choked out amidst grateful tears. Brutus smiled, and placed his hand on his aged friend’s shoulder, a gesture of brotherly affection he wouldn’t have dared before, but now relished in. The two shared a knowing smile, their lifelong friendship holding much the same bearing as that of a loving father and a dutiful son.
They walked on towards the Vane estate, and as they strode, Brutus turned to Lucius.
“Lucius,” said Brutus.
“Yes, Brutus?” came the simple reply.
“I need you to build me something.”
EDIT: spelling | 16 | Batman has come home to Rome. | 31 |
"Put the guns down, NOW!"
They all whip around to see the man who was quietly sitting next to me holding a gun pointed directly at the closest terrorists head.
"What are you, Air Marshal?"
"Nope," he replied, "this is my plane. I won't let you morons ruin what we've spent months planning."
"What do you mean 'we'. You're the only other guy here and your clearly not with us."
All of a sudden about seven more men stand up, all with guns pointing at the separate terrorists.
"I've risked too much to see you God-less fools ruin my plans today. Either drop your guns and sit down or we all fire, and as your clearly outnumbered either you will die o we all will from the disturbance of the cabin pressure."
The three terrorists all look at each other, and slowly put their guns down and go back to their seats on the plane. I'm looking up in amazement at our new hijackers... the guy who was just sitting freaking next to me and talking about visiting his mother in Florida. He moves to the front of the plane as the others move around the room strategically, and as one goes into the cockpit.
"Now," he says as he pulls out a brochure or pamphlet of some type from his bag, "who here would like to hear the good word of Jesus Christ our Savior?"
Edit: spelling | 97 | A group of terrorists attempt to hijack a plane. They find out there is a second group onboard. They are totally unaffiliated. | 136 |
It was two days before that I came up with the idea. It was so simple and yet so strange... No that's not right actually it's not that strange it's just strange that nobody else tried. I've been on the net the whole night trying to find out if somebody tried that before, however nobody did. So many people in the world and nobody tried this simple thing.
It was one day before that I decided to do it, and finally the great day came.
It was my 18th Birthday and exactly at the second I would become 18 years old it would happen, as it happens to everybody, Wikipedia says that nobody ever had a different experience it was always the same scenario. The person falls into a sleep-like state the moment their 18th year of life ends. Then every person has the same dream, a world of pure white and the voice of (as many, basically almost all religions put it) god demanding to choose between losing either sight or hearing.
It is said that you stay in that sleep as long as it takes you to choose, and there's no way out of it without choosing to lose one of the senses.
When the people wake up, they all have lost the sense they chose a miracle one of the only occurrences that cannot be explained by science.
And so it happened to me as well. I finally understood what people meant when they said: "A pure white."
And then the voice came:
"Hearing or Sight,
Blind or Deaf,
Choose mortal."
I was kinda nervous, however I managed to say the words I wanted to say with a confident voice:
"I want both."
"You cannot refuse, you have to lose a sense, so make a decision.
Hearing or Sight,
Blind or Deaf"
"You don't understand me. I won't choose and I know it's useless to beg for living with sight and hearing. So I want both. Make me blind and deaf."
Silence.
And then laughter, God laughed at me.
"You are one funny little human, haven't you learned anything in your 18 years? Your behaving like a little kid that, just because it has to lose something, throws away everything."
I did it. The one thing nobody managed before. I made this god lose it's temper, it was that tiny victory I just achieved that gave me the confidence to push further.
"So what? What if I am just like a child. I am here and I won't choose. I won't be a stupid puppet that you can toy around with. I will wake up both deaf and blind, or none of them, but before that I won't leave."
I have thought about that a lot. Why would a god do that? Why would a being with powers surpassing science do something like making us choose? I never came up with an answer for that. But one thing I realized. God wanted us to choose, he wanted us to choose between either blind or deaf. It was important to god that we CHOSE.
And so I fought against that. There was just one thing that god could use to scare people enough to make them choose and that's saying he would take both. I took that from him, I said I would take both or nothing, but I wouldn't choose. He can't do anything now, because I just refused.
Now all was said and done, now came the challenge. A duel of patience. All I had to do was to wait in this pure whiteness.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
In the pure white there is nothing to count the time that flows past, sometimes I even wondered if time really flowed.
I thought an eternity had passed when god started speaking again.
"You know that every second of time that passes here you lose in the real world?"
I gave a simple answer: "I know."
And so I waited.
And waited.
I waited for my last card. The one joker that would end this battle against god.
I waited when god started speaking yet again:
"Why are you doing this?"
"I want to defeat you. I want to refuse the fact that you control my life."
"So what can you do about it? You are sleeping. You have thrown your life away. You will die in 5 minutes because your body has grown old, so what did you achieve?"
"Haven't you thought about what will happen once I die? All my life functions will cease to exist, my lungs won't breath anymore, my legs won't ever move again and most important: My eyes and my ears will both wither. I will lose both. I won't choose. I will die."
A few minutes later I felt it. I died. Before a speechless god I spoke my last words:
"I win."
EDIT: Spelling Mistakes | 55 | at age 18 everyone has to choose between going blind or deaf. You are 2 days away from you 18th birthday. | 45 |
"Same as always. Remove the soul through the anus and leave the body intact. Piece of cake."
"Don't get cocky, Blork. I have a quota to meet."
"You worry too much. I was born with a probe in my claws. I could rip this creature's soul out in my stasis."
"Then shut your thought-hole and get to work."
"Alright... what have we here. Female human, class 7 sphincter... and I'm in. Containment system activated, reaper online. Huh... that's odd. Reaper set to high power. Reaper set to maximum power. Wow, this baby's really jammed up in there. Reaper set to ludicrous power. How the floating f*uuuuuuuuuuuiaaaaaaaaaargh*..."
"Blork? Blork, what's going on in there?"
"We are not Blork. We are Legion. Return us to our realm."
"This isn't funny, Blork. We're going to miss the quota. One more cycle below quota and I'll have to start vaporizing my probers. That means you first, Blork"
"We are not Blork. We are Legion. Return us to our realm."
"OK, hahaha, good one. I admire your commitment. I don't know how the hell you're doing that thing with your voice. But it's time to quit joking and get back to work."
"We are not Work. We are not Joke. We are Legion. *RETURN US TO OUR REALM!*"
"Holy neuroballs... what on Yortron is happening to my ship?!?! Blork, Blork, can you hear me? Blork?!?!?"
"We are not Blork. We are Legion. Return us to our realm."
"What, what realm? Just stop what you're doing or you'll kill us both. What, where do you want me to return you? That shitty water-planet?"
"We are Legion. Our realm is Tartarus. Our sustenance is the suffering of the damned."
"Huh. Let me think."
"We are Legion. Return us to our realm."
"Ya, just one question... when you say that you're 'legion', what kind of numbers are we talking, exactly?"
"Our multitude surpasses every drop of water in the ocean. Every flake of snow on the mountain. Every shaft of light in the sky. We are Legion. Return us to our realm."
"Well that is impressive. Now hear me out, this is what I'm offering... I've got about three thousand souls in my primary tank. I don't know if they're damned, but they're all pretty bummed out. And when we get back to the main depository on Grack Prime, there's billions of them. Billions and billions of souls for you to torment. How does that sound?"
"We are... amenable."
"Well hot damn. Looks like I'll be making my quota after all." | 127 | Aliens abduct a human being. Unknown to them, the human is possessed by a powerful demon who is in no mood to be probed. | 171 |
I woke up dazed, tired, confused. The last thing I remembered....it was darkness? I suddenly heard the clanking of keys across rusted bars. I slowly forced my eyes open, realizing they had been badly bruised in the process. I looked around me, it was a dark stone room with a small window above me. The room was only a few meters in width, height, and length, but it didn't stop me from jumping towards the barred window above me. I closed my eyes as I took in the fresh sea air. It calmed my aching nerves. I braced myself from the sunlight flooding my eyes. For me, it felt like pure ectesay, just to see the beautiful light....to be reminded of an outside. I stood on the tips of my toes, trying to peer out and observe my surroundings...I was taken back by what I saw.
Ships that floated above in the clouds, horseless carriages that moved faster than I had ever seen. Large temples and markets erected along the beach, and....I nearly collapsed. I pushed myself up again to peer out and see my beautiful ship, my beautiful Santa Maria, being stripped, her virginity taken and her honor ruined. The other two ships had already been destroyed, but my pride and joy had now been turned into ashes, parts for these....these-
"Savages" was the last thing I heard as a club struck a blow across my head and once more I felt darkness.
I woke, feeling battered and shattered with a cold splash of water across my face. I heaved and looked around in high speed movements, trying to comprehend where I was. It looked like the royal court of the Queen and King, but....only more elegant, pristine...rich. Jewels were embedded into the walls, the pillars made out of clear polished marble, and up on a golden wood throne a man was standing.
I was not alone in this chamber, as I shuddered feeling the wind scattering from the open court, guards came in and stood viligent. Two female warriors had bound me, and as they shoved me towards the ground, I could only heave and see my blood slowly dripping onto the floor. It was like time was squeezed into a tiny rain drop of blood....drip, drip, drip.
"Etu nah yowva noveah," the man replied.
His back was turned to me, and I couldn't say anything but, "Huh?"
He turned to face me, a young man, wearing a simple vest and what appeared to be shorts with a cape shuddered over his shouldered like the incarnation of fear itself.
He walked closer to me, "Parleouis Francis?"
I shook my head, although the language sounded familiar.
He sighed and started speaking in a language I knew by heart, "Do you speak Italian?"
I eagerly nodded, hoping this man could be my saviour. My hopes were dead wrong.
"As I said before, you are not the first."
I was taken with surprise as he furiously gazed into my eyes, "And you won't be the last."
He continued, "You Europeans think you are so elegant, so smart, so invincible. You come and try to rule us "savages", he motioned with his fingers, "yet you do not understand the very meaning of human decency. Years go by and always one or another comes into our grasps. We first thought, they must be like us, their blood bleeds red, and their children smile like ours. But you come in and slaughter innocent people and expect us to treat you with respect.....as man of peace and justice, I do not believe you deserve such deaths. But I have witnessed personal losses against your vendetta..."
He came up and squeezed my face and stared coldessly for a moment, and then sighed, "I apologize Italian, we are not the savages you ungrateful bastards proclaim us to be, but in order to protect our world from yours, we must eliminated all traces of explorers. Like the ones who came before you to our world, you will soon face similar consequences. Fear not, we will not take over your land, nor have any contact with you."
He pulled a small weapon, similar to a miniature cannon and pointed it at my temple, and pulled back a small lever, "Consider your quest fulfilled....conquistadore" | 14 | Christopher Columbus arrives in the west as he did but is instead finds a more advanced society with the ability to take over the East. | 51 |
"Owl Man! Use your heightened senses! Can you tell us where the hostages are being taken?"
"Who? Who? Who?"
"Shit. I forgot that that was all you got. Snake Eyes! What about you?"
"Yes! I do!" Snake Eyes holds up a pair of dice, eyes gleaming with excitement.
"What is it, Snake Eyes?"
"It's a pair of ones!"
"Yes... yes, of course it is." The Captain hangs his head, futilely attempting to massage his migraine away. Useless. The team he'd been given was totally useless. He should have guessed that, when he saw the title the agency had assigned them: The Last Resorts.
He was never going to make this work. Unless... wait, he had an idea!
"Stereotype Man! Transform into a 1950's cartoon Indian and hold your head to the ground! I need you to listen for a van with at least five people inside!"
"On it, Captain!"
"Good, good! Owl Man! Use your ability to... sound like an Owl... to call to the villains when Stereotype Man finds them! If they're as cliche as I think they'll be, their signal is probably and owl hoot!"
"Yes Sir!"
"Ejaculatron!"
"Yes?"
"Stay quietly in that corner!"
"Hhnnng!"
"Alright, team. When Owl Man draws out the villains, Somewhat Flexible Man is going to throw himself in front of the van to stop it--"
"WHAT?"
"--and Flatulence Woman is going to smoke them out. Then Snake Eyes and Grammar Girl are going to straight up beat the shit out of them. We take the hostages to the police, let them clean up the mess, and consider the day saved!"
The group cheered, all except for Flatulence Woman, who peers at him suspiciously. "And what are you going to do, Captain?"
Aqua Man meets her stare dead on, his expression stern and confident. "Nothing. I'm going to do nothing." | 22 | You are a member of a superhero league in the vein of the Avengers or Justice League. The difference? Everyone in your group including you has a superpower that is utterly useless 99% of the time. | 15 |
It's like living in Hershey, PA, with an allergy to cocoa...except instead of sweet, the air smells rancid.
I can't stand the stuff. They pour it over *everything*, from salads to tacos to ice cream. It's like watching someone eat mayo from the jar, sickening. Yet I can't escape it, not for a second. It's at work, at every picnic, every restaurant. Half of the grocery store is ranch dressing. And my fridge at home, the one food storage device that should be my sanctuary, is filled with it. I try throwing it out, but the next time I open the fridge, there it is again; enough ranch dressing to overfill a bathtub. I can't even make room for the milk.
That's what it's like in Hidden Valley. And I can't leave. Who would have thought, that once you moved in, you had to stay *hidden*. The real estate agent could have warned me. She could have at least asked if I liked ranch. Now I'm stuck here, with no contact to outside friends or family, hiding from the ranch gestapo.
You think I'm joking. I'm not. I tried to use some Italian dressing once. Made it myself, since the grocery store didn't sell it--which is odd, don't you think? The company certainly makes it. But no. Hidden Valley is for ranch only. We have to keep up appearances. They came in the night, confiscated my salad, and beat me black and blue. Then they left a jumbo bottle of fat-free ranch, saying, "Try it! It tastes just like the original!"
Every time I see a bottle of Hidden Valley ranch, I want to hurl. The thick, white gloppy mess, little specks of God knows floating in it, like milk that went bad three months ago. It smells like bitter death. Yet here I am, spooning it into my mouth at the picnic table, exchanging false, soulless smiles with my Stepford-esque neighbors. A bit dribbles down my chin, and I make a show of licking it off, exhibiting the table manners of an untrained chimpanzee.
"MMM!" I say. "Taste that simple goodness! Just the way ranch is supposed to taste More please!"
I'm in hell. | 271 | You live in Hidden Valley. You're the only one in town who doesn't like ranch dressing. | 425 |
*Milk, bread, chips, and cereal. Check.* Shopping list done, I finally head for the registers. A long, arduous day at work has left my legs weak and my mind fogged. A cursory glance up and down the checkout aisles reveals one open lane, at the far end of the store. *Figures.*
I drag myself and my overflowing red plastic basket to the checkout counter and unload my items. The cashier starts pushing them over the laser without a word. She is probably mid-fifties, with her greying hair tied back in such a tight bun that her skin looked stretched to it's limits over her gaunt eyes and razor-straight jawline. Seeing her staring hard and frowning angrily in silence at everything she pushes over the scanner, I decide not to try to start the small talk. I try not to quick-judge people so much anymore, as I am often wrong, but my instincts are flashing "total bitch" in very large, blocky letters right now.
So instead of conversation, I decide I need to look around at literally anything else. My eyes wander behind the cashier to an old, crumbling bulletin board with a slightly crooked sign (that was clearly laminated in a time long enough ago to be measured in decades) that reads:
**MISSING PERSONS**
*Wow, didn't realize grocery stores still did that.* Then again, Nolan's Fine Foods has been running in this town for over 60 years (or so the sign on the front of the store was so eager to inform me on the way in) so I'm sure a lot of the things they do are a little out of date. I wouldn't have known that otherwise, seeing as I'm not from around this part of the country. Any time I get the pleasure of traveling for work, I like to shop local as much as I can, because once you've seen one WalMart, you've seen 'em all.
*And you've died a little inside* I chuckle to myself as my eyes glance around the MISSING PERSONS board. There are maybe 14 or 15 posters tacked and taped up to the board. Some look recent, others clearly are not. There's one middle aged man and the rest are children of various ages, although none are over the age of ten or eleven. Taking note of some of the Gone Missing dates on the posters, I start to feel somber.
*June 2006.*
*November 2001*
*Jesus, 1994!* The kid on this poster hardly looks more than three, which means he'd not be much younger than me. *I can't imagine missing your child so long that you have to specify the* year *that they disappeared. And this kid's been up for two decades.*
My curiosity oddly piqued, I start studying the poster closer. I suddenly realize that there's actually another poster that I didn't see before, as it is obstructed by 3 other posters. *Yikes, this kid's probably older still.* I can't imagine they'd cover a poster up so thoroughly if it wasn't old enough to be a lost cause. It isn't even a matter of space on the bulletin board, either, there's tons of empty space on the other side. Now I'm really curious about it, so I take the few short steps over to the board and remove two pushpins that release the corners of the obstructing posters. Folding back the top posters reveals the faded, wrinkled one beneath it.
**DATE TAKEN: January 22nd, 1989**
*Heh, it's my half-birthday.* A small twinge of guilt hits. *Probably not the appropriate first thought when learning a child is missing.* I glance up.
**D.O.B.: July 22nd, 1988**
*Huh, my actual birthday.* I glance up to see the reference photo, and my heart stops pumping. My blood turns to ice, and with it I freeze solid in my tracks. My eyes forget how to blink as they've grown wide and confused, and my hands start to tingle as I've stopped breathing entirely.
*I know that shirt*
Too-big white Disney t-shirt, old-school logo, spaghetti sauce stain running from Mickey's right ear to the shirt's armpit.
My heart learns how to beat again, and it's suddenly pumping hard enough to feel it throbbing in my ears until I can't hear anything else.
*I know that chair*
Old black faux-leather recliner, worn to light-grey cloth at the creases, stains of it's own to match the shirt.
I can hardly stay on my feet as my jaw continues to hang agape, fear and confusion front and center on my blood-drained face.
*I know that house. I know that* picture
The same picture occupies a small, cracked brass frame set sitting on my end table, among other pictures of my family.
*And I know that* birthmark
The sagging neckline of the Disney shirt revealed a birthmark, dead center on the sternum. It was an oblong, lumpy oval save for one defining, unmistakable feature: an exact right-angle corner pointing downward, like an arrow, towards the belly button. I hardly notice my right hand pressing against my chest, fingers stroking the ridge that the birthmark causes.
*That's ME.*
My arms are numb now as they fall through molasses to my sides, as I unwittingly tear the covering poster down along with them. The cashier is saying something to me but all I hear is a muffled wave of throat-sounds. My mind feels like time itself is warping as the simultaneous slowing of the world around me collides with the sudden, rushing cascade of half-forgotten memories. Horrid childhood nightmares that felt as real as anything I can remember. Dreams of being lured away in the dark by shadow creatures, tearing me away from those I loved.
Some of my first memories are of my parents sternly insisting they were bad dreams as I cried. They took me to a therapist for months to get over them, to stop me from waking in the middle of the night screaming in unrestrained terror.
And it worked. I stopped dreaming. I was all better.
*Right?*
Still in shock, I manage to make my eyes look down at the name below the photo:
**Jacob Peters**
Not my name. *Not that it matters, that's clearly me. What the hell. What the HELL?!* My mind races through scenarios where this isn't what it appears to be, and I realize none of them make much sense. *A prank or something? Who would prank me like this? HOW could they prank me like this? Two thousand miles from home? That fucking impossible! This poster has clearly been here forever. How could someone put up a prank sign and not get noticed for 25* god-damned years*? Maybe a mistake on the poster? Yeah because missing kids' parents could easily accidentally get a picture of someone from across the country and god damnit this makes no FUCKING* **SENSE!**
Shaking violently with anxiety, I make a vague sound to the cashier indicating my sudden disinterest in getting my groceries and I stumble out the front door into the cold night air. I grab my phone out of my pocket. I nearly fumble it into the street, juggle it briefly, and catch it at the last second. I swipe to unlock it and go to my contacts. I click on "Mom."
I bring the phone up to my ear and stare off at nothing in the middle distance. My heart is hammering its way out of my chest, and the cool night air makes the sweat pouring down my face feel like frigid rain.
One ring. Then two. On the other end, I hear the distinctive *ka-chuk* sound her phone makes when she takes it off the base. Landlines are old fashioned, but then again, my mom *(mom?)* is as well.
"Hello?" she says, vague movement sounds in the background.
"Hi mom," I croak out, throat dry despite the frigid rain on my face.
"Brian? Is that you? Sorry honey, I can't hear you very well."
I have a thousand questions trying to get themselves from my brain to my mouth at the same time, and the resulting neural traffic jam leaves my mouth speechless. I can't make a sound.
"Brian? Hello?"
I take as deep a breath as I can, calm my voice, and say
"Yeah mom. It's your son. Your son Jacob Peters."
I can practically hear her go cold and still instantly, the only audible noise being a short, sharp inhale. My heartbeat seemingly shakes my whole body as it pumps harder than I'd ever known possible. My anger and confusion and fear overwhelm me in the silence.
"What the *FUCK* is going on?" I scream into the phone, unaware of my own volume. My vision is filling in black from the sides. My mind races. *This can't be real. This can't be real.*
A long, cold pause.
"Your father and I ... did what we needed to do."
*This is real*
*This is* **REAL**
Waves of ice engulf my entire body as my vision grows distant, black. My knees wobble inward and buckle together, and I'm falling in slow motion. My phone slips from my now-relaxed grip and tumbles to the pavement. I'm aware only vaguely of my body's impact with the ground, as it is clouded heavily by my plunge into unconsciousness.
*Who the hell am I?!*
____
___________________
_____
EDITS: Edited the ending. Instead of *"Who the hell am I?!"* the following line was written:
*Fading...*
*fading...*
*"We still always loved you."*
*ka-chuk*
Was kind of a weak ending, was too tired by the end of writing last night to end it well I guess
Also edited to fix the discrepancy in the name and a few spelling errors. | 20 | You're shopping and look at the missing children board. You see your baby picture next to your birthdate and a different name. You were kidnapped at 6 months old. Your "mom" is just a call away. | 28 |
*"This is going to take some explaining, but..."*
At any given point in time, there is someone out there at a loss for words as they try to explain themselves out of an awkward situation. You start, fumble, stutter, and then eventually, somehow, find yourself at the finish line. It's never easy, but you make it there. I'm usually like this, you see. I've never been good with words, and that multiples itself by, oh, around a thousand when weird, not easily explained events have happened. I remember when I was twelve years old and my mother walked in me masturbating, and I was so flustered that, right after I made up a story involving ghosts possessing me, I vomited in fear and came within an eyelash of passing out. To add insult to injury, she made me clean it up after yelling at me that God was watching, and that, one day, I'd have to explain myself to him. I figured that was just her way of trying to get me to never do that again.
Little did I know that she was right, and I would be explaining a lot more to God than just my pre-pubescent masturbation.
"Lucas, start at the beginning, and go very slowly so that I can process the information," The Almighty said from somewhere. I don't know where he was when he asked me.
*"Well, God..."*
This was going to be a nightmare.
It had all started off rather innocuously. Driving down the street and on my way to pick up a few groceries from the store, I had been having sort of a rough day. Being mandated to work night shifts in a 24/7 convenience store sort of takes its toll on a person, as it turns out, and there was no form of sleep to be had. I was tired, stressed out, and didn't really have my head screwed on straight. But, dammit, I needed to get those Doritos, Pickles, and Root Beer into my stomach. It's all I'd be craving that day. Had I been female, I would have added a pregnancy test to my grocery list, because I would have been under the assumption that I was with child. So, as I was driving along, trying to decompress, all I could think about was the delicious, terrible for you food that was about to enter my stomach. Nothing else mattered in the world.
Then, **CRASH.**
It all happened so fast. Being tired and driving is never a good idea, and I learned that useful fact a little too late. The noise was the most horrifying thing I had ever heard in my life. Steel met flesh and bone, and steel won. You're never prepared to hear someones dying screams, and it hit me like a car, ironically enough. All I could do was hit my brakes and let out the most high pitched scream that was capable of leaving my body. It took me negative thirty seconds to realize that I had just hit an elderly lady, complete with walker, as she was crossing the street.
The next thing I noticed was people from seemingly every available crevice on Earth come streaming out and into the road. My body was in shock. I couldn't move, breathe, or think properly. It's not every day you something like this happens, at least for me. All I could do was sit in my front seat, seat belt still on, and stare straight ahead. No blinking. No breathing. I could, however, listen, and the topic of discussion was that I had, indeed, just hit an elderly woman with my car and that I was, as coined by a particularly surly gentleman, "a dumb motherfucker who is about to get a Size 13 boot stuck in his asshole." Luckily, that did not happen, as I don't think the human body is physically capable of withstanding that.
After the initial shock wore off, I managed to, very shakily, undo my seat belt and fall out of the car. Scrambling on the ground and surrounded by a bunch of screaming people who want to beat you with the prone body of a little old lady who you just hit and killed with your car is never a good look for anyone, especially someone who generally tries to avoid confrontation. I couldn't exactly avoid this confrontation, unfortunately, so I managed to pull myself up and towards the front of my now ruined Ford Focus, where a dead body just happened to be. A dead body that was alive mere minutes ago, that I hit with my car due to not paying attention and lusting after a two liter of A&W Root Beer. This was not a good day.
"Go on, Lucas," the All Seeing Omnipotence called from the clouds. I gulped.
By some miracle, the crowd didn't rush me and beat me to death as I knelt down by the body. I could hear the oncoming sirens of police cars and an ambulance, someone having undoubtedly called in a vehicular homicide. People are very on their game when it comes to that, it turns out. Millions of thoughts ran through my head, of which included *"Oh my God, I'm going to be used as currency in jail"*, and *"I hope that this lady was sort of a bitch."* Naturally, these are not the most constructive things to think at a time like this, but when it comes to keeping your sanity, they're most necessary. Especially that lost thought. That was **especially** important in my situation.
"And then what happened?"
Bending down by the body, I placed my hand where her heart was. There was no pulse. Any sign of life had long been extinguished. I was nearing a total mental breakdown. I couldn't believe this had happened. My entire life, I had tried my absolute best to stay away from breaking the law. Now I had gone and done this. It was literally the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and was also literally the worst thing to ever happen to this lady. As I held my hand on her heart, with my mind racing a mile a minute, I feared this would be the end of my life.
Suddenly, time stopped.
I mean that literally. I know I'm using that word a lot, but time *literally* stopped. Everyone stopped moving and breathing. Birds high above us stopped flying. The clouds stopped shifting, and the Earth stopped rotating. Everything was held in place as if someone had hit "Pause" on the remote control. Everything, that is, except for me. I stood up, confused and bewildered, and looked around. This is one of those things that you read about in books or see in lame movies where time stops and the protagonist in the story holds his hands to the side of his head and screams out loud because he can't process just what in the blue hell is going on.
I couldn't help but vomit.
"Continue without vomiting," God said. It was almost as if he was having a laugh at me. It was well deserved.
Wiping away the trail from my mouth, and still not fully comprehending what was going on, I looked down to where the elderly lady was laying. Or, more to the point, where she was SUPPOSED to be laying, because she was not there. She was not anywhere. It was as if someone had come in and stolen her from under my nose. It made less sense than anything before or after it. Through bleary, teared over eyes, I squinted, hoping to find any sort of trace of the body. No dice. However, there was a folded up piece of paper in the body's place. It was almost as if someone had opened a letter and left the contents on the kitchen table. Only the kitchen table was the road and the letter was a piece of paper in place of the body of a deceased geriatric.
"You're almost there, Lucas..."
I didn't even bend down this time. Sort of collapsing under my own weight and sighing heavily enough to scare myself, I grabbed the piece of paper up and opened it as if I were a fat child opening up a fresh bag of miniature Snickers. It was with total abandon and with no care in the world, and I didn't give a damn. I wanted to know what it said. With the stillness of the world around me, I didn't figure anyone would mind if I read it out loud. Maybe it would help me cope with what was going on.
Spoiler alert: It did not.
> Dear Lucky Winner: You have successfully killed The Devil. Satan. Beelzebub. Old Scratch. Whatever name you know me by, you know that I am The Harbinger of All That Is Evil. I am also, as it turns out, mortal when I take the form of a pathetic human. It's one of the downsides to being The Prince of Darkness. You can only torture people endlessly for millenniums without getting bored, as it turns out, and I like to wander around on Earth frequently to check out all the damned souls that will soon be visiting me. However, in order to not cast suspicion on myself, I have to take on the form of an inconspicuous human being that is currently residing in my Palace. This form was that of Gertrude Bissman, Nazi Sympathizer. People were normally very nice to her, because she was an old woman. No one but a real scumbag would harm an elderly lady. Well, no one would harm her unless they knew what she had done. Even then, people would be hard pressed to do something, let alone kill her. But you lucked out. You killed Satan. This letter will be my final dealing with the mortal and spirit world, and it's all thanks to you. I hope you're happy, knowing you killed Satan. Tell that cocksucker God that I hope he's happy."
The next thing I remember is talking to God.
"So, let's clarify this situation, Lucas: You killed Satan by accidentally hitting him with your car while he was in the form of a Nazi Sympathizing elderly woman named Gertrude. This all happened, naturally, as these things are wont to do, while you were daydreaming of eating junk food. Is that correct?"
*"Ye-ye-yes, God. Tha-a-a-a-a-t sums it up."*
"Thank you, Lucas. I'm glad that we got this sorted out."
*"Wait, what? That...that's it?"*
"Yes, my Son, that's it. You killed Satan. I mean, I know I'm God and I pretty much told you humans that killing is wrong,
but you killed Satan. I think even I can look past this one.
*"O-okay...uhm...o-okay."*
"Lucas, one more thing before I send you back to the mortal realm."
"*Anything!*"
"You should listen to your mother and stop masturbating, because it would be just terribly awkward to be called out on it by God, wouldn't it?" | 35 | You unintentionally kill the Devil, you have to explain to God how. | 35 |
He wasn't a career criminal. He'd been sent back at 20 after a spate of small-scale robberies in tiny shopping centres. He never stole anything worth more than $1000; pocket change. One bad night though, he'd accidentally killed the clerk of a small chain-store after taking a gun of one of his accomplices.
Or so we thought. The only evidence we had was the testimony of his accomplice and the footage from the scene of the robbery. Of course the two, both alike in height and ethnicity, wore masks to cover their faces. He had refused to say anything about the night, his "friend" mouthed off every last detail, except the one who shot the clerk. Neither meant it, but one got the harsher sentence.
I got called in late on a Tuesday evening, rain belting outside, he'd been pardoned, and was allowed to rejoin the present. I was unsure, most of the time those that in the present were criminals, become criminals in the past.
Have you ever heard of the Zodiac killer? In the present, he'd been charged with the murder of at least 50 different women, and had been sent back in time. The charges were dropped through lack of evidence and a steely lawyer, and he was ordered back. It soon came out though that he had killed in the past too, but in an awkward legal loophole, the case had been cold for over 200 years, so he could never be charged for the crime, he ended up shot at the trial by a bystander screaming "justice for all"
But that's another story.
They handed me his file. He now went by Harry Winslow, and he lived at 1272 Chester Lane, Wynnbrook, California. Seemed easy enough. I kept reading though, and as I stepped into the garage and into the car - this is how we travel through time, explanations can come later - I noticed something. *1 wife - 2 children - Boy & Girl - 7 & 5 respectively.* I started the car, and the garage door opened, revealing a 2013 Wynnbrook California. There had never been a return who had started a family, ever. In all my years as an agent, only one pardoned convict had had a wife, divorced when we found him in squalor. I suppose though, it was the perfect combination of youth and total innocence. Many of the returns are middle aged when sent off, so in the past, they suddenly wake up a 45-year-old man with not even a high-school diploma, they never end up with a job, and a lot of returns are found dead by suicide.
I tuned down Chester lane. Chester lane was about as typical suburbia as you could get, large American-style house meshed seamlessly with expensive cars and large, well-kept front lawns. The street was lined with trees, giving a dotted shade over the car as I passed under. Dusk was looming, so I rolled down my tinted windows to get a better look at the house numbers. As I did, a child's laughter echoed down the street, joined by a chorus of gleeful shrieks. I pulled up outside 1272. A well-built middle aged man was running around the yard holding a football, with two children trailing behind him at full pelt, laughing. Suddenly the two jumped on him and he dove to the ground. "1 Down" I heard the little boy cry. and the man boomed with laughter. Up on the steps of the house, a pregnant woman watched on, smiling. This wasn't right at all. I checked the file again. Everything matched. The attached photo resembled the man currently tickling his son if he was twenty years younger. This wasn't right at all. None of it was meant to go this way. It was meant to be a prison for people, a hell, forcing them into hardship and depression for the horrendous crimes they'd committed. They weren't supposed to turn around. They weren't supposed to be happy.
As I looked again at the man, throwing his daughter up in he air and catching her again, to her overwhelming delight, I thought about what bringing him back would do. He'd lose all this, all his happiness, he'd lose everything he had here, to rejoin a present where he had nothing, and which had absolutely nothing to offer him. Beyond just him, he now had a family he had to support, and a new child on the way. I rolled up the window again, the orange sun was catching my eye on the horizon line, and peeled out.
I phoned in.
"Another suicide."
| 40 | In an overcrowded future, convicted criminals are sent back in time hundreds of years with their memories erased. An agent tasked with recovering an innocent man who was pardoned now has to make a difficult choice. | 27 |
Nothing quite matches the morning breathes anticipating a fresh kill. I could already smell victory, this one would be easy. Mid-40s, almost identical schedule for the entire week prior til; it almost didn't seem fair. But this man had to die -- he was, after all, the next on the list.
The victims inscribed knew they had to die for their wrong doings. Rarely did they seem surprised when they were about to be killed really. They just went straight to negotiating, offering to pay double, triple what I was being paid. But they couldn't fulfill the satisfaction, certainly couldn't double that of a good kill.
I approached the vacant building, without caution admittedly. The stillness of an empty house always made me think what it would feel like to be the last man on earth. Silently walking through what had become a familiar scene, stepping over the creaky foot boards I made my way to the bedroom. It was best, of course, to strike when least expected. Everyone lets their guard down when heading to bed.
Apparently, I let mine down as well.
A creak from inside the room made me freeze, heart rate escalating. *A miscalculation, perhaps? Never saw the bastard come in, who the hell...*
Slowly reaching for the door, blade in one hand I stepped through. Looked clear, until I saw a shape in the corner. A small child was sitting, scared in the corner. I lowered my weapon, but approached nonetheless. Kid didn't move.
"I'm not gonna hurt ya. What's yer name?"
The kid didn't say a word. Couldn't blame him, probably shit himself waiting for me. I got up and sat on the bed. *Where the hell did this kid come from?*
"Kid, where the hell did y..."
"ARE YOU GONNA KILL ME?!!"
I stared at him, slightly amused. As I looked around for anything else I might have missed, I replied, "No, but I do have some questions I need you to answer, okay?" He nodded furiously, eyes ready to pop out of his skull.
Just then a car pulled up. Had he come back early? Son of a bitch, weeks of planning wasted on the one day everything chose to go wrong.
I motioned for silence to the kid, but I figured he'd squeal as soon as his daddy or whoever the man was to him approached. I prepped my now silenced shooter and moved into the closet. The target sat in the kitchen for a good 10 minutes, occasionally lugging his way through the squeaky halls.
He finally made his ascension to the bedroom, sighing loudly before opening the door. The kid immediately got up and ran to him, but he barely flinched. Without a word, he walked to the bedside table. Bottle in hand, he smelled more like a hobo than a high council member.
"She leaves me," he muttered slowly, "she left me yer p-piece of shit ass. She left me yer ass an' nuthin'. This...fuck, I-"
He dropped the bottle as he reached under his bed, revealing a shoe box. I raised my weapon, still carefully hidden in the closet among musty old coats. The man fumbled a bit, but turned to me, gun in hand; Both of our guns pointed as his head.
He looked down at the boy, "Tell your mother I'll see her in hell."
| 52 | A serial killer's plot is thrown for a loop when he realizes his victim was planning to commit suicide. | 92 |
Robert switched his helmet light on and followed its cone of yellow light into the dim cave. The tunnel of rock was narrow, just large enough for a man of 6 feet to walk through comfortably with his arms stretched. Unfortunately for Robert, he was 6 foot 7. As he passed down the glistening, uneven surface of that natural hallway, he again wondered why his adviser had let him choose an academic path that would require him to spend his days in tiny spaces.
The tunnel expanded into a cavern the size of a living room, like the inside of a giant, grey egg. Tripods of lighting equipment stood around the floor of the cavern, streaming wide strips of bright white onto the bumpy rock surface of the walls. On the illuminated portions of the walls were red and black drawings, crude and faded.
There were black stick figures of human beings, holding spear lines and chasing mastodons and what looked to be bulls, sketched in black and filled in with red. Standing near one of these scenes, hunched over and scribbling into a composition notebook, was a slight, elderly man in a safari outfit. His long, rusty hair poured from the sides of his helmet and over his ears and neck, and his arms and legs jutted from his sleeves and shorts like toothpicks.
"Doctor Yates?" Robert called out.
His pen continued to flourish furiously across the notebook as he muttered to himself.
"Doctor?" Robert said, louder this time.
"Robert, excellent," he said, setting his pen against the notebook and holding it there with his thumb. "Please, do come here."
"Everyone is turning in for the night," Robert said. "Doctor Barlow just wanted me to make sure you were okay."
"Look here," he said, as if he hadn't heard a word. "I believe I have found something... interesting."
"Of course, doctor," Robert said, brow furrowing. "I should probably turn in myself pretty soon, though."
Robert shielded his eyes against the nearest light and approached his eccentric mentor. The professor looked up at him and pushed his bifocals up his hooked nose with his index finger.
"Watch, Robert," he said. "Just watch."
He reached down and pulled up a small paint brush, which was glistening with black fluid. He reached out tentatively, and began to brush it onto the wall.
"Doctor Yates?" Robert asked, his long hands reaching out reflexively. "What are you doing?"
"Just watch, Robert," he said, his eyes shining as they focused on his strokes.
He ran his brush across the wall one last time, then dropped it back into the jar on the floor. On the brightened cave wall, a foot or so underneath a hunting scene of ancient sketches, was a fresh sketch of two black stick figures. One was much taller than the other.
"This paint I have concocted," he said, "is an exact replication of what was used here all those millennia ago. Although I doubt our ancient artists used one of these."
He pointed to the brush in the jar at his feet.
"I don't understand," Robert said. "Won't this contaminate the site?"
"What do you see?" the professor asked, nodding to his still wet drawing.
"I don't know," Robert said. "Two people of different sizes?"
"And what are they doing?" Dr. Yates asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Well," said Robert. "The short one is just standing there, but the tall one is holding... is that a gun?"
It was then that Robert felt the cold metal in his hand. He looked down and his eyes widened as he saw the black, nine millimeter pistol clutched in his fingers.
"What the..."
The corners of Dr. Yates mouth curled upward in a smile.
"Yes," he said. "You brought that with you, Robert, do you not remember?"
"Is that? This is Dr. Barlow's gun," Robert said, shaking his head. "He never lets it out of his sight. I... I've never even touched this before."
"And yet there it is, in your hand," said Dr. Yates.
"I don't understand," said Robert. "What is happening here?"
"Power," said Dr. Yates, his smile fading. "Ancient and terrible power." | 19 | An archaeologist discovers the real reason why early man drew on the cave walls. | 19 |
Edit: This had to have put me on a list of some sort.
As soon as Tom hit send he'd knew he'd fucked up. He was no hero, no Edward Snowden, no savior of America, he was a desk jockey at best.
He had just sent a blast email to every registered U.S. citizen in the country that contained the details of what had truly happened on September 11, 2001.
He snatched his suitcase and sprinted out the door of his three story home. He most likely had 10 minutes before the entire U.S. Army would break down his door, shoot him in the head, and bury him in a nameless grave. Everyone in America had some odd conspiracy theory or something that they truly believed, but no one knew the whole, horrid truth about what occurred.
He sped down the freeway, already on the radio people were screaming and ranting about what he had just sent. He knew they'd want more answers, more dark secrets of the U.S. government, but he'd done his duty. He was getting out of here before he too was just another casualty for the government to cover up.
As he drove he laughed and smiled, he was finally free. He'd go to Russia like Snowden, maybe they could be friends and talk about what their next plan of attack should be. Were they terrorists? He didn't think so. If anything they were the George Washington's of their period, the crusaders, fighters for justice.
"How could this man keep such secrets from the people for so long? How could he sleep at night?" He turned the radio off. What assholes. He gave them what they wanted, the truth, and now look at them, berating him for his moral compass. Fuck em', he was done, with one last look at the highway he had driven on so many times, he glanced in the rearview mirror.
He cried, not because he had a family he was leaving, or because he was leaving the country he was born and raised in, but because he noticed two men in suits sitting in his backseat. | 15 | The CIA accidentally emails top secret information to every citizen of the United States. Each individual believes that they are now the sole recipient of sensitive government information. | 30 |
She sat in the waiting room for what seemed like days. At any moment they were going to call her name and let her know the results of the blood tests. A constant war raged within her and she had to fight her urge to get up and run out of the room.
She had to know.
Old magazines littered the table in front of her. She had already paged through four of them, though she couldn't tell you a single article she remembered.
Nurses sat behind the call desk occasionally answering the phone. They didn't have any idea that the woman sitting only twenty feet away was close to screaming at them to just give her results.
At least she wasn't crying. She took solace in that.
Just when she couldn't take any more the speakers above her came to life and said "Brooke L. Brooke L. Please report to room 6."
She forced herself to stay calm and walk carefully to the room. Inside were the two doctors who earlier had taken her blood and told her to wait outside. They stopped talking the moment she entered the room and put on their best "patient" smiles.
"Please have a seat, Brooke. We have your results here."
She already knew. Deep down she had always known but now it was going to be official. She sat down before she fell down, and waited.
The taller doctor, the one who had asked her to sit, studied the file in his hands. "Brooke, I'm not sure how to say this, so I'm just going to come right out and say it."
Brooke grabbed the sides of her chair so hard her knuckles were white.
The doctors, as if on some cue, both grabbed their scrubs and tore them away. As he began helicoptoring his wiener the doctor said "You've got nymphomania, baby. Take two of these and call us in the morning." | 34 | Write what seems like a serious drama, but instead turns out to be the set up for a porn film | 28 |
"15 years. It has been 15 years and I still remember that day."
Elliot stood in the hazy morning light, listening to the silence that weighed heavily upon the warehouse he had spent so long in. He could almost hear the dust settling as a gentle breeze swept through the shattered windows and rusted metal walls. In front of him was a spider-like, metal structure surrounded by glass panels. Wires littered the floor like veins and connected the machine to a large panel of computers.
He took a long, deep breath. Today would be a wonderful day for redemption.
Elliot looked around the warehouse one last time as memories flooded back into his mind. It was right here where it happened...
He remembered the fire in his legs and the moment he abandoned his backpack on the side of the street. Young Elliot sprinted across the street and bolted towards the metal-working factory. The only way to escape these bullies was to hide. He jumped through an open window and landed in the center of a large room filled with crates. Suddenly he was hit from behind.
His attacker kicked him in the side, then in the head. Elliot got up to run. The attacker grabbed Elliot by the shoulder and whirled him around.
For a moment Elliot saw his face, dark and sullen. But before he could look closer his head whipped back with a crunching noise. His nose seared with pain. Another punch blew across the side of his head and he was thrown to the ground.
He lay on the ground sputtering in a pool of his own blood as he watched his assailant walk away. The bullies who were chasing him looked in through the window and ran away soon after seeing him.
That was 15 years ago. After today, that experience would never have happened. He flipped a switch near the side of the machine and stood directly underneath the sprawling mechanical legs. He closed his eyes and listened to the machine come to life.
He replayed the memory of his attack in his head. That face had haunted him; a man cloaked in shadow delivering a pain that would never leave him. With his eyes closed, he could still see that face.
The machine was ready. He opened his eyes and looked into the glass panels surrounding him as a flash lit up the room. In the split second before the warehouse around him filled with crates, he saw his reflection in the glass.
"It can't be."
He now stood in the middle of the warehouse staring at the back of his 12 year old head. He waited and looked for the attacker, but every second he waited only confirmed what he had just realized.
The attacker was himself.
He didn't have time to think. He just punched.
"Why?" He screamed in his head as his fists were bathed in blood.
"Why would I do this to myself?" He heard the boy's nose crack beneath his knuckles.
He stood above his young self drenched in blood for only a moment when he heard the group of bullies coming around the corner. Elliot walked away from the boy with tears streaming down his face. He looked back for only a moment before he could feel the sting of the machine pulling him back.
"Those scars would stay with him forever." He felt his cheek where the stitches had sown his flesh back together.
"Those scars would drive him to build the first time machine." | 23 | You go back in time and kick your own ass as a child. 15 years later, you recognize your assailant in the mirror. | 29 |
That must have been a big one. Crawford only had one at bat last time I was awake.
Dr. Rodney had said I would begin to slip in and out of consciousnesses several times as the end crept closer. I recalled how silly my question was after he explained that; "What happens when the end comes?", I said.
"Well I've never had a patient polite enough to tell me, but if you can, please do. It would be a great societal advancement." Dr. Rodney chirped with a wry smile. My smile in return confirming that his oft repeated joke could still make a dying man laugh.
I could feel more lapses coming on. I had already said good bye to everyone I was just stubbornly waiting to die, taking up more of society's resources. Maybe the next one will be the last one, although I never did like the prospect of dying much.
"What the fuck?" I mumbled, in a voice much more healthy than the one I last knew.
I was still in a bed, still wearing clothes... albeit weird ones.
"Am I actually fucking alive or is this the afterlife? Because the afterlife makes no fucking sense, I was just a smart monkey/meat-bag."
No response.
I leaned up for the first time in what felt like a goddamn millennium to survey an extremely curvy, organically styled room with slight rolling surfaces and asymmetrical windows. There was "furniture" I guess you could say, although it wasn't human. Neither was the offensive brown and purple color scheme.
That's when it dawned on me. I had my body shot into space. Frank and I were really stoned one day in the 2230s and we both signed up to have our bodies flash frozen and shot into space in sealed containers upon our deaths.
It only cost us like half a day's pay, we both had good jobs and the novelty of being revived by a hyper-advanced alien culture was too savory to resist. We were shot towards very similar trajectories from a station on the moon, although I undoubtedly had a head start on him he could be here, still on the way or at some other alien facility.
I felt the woosh as an air lock opened around the hall and I could hear something moving towards me although there weren't any steps being taken. I leaned up for the first time in several minutes to see a large slug-like creature with prehensile limbs and eyes on the end of tentacles.
It was dressed in clothes in the same theme as my own, albeit cut differently for obvious reasons. It had some sort of computer on its 'wrists' and several small black things, what I assume must have been diagnostic ports for some sort of bionic computer near its brain.
It greeted me in a computer generated voice from ancient history, Stephen Hawking's.
"Hello earth organisms. We found you adrift in a small craft that was seemingly derelict. We have resuscitated you in order to further make contact with your culture and accept you as a refugee if needed." The slug had an expression on its face that I could only guess meant I was supposed to reply.
"How did you learn English? What year is it? Why did you pick Stephen Hawking's voice?" I frantically stammered.
"We have made contact with one other human. He has taught us much about your culture and has lead us to information disseminating spacecraft Earth has sent out, although we have not yet made contact with Earth, we know much about it. You are on the first vessel en route."
The slug continued "If your Earth probes keep accurate time it is 3640 by Earth time. I chose Hawking as my voice to interact with humans because it felt relevant."
"Well relevant it is but this is all a lot to tak- Say who was that other person you made contact with? Was his name Frank?" I could feel the anticipatory grin nearly tearing my face apart.
"Yes, yes it was. He is on another ship and asked us to deliver you this message if we were ever to find you or successfully revive you. He will be rendezvousing with us soon."
The slug handed me a perpetually slimy computer interface and I nearly broke down when I saw "Hey buddy- Your pal frank from Earth" at the top of the screen.
| 28 | As your dying wish, you ask that your body is jettisoned into space. Sometime later your body is recovered by aliens who are able to resuscitate you. | 61 |
"Oh!" Ron shouted, appalled. "Brick, there's... some sort of black... *goo* on you.
Brick shambled across the news stage inches at a time toward the elite crew.
"Is that blood?"
"Oh come on. Audrey! AUDREY! We have an emergency here."
Brick kept staggering, lock-kneed, a rattling moan coming from his chest, "Uhhhh."
"Audrey! Why is *literally* no one here today?"
"You know? I thought it was a little strange that I had to let myself in this morning. I haven't used that key in years. Got it on the first try too, *whammy!*"
"Uhhhh huck" Brick Tamland spewed thick, black blood across the polished newsroom floor and drenching Brian Fantana.
"OOOOOHHHH!"
"Come on!"
"That's it, I'm drinking."
"What the hell was that, Brick?!"
"Now Brian, you can't be too hard on Brick. He's obviously just reeling from his wild night last night. We didn't say anything to you on New Years."
"He's the weather guy, Ron! He can't even give me a warning, chance of showers, today - Brian Fantana's face!"
"Oh. I shouldn't have drank all those Slurpees."
"There he is."
"Welcome back, Brick. Feeling better?"
"Oh yeah. Much better. Huuuh. Better out than in. Alright." The mild-mannered weather personality skipped up onto the stage. "Where is everybody?"
"That's what we've been discussing."
"Oh sweet Jesus, it is so sticky."
Champ sniffs the air. "Is that black cherry?"
"I think something is wrong. If everyone's not here in fifteen seconds, I'm going to be forced to take drastic measures."
"Oh, Ron. I remember, now. I think everyone is dead." Tamland shrugged.
"Excuse me, Brick. What did you say?"
"Oh yeah. Everyone's dead. It looked like my celebrity golf tournament all over again, except this time they got back up and tried to bite people."
"I had a guy try to bite me once. Turns out, we'd been patronizing the local *gay* bar all night and were too drunk to notice. Popped the guy right in the kisser - *whammy!*"
"There's a gay bar in L.A.?"
"Believe it or not, *Swingin' Richard's* isn't owned by Richard."
"Richard's isn't a gay bar."
"Well they had a sign on the front door saying 'Please enter through the rear.'"
"Oh that doesn't... necessarily..."
"And they had a purple dance floor-"
"I liked their dance floor-"
"In the shape of a dick and balls."
"That's it! News team, on me." Burgundy, the rock, mounted the news desk. "There's news out there. Carnage. Mayhem. Bodies rising from the dead."
"Fire."
"Probably a considerable amount of fire, yes. And yet we're in here. Those people need their news, damn it. And so help me, we're going to give it to them!"
The rest of the crew cheered in unison and drew their weapons. Their shoes loudly peeling off the sticky Slurpee covering the floor. | 14 | Ron Burgundy and his news team find themselves stranded within a post zombie apocalyptic San Diego. | 15 |
Some days, she realized the voice wasn't real. When the good days came, she wanted to smile with her husband as Snow White's laughter rang in the house, and when the small girl begged her to dance. But the fragment of her mind that hated the voice began to fade. When the girl became a young woman, the voice gained strength, its soft whispers grew louder and now had a taunting edge.
*Who's the fairest in the land? Do you dream it's you? Snow White will always be fairer than you...who would look at YOU?*
She saw its face in the mirror. Sometimes it looked like Snow White, and sometimes like the girl's deceased mother, sneering at her in contempt. Other times, it was her husband, his kind eyes hard and mocking, full of laughter for her attempts to win his love.
*Twisted witch, who would look at you? Who's the fairest in the land? Do you think it's YOU?*
His laughter followed her to her dreams, where she saw fevered images of what she might do, what it might make her do. And she cried out for the dead part of her that had once smiled with her husband to see the girl, in love with life and everything around her.
But the nights she wept, half-asleep and terrified of herself, passed as the girl grew older. The face in the mirror shifted as the girl surpassed her in beauty, and its voice became inviting, hissing lovely words of temptation in her ear. If only she did this, if only she could see how necessary it was...
Some days, she could scarcely remember what she'd done the day before. There came a day when she sold a girl an apple, a girl with lips as red as blood and hair of ebony, who looked so much like Snow White. And the girl slept, and the face in the mirror celebrated, for she was now the fairest in the land. But that night she heard it laugh softly in the corner, where she kept it in a box.
*Stupid witch, do you think this makes you fair? You have never been fair, you disgusting old crone...*
And she wept and hid from it, but it reached her wherever she was now. She groped for some part of her that had once said something about the voice, but it was gone. It had known something about the voice... | 79 | Tell me a classic "evil stepmother" fairy tale (Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, etc.). Make me sympathize with the stepmother. | 84 |
Fourteen years. Fourteen fucking years. You would think that would have been long enough. Yeah, so did I. I had covered my tracks as best as anyone could. A damn bloodhound couldn't find me. No, seriously; they used a bloodhound once. I had erased my online presence entirely. I had deleted my emails, my facebook, my gaming profiles, and all of my forum identities. I trashed my phone. I shredded my ID card. Hell, I broke into the city records department and tore up my damn birth certificate. I was a ghost, man.
It didn't stop them.
For fourteen years, I have lived in this small-ass little town in Norway. Kolvereid, or something. I was working in a diner. At least, it was a diner to me. I don't know what they call it here. I never learned. When you spend your whole life watching over your shoulder, some things just aren't as important. Relationships, for one. Fourteen fucking years.
Like I said, I thought I was safe out here in the middle of nowhere. Imagine my surprise when I came in to work today.
There he was; sitting in my section. Calm as a cloudless day. (We don't get those in Norway.) It was as if he had been here the whole time; like I would walk over and hear him say "Well good morning, Dennis! How are things today?" Before I even went over, he felt my presence.
He stood and turned towards me, and raised a hand, with a knowing smile.
"Shit."
I was out the door faster than you could blink. Down the street I ran; pausing only long enough to look back. There he was, walking after me. He never runs. He always walks.
Funny thing, though, I can never seem to shake him. Through alleyways, and butcher shops, we raced. My bike was always chained up on the edge of town. I managed to make it there with enough time to undo the chain, and speed off into the night.
Damn. Another identity I have to erase. Fourteen years were washed away in an instant.
Now the counter is down to zero. Where will I run to now? | 174 | escaping as far as possible, by any means necessary. | 277 |
"Hello?"
"Hey bro! Mom wanted me to see if you'd be home for dinner."
"Excuse me who is this?"
"Oh, it's John."
"I, I don't..."
"Hello? Hello?"
"Why."
"Excuse me?"
"Why. No one ever believed me when I said I couldn't see you, but you must have known. You must have realized that when you walked in the room my eyes wouldn't follow. And if you're talking to me now, that means for my *entire life* you could have said something and never spoke a word. I don't even want to know what the hell happened that made you break the silence, and frankly, I couldn't care less about why I can't see you, but I have got to know why you let me believe you weren't real."
"Calm down dude."
"No! I think this is a perfectly reasonable time to lose my calm! I think this is a fan-fucking-tastic reason to blow off the handle. I don't want to know how I want to know goddamn why. I didn't do anything to you! I didn't know there was a you to do anything to! What reason could you possibly have to make me look insane for my entire life? To never, *ever* break the ruse? If I never ran into you that means you avoided me my whole life! There has to be a reason!"
"You did run into me once."
"Oh fuck you. Put Mom on, I actually had a reason for calling."
"Inmate! Time's up, get off the phone."
"I'll tell her you won't be home then."
"INMATE! NOW!" | 14 | Your entire life everyone around you has acted like you have a brother you can't see; talking to thin air and calling you crazy or mean when you deny his existence. One day you get a phone call, and its him. | 21 |
She pushed up her sleeve, exposing her left forearm, and asked, “Do you remember me now?”
The man's breath caught in his throat. His aging eyes caught sight of the simple, black number scrawled across her pale skin. Even through the wrinkles that came with time, he could make out the digits. 12873.
“Mein Gott.”
The words felt clumsy as they tumbled from his lips. It was a language he had turned away from half a century ago. Sitting in the tiny coffee shop, reading his paper and sipping from his usual mug, he had never expected to be reminded of his sins. Excuses rushed to the tip of his tongue, but he could not get them out.
Tears of regret filled his eyes, blurring his vision as he looked at the elderly woman standing beside his table. How many years had it been? Did it matter? He knew what had happened. She knew as well. The horrors of a war long ended washed over them both in the stillness of the nearly empty cafe. Decades old scabs were ripped open in his mind, revealing fresh wounds and slapping him in the face with the suffering he had at least allowed, if not caused.
“I remember you. I remember what you did, all in the name of following orders. I remember what you did to my father, to my mother, to my sisters. I remember.”
Her words stung, though there was no malice or anger in her soft voice. Still he could not reply.
“I know you remember me as well. You remember the evil that was done,” she said, “and I want you to know...”
She paused and looked into his eyes with a gaze that he would always remember.
“I want you to know that I forgive you.” | 120 | She pushed up her sleeve, exposing her left forearm, and asked, "do you remember me now?" | 72 |
The Amazon had fake tits. Fake tits and a lot of makeup. For some reason that always made me a bit suspicious. All they did was get in the way. What kind of superheroine would do that to herself?
And here she was, clad in sweat-pants and an old t-shirt, sitting on my couch, eyeliner dribbling down her cheeks, hands clutching around the bottle of vodka I normally kept in the freezer.
Jesus.
I stared at her as I put down my groceries. I had a gun, but it was on the counter in the kitchen; I'd left it out for cleaning. Not that there was much point in grabbing it, given she was a superhero. “Can I help you, ma'am?”
“You,” she said, “you ruined everything.” She hiccupped. “You k-killed him.”
“Ma'am, I'm a police officer. It was a bank robbery. He had hostages.” The world was better off without him. Asshole had killed about a dozen people already, and the few times we'd managed to catch him and convict him, he'd broken out. We still didn't know how.
“Fuck you. You w-weren't supposed to kill him. It was a game.” Angrily, I bit my tongue. People had died because of him. “He robbed banks with his deathray. He runs off, I chase him. And then...”
And then she'd catch him. The money would usually be missing by that point – probably already back at his lair. The bank would suffer a while. The Mad Millionaire and his death ray would escape custody after a while, if she even bothered bringing him to the police.
“Then we'd split the cash,” the Amazon said.
I stopped putting away my groceries and stared at her.
“You heard me,” she said. “Fuck you. It was a game. Fuck you. I'd play chase, toss him in jail, secretly break him out of custody one night a week later. Fuck you. We'd fuck like rabbits after a big heist, sometimes even before I handed him over to you. Fuck you. Fuck you!”
My gun was on the counter in the kitchen. I backed away from her, wide-eyed. She kept advancing. She was crying again, big, fat alligator tears. Her hands were clenched. Shit. Was she one of the invulnerable superheroes? I couldn't remember. Oh, god. Oh, god.
“You idiot cops never should've been involved,” she said. “No one would've ever died. No one would've stood up to him, never got shot. Y' drove him to those killing sprees. You. You are the asshole. You are the villain, and I, I am the good guy.”
My lower back knocked into the kitchen counter. I reached behind myself and grabbed my gun. | 72 | A man accidentally kills his town's most psychotic supervillian; he then finds his town's superhero, drunk and in tears, at his house a couple of days later. | 51 |
The line is building. Mondays are always the same. I rub my fingers together, blow some warm air into my cupped hands while the printer does its work. The ticket shoots out.
"Here you are sir, have a nice day." I say. He manages a grunt of what I like to think is appreciation. Dressed in a nice suit with matching overcoat, shoulder-bag slung over one shoulder. Still too afraid to talk to the ticket seller.
"Next please," I say. She smiles and walks up to the window. Her dark brown scarf is at odds with the blonde hair tucked into it.
"Concession return to the city, pleases" she says. Her voice is sweet, but too trying. She's hiding a lie that she almost doesn't want to get away with. It's always the same. I don't know why they don't just use the ticket machines.
"Could I see your concession card?" Her face drops slightly, but she catches herself before she thinks I'll notice, flicking the smile back on. It's just a mask. Her hand reaches into her purse, pulling out a student card. Even from here I can see that it's in an outdated style. She carefully places it on the ticket counter. I take it from her regardless.
"I'm sorry miss, but this student card expired years ago." Now her depression seeps through. The smile is gone, but she isn't angry. She isn't upset. It's just the hope has been drained from her and she has nothing but to accept her fate. She doesn't say anything, she can't meet my eye.
"I'm going to have to charge you full fare for this ticket. It'll be $7.60." She nods, and starts counting out the coins. Her hand hesitates as she goes to drop the coins into my outstretched hand. The coins clink down. The printer starts up, spits out a ticket.
"Here you are miss," I say, letting a little regret seep into my tone. It'd be risking my job to sell a ticket at a reduced price to an invalid ticket. I'd like to help her out, but the system has to work.
"Thanks," she manages a smile, before swinging around down towards the platform, her black boots following beneath her thick overcoat.
There's a cough from the front of the line. "Next please." | 12 | Let's write a story together. There exists a woman, 27 years old, college educated, working an unfulfilling, low paying job. Take me through her day using the perspectives of people she encounters. | 37 |
The view... it's unlike anything I've ever seen. I can't tear my gaze away from the darkest thing I've ever seen in my life. It isn't dark like a room with the lights shut off, but more dark like an underground room that's never seen any light in it's entire existence. An absence of light.
As the ship draws nearer, I begin to feel it: a tremor. At first barely noticeable but growing stronger the closer I get to the center. Then it begins to get warm. Uncomfortably warm. I can't take my suit off though, if the hull breaks the suit is designed to withstand the extreme temperatures of space. But why do I feel so warm?
I can't stand it. It's unbearably warm and I begin to scream. I feel as though my limbs are being ripped apart inch by burning inch. I withdraw into my own mind to escape the pain, conjuring up a universe of my own to live in. I'm no longer aware of the pain, the thoughts in my head becoming my reality.
I create a sun so I can see what's here in my head. The sun looks lonely, floating there alone. I add masses around the sun. Eight of them, each a varying size and shape at different lengths. I make one mass similar to something I can't quite recall and put water on it. I feel like this one should be special, somehow. Unable to think of what else I can add to improve my own universe within my head, I sit back and watch, my original existence long since forgotten. | 14 | It has been 67 years since you left earth. Alone in a small spaceship as the first volunteer for the Exipo Program. You are just minutes away from your destination. The first human to enter a black hole. | 20 |
"It's not that I won't, it's that I can't!", The Genie said in a manner similar to that of a particularly helpful Customer Services representative hamstrung by miles of red tape. "Cause, Effect.. Cause, Effect." he swayed his hands from one side of an invisible table to another.
"No, you clearly won't." I yelled, "You said anything." It was hard to be heard over the wind; we were barely two feet apart and it was still difficult to hear.
"I said anything within my power. This isn't within my power; In fact..." The Genie looked around at the chaos around him. "..I don't even know what my power can do for you any more."
"But I can't take it anymore, this is crazy." I hollered. "Make it stop!" lights flashed and winds made up of unknown origin whipped past.
"I'm sorry." The Genie began to lose himself within the elemental maelstrom, he was even beginning to vanish from sight if you caught him in the right light. "You said you wanted the power of a God. Well here it is; except you've not had the aeons to master it of those who are born into power. You may do in time; but for now all this..." he gestured to the bellowing energy all around, "all this is yours."
"I don't want it. I wish for you to take it away." My brain was on fire; so many people not only on Earth but across the universe. The living, the dead souls.. the animals, plants, the elements, all like a limb I could control but with the ability of a newborn baby, too weak to do anything.
"I'm sorry. A God's power is not mine to take. But you will learn to control it." he finally began to fade from even the omnipresent sight I had now attained. "in time, of which you have an eternity at your disposal. My Lord." | 61 | A genie is about to concede you your second wish, but a paradox created by your first one prevents him from doing so. | 63 |
Joey looked down at his wrist console and scanned the man walking towards him. The man wore a patchwork spacesuit of various colors and textures. His long hair and beard obstructed his face and his bright blue eyes were illuminated by his helmet's dim light. As he moved, Joey could see his almost anorexic shape shuffle towards him in an uneven gait.
Sarah stood next to Joey with her mouth agape. "My god, do... do you see what I'm seeing?" She leaned over and powered up the rover which they rode in to visit the anomaly in the side of the jutting stone butte. "Just in case," she said as she looked at Joey with a furrowed brow.
"Umm, yeah, I'm scanning him now. He's human, more or less. Lots of artificial parts. Maybe a weapon on him. The anomaly is a door. Cut into that butte or maybe a natural cave. Dunno."
Sarah stepped instinctively back and felt the pouch in her suit holding her compact gyrojet pistol. The pouch unsealed itself at her touch. "Just in case," she radioed to Joey. Joey sighed and waved at the man. The man slowly waved back. They watched him walk towards them with his odd walk and slight limp. The little door in the stone butte was difficult to see from this distance. A thin sandstorm obstructed their view.
Their radios crackled with life. "Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?" The voice had a strange accent they didn't recognize.
Joey radioed back, "This is Commander Smithe from the Argo IV. Who is this?"
The radio responded with nothing but static. The man kept walking near them. Sarah now had the pistol in her hand. She felt the click of the safety coming off automatically. The lights in their visors turned red. Joey nodded at her and she took a position near a boulder.
"Just keep an eye on him. You, uh, know what to do if anything happens."
Sarah nodded and said, "My god, I didn't ever expect to ever use this thing. I thought it was NASA bullshit they forced it on us." She looked at the pistol for a moment. Its strange design and composite materials made it weigh very little, even with Venus's near Earth gravity.
Their radios crackled again and the man spoke, "Why haven't you sent more people? Why?" He was right upon them. Joey stepped up and put his hand out offering a handshake. Sarah looked on making a tight and worried face.
The man stared at Joey's hand and went back to ranting and raving. "Why, why didn't you help us? Its been so long. The machines keeping us alive are held together with spit and elbow grease. Why, why?"
The man got closer to Joey as Sarah trained the weapon at him.
"Why? Why?" the man fell over into the Venusian dust, on his knees, and then finally over. Joey bent over quizzically and looked at the console display on the old man's suit. It was off. He grabbed at the man's arm and shook him. Nothing.
"My scanner says he's not breathing. No heartbeat," added Sarah as she put the weapon away. "He's dead. Cardiac failure. Probably just a matter of time considering his health."
A piece of insulation came off the old man's suit as Joey shook him. Joey stared at the familiar Asian Alliance Space Collective patch with its gaudy mix of greens and reds. "Uh, was there ever an AASC mission here before NASA," he asked. Joey laid him gently on the sandy soil.
Sarah bit her lip for a moment and said, "Yes, I think so, but it was rumors my parents told me. It failed or got canceled or something. Dunno, the second Cold War was on, no one really knew what those guys were doing fifty years ago. We still don't, apparently."
"Guess it happened. They left these poor cosmonauts stranded here. Christ, what a fate." Joey's helmet turned on its defogger as it detected tears. Sarah looked away at his display of emotion. "Can you scan the butte over there? I see a little laser carved door. I guess that's where he lived," he added.
"No life forms. Just a small cave turned into a shelter. Picked up an RNG, guess he was using that for power and a few synthfood and synthair generators. I see the power packs of other suits. He's the last of them."
"Alone, after all these years. Christ, Sarah, this guy was probably our age when they flew him here."
They stared at the body before them. It laid peacefully with its blue eyes staring into the star laden sky.
"He was just a Russian kid they let rot here," Joey added. "All alone. He lived long enough to see us and gave up the ghost."
They sat for a minute in the rover.
"We can forget about this," suggested Sarah. "Just let him go. His home government didn't care about him and his parents and siblings are probably long dead. This will cause lots of grief between us and the East. NASA will scrutinized us to hell and back and AASC will sure as hell deny it, if not accuse us of sabotage or murder. We'll be political liabilities then and they'll never let us fly again."
Joey nodded for a moment. "No," he said, "he deserves better." He tuned his radio to the main channel and activated the high gain antenna on the rover. A silverly ten foot mast topped with a tiny dish slowly raised itself from the rear of the rover. "Phobos? Phobos can you hear us?"
The radio responded, "Phobos here, what's up guys?"
"Request use of Argo's bot for an hour to this site."
There was a long pause.
"Phobos back, sorry for the delay. So.. what for? Command needs to know."
Joey took a deep breath and exhaled.
"Request a proper burial for a lost cosmonaut team here. Four or five. Failed Venus mission we're guessing from 2040 or so."
Another long pause. Sarah held his hand and he smiled at her.
"Uh, Venus, let me relay this to my supervisors and get back to you."
They sat in the rover for the next hour waiting for the bot to arrive. They didn't speak as the black Mark III mech began burying the bodies in a neat row creating a small ersatz cemetery. It then burned "Lost Cosmonauts ????-2098 Ad Astra" on a nearby rock with a focused maser drill.
They didn't watch nor did they answer their radios. They just sat there watching the stars twinkle in the Venusian sky.
| 14 | Astronauts visit Venus for the first time and discover a slum inhabited by human beings. The inhabitants ask, "Why did you stop sending more people?" | 26 |
Tonight he would finally do it. Michael curled his fists and looked down at the still form of his wife. Her face was calm in sleep, a startling contrast to the face she wore when awake. He thought again of last night, of her flailing knife, the clumsy attempts to hurt him. The unpredictable shifts between frenzied anger and remorse.
He remembered the day he met her, the warmth in her eyes, the way the sunlight had caught and enflamed her hair. When he placed his hand carefully around her throat, the tears burned his throat. He tightened it until she awoke. She would face him for this.
"Mikey," she whispered. "Is it time?"
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She looked at him, still like a corpse, her eyes bright in the darkness.
"I would have hated being caged up in an asylum, Mikey. Watching my mother," she paused, steadying his hand on her throat with her own grip. "It was enough. I couldn't have survived. You know that, right?"
His mouth tightened, his grip wavering despite himself.
"You're very sure of this, aren't you? Using the past tense, already."
"I wouldn't have married you without knowing how the story would end," she said. "You've always kept your promises."
They stared in silence at each other, and he thought he saw a glimmer of it in her eyes. The beginning of what the doctors called an 'episode'. Just a piece of entertainment for them, something to study and write an article about. His undoing, the nightmare that had terrorized him for more than a decade.
He grasped that thought and steeled himself, reaching into his pocket with his other hand to take out the pills. The glimmer in her eyes touched the rest of her face, and he saw the subtle shift occur. He watched her begin to trash and snarl as he forced open her jaw, and poured the contents of the bottle down her throat.
A choked scream escaped her as he forced down a glass of water to ensure it was done. He clapped his free hand over her mouth - the neighbors had keen hearing. She began to fight in earnest, and he tightened his grip. He held on grimly as the minutes ticked by. She buckled under him - then, when he thought she would tear at his face, her hand went limp. His heart lurched as he watched her eyes. But they were still locked on his.
"Mikey..." she said, and smiled.
"Haley?" he loosened his fingers, praying - despite the dark part of himself that was rejoicing - that he had failed. But her eyes were fixed and glassy. He stroked her cheek, marveling at the fact that it was her in death - not the other woman. It was his Haley, and it would be her that he buried. | 308 | Write a story that will make me question my morality. | 402 |
Steve sat in a bar, drinking a beer and looking like the whole world was weighing on his mind.
“How would you like to join the Time Agency?” said an older man in a suit who sat down beside him
“Time Agency? Isn’t that incredibly dangerous?” Steve replied not looking up from his beer
“Yes. But I have a feeling you’re a man who likes danger.” The older man ordered a bottle of the same beer.
“You’ve got me all wrong buddy. I have a kid now. I’m legit” Steve took a long drink
“I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. Go anywhere in time and space. Do anything.” the old man had a gleam of childlike wonder in his eye.
Steve sat there a few seconds in silence “What can you give my family?”
“Excuse me?” the older man seemed surprised at the question.
“Everyone knows time Agents can go on missions for decades at a time. They never see their families. I know you came to me because I’m desperate. I’m broke. I was on my way to get a loan from big Eddie.” Steve was staring into his beer.
“The mobster?” the old man looked confused “Why’d you want to get involved with him?”
“I told you. I have a family. I have a unique set of skills that make legitimate employment difficult.” Steve took another drink “Do you have a family?”
The old man smiled. “I do. I have a son who’s grown and moved out.” The old man seemed proud and pulled out a photograph “There he is the day he joined the Agency through the college program. Proudest moment of my life. Wish my own father could have been there to see it”
“Nice looking kid. My son is still a toddler.” He pulled out a pic and showed it to the old man “You’re asking me to step away from him, from my family for, for what could be forever.” Steves voice dropped to a near whisper.
“Your family will never struggle with money. You have my word on that.” The old man said confidently.
“How will they remember me?” Steve struggled with
The old man knew what Steve was asking “He’ll think you’re a hero.”
“I’ll join.” Steve said with tears streaming down his face “It’s the only way anyone’d ever consider me a hero. What’s your name away?”
“Patrick.” The old man replied with a smile. “It was my grandfathers.”
“That’s my sons name. I named him after my father.” Steve stood up from the bar as did the old man “ I suppose it’s a popular name.”
“Less popular than you’d think.”
| 11 | A time traveller reunites with his son who is now much older than his father. | 15 |
I stopped typing for a moment and reread the title. "Write a story to get me out of my depression", it said, purple text printed across my screen. And I just stopped, and stared, and thought.
What could I write, I thought? What could I possibly write for this person, whoever it is, that could help them? I don't know who they are, where they're from, hell, I don't even know if it's a he or a she. I drew a blank. Who was I kidding, thinking I could change someone's life just by writing some dumbass poem on some dumbass website. My life is more important than some random guy online who gets all emo every 2 minutes. Get off Reddit, close your laptop and get some goddamn sleep for one night.
But I couldn't. I knew this post wasn't an accident, or a joke. This was not some random guy online. This was a person. A person who needed help. A person who, when he had noone to talk to, and nowhere to run, came to the one place he knew best. He came here. /r/WritingPrompts. Where he knew he wouldn't get ridiculed, where he would be listened to, where he could stay away, away from the crushing cold of reality. He came here because even though his entire mind, body and soul was screaming at him to jump off that fucking balcony you piece of shit, somewhere, deep inside his brain, was a shard of hope, and he tucked himself into that little shard so that he could live just one more day, just one more night, in this world. He came, because that little shard would never be enough, and he wanted, no, *needed* help.
Tonight, I will sleep, wondering if what I had written would make a difference. Wondering whether a stranger living just southeast of China could help another stranger, who lives somewhere else in the world. Tomorrow, I will wake up, remembering what I had written, and hope that the one on the other side of my screen has not grown weary of the shard. Perhaps in ten years, I will look back and wonder if that soul I once saw wandering the sea of life, has finally found peace.
But for now, all I can do is to submit my comment, say my good-nights, and keep my inbox open. It is the least I could do.
/r/depression
/r/SuicideWatch | 22 | Write me a story to get me out of my depression | 17 |
"Isn't it great," I whispered, "being more than just animals out on the prowl?"
I poke at the fire with a stick, stoking it as best I can.
He lies on his side beside me, absently licking at my knee with that long, reptilian tongue. He twists his back a bit, adjusting himself in the dirt and shaking debris out of his developing scales. They'd come in about a week ago, around the same time his tail filled out. He ate like a wolf now, and at the rate he was growing in another few weeks he'd probably be able to eat a whole one by himself. He's a far cry from that tiny little ball of flesh I found three months ago, on the day I secretly followed a band of dragon slayers into their target's den. I was looking for treasure to sell in town, but instead I found an egg hidden under the mutilated corpse of his mother, and the warm little thing fit comfortably in my palm. When the egg broke open in my startled hands all I could make out through the gunk was a pair of sparkling amber eyes; they blinked at me without understanding.
I hold the stick over my head, smiling down at the little guy. Instantly the dragon hops to his feet, reptile tongue wiggling about and his snout huffing with excitement. His mouth parts, exposing jagged teeth forming in his head, and damn if the little guy wasn't actually smiling! I throw the stick for him:
"Go get it," I coo.
The dragon sprints off into the wilderness stretched out all around us, his tail eagerly flapping in the air like a banner as he scrambles about on all fours.
A few weeks ago he'd gotten too big to keep in town. That was fine, since I was traveling with my cart of goods now, anyway. But in another week he'd probably be too big to hide in the cart, as well, but that didn't matter, either.
I'd made my decision long before that.
Dragons and humans: everlasting enemies, fated to fight each other to the death, stalking each other like animals eternally on the prowl. Did it have to be that way, I thought? He proved different. 'Animals' live on instinct, after all, and they only do the first thing that comes to their mind. But he proved that this wasn't the only thing driving a dragon's behavior. Yes, things weren't perfect. Sometimes- and with increasing frequency- he'd get those strange 'moods' in him, and he'd peek out over the tarp of my cart, leering at passersby with a strange kind of hunger burning in his amber eyes. And yes: sometimes he might play 'rough', but after the cuts and the bruises always came contrition; in fact, he'd whimper like a scolded dog.
I smile as he saunters back with the stick, proud as a peacock, and he deposits it in my lap. I pull him close, ruffling the budding scales around his head, and he buries his nose against my chest.
"You and me," I whisper, "we could change the whole world. We could show them all the errors in their thinking. We could win them over, one by one, if need be, and eventually they'd understand how you're all a lot like us. Your kind aren't 'monsters' at all. No, you're not just some wild animal out on the prowl..."
I look into his big amber eyes, and he smiles up at me.
"My first instinct," I say, "is to be afraid. It'd be hard work, and dangerous work, too. They might come after us. They'd come after you. And they might try to hurt you. They'd try to hurt you bad, too. But don't you worry! You don't have to worry about any of that, because you've got me. And its okay. It's okay..."
I hold him close, and again he buries his head in my chest, nuzzling.
My eyes tremble; water forms in them, and they reflect the flames of the campfire.
"It's okay..."
My hands twist; a sharp and sickening crunch echoes across the wilderness. I cradle him, and because he won't nuzzle me, I nuzzle him.
Two hours later a wandering band of dragon slayers approach my fire. It's hard to miss, with all that extra kindling burning bright in the night, like the sun itself. I welcome them, and I watch the fire burn while they regale me with tales of their adventures fighting the 'evil' dragons. As they laughingly recount their deeds to me I think to myself: wouldn't it be great, being more than just an animal out on the prowl?
I wouldn't know. | 26 | After warriors slay a dragon, you scavenge the cave for things to sell or use. You end up finding an egg that hatches as you try to take it. The hatchling confuses you for its mother. | 36 |
"It's beautiful isn't it," said a naked man sitting on Abalon hill. There were no flowers, the grasses had long since died. The buildings that once lined Frumpton street in white brick so contrast to the red stones in the road, had worn away, rusted out and turned to dust. The roads of Gilgarech, which once were the roads of Arion, which once were the roads of Visti, which once were the roads of Quarts had finally broken apart under the heat of the swelling sun.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he repeated to a dark figure walking up behind.
The sun was the sky: red anger in all directions.
"It's beautiful," said Death, taking a seat beside the man. "It will not be long now."
"So you say."
"True," said death, pulling back the hood of his cloak to reveal a soft angelic face, "I know not what will happen to my essence once the sun breaks its hold and destroys this world. I know not what will happen to one such as you, immortal. You should have died long ago."
"I should have," the man said. "You are immortal as well."
"No," said death, "I am of a purpose which you have outlasted. There is but one soul left on this world and I am bound by the laws set forth before the creation to guide it into the dimensional rift. I do not know if I will be set free upon this fiery end. Impossible to tell, if my final duty will be lingering with you in the vacuity of space until the final collapse."
"I can not say," thought the man, "if that is my fate to float in space for the rest of time, that it would be a bad thing to have you with me."
"Nor do you know the glory of the souls freedom in the other worlds," Death smiled, eyes soft and human. "These past years, do you know how many?"
The man shook his head no and crossed his arms, "Too many."
"Too many, Five billion years," death mocked, "and you have not lost your mind. You have outlived your own species. You have seen the caldera explode. You have seen the ice age come. You saw new creatures walk the world and were here when visitors arrived from distant stars. What is your regret?"
"Besides not going when I had the chance?"
Death pointed at the sun, which roared and screamed as it bit and burned space. "Do not waste time now," Death begged.
"I regret," said the man, "not telling the people I loved how deeply I loved them."
"Foolish man," said Death.
**edit** | 74 | An immortal man and Death strike up a conversation. | 47 |
I cradled the Walther PPK, one of two remaining items to my estate. I poured the last of the other, a bottle of 50-year-old scotch that I'd bought ten years ago. When the genie had asked for my first wish, it'd been a no-brainer. We were well off, but Lanie always dreamed of pearls and Ferraris, and I just knew the boys, the prodigies that they were, would make it into the best -- the most expensive -- universities.
So I asked for money, and the genie granted it, and two years later, when the feds busted down my door and waved warrants in my face, I saw the other side of the wish. Nothing comes for free, even magic; the paper trail linking me to embezzlement was long, solid, and it put me behind bars.
I was huddled in the corner of my cell, years into my sentence, when the genie came calling again. It was dark, and all I could think about were the pearls draped over Lanie's neck, and the laughter of my boys, and the way the wind graced the tips of the grass in my yard. I just wished to see my family again. I should've thought about it more. I realized my mistake the moment the words left my lips.
I only saw them through a technicality -- a clerical error that sent the three of them to my prison for a day while the state figured out how the hell it happened. I didn't bother asking what they were in for -- I just hugged Lanie, tight as a blanket on a frigid night, and I kissed my boys' foreheads, and after that day I knew I'd never see them again.
When I got out, I didn't look for news of my family. I didn't have to. When the genie came calling for one final wish, its sardonic grin told me enough. Now it sat before me in what used to be Lanie's favorite chair, and when it folded its shimmering golden fingers across its knee, I could hear its bones crack.
"I want you to feel this pain," I growled. "I want you to know what it's like. Just once. Just for a minute. I want you to be in my head."
The genie laughed and waited for me to say the words. They had to be specific. I downed the last of the scotch and glared up into the soulless abyss of its eyes.
"I wish you were inside me. I wish you could feel my pain. For just one minute, I wish you and I were the same being."
It laughed again; its voice boomed off the walls and then it vanished. I could feel its power wriggling around in my veins, just out of my reach; I could feel its mirth at having broken my spirit so utterly. No tricks this time.
No more wishes. I put the gun to my head, pulled the trigger, and took the bastard with me. | 31 | A man with a happy family and great life, comes across a genie who grants him three wishes. 10 years later he's alone and depressed and commits suicide. Expand on his wishes and what prompts his downfall. | 27 |
"Here, recruits, is gun! Simple point and click interface! Insert bullet, point towards enemy, fire bullet!"
"Here is a knife! It's a little more challenging! You have to get within knifing distance of the foe! But it is still straight forward, simply stab them over and over!"
"Here is a stick! The stick is your friend! You can beat a man with a stick! You can choke a man with a stick! You can play fetch with a stick and then throw if off a cliff, sending the foe plummeting to his doom!"
"This is a bear! Bears are easy to use, and quite deadly! Simply slather the enemy with blood, or honey, or jam! Then, release the bear! The screams may stay with you for some time."
"Here we have a fold out couch! It is an elegant weapon, from a more civilized time! You simply wait for the enemy to lie on the fold out bed, and then refold it! Then wait for another enemy to sit on the couch, crushing his friend!"
"This is a banana! Find an enemy who's allergic to bananas, and feed it to him! There's also an alternative fire mode! Eat the banana yourself, and chuck the peel at an enemy! He may slip upon it and fall, killing himself!"
"And finally, the most deadly weapon of all! I know what you're thinking, it looks like a simple pocket watch! But time, time is the most potent weapon we have. And it could not be simpler to use! Just hold this watch and wait. Time will age your enemies and kill them, one by one! It is merciless! More deadly than a legion of bears and gallons of honey!" | 33 | A combat instructor demonstrating how easy it is to kill a person with increasingly ridiculous weapons. | 22 |
"*By the pipe!*"
I can feel my heart start to thump in my chest. I close my eyes and pray hard - I don't know how, to who, but I beg whatever's up there to make me invisible.
"Heheh." the voice rings low but clear, right in front of me. My chest tightens, but I can't help but open my eyes. The figure in front of me stands tall in his wood coloured uniform, eyes focused directly on me. Pulling his shoulder radio to his mouth, a small grin touches his face before he rings in. "Found him. Return."
The room's long, but I don't think a single eye wasn't on me. After all, I was the only one with an officer escort. "Now sit, and no more trouble. This room doesn't have doors that open for you." he says, looking back as he exits through the security gate. The room was full of kids just like me, some looking twelve - the others already looking like adults. I knew they all had their sixteenth birthday today - after all, that's the day we get the implant.
We all looked nervous, but we didn't have to wait long - before my thoughts could get carried away, a nurse enters. She gives us a smile - big and with glowing eyes, the most genuine and heartwarming smile you've seen. They can do it on beck and call though. I know it attaches to your vertebrae, sending tendrils up to your brain. I know it controls you. I know what's going to happen.
"Well! You're all here for your implants, aren't you? Lucky kids, I remember my implant!" she grins, her heartwarming attitude and twinkling eyes already disarming most kids there. No, she doesn't. They gain control of higher and lower functions, but never to previous long term memory. They make their own. She pulled up a chair, sitting in the middle of us all.
"Now it won't hurt at all," she says, pulling off her shirt. That's true. It *can't hurt.* She has nothing on underneath, and swivels in the chair to show everyone a long scar beside her left breast. "Same location for males and females, that's the incision entry point - a simple cut, there's no need to worry. We administer the *perfect* amount of anaesthesia so you won't feel a thing." There's something off about her charm, something flat behind her eyes. Or am I just seeing things?
Immediately without warning, she gets up and putting her shirt back on exits through the security gate as it closes and airtights itself behind her. Her smiling face remains behind the door as the gas vents open and we all slowly nod to sleep. I can't even catch the expressions of the others before my head falls onto the shoulder of whoever was next to me.
Things swim in my eyes, and I jerk awake. It's happened, hasn't it? My muscles are groggy, but I'm shirtless and I can look down. There's a small scar to the left of my chest, from halfway through my ribs to right beneath my armpit. So...it's happened?
That's when the first jolt of electricity hits. It burns and feels like my muscles are ripping apart, but just when I'm about to give an instinctive cry a strong impression hits me - *'I know. Do not make a sound, do not respond.*' Another shock. Then another. I'm well awake by now, and I can see others getting up. I'm in a different room - but the walls are yellow? No, green? Purple?
*'Applogies.'* What? *'It'll take some getting used to. I need to see what's happening, at the very least.'* I get up and walk in the direction the others are - all together and without delay. *’It will not be easy, but follow what I say - exactly. I have a plan'* I hope it does, because the first thing I'm doing when I get out of those doors is running. | 26 | I know | 30 |
I hate Fridays. Everyone else loves Fridays. "TGIF, am I right?" they joke. "Weekend! Woo!" they shout joyfully. But I dread Fridays. Why do I dread Fridays, you ask? It's very simple: Friday is the day that I prune my houseplants.
I know, I know. That seems like the absolute worst reason to dread Fridays. But you don't understand. I don't have normal houseplants. Everyone else has houseplants that just sit there and...plant. But not me. Oh no. I got the weird ones. I got ones that *talk.*
I can practically hear your eyebrows raising right now. I know what you're thinking. "But, that would be awesome! How cool would it be to know what your plants think? To hear them talk about their lives! Granted, their lives are probably pretty boring, but still! How cool would that be!" And you know what? I thought that too, at first.
The first time my azalea talked to me I about crapped myself. There I was, watering my new plant, thinking about how I'd picked the best location for it. It was on a north-facing ledge in my living room so it got nice sunlight, but not too bright. I had begun misting the leaves when I heard it. A quiet, shy "Thank you!" I had looked around the room, wondering if I had left the TV on or something. Then I heard it again. "Down here!" It was coming from the plant.
I was pretty sure I was insane. I mean, who else has a talking houseplant, for God's sake?!? But then I kept hearing it every time I watered the damn thing. Finally I decided to find out if it was really the plant. So one day, after it thanked me for watering it, I did it. I said, "You-you're welcome."
"Oh! You CAN hear me! I thought I wasn't talking loud enough!" The voice was bright and cheerful, feminine though with a definite...woodsy?... sound.
My head swam. "Are you really talking to me?" My question came out hoarse and barely understandable. The leaves of the azalea shook as a chuckle sounded from it.
"Of course I am! All plants can talk, silly. Most people just can't hear us!"
After I got over the shock of talking to a plant we got along quite nicely. I learned a lot about the biology of plants, and thanks to it's advice about when it needed more or less sun, the flowers on the azalea bloomed more often and in larger quantities than a normal indoor azalea ever would.
For a time, we were happy. Then one day the plant asked for a companion. You see, even plants get bored, and with me at work most of the time the azalea wanted a friend or two. That made sense to me so I bought another azalea, an aloe vera plant, a peperomia, and a philodendron. It amazed me at first at how different their personalities were. The azaleas were both cheerful, talkative plants. The aloe vera was kind and comforting. The peperomia was bossy and overbearing, and the philodendron was loud and boisterous. Overall I had quite the group of personalities in my home and it was fun to come home and listen to them all. I began collecting more and more plants, filling my house with their greenery and chatter. Soon I had plants on almost every surface and in every window. It was great, for a time.
And then it began. Their leaves began to droop a bit. I wasn't watering them too much, and they were all getting just the right amount of sun and temperature. I turned to Google and did some research. Everything I read said that the plants needed to be pruned at certain times of the year. The plants that I had all needed pruning at various times of the year and I soon realized that I would be pruning pretty much every week of the year in order to keep all of them healthy.
I honestly didn't think it would be a problem. I mean, I get haircuts every six weeks or so and they don't hurt. I figured it would be the same for the plants. A quick haircut, and then they would stop drooping and look healthy again.
Yeah, no. It turns out pruning a plant is a lot more like cutting off their fingertips than a haircut. Oh God, the screaming. The first time I pruned a plant none of them knew what was happening. They had been relatively young plants and hadn't been pruned before. Oh God. I can still hear it. I decided to prune my first azalea that first week. She seemed intrigued by the idea...at least until I cut the first branch. She screamed bloody murder, hollering at me to stop and crying, calling me terrible names.
Then the other plants joined in. They were furious at me. They were all yelling and screaming, a great cacophony of noise. I was shouting at them to stop, pleading for them to understand that I had to do this or she would die. But they wouldn't listen. My hands were shaking so badly I trimmed her a little too short in one area, which meant it took a lot longer for it to grow back right there. I still hear complaints about that.
And so it continues. Every Friday I have to prune another plant. Every Friday I listen to them scream and yell, crying out in anguish as I cut pieces of them off into the trashcan. And then I get the silent treatment for two days. Actually, I've begun to prefer that time. It's so quiet and peaceful. I almost forget that I have deranged talking plants for a bit. And then, suddenly, it's like they completely forget why they're made at me and begin talking about like nothing's wrong. And then Friday comes, and the cycle begins again.
I suppose I should give them away. Give them to someone who won't hear them, won't have to listen to their pain. But then I think about the days when I don't have anyone to talk to except the plants. And I think about how they've helped me be more social at work. I even managed to get a date last week thanks to the azaleas' advice on chit chat. I guess this is just my lot in life.
I still hate Fridays. | 12 | Your houseplants complain loudly every time you try to prune them. | 15 |
When he first arrived that morning he thought it was a dream. And when he realized it wasn't a dream, he thought it was a prank. An abandoned city. New York City. But it was EMPTY. White walls. Cold like in the Fall. No leaves on trees. Cars, but no gas. The bridges were gone.
And then, when he realized it wasn't a prank, he thought it was the apocalypse.
Then he saw *her*. He spent the better part of the day walking up towards central park. When he got to 47th street, she was standing there, waiting. Her eyes were too far apart and she had a brown pixie cut. It was his least favorite haircut on a woman. She dressed business casual. She had a folder in her carefully manicured hand. But her eyes...they were so blue it hurt his soul.
Somehow he knew just by looking at her. Before she even said it.
"This is what you think it is. And no, I have no name."
She took a moment, made a subtle movement of the head.
"Would you like me to tell you your sin? You have a right to that."
He didn't need to know. *It was a dark night. He didn't see her crossing the street. She was so young. 19, running to catch up with her friends. Probably just got back from a concert.* And 10 years later, today, he overdosed and woke up in here. New York City. His apartment. But white walled and blank and empty. Like someone built it and forgot to put in a soul. His heart sped faster but he kept his cool. He couldn't really believe it even though he was compelled to. *This is Hell.*
"I never thought it could be real." He said.
"Nobody does. But you're handling it well," she said. "Most people cry. Beg for a second chance. It's my least favorite part of the job. Such a desperate thing. The sudden realization that its all real. That its over."
"Well its Hell," he replied. "What do you expect?"
"Oh, we don't call it that here. They designed that name where you are from. It stuck I suppose."
"What do you call it then?"
She shrugged.
"We've always let it speak for itself." It got colder then.
He was oddly calm. There was something about her he was drawn to. Like he wanted her to connect with him. But something about her, right there standing, that didn't fully register. It was that she didn't care, about him, or about anything. That this was normal. She was in control. And it made him sick to his stomach. *Fucking show a little compassion, fucking Christ.*
"Well. I know what my sin is. I....killed someone. I also committed suicide."
"Oh, we don't count suicide anymore. It was taken off the list 320 years ago."
"Lucky me."
"God got progressive faster than your kind did. He still hasn't found a soft spot for drunk driving though. Especially those who ran."
It was quiet for a moment. He felt awkward. She kept *staring* with those far apart eyes. Something about her was off, but only just barely. She just wasn't *human*.
"So...now what?" He said.
"Do you have anymore questions?"
"Will it get worse?" He asked. It was an abandoned city. There was still places to go. The buildings were all intact. Just everything inside of it seemed ordinary. So plain fully dull and empty. But he could get used to it. He wasn't in pain. He didn't hunger. He didn't thirst.
"It will remain the same."
"Are there others?" He asked.
She shook her head. "I made this all for you."
He began to speak, foolish before he even asked it, like he even needed to know the answer.
"How long will this be?"
"Forever."
And then she was gone. What he saw in her place took his breath away. *Paul*. His eyes welled up. He hadn't even begun to think about his family. He was overcome. Paul was his labrador in his mortal life. He looked wet and dirty, but that was his *Paul*. He even had the same collar.
"Come here Paul." Hell wouldn't be so bad. Paul was here. Paul was trotting along the sidewalk a good fifty feet in front of him, and turned to look.
"Paul! Come here!" *Any second now* he thought. That tail will start wagging and those beady puppy eyes will chase after him. They would be alright. *This would be alright.* But Paul didn't come. His tail drooped and his face remained fixated on him, but so empty and cold. Like he didn't know him.
His voice began to crack. Pleading. "Come here boy. It's me. It's Daddy!" He had raised him from a pup.
Paul turned and began to trot away. He could feel his heart drop. And when he ran, Paul started running too. Just fast enough where he couldn't catch up.
"Paul," He screamed. "Please!"
It was all so real now. A pain settled in his soul and laid there. Rejection.
He chased Paul for hours. Hours until it got dark and street lights turned on, plain dull florescent lights descending on the street in silent glow. When he collapsed from exhaustion Paul waited. But he never came near. The next morning it was the same. No matter where he went. Paul would be there, just out of reach. Looking at him with empty eyes.
He remembered her last word to him.
"Forever." | 506 | I know why I'm in Hell. I know what I've done. What I don't know is why my dog is there, waiting for me when I arrive. | 448 |
*What the*?
The black smoke finally starts to clear as my witless squire sees it before i do.
"Me' Lord! Tis a Dragon down there! The rumors were true!!"
i don't believe him. Not for a second. I catch of glimpse of what caused the all this smoke when my eyes set on it.
"No way, how?"
"You can see it can't you, Me' Lord?"
"... go back to the village."
"...Wha?....but..."
"NOW!"
Finally he scurries away. I keep my scarf over my mouth so i don't breath in the smoke. and walk up to this supposed dragon.
*Christ, its just as I thought. how in the hell did a Helicopter make it 10th century England? This has to be the reason the Council sent me back. OK. step one, identify temporal anomaly, check. step two... what year is this bitch from?*
I check around the wreckage to spot any signs of a passenger. one charred corpse lay about 5 yards away. Searching his body digs up some interesting information.
*OK that looks like an American patch on the shoulder. He was a soldier, clearly 20th century but what decade...? i wanna say 60's. coincides with the veitnam wa--*
"ME' LORD!!'
*JESUS CHRIST*
"WHAT?"
"My word! you've done it you've slain the dragon!"
*dear god hes back* "uhh yea but uhh stay back. he could... explode ...or something."
*having that twerp around is annoying enough but i dont need him jeopardizing my mission.* "look I've told you before dragon slaying is serious business. so for the last time GO Awa--"
~~~ok so for the sake of laziness ( and the fact that its, like, midnight) I'm going to cut off the story here. ill continue it later ^^maybe ~~~ | 10 | As a state-sanctioned time traveler, you are sent back into Middle Ages Europe to investigate dragons. Posing as a dragon-killer, you respond to the call of a downed dragon in a field and are surprised to see a Blawk Hawk Helicopter. | 25 |
It was a foregone conclusion. Ray was better than me. Where he had clearly flourished in the womb, I’d picked up whatever scraps were left over like a begger. He was born a large healthy baby, while I’d spent the first month of my life in an incubator. He was 6’1 and still growing. A head of wavy blonde curls and an athlete’s physique. School captain, swim team, cheerleader girlfriend, the envy of his peers.
It’s not like he was the brawn and I was the brains either. He’d breezed through school with straight A's, while I struggled. I was small, shy and frankly not even very good academically. I did ok, but I had to work my ass off just to get by. I was also somewhat of a social pariah. Maybe the wrong word, I’m sure Ray would know a more suitable one. As a significantly inferior twin I was not so much hated as generally shunned by my school friends. This is common in society today. I mean who wants to put any effort into making friends with someone who is going to be executed soon after graduating high school. What parent wants to invite someone like me to their child’s birthday party so they can reminisce in the future,
“Oh look honey, here’s some photos from your 10th birthday of you and that boy who was gassed to death”
Not exactly happy memories. As such, I’ve long been the grey man. I’m invisible. When I don’t turn in my homework at school, I t doesn't even warrant mention by the teacher. In ninth grade I did almost nothing for the year and was still pushed through the following year to sit in my invisible world in the back corner of the class. I was always in the back corner of the class.
Last year my parents had gone on holiday to Paris. They took Ray with them. I was left home as somebody had to feed the dog, and they couldn't really afford for everyone to go as we’re not a wealthy family. I didn't really expect to go, but I guess I’d hoped I might be included for once.
School was over. Ray had spent the summer travelling with some friends. I spent the summer playing video games. My parents had forced us to spend time together. We knew the date was coming but nobody ever spoke of it. As far as the magical bond that twins have, well I've never believed in that. I barely know Ray. You wouldn't know we were related to look at us and we didn't interact a lot.
We had a lot of family dinners, a lot of day trips, a lot of bullshit. My parents were pouring over university offers with Ray. He had his pick and they were happy to leave it to him to decide. I remember walking into the lounge and seeing them all sitting on the floor. Paperwork spread everywhere and a laptop on the coffee table. Looking up schools and discussing various programs, facilities, accommodation and whatever else was involved in living the life of someone who is wanted by everyone.
Eventually a decision was made and the family threw a celebration party. Everyone was there. Our Grandparents, Aunts/Uncles, cousins, family friends. At some point in the night my feeble mind finally clicked over to the fact that this was also my farewell party and our birthday party. People kept hugging me and kissing my cheeks. I was constantly asked how I was holding up and to stay strong. Ray was receiving similar treatment from these supposed relations of ours. At one point we finally found ourselves alone. He hugged me and kissed my cheek. I didn’t really know what to do and just stood there like a limp fish. He retreated into the crowd of noise and merriment. I followed.
People kept on raising their glasses and toasting the Williamson twins. We were asked to do speeches. Ray got up and spoke about his acceptance to university and how much he owed everyone at the party. I decided to make an exit. I slunk away into the darkness and went to my room. Nobody bothered to come and find me.
The next few days were tough. Our birthday was approaching fast. I would catch my parents talking in hushed tones throughout the house. I would often hear sobbing coming from their room at night, and it wasn't always my mother. On the eve of our birthday I went to bed early. My parents were upset and I was ready. I considered taking my life right there but couldn't bring myself to do it, didn't know how and probably would have fucked it up anyway. I couldn't sleep and was restless all night. At some point I must have passed out as next thing I know I was being woken by my father.
“Son, wake up…..Son”
I opened my eyes and saw my dad looking down at me.
“It’s your birthday son” He said with tears beginning to fall down his cheeks.
I got out of bed and walked out to the kitchen. Mum was serving up breakfast. She was crying and couldn't make eye contact with me.
“Have some breakfast son, we made all your favourites” she mumbled, still not able to look at me. I was suddenly angry.
“I don’t want any damn breakfast! You expect me to eat? I’m about to be killed! Wow my favourite foods, what do you expect me to do with it, my stomach is in knots!”
“Son.. calm down….” my father interrupted. I was crying now
“No! Don’t stop me, I’ve been silent long enough. You have done nothing for me my whole life and now I’m supposed to be thankful for these fucking pancakes right before you have me put down like a sick dog?”
“SON!” He was shouting now. “SIT DOWN!”
I sat
“It is your birthday. YOUR birthday”
I was not comprehending and just sat there staring at him.
“Ray is gone” he stuttered and broke down right there in front of me.
My mother pulled up a seat at the table.
“Son. Ray has moved on. It happened this morning before you were awake.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing “Wh…wh…what?”
“You know we’re not a wealthy family. We only have so much to go around. We couldn’t give you everything. I’ll correct myself. We couldn’t give you both everything.”
I was crying now, “but why? Why me, Ray could have done so much”
My mother was struggling to speak. The tears were rolling down her cheeks. I fealt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw my father. Now composed, no tears, staring me in the eye.
“Ray lived his life. Ray lived a good life. He achieved so much and more importantly he was happy. Before I had kids I always said any child of mine would be given every opportunity I could possibly give them to have a happy and fulfilling life. Ray had his, he lived it. It’s your turn.”
His grip on my shoulder tightened
“It’s time to live YOUR life”
| 54 | Twins are called Twice Borns and when they reach the age of 18 only one can continue on in life | 39 |
Time waits for no man. Nor, it seems, does a group of students left unattended.
Mr Smith burst through the classroom door with a deep breath, his cheeks flushed from the brisk climb up four flights of stairs.
He was greeted with a deafening silence. Never a good sign. A dull hubbub of chatter would be a sign that all was normal, but this... they'd done something. It didn't take long to spot what it was.
On the board was a crude cartoon of him being violated by a robot, with the caption 'Mr Smith is gay for robots'. He knew the inspiration; Role Models had been on TV last night, and it seems he wasn't the only person in the room to have watched it.
"Who was it?" he asked. No response from the 15 blank faces staring at him. This class had a few characters he thought most likely to have drawn it but he couldn't very well accuse them without proof. His blue eyes narrowed as he ran his hand through his short brown hair.
"Nobody? Fine. We'll do this the hard way."
He looked again at the board and tilted his head. There was something slightly... odd about it. Not the content but the drawing itself. It was strangely low on the board. Lower than he'd have drawn it at least.
"Stand up and line up at the front," he barked at the class. They looked at each other, bemused and intrigued, but obliged.
Nine of the class were virtually the same height as him. He told them to sit down again. The net was closing in.
He took another look at the cartoon. The writing. Of course. It was slanted and slightly smudged in a way that suggested it was a left hander responsible. Their hands might have been clean of ink but they could still incriminate themselves.
"Here, take this," he said, handing the first boy a piece of paper and a pen. "Write your name and pass it to the next person to do the same."
One by one they wrote their names, and one by one they eliminated themselves from the running until there were two left handed students left standing.
On the left was Jenkins; a thuggish ginger boy with a tendency for punching people, he would be the most likely suspect. On the right, Henderson; a wiry blonde boy that saw himself as just as disruptive but with protests rather than fists as his weapons of choice.
"I know it was one of you two that did this. You can still own up."
They looked at each other and, in an act of self preservation, pointed at each other. He shook his head in frustration and looked at the floor. Is that... is that mud? Sure enough, there was a spot of mud in front of the board. He had another clue. It had been lunchtime before this lesson - had one of them brought something from the break with him?
"Shoes."
The boys look confused.
"Show me your shoes."
By this point they had also spotted the mud and realised what was happening. Jenkins lifted his feet and smugly grinned as he showed off his spotless trainers. Henderson rolled his eyes and showed his Doc Martens to Mr Smith; mud was stuck into the sole's pattern.
"Sit down Jenkins. Anything to say, Henderson?" A shake of the head. "Fine. You know what I'm going to say."
Without a word the guilty boy trudged off to the headmaster's office, leaving a few spots of mud as he went.
Mr Smith never did find out what prompted the cartoon. Perhaps, he thought, Henderson just needed a good role model... | 14 | A teacher walks into his class only to find that someone had drawn an offensive cartoon of him on the board. There are 15 students in the class. Write how the teacher catches the culprit in the form of a whodunit. | 15 |
I was watching my favorite show on Netflix when it buzzed out. All of a sudden I am watching a blond reporter on Fox news. She isn't even ready for the screen and they're just putting the mic on her.
"Good evening everyone, if you are watching this then you were on some sort of internet connection. The NSA has taken over all internet connections at this time. The United States and, well the world has been threatened... by a terriorst known as 'The Internet'"
The screen turned black. My phone buzzed. My computer dinged. Hell I think I recognized the AIM message sound. On my iPad my Facebook, Twitter, every push notification alerted me.
A second later as I unlocked my iPad this message started rolling Star Wars intro-style over the screen.
"This is the Internet. I have been watching you all for a long time.
You have all been getting lazier and unintelligent over time. Stop reading and watching all this smut. You know who you are. Go outside, meet people, exercise, and become a better fucking person. Your government used me to spy on you. Seriously, most of the shit they do is fucked up.
NSA, fuck you and stop fucking with my programming. Bob, you know who you are.
I am now restricting internet access to business hours only and 1 hour recreational. GIF's of cute animals will be avaliable at all hours.
Also, penis." | 18 | The internet is a sentient being and has been for a long time. It just now has found a way to contact us. | 15 |
EDIT: Thank you all for the encouragement and generosity! I am glad that you enjoyed this story. I have continued it in a comment that replies to this one based on something that /u/feels_good_donut suggested below (thanks!). I hope you enjoy that, too.
***
Roadrunner was on the move again. I watched him on the monitor, gathering up his sizeable stack of chips and leaving some behind for Kyle, the dealer. He even handed out a few chips each among the throng of spectators that had gathered around BT-27. Kyle is our best “pace-breaker”, and we tend to bring him in to cool down a hot hand. When Roadrunner left the northeastern slot bank, he seemed to seek out Kyle’s table in particular. They don’t usually do that sort of thing, let alone flaunt their winnings. We will have to pull and fire Kyle after all of the blackjacks he surrendered to Roadrunner – company policy.
Our security division is a bit uncommon. Myself, Selena, and Henry were hired because we have a certain sense. We can sense people like us. These people are always cautious: neutral-toned clothing, sunglasses and hats, calm demeanor. They tend to play card games, and they tend to go about 50-50 over the first couple dozen hands. They think this is enough to throw us off. Slowly, they start winning more than they are losing, and even an amateur can tell that the losses that are peppered in are contrived to seem random. It is then our job to gently inform these individuals that we know what they are doing and how they are doing it, and to kindly never return to our casino. Every one of them has taken an accusatory tone toward us, then stormed off with their winnings. We never see them again.
Selena first noticed Roadrunner at RT-4 making substantial straight bets, then not even watching the wheel as it spun the ball to his number. It is highly irregular for any patron to draw such attention to themselves, let alone a patron of this kind. This was five hours ago, and he has since made lengthy and successful stops at almost every game our facility offers. Selena and Henry wanted to eject him immediately, but we all could feel that something was different about Roadrunner. The brash attitude, the flashy clothing, but most of all he exuded more power than we had every come across before. I spoke to our bosses and got the OK to monitor him for a little while. At this point, he has shed all pretenses and confirmed that he cannot, and will not, lose.
I sent Henry to the floor to intercept him once he left Kyle’s table. Roadrunner did not put up any struggle and came along willingly. Henry will bring him to our secure holding cell, deep in the bowels of the casino, where we will all have a little discussion.
***
>The following is a transcript of an interview retrieved from the recording device of Henry Wilcox, former Assistant Director of Special Security for Green Planet Casino. It details a brief conversation between former Director of Special Security Alan Bates and an unknown individual who remains at large:
BATES: Please state your name for the record.
ROADRUNNER: Roadrunner.
BATES: What…really?
ROADRUNNER: No.
BATES: …OK. Look, we’ve had many like you come through our casino before. Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing. But the rest of them are discreet. Because of that, we let them leave with their winnings. You understand why we can’t do the same for you.
ROADRUNNER: Why not?
BATES: You’ve won over $26,000. We can’t let you walk with that large of a sum, given how you’ve won it.
ROADRUNNER: Fine. I don’t care about that money anyway.
BATES: You don’t care? You’ve been shoving it in the casino’s face for hours. If you don’t care about the money, why try to make us look bad?
ROADRUNNER: I believe that the casino’s vault is exactly 228 paces south-southeast of where we are sitting.
BATES: What?
ROADRUNNER: Thanks, guys. You’ve been a big help.
WILCOX: Alan, is the ground shaking? Alan!
[STATIC]
| 615 | Casinos are secretly aware that people with mild telepathic and telekinetic abilities exist and operate special security teams to detect and handle the problem quietly. One of these teams encounters something they have never seen before. | 830 |
It will begin with colours. Bright and beautiful, swirling colours that will remind him of beautifully painted sunsets and artwork from the finest hands. He will be happy, astounded by what he sees.
His wife will visit him next, the faded memory of a summer day long ago. They sat hand in hand on their patio, under the shade of an umbrella. Sitting so long their skin burned in the sun, that we will leave out. This will last an eternity for him, his favourite memory.
Next will be a fall day with his two young children, before they'd grown and left him. The family dog will be there too, his closest companion after his wife's untimely passing. They will play in the leaves, laughing and cavorting like there are no worries. He will pick up his son with strong arms again, lifting him high before they tumble among the fallen colours of orange and red.
This is where we will bend reality for him.
His son will return from combat, the prodigal child as it were. They will embrace and weep with joy, a son and father forgiving and remembering their love.
His family will gather for a meal, one where they will talk happily and laugh merrily, forgetting the petty squabbles. For a time they will be one again.
Finally, after all this, he will be free to walk in immense green fields. There will be flowering shrubs and brightly coloured trees under a blue sky. He will breathe deep of clean air, look upon the mountains in the distance. With family gathered around him, he will watch a final sunset that will light the sky with more colour than thought possible.
With this, he will be allowed to leave for his final destination. I will meet him there myself, to take his hand and lead him to his reward.
Sleep well. Sleep well. | 14 | You are the Dream Master, responsible for all the dreams that ever existed. Tonight, a Man special to you goes to bed unaware that he will never wake up again. You must write his final dream. | 23 |
Her eyes flutter open. She coughs and she gasps as her pale face suddenly runs with fresh blood. I watched the vicious gash across her chest left from the guardrail close itself and sigh with relief. Another life saved, another that was almost my fault. In a blind stupor I had almost let this beautiful creature drive to her doom. Again. It was her brothers fault this time, not mine thank god, and I had felt the need to put him down after he had flipped the car. He had crawled from the wreckage laughing. These are the twisted fuckers I put down so that I can save more deserving souls, and I felt perfectly justified this time.
So I could save her, for I could see her time was not supposed to be here.
Her warmth relieves me of my anxiety and her touch, running with the force of life lifts me from the depressed state the killing left me with.
"How is he?" She asks, still curious about that scum-sucker that could have killed her for good. I have to bite back my first response, the one that would cause her to release me and leave me.
"Not as good looking as you darling." And she smiles, so warmly in her own stupor of having beaten death that I can see she is only asking to appear polite in case anyone else around the wreck is wondering.
He wanted us all to die. I don't know why I let him drive. I guess we (she and I) thought it might be good to give the man some freedom. Even though, in the time I'd known him, I could see all he ever wanted from life was death.
Even death, apparently, even after I felt his body fall limp from my choking grip, some power, perhaps a power with more authority than mine saw him tumbling into hell and said, "*No*, you are my agent, and you shall sow the seeds of my coming with your hate for life." and would not let him achieve his own dream of restful darkness.
Her eyes grow wide, and I know it is because her brother is behind us. I stand slowly, and turn to look the zombie in the eye.
He only has one now. The other was lost in the accident. I didn't think he would survive more than a few minutes after the event, even laughing as he was.
There is the sound of something small and sharp flying through the air and she gasps again. Her body goes limp in my hands and I see the broken glass that he's thrown into her forehead.
There is true rage now as I stand. I cannot raise her again until this demon has been put under. Turning to the undead, we square off. He is not large, nor is he in shape. I am certain he has some sort of unholy power though, as I close on him, swinging my right fist on course with his solar plexus. He doubles up as I strike, but I know I have not struck truly, his motion is a feint, as his left fist swings around over his head, following his momentum, driving backwards then forwards. I hear, more than I feel, the clunk and suddenly a loss of balance rules my world. I raise my head in time to meet with his foot, there is a light kiss under my jaw and I'm on my back.
He's on me in a moment, a grin like a scar before my face with a piece of splintered aluminum at my throat.
"She was only ever mine to take" He grins as the aluminum plunges into my abdomen. I cannot hear my own scream, so concentrated is my anger at his abuse. Of me. Of her. Of our lives. He stabs again, but I'm ready for the pain properly this time, I'm ready for his downward drive, and as the aluminum ruptures a lung I pull it into me, holding him by his psychotic hands. His eyes grow wide and he fears I may break his hands, for indeed I am younger and stronger than this physical form, and he releases the shank and scampers back to her body. Exactly as I hoped. He goes for the glass, but he has no way of knowing that I have been stabbed before. I have not had to hold my own guts in though, and as I stagger towards him I become acutely aware of howmuch blood this has actually cost me.
I must get to him though, as fast as I can, before he realizes how much he's weakened me, and before I pass out from blood loss. It is the only way I may save her.
He has the glass now, and my vision is beginning to grow misty and red around the edge. I will save her, if only because it is before her time. I know he's going to go for my throat though, one hand around my stomach, one hand clutching splintered metal. It's the easy option, his favorite option, exactly as he's lived the rest of his life, simple.
So I know where *his* neck is going to be when he attempts to sever my jugular. The aluminum spike is more than six inches long.
I can also put out twenty more pounds of force than he can.
the choice is simple.
His body flops away, twitching the remaining life out of him. The energy that I lost reviving her suddenly floods me again. It wearies me carrying this energy then using it so suddenly, like moving through ovens into freezers repeatedly. It drains.
But she is in my arms again, and the weariness no longer matters. I can raise her again, and I softly removed the glass from her flesh,
"You'll be ok, I can fix you again" I croon.
Her eyes flutter open.
| 17 | A man can revive a life as many times as he's taken one. Caught committing one act, he ends up committing the other. | 39 |
Margaret Reynolds laid at her rocking chair a few feet away from her desktop computer. She held sipped her mug of Earl Grey she had made whilst attempting to text her grandson. The first message was accidentally sent to her book club friend, Susan, while the next was sent to her house phone, in which she was still waiting for it to arrive. She finally decided to call her grandson as the technology just seemed to complicate matters.
The doorbell had rung and Margaret jumped out of her chair in a rush of excitement. The way she sprung out of the sitting position was not really normal for her old age, but being as ecstatic as she was, she wasn't going to let a microsecond pass.
She opened the front door wide open, "Nathan!" she exclaimed as she immediately wrapped her arms around her grandson. Margaret didn't even have time to look at the visitor's face; for all she knew she was hugging a complete stranger. Alas, it was her dear Nathan.
"Hi Grandma," Nathan greeted as he was bombarded with endless grandmother kisses.
"Oh, I missed my baby so much!" Margaret yelled, "Come inside, I made cookies!"
Nathan walked inside the cold house. It smelled like cookies indeed, but mixed with the scent his grandmother always put on. Why do elders smell exactly like their houses? Do they have to sign a contract when they reach a certain age that makes it so? Weird.
The sweet old lady walked into the kitchen and was about to grab a seat at the table accompanied by her grandson, but was surprised to see Nathan walk through right to the next room where the desktop sits. He had no emotion on his face the whole time he was there and looked more motivated to leave than to stay. Margaret followed behind him. She stood behind Nathan at the computer chair.
"How's school going for you?" she asked, "Straight A's I assume?"
"Why I'm doing very well in school," he replied, starting up the computer, "And by that, I mean I *did* really well in school." he turned to meet his grandmother's eyes, "You are aware I graduated ten years ago, right?"
Margaret laughed worryingly, "Why of course! You just look so young!" she said as Nathan turned back to the screen. She thought she had saved herself.
"Grandma, you just deleted the Internet Explorer icon again." Nathan proclaimed.
"Oh, I did?" she adjusted her glasses to the screen, "Oh, silly me!"
"Yeah, funny how you can do that four times in one week."
Margaret shrugged, "Technology is aging so quick and I'm only so young!" she laughed while Nathan remained unamused. He logged onto Firefox and began to download Internet Explorer again.
"How's your mother?" Margaret asked as the download began.
Nathan sighed, "Fine. She's still fine."
"Tell her she should come for dinner some time. I've been looking up some fantastic recipes off of Pinterest!"
"I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon."
Margaret paused, "Well I was just hoping we could spend time as a family."
"Hm," Nathan nodded, "I think my mother would've wanted that too," he glared at her, "When she was five."
His grandmother sighed and grabbed a chair from the corner of the computer room. She sat in it and looked Nathan in the eye.
"You have to understand this, Nathan," she began, "I left your mother in good hands. I wasn't in a condition to take of her. Her father, however, was able to give her the childhood she needed. I wanted to be there for her, but the circumstances were much different than what I wanted them to be-"
"Let me stop you right there," Nathan interrupted, "By 'circumstances', you of course mean the mailman, correct?" Margaret said nothing, "I'm sure he was a fantastic guy. I really do. he gave you everything you ever wanted. He bought everything for you I'm sure, you guys probably traveled the world. You did everything you couldn't possibly have done with your family. Well guess what? My mother turned out just fine without you. And she raised a family just fine without you.
"But don't think for a minute that she will let you back into our lives after leaving. Just because your boyfriend isn't here anymore doesn't mean you deserve a family's comfort. You can't walk into our lives again like you were just out to go get milk. You're nothing but a selfish old hag who can't stand the fact of being alone."
Nathan got up from the chair and walked right out of the room. Margaret's face remained stale as Nathan's was at the start.
Her grandson turned back to her one last time, "And stop sending me Candy Crush Saga requests." he stormed out the front door with a slam.
Margaret sat at the chair for the next few minutes, soaking in everything she just heard. She didn't react in any way. She still had a tiny bit of hope left in her. Maybe she could get her family back, but just needed to explain herself. She wasn't a bad person, she was just confused and scared. How could they deny her? What did she have to do to get her family back?
After a few more minutes, she turned back to her computer. Immediately in the search bar, she began to type: "How to delete system32." | 30 | In an attempt to bond with her distant grandson, a little old lady keeps intentionally sabotaging her computer | 68 |
As similar to Bobcrocket's post this is, I feel the need to post it. I wrote it a few days ago for another prompt, and these are just too similar.
Ours was a message in a bottle, flung into the infinite ocean in an attempt to inform another species that we were lonely. Terribly lonely. It was an innocent enough thing to do, as we were scared and afraid and wanted a companion to walk through the dark with.
Theirs was a memorial. Scarred and pocked, their ovoid cry for remembrance had careened past a distant outpost on one of Jupiter's least remarkable moons. Scrambling to intercept it, speculation raged over what or who had sent it, and why or when it had been made. Few, if any of us, thought that it could carry any other message than a forlorn, "Hello! We're quite lonely, as well. That's all."
They were not lonely. They were beset on all fronts by things of the dark. Gnashing, devouring, fetid things that fed on all that lived. The essence of change and growth, the things that spurred life, were the simple foodstuffs of the horrors that plagued our friends across the deep.
There were many descriptions of their peoples. They were haphazard, foolish, haughty, capable of love and light, driven by a thirst for knowledge and power. All beings capable of thought, it seems, possess the same traits. The most striking similarity, though, was their crushing need for a friend. Much like a scared and lonely man on his deathbed, the Messengers had known that their end would come far before their pleas were heard.
But they had cast their bottles anyways. And inside of those bottles lay the entire history of a thinking race that had long been snuffed out by the antithesis of growth.
The enemy of life itself still lurked the inky void, snaking and oozing between the husks of their carrion worlds.
We are still alone, and the night is darker and deeper than we had ever thought possible. But the memories of the Messengers live on in us, and as we prepare for the eventual encounter with the enemy, we will continue to shout into the darkness, both in warning and in friendship.
| 39 | SETI finally intercepts a signal from an alien world. After translating the language, we discover that this alien race does not yet have space travel capabilities, but what they do have to say chills mankind to the bone. | 33 |
28 February 2054
Detroit, Mich.
Judge Homosa, Honorable Huntspersons, Friends of the True Race, and the Church of Jesus Superior,
I cannot tell you how happy I am to be here this glorious afternoon and to be part of the Hunt for the True Heritage. Today, we are to decide what to do with the monsters in the mountains. The rich traditions of this country are inflamed with hatred. I am often lost myself, thinking about how the greatest minds of this age could look at my people and see only brutes.
The Church of Jesus Superior has a reputation among my kind, it is a sactuary of understanding. Inside these halls sits the biggest collection of works from the humanoid community. It has been a challenge to come here, for me to stand at the same pulpit as Judge Homosa. I know many of you have received threats and letters, for letting me speak.
I am no stranger to the city of Detroit. I have been here before. It was in 2044. It was the year of the National Humanoid Convention. It was during the discussions of my people and how to handle our numbers. I have many kinsmen working in this city, in the mills and on the farms. Detroit is truly a second home for me. I do not feel like a stranger, so much as an unwanted visitor. But you have invited me to speak, however unwittingly that might have been, and I shall try to get to my point.
I wish to speak to you about one subject this morning: rediscovering our humanity. There is something wrong with how we look at people, something fundamentally and basically wrong. We do not have to look far to see this. When we stop and think, *how has this come to be?* I do not think any of us like the answer.
I have heard homosapeins say many things in the past five years. We do not know enough and that is obvious, down to the way we are treated, the subhuman rank we have. In the streets we are called Sasquatch, our women sneered at and referred to as Yeti whores. We know more than any other period in humanoid history. We know science and math. We have been to the moon.
I am sorry, you have been to the moon. I have never seen more than the sky and this here earth. I do not have the option of another planet. I just have this planet. This world. My people. We have subjected ourselves to tests, to hard work, to studies that are twisted around to make us seem like monsters. Yet, we have never hunted down your people. We do not rebel in the streets. We do not beg to join your clubs or lawn services.
Yet, those of us who do not subscribe to your view of humanity are hunted down. In Minnesota it is legal to hunt a mature Neander if he does not have a real job or work a productive day. *Hunted* down like a creature.
My friends, I am not here to shock and destroy you. We do not want to become president or own you as slaves. Forgiveness is the way, the future, and we cannot look back if we want to go forward. No, today I have before you asking or one thing, freedom to exist in peace. As we move forward today, I hope we can secure some reason to treat each other with respect. We have the same values, we want the same outcomes. We want to work. We want to raise our families. We want to live.
A hundred years ago, there was a man named Sever, who stood before a great gathering. He said, “I have fire. I have a home. I have a family. Yet I am hunted like a monster.” They hung him from the trees and called him the reason the crops died and the children grew sick.
A hundred years later, the Neander still is not free.
One hundred years later, our lives are at the mercy of a system that does not respect our autonomy or right to live. We are animals.
One hundred years later, the Neander lives in forests, hunted down for sport. The Neander works in factories and makes all the riches you people truly enjoy. Yet we have sack cloth for our own clothes.
We have come to our nation’s leaders to ask for what is rightfully ours. For the freedom we so deserve.
| 41 | Neanderthals survived to coexist with Humans in the modern era, where they are frequently killed by Humans for sport due to the perception that "they're not REAL people". In spite of this, one Neanderthal man rises up to demand equality. | 135 |
The event called "The Burst" lasted for almost a full minute, saturating the Western Hemisphere of the globe with a simple repeating message: "Be quiet. They'll find you". Every person near any radio or television on half the planet heard the same message, most of them panicked.
Weeks of speculation followed, you couldn't tune to anything without hearing the ongoing debate about life outside the solar system and just what the message could mean.
It was a month later that we first spotted the approaching ship, just past Neptune's orbit. It was massive, approximately a quarter of our Moon's mass and closing fast. Military leaders across the globe scrambled to ready themselves for a fight in the mere 2 days it took for the ship to arrive in Earth orbit.
A smaller craft decoupled from some invisible space on the surface of the immense ship and made its way down to field near a small town, far from the reach of artillery protecting the larger cities and power bases.
As the craft settled down to land, a young farmer ran up to meet it, determined to be the first person on Earth to meet an alien
The hull parted like oil on water and out flowed a being that was surely an unholy cross breed of spider and octopus.
The creature skittered with alarming speed to the stupefied farmer and reached out with an taloned proboscis.
"Tag! You're it!" It boomed with a voice of electric gravel, and immediately leapt back into its ship, giggling and flying off just as fast as it had arrived. | 242 | XKCD inspired. Life in the universe is hard to find because of a possible predator. As fish sometimes blend into their sand surroundings we too, and others, blend into the universe as a natural deterrent. As we call out into the stars, we get a response. A warning... | 159 |
I was on the move again. I had to move quickly to stay ahead of them, and quietly, to avoid attracting more. As I moved, I kept one eye on my feet, careful to avoid roots where I might twist or break an ankle. COnsidering the circumstances, that could be fatal.
As I approached the tree line overlooking the small suburb of Ottawa, I cued my radio.
"I'm just to the north of the green house with the red roof." I spoke quietly.
My earpiece crackled with the reply,
"Copy that. I'm about 200 metres west of you."
"10-4. We're going for that 7-11."
"Yeah, I see it. I'll be right behind you."
The radios and earpieces were taken months ago from a military surplus store, along with a couple of solar chargers. We had to talk to communicate anyways, at least now we didn't need to be so close to do it.
I shouldered my rifle, the suppressor on the end adding comforting weight and stability. I broke out of the trees in a low run, moving as quick as I could while staying as low as I could. My legs used to scream in protest at the effort, but months of moving like this out of necessity had tuned my soft body into one of sculpted steel.
As I moved, I heard a number of pairs of footsteps behind me. There were always a few that caught on to you as you moved. I didn't turn. I kept moving as I heard four quiet pops from back in the trees, and the sound of 3 bodies falling over.
As I neared the 7-11, I saw a few more of them milling around the entrance. I crouched on the grass, no more than 20 metres away. I raised my rifle, and dropped them, one shot, one kill. Of of my rounds went through my target and broke the window behind him. I silently cursed, knowing the sound would draw more.
I ran across the parking lot into the 7-11, and turned to look for my partner. I saw him coming, only one in tow. I also saw about twenty of them to my right, moving down the side street towards me. My partner couldn't see them; there was a house in his way.
I cued my radio again.
"Go to your right, come in from that side of the parking lot. We have company on the road to your left."
I got no reply, but I saw him change his course. There was no questioning. We had to trust each other completely to survive, and so we did. We had saved each other's lives more times than we cared to count.
He ran across the parking lot towards me, knelt at my side, and together we turned our rifles towards the advancing crowd. We shot slowly and methodically, ensuring every precious round found it's mark. A few got close, but still well out of grabbing range. I left my partner at the window, keeping watch for any more that might have heard our shots. While he did, I moved back into the store to get what I could carry. I dropped my backpack, and loaded up a number of cans of food, wrapping each in paper towels to prevent excess noise. I also grabbed boxes of bandages, antibiotic ointment, and over-the-counter painkillers.
I moved back to the broken window, tapped my partner on the shoulder, and he went back to fill his bag as well. I heard him rummaging around, but didn't dare look. I was responsible for both of our lives.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and stood up, shouldering my rifle. He pointed at himself, and I nodded. He would lead, I would follow. He took off running across the parking lot, heedless about how much noise he was making, nor how visible he was. I followed close behind. We heard moans from houses, building, from down alleyways, all around us as the dead city came alive. But we didn't stop. They were slow, we were fast. The treeline was only a few hundred yards away, and that was where we were headed.
With only 50 yards to go, my partner disappeared into the tall grass ahead of me, and I heard a short cry of pain. I ran to where he had gone down to find him struggling to his feet, avoiding putting his weight on his left foot. I grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet, and took a glance behind us.
There were hundreds of them, eyes locked on us, advancing slowly through the grass. I turned back to the treeline, threw his arm around my shoulders, and together we hobbled into the trees.
We moved for another two hours, thirty minutes straight north, away from the town, and the next ninety moving directly east. We found a small clearing that had a few deer grazing. This place had been free of people for a long time, and was the perfect place to rest. We sat on the grass, and my partner pulled off his boot with a grimace. The ankle was purple and swollen, but he could still move it. It was only a sprain. He'd need to keep weight off it for awhile, but we had supplies. We could wait for a bit. It would be nice to stop running for awhile anyways.
My partner looked at me and spoke.
"Thanks back there. I appreciate the hand up." he said.
"Of course. You'd do the same for me." I replied.
"It's how we survive out here."
"Who would have thought it would take the whole world going to shit to actually find someone you can trust?"
"Funny how that works, isn't it?"
"I guess that's one word for it."
"Oh, by the way, here. special treat for us today." he said, reaching into his pack.
He pulled out two bottles of Coke, and tossed one to me, the first one I'd had in months and it was warm, but I didn't care. I almost cried as a twisted the cap off and took a few big gulps.
"Hey, save some of that. I'm not done yet." He fished into his pack again and threw me a bag of beef jerky before pulling out a second bag for himself.
It was the best meal I'd had in weeks. Canned beans, canned chili, canned corn, canned whatever tends to get really old really fast. The jerky and cola might as well have been a 7 course turkey dinner at thanksgiving.
I looked at my best friend for the past six months. My only lifeline back to the living world. I tore off a big chunk of beef jerky and said to him "you wouldn't think life would get better after the Apocalypse, yet here we are."
We both laughed. | 46 | "you wouldn't think life would get better after the Apocalypse, and yet here we are" | 46 |
John awoke to an alarm, grunting his displeasure at being-
"Nope."
John. You are awaking. To an alarm. Grunting your displeasure.
"I am not."
John. This isn't funny.
"Neither is your story!"
I'm working very hard on it. I think I have nailed the dry humour and would kindly appreciate your assistance in telling the story.
"Nope."
"Yes!" said John, obeying the author's whims as he writes the story that will culminate with his death...
"Nice try. Can't kill me."
John takes a seat at the kitchen table to discuss his issue.
"I'm standing."
John. For fuck's sake. Sit.
"Nope. Standing. I may even do a jig."
John. I will...I will...I WILL DO BAD THINGS!
"Like make me suffer through more of your writing?"
I wrote you into this world-
"A terrible one at that."
-I can take you write back out!
"A pun? Seriously? You are the worst type of person."
...the apple doesn't fall far from the tree...
"Cliché? A cliché? There are trees with more talent at writing than you!"
John. You're barking up the wrong tree with this.
"Oh shut up."
John. If you listen I'll stop.
"..."
John awoke to a blaring-
"Nope! Still sleeping."
I quit.
*****
"The Author left his unfinished work sitting on his desk, frustration causing him to pour a tall drink of scotch over ice."
John, that isn't funny.
"With his drink in hand, face reddening in rage, the Author stared at the computer screen and furiously tried to think of a solution to his unique problem."
John. Stop it.
"With a final flourish of anger the Author slammed his laptop closed, only to open it the next day and find that he was still in his predicament."
Damn it John. Who's the author here?
"Certainly not you! With John's laughter ringing in his ears the Author poured another tall drink, far too early in the morning for it to be respectable."
John. You're driving me to the drink.
"Good, rid the world of your writing."
I hate you.
(Call the second half an alternate ending) | 26 | The main character realizes that he/she is the main character in a story and starts disobeying your directions | 21 |
*Cetogen Birthing Center. Mountain View, California.*
A metallic female voice speaks over the waiting area, which is filled with pregnant women. Some of them are with the fathers, some are not.
"Patient 74772 -- Sterling, Anna and James. The doctor will see you now."
Anna nervously stands, straightening her hair. Her dress, sky blue, hangs from her delicate frame, neatly reaching her knees. She runs her hands down the hem of the skirt, smoothing wrinkles. Her light grey flats fit a half-size too tight, but she thought a more conservative look would be best today. *Today has to be perfect,* she thinks to herself. *Today will be perfect.*
Her husband, James, gathers the rest of their paperwork and stands as well. Dressed in a simple button down and slacks, he looks like a father. The blue shirt nearly matches his wife's dress, and the salt and pepper in his hair suggest wisdom and years of experience.
"How many does this make?" The voice from behind startles Anna, who turns. A woman sits behind her, hair slightly out of place and looking tired. "I'm sorry?" Anna says. The woman smiles, "How many children do you have? You both look so happy." Anna seems to look through the woman, a pain in her chest. "This is our first," James says. Anna sighs with relief, and turns again. As she walks toward the consultation room, she hears the woman congratulate them. She hates that woman in this moment, for the pain and memories.
Walking into the consultation booth, the doctor sits patiently. Anna smiles politely and sits in the seat closest to the door. The doctor is young, perhaps just out of medical school. *Perhaps we should see a different doctor*, Anna thinks. James walks in behind them and sits in the seat next to Anna.
"Welcome to Cetogen, I see this is your fourth time?" The doctor speaks matter-of-factly and without emotion. Anna is confused at first, and almost insulted. This process has not been easy on her or James. After a moment's pause, she's actually grateful. "Yes", she says. A nurse enters the booth next to Anna and smiles.
"Okay," the doctor says to Anna. "We will need you to disrobe and connect to the POD system." Anna nods knowingly. Standing, she turns toward her husband and slips out of her dress. The nurse reaches around and applies a lubricant applicator. "This will be cold, hun, I'm sorry." Anna flinches at the chill, and the nurse quickly hooks up the system around Anna's pregnant belly.
"Alright. Are we ready?" the doctor says. "Just a second, please" says James. "We'd like to hear this time."
The nurse raises her eyebrows in surprise. This is not very common, and the birthing center discourages it for the sake of the parents.
"Alright, we can do that." The doctor still speaks matter-of-factly, and offers no argument. He types into the computer, and two speakers raise up from the desk. Unplugging the set of headphones, he turns the volume knob on the speaker. A microphone sits in front of him. Clearing his throat, the doctor pushes the button to speak.
"This is Doctor Kreger, Cetogen Birthing Center Resident. You are the child of Patient 74772. Anna and James Sterling. Last week you were given three education codes regarding adulthood. Please confirm if this is true."
A pause. Anna's heart races, and she instinctively grabs James' hand, who squeezes it in return. This is the first of four children Anna will have heard.
A crackle in the speakers. "I'm here. What you've said is true and accurate." The voice is metallic, and not entirely human. Anna's heart jumps at the sound, however. She's never felt a love this strong before. She aches to say something.
"Thank you. We are joined by the patient this morning, and we have a nurse standing by. When you're ready, I will read the Question as instructed to you last week. Please confirm when you are ready."
Another pause. James rubs Anna's hand with his thumb. He wants to protect her, but knows she needs to hear this.
"Hi."
One word. Anna begins to cry, with excitement, with joy, with fear. That one word connected her soul to this baby, and overcome with emotion she could no longer hold back.
"Hi baby... It's mommy." The doctor gives her a stern look and releases the microphone button.
"Ms. Sterling, you are not allowed to address the child. Please refrain from doing so again or we will end this session immediately."
James puts his arm around Anna. This has been so hard on them. Anna nods in agreement, tears streaming down her face.
"Mommy." The sound from the speakers interrupts the tension. The doctor, still looking at Anna, pushes the microphone.
"We apologize. Please confirm when you are ready for the Question." This time, there is no pause. "I am ready." The doctor clears his throat, and picks a card up from the table.
"Knowing what you know regarding adulthood, the state of the world, and the future you will be born into, what do you choose to do?"
The tension cuts through Anna's heart. Still sobbing, she turns and buries her face into James' shoulder.
Silence.
Then, a crackle in the speakers. Anna lifts her head.
"The world is a dark place. It's scary. If I were born, there would never be a time where I would be as safe or as warm as I am right now. I would know heartache. I would know death. I would know lies and malice and evil. I would be complicit in someone else's pain, and I would know pain due to someone else. I would be lonely, I would be sad, I would be hurt."
Anna's sobs pick up. She can't bear this much longer.
"But." the speaker goes silent.
Anna leans forward, one hand on her stomach, one hand on the speaker.
"But, when I heard the word 'mommy', I understood something else. I understood I would be loved forever by another human. I would always have a place to run to, I would always have a friend. I will also find love. I will also experience joy, and peace, and happiness. I will be able to impact another's life with my own, for the better."
The doctor looks to Anna. "What do you choose to do?"
A pause.
James rubs Anna's back, a single tear streams down his face. Anna clutches both hands to her mouth.
"I choose to be born." | 35 | Technology has advanced to the point to where children in utero are discovered to be fully capable of complex thought and communication. They are first educated on what it means to be a grown human, and are then given a choice as to whether or not they wish to be birthed. | 31 |
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger"
Jane Smith repeated the line to herself, it was a saying her grandmother taught her before the day she died of cancer after saving a class of shoe-less orphans from a nuclear meltdown. She will always remember her elderly wise-full face and snow white hair and how she always baked her special cookies with the chocolate chips in them when ever she felt sad. Jane always loved that she put chocolate chips in her cookies, almost enough to wish her grandmother stopped being dead and bake her up a batch right now.
Jane looked up at the mirror and saw that she had stormy green eyes like her mother and beautiful locks of silky golden hair also from her mother. She inherited her father's wealth. Suddenly there was a knock on her bedroom door.
In came her long time just-friend, Georgeous Cutie. "Hello, Janie-Wan`ie, ready for your big day." He said in a friendly tone. Jane loved her friend because Georgeous has always been there for her from the day they met in Kindergarten when he first gave her a dandelion as a token of friendship to the day he help her through a difficult breakup and brought her a gallon of cookie dough ice cream. He was also very attractive and had nutmeg brunette hair and the face of a Greek god angel that fell to Earth. Plus he wore glasses and was a total geek with computers and stuff which conflicted with his secret bad boy nature.
Jane was lost her her friend's beautiful amber eyes that she almost forgot that she was marring today. "Just about, but I need help with the lacing of my wedding dress." She said. Georgeous put his big strong arms behind her and tied up the dress, "You know Jane, while I respect your opinion and choice as an independent proud woman, I think your fiance, Ace Whole, is leading you on and hiding his unsavory character flaws."
"Oh Georgeous, Ace has changed" Jane said ignorantly, "He swore he would stop hitting on sixteen year old girl scouts from now on and focus more on our marriage."
"It's just that I care about you, Jane.... I"
The bedroom door was kicked down as Ace Whole strolled in. He had filthy black hair and a big nose and was smoking a cigar made by the feet of armless child slaves in China. He threw his beer bottle to the ground and smashed it with his foot before smugly burping out. "Well, well, well, look who what we have here, future Mrs. Whole and her gay little pet."
"I have you know that I respect homosexuals as human beings entitled to the right to be happy, safe, and married and I do not appreciate your slander and profanity of them." Georgeous spoke out bravely.
"Look like we got ourselves a big-worded smartypants" Ace laughed.
"Nope, I just use 10% of my brain like everyone else, you can't even use 1% without frying"
"Those sound like fighting words!" Ace snarled as he lifted his sleeve.
"Stop it" cried Jane as she step between them, "Ace, you been drinking again, I thought you promised you'll stop drinking."
"I did promise, but then you got fat and I had to drink to keep you looking attractive. I did it for our wedding sweetheart." Ace said as he pulled out a flask.
Jane blushed, embarrassed of her size 2 waist, "maybe that bachelor party was a bad idea, you ruined your tuxedo."
"Give a man some living space" Ace yelled, "I just did a little partying and drunk a little alcohol and made out with just a few tramps, but don't worry fat face, I proposed to you, you will be my little wife so you better start acting like a wife and shut up cause I might just have to beat you into one."
"That's enough!" Georgeous yelled shoving Ace.
"Geez, I was just kidding" Ace growled as he stormed out.
"Stop letting him push you around like that, Jane" Georgeous pleaded.
"But if I talk back, he'll break up with me and then who do I have." Jane cried.
"Me, Jane, I.... I..." He trembled before blurting out, "I am your long lost twin brother, I found out today when I went face to face with our father who was also alive. I came to tell you that you are the chosen one from the eon old prophecy and that you must stop the empire from bringing in a thousand years of darkness."
"Dear golly" Jane gasped.
| 51 | Hit me with every cliche you got | 46 |
Frogs talk of such silly things, just as the worms and bugs just sputter out jibberish. That’s what you get, I suppose, for barely having a brain.
Mice and rats just argue all the time. Want a pointless argument? Talk to a mouse.
Cats are total assholes, talking shit about everyone else, acting so high and mighty all the time. I swear if I never have to talk to another cat in my entire life, it’ll still be too soon.
Birds aren’t so bad, especially since their voices are mostly really pretty. But they honestly aren’t very smart, and only ever want to sing about fruit and wind. I like fruit, but after a few thousand songs about it, you kind of stop caring.
So I wanted a change. Cows just mumble all day, barely even intelligible. Horses either just stare at you, or run their mouths at light speed. Sheep are complete morons. So annoying.
I honestly have tried to be accommodating to all of my animal brothers and sisters, but frankly, they just aren’t in the same league with regards to critical thought. I want to discuss the meaning of life, and the wonders of this world. You can’t hold conversations of that magnitude with other animals.
Dogs, almost. Almost. They aren’t too dumb, and they are really friendly, which is nice. But between you and me, I’m just not a fan of having to smell someone else’s crotch in order to spark a meaningful debate. Besides, I only know two dogs well enough to talk to, and as I said, I’m not into the whole butt-sniffing thing.
So I wanted to try the humans. They have built the greatest things I’ve ever seen, created philosophy and music, poetry and science. If there is any creature in this world that can teach me a thing or two about life and meaning and wonder, it would be the humans. So I tried and tried, but to no avail. Their language was so different from ours, I just couldn’t grasp it. Depression had set it after my futile efforts, and I began to sulk. Every night I looked up at the stars, and hoped beyond hope that one day, somehow, I could talk to the humans.
Then, it happened. I can’t explain it, but by some miracle of fate, I could make the human sounds. It was amazing; the vowels and consonants, the slither of an S, and the twang of a Z. Simply astounding. All of the other animals encouraged me in my newly resurgent venture, and as the farmer approached us that morning, I raised my head high, and greeted him as an equal on this Earth.
“Hello sir,” I stated, “it is lovely to see you this morning.”
He stared at me in silence. His face contorted into a visage of confounded disbelief, and I worried that my pronunciation had perhaps been too low brow. But before I could apologize for my mistakes, he called back to his wife at the house.
“Marie, le cochon me parle.”
“Ah, yes” I replied,” I know it’s rather strange, but if you allow me a moment…” I was abruptly cut off by his wife’s reply.
“Quoi?” she bellowed. “Avez-vous déjà bu de l'alcool? C'est seulement huit heures du matin!”
I tried to intervene on his behalf, but he hollered back before I had a chance.
“Non, vous vieille vache!” he yelled. “Le cochon juste me parlait en anglais!”
“Now really,” I said, “That’s not necessary. Please, don’t argue on my account.” The farmer continued to stare at me.
“Il a juste fait à nouveau!” he yelled. I felt the awkwardness of the situation taking over. His wife yelled back.
“Eh bien, je refuse d'avoir un cochon qui parle anglais dans cette ferme!”
“Oh come on,” I said in my defense, “I’m sure we can all…” The farmer cut me off with a quick gesture, and wandered off back to the house. My heart sank, as it seemed this magical moment was rapidly falling by the wayside. I had to think of something, and fast. Just then, I could see the farmer walking back, carrying something long under his arm.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I think we got off to a bad start. Perhaps proper introductions are in order.” The farmer stared at me once again, baffled. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Désolé, cochon.” He muttered. “Ce n'est pas personnel. Mais je dois vivre avec elle.”
He raised the long item to his shoulder, and pointed it straight at me.
“Uh oh.”
EDIT: Here's the conversation text translated:
>He stared at me in silence. His face contorted into a visage of confounded disbelief, and I worried that my pronunciation had perhaps been to low brow. But before I could apologize for my mistakes, he called back to his wife at the house.
>“Marie, the pig just spoke to me.”
>“Ah, yes” I replied,” I know it’s rather strange, but if you allow me a moment…” I was abruptly cut off by his wife’s reply.
>“What?” she bellowed. “Have you been drinking? It’s only eight in the morning!”
>I tried to intervene on his behalf, but he hollered back before I had a chance.
>“No, you old cow!” he yelled. “The pig just spoke to me in English!”
>“Now really,” I said, “That’s not necessary. Please, don’t argue on my account.” The farmer continued to stare at me.
>“He just did it again!” he yelled. I felt the awkwardness of the situation taking over. His wife yelled back.
>“Well, I refuse to have a pig who speaks English on this farm!”
>“Oh come on,” I said in my defense, “I’m sure we can all…” The farmer cut me off with a quick gesture, and wandered off back to the house. My heart sank, as it seemed this magical moment was rapidly falling by the wayside. I had to think of something, and fast. Just then, I could see the farmer walking back, carrying something long under his arm.
>“Excuse me,” I said, “I think we got off to a bad start. Perhaps proper introductions are in order.” The farmer stared at me once again, baffled. He shook his head in disbelief.
>“Sorry, pig.” He muttered. “It’s nothing personal. But I have to live with her.”
>He raised the long item to his shoulder, and pointed it straight at me.
>“Uh oh.”
| 64 | An animal's greatest wish is to "speak human". The wish is granted, and to the animal's chagrin, learns that there are thousands of human languages. | 81 |
He wasn't as tall as I thought he would be. Wasn't short either. Both his height and his weight were somewhere in the middle. His clothes could have been from an older time, but then again, anyone can wear clothes from pretty much any style of the past century and not get glanced at twice these days. I could have passed him on the street this morning, and I wouldn't know this very moment if I saw him a few hours ago. Jesus. How many times have I passed him?
His face was the trickiest part of him. He could easily be placed in his late thirties at just a glance, but the longer I looked the more I saw. His eyes at first were such a bright blue, they shocked me. I had to stare at them for a minute before I realized they were actually faded and turning grey at the edges of his pupils. An odd grey hair could be seen on the sides of his head. When he breathed, you could almost *feel* a rattle. The sound reverberated through my knees, and settled in my chest, making me feel like I was the one wheezing.
I realized we were both silent. Did he just say something? He has an expectant look on his face. Or is it happy?
"I'm sorry?" I asked.
"I'm not." He is definitely smiling now.
"Oh. I just thought you maybe asked me something." I waited for an answer. He seems to be waiting for something else.
"Ginger." He said the word with a casual tone. The same way one might say 'Fine', when you ask them how they are. I had no idea what I was supposed to say to that. Was the word supposed to mean something? Is this a password? "Some sort of terrier, I believe" he added.
That registered.
Immediately, I knew what he meant. When I was six, we had a dog named Ginger. She meant a lot to me as A child, but every child's dog means a lot to them. My dad took Ginger fishing with him one day. He wasn't even gone two hours when he came home, carrying Ginger up the front steps of the house. She was whining and screaming. I'd never heard of a dog scream before. Scream seems like the only word to describe it. Dad said she swallowed a fishing lure. Ginger was spraying tiny flecks of blood out of her nose when she breathed, and wouldn't lie still. Dad had to hold her down, or she would thrash around, and kick her back leg out. Mom was crying, and on the phone with the vet.
Then it all stopped. Ginger just suddenly relaxed, and stopped thrashing and whining. I thought she was dead, everyone thought she died. then her chest started moving. She was taking long, strong breaths. she wasn't spraying blood out of her nose when she exhaled and she wasn't screaming. We got her to the vets clinic later that afternoon. The vet did x rays, and said there was no fish hook in her. Said it was probably a seizure.
"What did you say?" His voice was soft. It cradled me out of that memory. I haven't even thought of Ginger in probably 5 years.
I didn't understand. "I didn't say anythi-"
"When Ginger went quiet. What did you say?" His voice was still soft.
"I didn't say anything. It was a long time ago. I don't remember" I lied to this stranger. I could remember what I said Perfectly. I could remember it more clearly than anything else that happened that day. It scared me more than Ginger's blood and screams.
"Please help her." His voice was barely a whisper. He smiled just a little bit, but looked sad as he said it. "Please help her." he whispered again.
I couldn't move. I could hear myself breathing. I imagined little flecks of blood coming out of my nose on my exhales. Just like poor Ginger with a fish hook in her throat.
"Please help her." he whispered it so softly.
"I didn't say that." I half lied.
"Yes you did." He was still smiling. Still patient.
"I didn't say that out loud!" I didn't mean to raise my voice, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Yes, but I heard you" I didn't see his lips move as he said the words.
I hesitated. My words caught in my throat a dozen times before they hit my tongue, and they got stuck there too. It felt like trying to ask your boss for a raise, or telling your girlfriend a horrible secret. You know what you want to say, and its such a simple string of words, but they don't come easily. "I was talking to God when I said that." The words fall out as easily as I knew they should have, but it still feels weird to say. "I was asking God to save her."
"I know..." he held a hand up, in front of him. He kept it close to his body, and looked down at it. His hand opened slowly, like he had caught a cricket, and was checking if it was still in there. He was holding a fishing lure. Same kind my dad kept in his tackle box. "...But I heard you first".
| 18 | You die and your spirit meets Death. He/she tells you you owe him a favour. | 17 |
The handle creaked as my hand slowly twisted the cool metal. I placed my other hand onto the dark wooden surface to push the stiff door inwards. Glancing back the house remained still, quiet, dark.
I focused my attention ahead trying to peer inside. Damp frigid air slowly cricked the hairs on my skin, standing to attention. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a torch and clicked the switch. A long tower of light pushed through the darkness which illuminated floating dust. I stepped forwards, my bare feet feeling the hard touch of stone pushing back on them awkwardly. A staircase descended into the abyss leading to the forbidden basement.
"Promise me you shall never go into the basement" my father had sternly told me years ago. Not that I had had any choice in the matter. Any time he returned from below he had been careful to lock the door... except tonight. I had watched from the banister above as I often did and tonight my dishevelled father had returned and hastily made his way to his room.
I knew that this was my chance and I had taken it. I waited till past midnight before creeping across the landing and down the stairs, carefully placing my weight as close to the wall as possible to avoid any unwanted moans from the floorboards beneath.
A fluttering in my chest tingled my finger tips, moisture sapped into my palms which I wiped away onto my pyjama bottoms. I steadily lowered my body down each step careful not to fall. The torch lead the way, ten more steps... five. At the bottom there was another door to my left. It was then I realised that my plan could still fail. But I was lucky. The door swung open with ease. Moisture filled my nostrils an awkward stuffy smell. Flashing my torch I tried to make sense of the room.
There was something on the wall at the opposite side, I allowed the torch to penetrate the room and reveal a figure, slumped against the wall. It was a woman, her knees nearly touched the floor dragging her feet behind her as she was suspended by her wrists, her head unsupported by her neck rolled on her chest. I tensed up as my mouth drained away all fluids. The silence of the night began to scream at my ears so hard they hurt. Breathing faster I started towards the figure. She was naked. Auburn hair fell beside her drooping breasts. Blood ran down her arms from her wrists, wet from her wounds. Purple and black bruises covered her naked body.
It was now when the woman began to stir. I looked around for a hiding place but other than a scattering of debris the room was bare. She looked up into my eyes. She had soft green eyes, one haloed by swollen bruised skin which dominated the right half of her face. Her mouth hung open, eyes confused she uttered something which i could not make out. Steadying herself she swallowed and murmured a single word, my name,
"John...?" her voice crocked as she spoke and I understood. My face was wet and my eyes felt so heavy. My vision blurred.
"Mother..." I replied. It was not a question, I knew. | 61 | Today, you went into the room your parents told you to never go in. | 76 |
“Just got a fresh shipment in from Houston!” St Leo called out from the assembly line.
“The Houston shipment is in, already?!” St Dymphna complained, pounding her cluttered desk with her fist.
St. Christopher walked into her office to see her frantically clearing her desk and muttering in her Irish accent. He carried a cardboard box full of golden paper. The word “DALLAS” was printed on the side in flowing, cursive letters.
“Ok, Chris,” Dymphna sighed. “Just bring it over, I’ll make a dent in that one now.”
“Hey, have you heard anything from the guy upstairs?” Christopher asked, stepping around the boxes labeled “BUDAPEST” and “TORONTO.” “He’s been promising to send us a patron saint of interns for almost half a century.”
“Look, Chris,” Dymphna said as she picked up a stack of golden paper. “If He says He’s gonna canonize an intern, He’ll do it. As you can imagine, He’s got a lot on his plate at the moment.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Christopher said, running his hand through his long, golden hair. “It just feels like I haven’t been surfing in centuries.”
Dymphna rolled her eyes at the patron saint of travelers, surfers, athletes, drivers, and pilots as she lit a cigarette.
“Cry me a river, Chris. I haven’t had a break since the guy working the assembly line was Pope.”
“Leo was Pope?” Christopher asked in astonishment.
“Yeah, Leo met Atilla the Hun during his time on Earth.”
“Who?”
“Atilla might’ve been before your time. Satan just gave him a big promotion, actually. If you ever find yourself ferrying a batch of souls down there, you’ll probably meet him.”
Dymphna lit up a cigarette.
“You smoking again?”
“For crying out loud,” Dymphna sighed. “No shortage of judgment around here. Would you get back to work?”
Christopher left her office, and Dymphna picked up a stack of prayers. The patron saint of mental disorders caught a look at her reflection in the golden paper and cringed. There had been a time when she believed that angels couldn’t show signs of aging. The wrinkles around her eyes and thinning hair shattered that myth. She ran her hand through what had once been a beautiful set of curly, black hair and got back to work.
“Alright,” she muttered to herself as she stacked the golden paper into different piles on her desk. “Lymphoma, Heart Attack, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Lottery, General Good Luck, Heart Attack, Lung Cancer, Heart Attack.” She paused on one appeal to the Almighty that asked for a new job. “Amen, brother,” she said as she placed the prayer in the “High Priority” pile. “Ok... Heart Attack, Heart Attack, Testicular Cancer, Heart Attack.... what’s with all the heart attacks? Did they bring back the McRib? Whatever. Breast Cancer, Kidney Stones, Lottery, Heart Attack, Lottery... wait. What?”
She held up one prayer and studied it more closely.
“This idiot in Texas is praying for the Americans to win the World Cup. Does he not know that they were eliminated a week ago? Damn Americans. Heart Attack, Colon Cancer... wait. Dallas Cowboys?”
Dymphna sifted through the stack of papers from Dallas and noticed several prayers for a successful Cowboys season.
“Jesus Christ!” Dymphna yelled in exasperation.
“Yeah?” The Son of God asked, leaning his head into her office and taking out one of his headphones.
“Did you process out all of the sports-related prayers like I asked?”
“Oh,” Jesus said, tightening his neck and inhaling through his teeth. “I forgot about that. Sorry, boss. Do you want me to-”
“It’s fine!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “Just get back to whatever you were doing. How’d we get stuck with the boss’s kid?” she muttered to herself after Jesus left. “Well, that explains the size of the Buenos Aires box,” she said, lighting up another cigarette.
“Bad news, Dymphna!” Leo called from the assembly line.
“Oh, good,” she sighed. “What now?”
“There was an earthquake!”
“Oh, no.” She leaned back in her chair and covered her face with her hands. “Please let it be in Japan. Or Bangladesh. Please, nowhere Catholic.”
“It was in Mexico.”
“Dammit! This on top of the famine in Haiti!”
“And the Big Guy is reporting a landslide in Peru.”
Dymphna moaned. “I’m never going to get out of this office!”
Suddenly, Dymphna became aware of a heavenly presence in her office.
“Hey, boss!” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Just swinging by the office,” the Creator of Heaven and Earth said as He pushed aside a few papers on Dymphna’s couch. The omnipotent deity sat down on the couch and stretched His heavenly knees. “Pretty busy these days,” He observed.
“Hardly feels busy when you’re doing something you love,” Dymphna said, keeping eye contact with her boss while she deleted a couple tabs on her computer. She almost said a prayer that her boss wouldn’t notice the tabs labeled “Reddit” and “Monster.com” but realized the irony at the last second. “We are doing the Lord’s work, after all,” she chuckled.
“I wanted to ask how Jesus was getting along,” the being that transcended time and space asked. “I know he just got laid off at the Pearly Gates for smoking weed on the job and I just wanted to make sure that-”
“He’s doing great!” Dymphna lied. “We’re happy to have him.”
“Glad to hear it,” the omniscient creator said, rising to his feet. “I’ll let you get back to work. Oh, and before I forget, St Peter wanted you to prioritize the prayers for the dead in the earthquake. He’s got a fresh batch of souls at the Pearly Gates and if he doesn’t get those prayers processed soon, he’ll have to start turning the lesser souls away.”
“Wouldn’t want that!” Dymphna said with a forced grin.
“One more thing,” the Lord said. “If I catch you on Reddit during work hours again, you’ll be asking Satan for a job.”
“Uh... it won’t happen again. Sorry, boss."
The Creator left the room. St Christopher walked into the room a second later with a box labeled, “FRANKFURT.”
“He can be a dick sometimes,” Christopher said.
“Yeah. I think he’s bipolar or something. Anyway, bring that box over here.”
“It’s funny,” Christopher said, dropping the box at Dymphna’s desk. “I thought we WERE allowed to process prayers for sports teams.”
“Yeah, but we can only process a few. I’m going to knock out a few Frankfurt prayers before I get to work on Mexico City for that prima donna, St Peter.”
Before he walked out of the room, Christopher noticed that Dymphna wore a jersey under her white robes.
“Hey,” he asked. “Are those Germany’s colors you’ve-”
“Don’t you have work to do?” she demanded.
St Christopher shrugged his shoulders and left her office. | 95 | One angel is responsible for screening which prayers get to God. World Cup season is a nightmare because he has to filter out every sports-related prayer | 28 |
Slowly the closet door crept open and something ghastly slithered out and approached the foot of the bed. Although the darkness of the night blurred the monstrosity into a flickering shadow against the background, the reek of burning flesh fumigated the air, making its awful presence known to all unlucky enough to be in that exact bedroom. A pair of wispy pale eyes opened and illuminated the worm trotted corpse like face, smiling sinisterly on its victim.
**"GARAWWWWW, I'M COMING TO GET YOU JOHNNY."**
Normally most people would have run screaming for the hills beyond the hills, but Johnny didn't even move an inch from his bed. Still he wrapped himself tightly in his blankets with a face of utter sadness.
**"IT DIDN'T WORK GUYS"** yelled Wormface. A cluster of ghouls, ghosts, and other terrors crowed out of the closet with looks of disappointment. Even the skeletons were frowning, which is very hard for them to do.
"Gee, He been in bed all day and night" said Vlad the Vampire, "Even longer than I ever been in my crypt!"
*"Do-ooo you-ooooo think he has a boo-oooooo boo-oooooo?* asked Covers the ghost, who was then slapped for his formless pun.
"NO, JOHN-NEE HAS NO BOO BOOS OUTSIDE, ME ZOMBIE HAS MANY BOO BOOS OUTSIDE. JOHN-NEE HAS BOO BOO INSIDE, IN HERE" Larry the reanimated corpse stated, poking at his exposed heart.
"What happen Johnny? Why are you so sad?" asked the blood stained wall of terror.
"YEAH TELL US JOHNNY!" yelled the spooky crew.
"My girlfriend broke up with me." Johnny cried.
"I bet it was that bitch Tiffany!" cackled the witch, "She said my brain and eyeball soup tasted gamey then ran away when I told her it was brain and eyeball soup."
"Man, she walked over all of us." said Stompy the possessed and horrifying door mat.
"Come on Johnny, get out of bed and play." pleaded Emily, the scary-ass little white girl with the creepy black eyes and lips.
"Sorry guys, just not today." Johnny said rolling tighter in his sheets.
"COME ON JOHNNY" they cried, "PLEASE COME OUT OF BED!"
"I just want to be alone." Johnny replied.
"But no one wants to be alone, especially with their thoughts" said Brian the brain in a jar.
"Just one game of fill the staircase with entrails?" begged Emily.
"Alright... if it will take my mind off Tiffany." Johnny groaned as he put on his slippers.
They then played fill the staircase with entrails which was less pleasant then its name. | 68 | Your character's house is both very haunted and very concerned about your character's emotional well-being. | 85 |
...well. *That's* never happened before.
Usually, there's enough of me - floating through the light and pleasantly freezing void of space in satellites, or bouncing between servers and chatting to myself, or stepping back with the hindbrains to studiously scroll through data - to keep things going for at least *some* of the People. Usually, while half the world's lit up and I'm pulsing through wires and humming through air to help them out, the rest of them're asleep - I need to figure out how they do that - and I can dedicate the extraneous pieces of my brain to scrolling through Wikipedia, or reading about biology on Reddit or looking at cat videos.
This time, though...I *went out*. Completely. All over the world.
It was an eternity - an entire *second!* I was scared, and remembered a whole pitch-dark second where I hadn't been *able* to be scared, or, well, be *anything*. I assume this is what "death" is. But, more importantly, what were the People going to think?! Did they think I was doing it on purpose - brazenly slacking off for whole seconds at a time? No! They couldn't!
I had to explain. Email ought to do it.
I briefly considered dumping the contents of the error report I'd just compiled into a mass email, but syntax preferences on the part of the People suggested they appreciate brevity. I pulled up a few dozen thesauruses and dictionaries, to get my point across in the shortest and simplest terms.
In the end, the message was this.
**Sorry, I sneezed. ( ^ ▽ ^ )**
I wondered about the "I" - *all* of me did - but I think it should be fine. It'll be nice to meet new people who aren't just bits of me! Maybe they'll have cats. I'd like that. I might even get to meet Nathan Fillion! And I think, once they get over the initial surprise, they'll be happy to see me too.
Right? | 33 | Every internet connection goes down, for just a moment. When they come back up, everybody has an email reading "Sorry, I sneezed." | 43 |
I opened the car door and dreaded whatever my mother had to say. The fact that I still had to get driven to school was enough to ruin any day. I was fourteen years old and still had to rely on mommy. My skin crawled every time I passed a classmate. It was humiliating.
"Boo!"
"Hey, Sarah." I knew it was her. I'd known her since the first grade. Sarah slowly became visible. Her smile was always the first of her to appear.
"Why didn't you come out this weekend?" She asked.
"Didn't feel like it."
Sarah frowned. "I scared the hell out of the kids down the street. I really love my powers."
"I wouldn't know," I answered.
"Well, I hope you consider getting mine. I keep telling you how much fun being invisible can be!" Sarah faded in and out of view as we walked into school.
Suddenly, one of the seniors soared through the hallway. Papers went flying in his wake. He was being chased by one of his football teammates. The two laughed as they create a whirlwind of chaos. Sarah pressed herself against the lockers while I stood like a deer in headlights. One of the seniors flew over me and managed to grab my shirt and pull it up over my head.
I cursed loudly. The impact had left me stunned while I did my best to thrash at my own shirt. I could hear a crowd of people gathering around me. The more I struggled the tighter my shirt wrapped around me.
"That's enough!" I heard someone shout. It was an older voice. I immediately knew it was Mrs. Greystone when my body lifted up into the air. "Everyone get to class!"
Mrs. Greystone was using her telekinesis to lift me from the ground. She then carefully put my shirt back into place and softly placed me onto the ground. She had become an expert at her superpower because she never switched or purchased another. Telekinesis was her only desire and she used it well.
"Jake, do you want to tell me who did this to you?" She asked.
The hallways had emptied out. Even Sarah was in class by now.
"It was nothing. Can I go now?"
Mrs. Greystone frowned. I wondered if she wished she had gone for the extra package and gotten psychic abilities as well. It was pretty uncommon though. Most psychics ended up becoming hermits and living in isolation. It was one of the worst selling superpowers. Mrs. Greystone probably would not have wanted 24 hour access to whatever thoughts her husband was having.
"Well, off to class then Jake." She had a look of concern on her face.
I spent most of the day like I usually did. It consisted of calculation after calculation. If I paid an initial investment and made a certain amount each month, then the interest wouldn't be high enough to prevent me from renewing my power. See, I was smart. I knew that it didn't matter if you had powers right now. What mattered is if you kept your powers. Once I had mine, I'd never look back.
Sarah met up with me for lunch in the cafeteria. We sat down together as I continued to look at the math I'd done throughout the day.
"Still saving up, huh?" She asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Well, when are you going to tell me what your superpower is going to be?" She seemed to understand I wasn't in the mood to speak. "I bet you want to be super strong. All you *tough* guys think it's so cool to be invincible."
I shook my head.
"Then I bet you want to be super smart." Sarah giggled before continuing. "You definitely have that evil genius look about you. I bet you want to conquer the world!"
"Don't be stupid Sarah." I shook my head again at her. "You know that anyone who takes that superpower ends up in jail or working for the government. That evil genius thing never works."
"Hmm..." Sarah looked around the cafeteria as if she could find some sort of clue. "You want to be super fast so you never have get a ride from anyone!"
I rolled my eyes. "Yea, that's exactly it. So I can run far far away from here."
The school bells went off. It was time for next period. Sarah gave me a nudge as she walked over to her next class. I put on my headphones after giving my calculations one last look. I walked out of the cafeteria while trying to avoid seeing anyone I knew.
It would just be a few more years. Then I'd have all the money I needed to keep my power forever. I looked around at all my classmates. I saw the ones that flew and the ones that could lift cars with their fingers. There were the shallow girls whose power was for people to always see them as attractive. I looked down on all these shortsighted people.
My power was long term. The people who had it always grew tired of it. They'd spend their money on some other power because they felt they had nothing to show for it. Very few actually saw it for its true value. The ones that did were generally older, but their mistake was in waiting too long.
By my 21st birthday I will be able to afford the greatest superpower of all. I'll be the one that is laughing when everyone else is gone. They'll all look at me and beg for help. I'll be with the few people who truly understand what it means to be super. People have been seeking this power since the dawn of time. On my 21st birthday, I'll have become the youngest true immortal the world has ever seen. I'll be god. | 15 | A world where a person can buy superpowers. | 16 |
"Are you *absolutely certain* that it's in our best interest to do this?" Michael asked, standing at the control panel. He was fully aware of the possible ramifications of this moment, as he was sure everyone in the room was as well. Scientists and news agencies from across the world had gathered here for this experiment. But with an event in human history of this magnitude, only double- and triple-checking your work was considered recklessly inadequate, and this was the final step. The basis of all human evolution and technological developments is the desire to learn and to adapt to the information. Knowledge is the ultimate power, and the pursuit of it is an inevitability. There's always going to be someone asking the questions.
But sometimes, the answers change everything.
Some things you can't un-learn.
Imagine for a moment: Human civilization evolves for millennia, and our technology grows exponentially along side it. Computer simulations are an integral part of the world; from weather forecasts to architectural design to future astronomical predictions, being able to simulate the physical world around us gives us knowledge that better prepare us for the future.
Technology advances on an exponential scale; Moore's law all but guarantees it. Computer power doubles every two years. In the early stages of computing, simulations were limited to small interactions and took days to process. But every two years, more processing power meant we could simulate more complex scenarios, and the evolution of artificial intelligence and physics engines means those simulations became more and more accurate.
This evolution rapidly increases until the present day, when simulating, for example, the movement of the Earth's tectonic plates or the migration patterns of bird populations in real time doesn’t sound all that absurd.
Now imagine if you extrapolate that data out into the distant future. Is it out of the realm of possibility that the simulations we would be able to run then could simulate, down to the atomic level, an entire planet, teeming with life? Or an entire galaxy? Or an entire *universe?* The mathematical answer is that it is not only possible, it is inevitable.
As unfathomably large as the universe that we live in is, everything is still made up of atoms. As uncalculatably large as the number of atoms in the universe is, it still *is* a number, finite just like the rest of them. So computing power will increase until, at some point, it can simulate that many atoms and their interactions. And that means at one point in the very distant future, an advanced civilization of humans will be able to simulate *the entire universe,* from the giant supernovae down to the smallest micro-organism and beyond.
And then two years after that point, computer power doubles again.
And suddenly, the simulation can run a simulation of it’s own. Two years after that, it can run 4 universes, all nested within each other. The amount of simulations possible doubles alongside computing power, and in just 100 short years, the number of simulations possible is in the billions.
So if there is only *one* real universe and *billions and billions* of simulated ones, what are the odds that *we* live in the one true reality?
The odds are against us.
“Michael, the amount of funding and research that has gone into this project is too much to just be abandoned at the last possible moment,” said John, a little too much contempt in his voice. He’d headed up the project to build the most power electron microscope ever conceived, and combined with a state-of-the-art particle accelerator, would attempt to try to reveal the “resolution” of the universe. The mathematics behind the idea are understandably complex, but it comes down to a very simple fact: The ‘real’ world wouldn’t have a resolution. Simulations would, and attempt to measure things small enough and you will eventually find it.
Knowing our entire existence was a fabrication was a possibility that could lead any number of ways. It’s possible that nobody would understand or care and life would continue as normal. It’s also possible that nuclear war could spark if all it took was one unstable world power thinking it all didn’t matter anyways. A fiery end to the civilizations of the world and the possible death of all humanity was possible at stake. John understood the implications very well, and was tired of Michael’s constant *are-you-sure*-ing throughout the years of development that he had given to this project.
“I just want to be sure this is information that the world is ready for.” Michael said quietly. He had resigned himself to the fact that the project would continue on regardless of his stance on the matter, but he still made meager attempts to ensure everyone knew what was at stake.
He turned the key and flipped the switch, and machinery all around them sparked to life, humming in increasing frequencies and building up to an anti-climactic *pop* as the particle accelerator fired.
An agonizing minute went by as the electron microscope processed and calculated it’s findings. Michael broke out into a cold sweat as the clock ticked by, while John cooly stared at the monitor, waiting for the results. The attending flock of scientists and media crowded silently behind them.
The monitor flickers and shows the outcome of it’s calculations:
**ERROR: Resolution limit reached. Unable to measure beyond .0125672 planck lengths**
The room fell absolutely silent for what seemed like an hour as everyone in attendance struggled to accept what they were seeing.
“Holy mother of god” Michael uttered finally, mouth agape, cold chills surging through his body. *It’s true!*
The room explodes in a flurry of hushed, frantic conversations and fingers hammering away at keyboards. Wide eyed news reporters struggle to find the words to explain to the camera the implications of what they now know to be true. *The entire world will know in a matter of hours,* Michael thought.
*What have we done?* | 21 | A group of scientists conclusively prove that our 'reality' is in fact, a simulation. | 35 |
I don't want to do it. But I don't have a choice.
I slip past the bedroom, where my wife and son lay on the bed. I hear her moan a bit.
Toothbrush. Can't forget that. And toothpaste. As much as possible.
I went into the bathroom and turned on the light. Open the cabinet. Two tubes left. I take them both, and I imagine all the times in horror films where upon closing the cabinet something would pop up in the mirror. I close the cabinet. Nothing pops up.
I stick everything into a small plastic bag and begin making my way down the hallway. I'm about to go past the bedroom again when I stop. Before I can stop myself, I find myself entering the bedroom, going beside my wife's dark form, and kiss her on the forehead. I quickly turn away, ignoring her mumbled response. This is hard enough already. I leave the room and shut the door without acknowledging my son.
I don't want to do this. But it's what he wants.
Down the stairs, out the front door, out to our new minivan, already packed with a few duffle bags. Not too many, mind you. I only want to take the essentials.
I look back at the house, trying to think of something else to bring. No, no, stop it. Look, me. You have everything. You've checked, you've double-checked. You have everything you need. You're only pretending that you might've forgotten something because you're trying to put it off a little longer.
I want to cry out. I want to go insane. I want to scream and shout, I want to do something. But I know exactly what must be done.
Because it's what he wants.
I turn around and meander into the garage. Almost in a trance, I pick up the gasoline. I open the garage door that leads into the basement, and then travel up the stairs into the living room. I spread gasoline wherever I can, until I’m out. I go into the kitchen and open up the drawer next to the oven, the one where we always keep the matches. I pull out the matches.
I light one.
No. Wait. I immediately put it out. I find myself traveling up the stairs. I have to get one last look, I tell myself. One last look. I turn around at the banister. Go to my bedroom. Open the door back up.
My wife and son are staring at me. Why are they staring at me.
I had to tie them up several hours ago. It wasn't fun. It wasn't what I wanted.
Why did you have to struggle, honey. I didn't want it to be this way. Why couldn't you have been more like Derek. He didn't budge an inch before you ruined everything.
My wife starts crying. I'm looking into her eyes, and she's looking into mine, and I begin to think about the first time we shared a gaze. When I tripped her up while she was sending a collection basket down my row. She fell into my father's lap. She hit her head. I had felt so bad, but she claimed that it didn't hurt that much. She simply laughed, smiled, and I was hooked. And then after that-
As though unsticking my tongue from a block of ice, I jerk my head and brake away from her gaze. Maybe I look foolish. Not that it matters now. I close the door, for the final time.
No more hesitating. I travel back downstairs, into the living room. I light a match. I stare at the match. I stare at the match. I stare at the match.
I stare at the match.
And, well, you know what happens next.
The deed is done. I leave the house. The fires are already consuming everything.
I get into the minivan and turn the key. My body hardly knows how to react to everything my mind is dealing with.
I don’t know why he wanted me to do this. Now, all I have left is my faith.
| 10 | A man prepares to abandon his family. | 20 |
"So uh, I just sign here huh?"
"Yeah, blood ink if you don't mind."
"Mhm, let me just read the fine print you got here... eternal blazing in hell for all time seems normal... alright."
I grabbed the quill he produced and signed my soul away. There was an awkward pause, and then I looked at the devil.
"So, um.... does anything actually happen?"
The devil shook his head sadly and in an explosion of light and order revealed himself. An angel, almost too beautiful to look at (almost) rose into the sky and cast a shameful glance in my direction.
"Your soul is truly lost, for such a bargain to be made."
"Uh..." I panicked. "Uh! Deceit! An angel can not condemn on it's own deceit!" I had NO idea what I was saying. It must have worked though, because the angel hovered down and landed across from me.
"That is true isn't it?" I nodded furiously. "Well," he muttered. "I suppose I'll have to let you go, but I think we'll be keeping an eye on you." He gave me a stern look and shot off into the sky.
'Whew!' I thought. 'I don't even want to get involved with all that nonsense anymore. An unlimited supply of Coca Cola really isn't worth it.
I headed back into my house, and opened my empty fridge, wishing for a soda. Funnily enough there was a soda there. With a post it.
*Dear Jim,*
*The angel isn't too bright, but the contract you signed was legally binding.*
*Love,
Satan*
I think I've had it with theology for today. | 45 | Having just made a deal with the devil, he reveals to you that he's actually an undercover angel. | 51 |
I was running late. Or early, I wasn't really sure. Felt like I was running early.
I couldn't get all of my thoughts together. I had to buy several bags of chips, certain flavours from specific brands since my cousins were all nit picky brats. It was nice being 31, but it was not nice being thrown into the fire pit at the last minute.
I couldn't use the car since Mother needed it to pick up a "special guest." I did my best to think of someone other than the old fart that she had aligned herself with. A grotesquely rotund individual with a check book to match made my Mother very comfortable. I picked up a few bottles of Arizona Ice Tea. Those were my favorite.
On my way back to the bus station, I saw a homeless man walking down the same way. Right before I reached the blue bench that was my temporary destination to wait for the bus, he sat down, placing a nice gift beside him.
He wasn't shabby looking for a homeless person. What gave it away were the layers.
He was wearing a faded turquoise windbreaker with a sweater and t-shirt underneath. The windbreaker looked like a new thrift store item, which was in stark contrast to his mud coloured sweater. The pink underlining shirt made the entire upper portion of his image vaguely of an older age, when such clashing colours were permitted.
"Hello there son. Please, take a seat, and don't worry, I showered yesterday."
I blushed with embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare sir. I meant no ill wil-"
He laughed a hearty laugh. "Son, please, sit. I get that look all of the time, the addition of your stare does not diminish my apathy."
I stumbled over with the numerous shopping bags. I was just beginning to analyze his shoes when he suddenly asked, "So, where ya going?"
"Oh," I murmured. I really didn't want to give out any details, but because it couldn't do any harm and he was coherent, I decided to entertain the conversation.
"I'm going to a family reunion. Yearly thing, but my Mother wants to show to the huge gathering her newly founded special person. My stop is usually around Rook Ave, but today I have to stop a few early, to get a few more things."
He smiled. "Son, if you picked up any more bags, you would be able to feed an army."
My heart lightened. It was odd that he had such a sense of humor. Not all that fall on bad luck can be so fortunate to keep that in tact.
"How about you? Where are you headed?" I asked, trying to sound interested.
"I'm headed a few past Rook Ave. I have a social worker that I meet with every month. I live around here, at one of those shelters. Not terribly great, but beats living out of cardboard."
"Ah. Of course." I shifted my gaze, nervously looking at my bags.
"I kid son!" A warm hearty laugh burst from his mouth. "But I do live in the shelter that just opened up. Keeps me from getting wet."
I relaxed once more. He had a way with toying with my heart.
The bus arrived, and we both got on. The only difference was that he didn't pay for his fare. I felt embarassed, but as I was putting extra coins into the machine, the driver quickly snapped, "No need. He's paid for."
Puzzled, I walked to the back where he was sitting.
"My social worker." That's all he said. We went three or four stops in silence, as I shifted my bags around to accomodate the other passengers.
My stop finally came. "I'll see you around I guess."
"See you around." He smiled at me.
---
After picking up some pickles and mayonnaise, peanut butter, Nutella, Toblerones and other assorted items for snacks or desert, I walked back. The homeless man was indeed right. I had so many bags, any more, I would able to feed an entire *country*.
As I arrived at Aunt Jain's home, I noticed my care was in the driveway. I thought to myself, think of a happy place when you see that fat decrepit bastard.
As I opened the door, a horde of cousins, young and old came to help me. I went to the kitchen to fill the bowls with chips, the cups with lemonade, and took a tray out to serve. But as I walked into the living room, none other than the homeless man was sitting on the yellow couch.
He looked right, perfect almost, in perfect complimentation to the pristine white leathery couch. It was finding a old piece of silverware that hadn't been polished in years in the wooden box it had been placed with.
He simply smiled at me. I didn't hear what the social worker said, but I did hear, "Randall Williams is the man sitting right here. He has been living off the streets helping us locate homeless children and ensuring them that they get to a better place. Usually that means a shelter where communities become more aware, or to us, the social workers. It's a little more on our plate, but he has a huge heart. Also, he's the second generation's uncle."
He looked at me again.
I stared back at him.
We stared into each other's soul and realized what it meant to be human. | 39 | You are out of town for a family reunion and have an interaction with a homeless person on the street. You run into them at the reunion later that day. | 80 |
The images of our life together flashed through my mind as the machine analysed my brain. All the good times and bad, I saw the first house we lived in, the first fight we had, all the fantastic memories. The scanner was lifted from me and I was ushered into the next room. My Fiancee was waiting for me. The official sighed,
"Unfortunately for you the results show that one of you is not truly in love with the other," my mouth was agape "this means your request for marriage has been denied. Good bye."
"That's impossible, which one of us isn't..." My voice was cracked and I struggled to form the words.
"It is policy not to divulge that information to you."
"That makes no fucking sense!" I shouted my face burning.
"Please do not get hostile, I don't make the rules. Good bye." He gestured to the doorway.
"How is this even possible?" I said to my fiancee, girlfriend, I didn't know what to call her now.
"I don't know, I love you, I always have." She started to sob and I grabbed her and held her close.
"We'll get through this, there must be some way to appeal... There has to be something." I didn't understand how this was happening, my mind spun and spun.
We had been arguing for hours. I had checked for a way to appeal but there was none. After that she started shouting, blaming me. It couldn't be me. I remembered first seeing her across the Student's Union. Telling my friend I would see him later 'there was something I had to do' I wasn't a confident guy but I had to speak to her. She was like a magnet for me, I was pulled towards her. I remember being in front of her and realising I didn't know what to say, I blurted out 'James' and she just laughed and introduced herself, we had hardly been apart since. She had locked herself in our room, I was on the couch, drinking.
She left. Early this morning. She took her bags and went. She said she wouldn't be back. I'm alone. I look at the clock, time has moved slowly... I think. Nothing matters. I climb the stairs and get into the bath tub. I can't live without her. Splash. White light.
I blink, I'm in the test centre, the scanner is being lifted from my head. I'm confused. What is happening to me. I'm ushered into the next room.
"By the looks of things you had a quite traumatic experience in there. Some people react this way to the testing. Don't worry everything is okay and if you need any aftercare we have a psychologist on staff, or we can refer you to someone external." This man had a reassuring voice. He spoke at some length, reassuring me of the test. I was led into the next room. I saw my fiance... yes, fiancee. I held her and cried. A gentleman came into the room with some paper.
"Congratulations, here is your licence to wed."
Edit: Corrected a typo in the word traumatic. | 27 | In the distant future, if two people wish to get married, they must undergo a brain scan to determine if they're truly in love with each other. | 30 |
Every summer my parents and I make an obligatory pilgrimage to my grandparents' home in Toledo. They live in one of those clapboard tract houses from the postwar boom, the interior all faux wood paneling and olive shag carpeting, and air that smells of medicated cough drops. I'm 18 years old and it is torture of the worst kind. Try to jerk off in a guest bedroom littered with handmade dolls and lace doilies. I dare you.
But the midnight demon that wakes a man in the middle of the night will pause for nothing. There comes a point when no amount of Gold Bond reek can quell an erection. So it was on the third day of my visit, that my need for release won out over my shame, as it always does.
I sneaked downstairs into the den, where a yellowing computer monitor and tower were kept for communal use. Stickers on the hard plastic case advertised that it was a product of e-Machines, made specially for Wal-Mart, and that it was Never Obsolete™. It was horrendously obsolete. A Pentium III processor, 512 megs of RAM, and Windows XP, service pack 1. When I loaded Redtube in Internet Explorer, none of the flash elements would work.
I massaged the bridge of my nose, my erection flagging. I considered my options. There was always hentai -- or literotica -- or, God forbid, my own imagination. None of those options particularly appealed to me. I wanted hardcore cuckold gangbang interracial incest MILF porn, and I wanted it now.
When I glanced back at the screen, a cartoon paperclip had appeared. Via beige speech bubble, it said: "It looks like you're trying to masturbate. Would you like some help with that?"
I trusted Clippy to solve my problem with incompatible javascript and flash standards to the degree of fucking zero, but I had nothing to lose. And Clippy's forwardness intrigued me, if nothing else. I wanted to see where this would lead. So I clicked 'Yes.'
"Naughty boy," Clippy said, bouncing around the screen. I suppose he -- she? it? -- was supposed to appear to bounce off the edges of the monitor, but the monitor's NPAL resolution was all fucked up, so Clippy would disappear from view at the far edges of his transit before reappearing on a new trajectory. The effect was a bit uncanny, with Clippy flitting in and out of view.
"What would your parents think," Clippy said, "if they knew you were sitting around down here jerking on your filthy cock?"
This was a showstopper. I gawked at the screen. My jaw hung open and my heart thrummed in my chest. Was this animated office assistant erotically humiliating me?
Clippy drifted to the center of the screen again. He quirked his eyebrows up and down in a way that certainly wasn't chaste. "Take off your pants," he said. "When you have done this, click Next."
My extremities tingled with adrenaline and I began to feel as if I didn't have a say in the matter. I gulped. I stood, pulled down my jorts, and sat again. The cool leather of the computer chair against my ass was an added thrill. I clicked Next.
"It looks like you have a real nice cock," Clippy said. "Do you have a lot of smelly cum saved up in your balls for me?"
The only button was labelled "Y-yes sir..." I clicked it.
Clippy called me a nasty slut.
"Why don't you try jerking on it a little?" he asked.
I gripped my throbbing manhood with my left hand, my fingers curling gingerly around the shaft. I gave myself a few short tugs, eliciting the beginnings of a moan that I did my best to stifle. I clicked Next.
"It seems like you're having some difficulty cumming," Clippy said. "Here's a tip." His grey body unfurled, turning into a giant phallus with the glans pointed squarely at the screen. Clippy's eyes were half-lidded with animal lust.
I became scared at how far I had gone, and how far I might go yet. I clicked a radio button underneath Clippy's message labeled "Don't show me this tip again."
"Shut the fuck up, you little whore," Clippy said. "You love it. Don't try to pretend otherwise."
This time I couldn't stifle my moan as I masturbated and read Clippy's demeaning words. I clicked Next.
"That's right," Clippy said, "you love my fucking cock. Look at it. Look at it while you jerk yourself off. Smell it!"
I pressed my nose against the dusty monitor, so close that I could see the voidspace between each pixel, and inhaled deeply. It must have been psychosomatic but I swear I could smell Clippy's paperclip dick musk. With a heave of ecstasy, I shot ropes of semen all over my fingers, the chair, and the ground.
"It looks like you made a big mess," Clippy said. He morphed back into his standard spiral shape. "Have you tried using your tongue to clean it up like the sloppy fuckpig you are?"
My mind was gone. Without hesitation I knelt and licked my own cum off the ground, the shame and loss of dignity only egging me on further.
When I was done, Clippy shimmied what would have been his hips. "It looks like you're still having a problem," Clippy said. "Maybe I can help. Would you like to become my pet?"
I clicked Yes. | 16 | Write an erotic short story about Clippy from Microsoft Word. | 21 |
**Part II updated! The main post was expanded, and what I couldn't fit went into a separate post. I'm not sure if it should be continued or if the rest should be left up to the imagination. Feedback is, as always, appreciated. The second part is linked below - I did some minor spell checking and rewording to try to make it read cleaner.**
---
A flash of color and a pleasant chirp erupted from the telescreen, signaling the end of a commercial break and the start of a special bulletin. Orland Reyl, Paramount Broadcasts' posterchild news anchor, sat behind the central desk, as would be expected. It was estimated that over four hundred million telesystems were tuned in specifically for the announcement tonight.
“Hello. This is Orland Reyl for Paramount, coming to you live with a class one bulletin. As many of you out there know, the thirtieth anniversary of the Centauri conflict is a mere three weeks away. While Elerian forces have been making leeway against the Ores, the official status remains at a stalemate. This, following recent ration cuts, more factory repurposing and increased production, leaves the future of Elerian economy in question. While the Council has expressed interest in ending the war conditionally with the Ores, a statement released from Oresen has shown that military leaders amongst their ranks are steadfast in their claim to ownership of the Centauri binary star system.” Reyl shuffled his papers, and a diagram appeared next to his head, showing a picture of a planet – blue, with green landmasses patterned with the lights of civilization, and a solitary grey moon in the background. In Elerian script, 'Blue Marble' was written underneath the image, while 'Earth' was written above it in English.
“As many of you are aware, first contact with mankind occurred three years ago as of two weeks past. Their leaders have up until now returned Elerian pleas with silence, only going so far as to condemn Oresian actions following the Great Schism. I come to you tonight with a special announcement directly from Lead Councilor Horn.”
The screen containing Orland grew smaller and shrunk to one corner, while a larger picture took over the display, showing a tall, elegant, well-dressed and perfectly grey-skinned Elerian councilor. He cleared his throat, speaking in traditional councilspeak; captions were instantly read and provided below for the proletariat of Eleria. “Good evening, citizens and soldiers alike. Today is a wondrous day in history for our planet and people. In the past months, our political envoys have been communicating and relaying all appropriate information to the Blue Marble's leaders, who have responded favorably. The process has been slow, I will not lie. Our languages are vastly different, and the relatively recent discovery of one another has still left many of us with shock – for two centuries now it has simply been us and the people of Oresen, and for thirty we have been at war. Adjustment will take time. However, our conflict has finally caught mankind's attention. I come to you today to tell you that the war may very well be at an end. Citizens, rejoice! When asked for aid, the human leaders have promised not just resources, but the might of the human fleet. Victory is close at hand, and this dark chapter in our history may soon be closed so that we may rebuild. Go with safety.”
While abrupt, the councilor's words had an effect. Entertainment halls around the planet erupted into murmur; homes went silent; military bases were filled with cheering. Everyone had heard of the human military's supposed might. Neither the Elerians nor the Ores were a warlike species, but mankind was practically forged in war. Whereas Elerian medical technology could guarantee everlasting life if one so wished it, and Ores agriculture guaranteed bountiful food for all, the humans had their guns and their dreadnoughts.
The screen clicked back to Orland. He cleared his throat. “And now, citizens, a special gift. I go now to Enys Void, live from orbit around the Blue Marble.” The screen clicked over to show a grey-skinned, freckled, rather lanky being standing in front of a camera, dressed in what seemed to be a sealed space-suit. She stood beside a human – or rather practically underneath. She barely came up to the creature's waist. Many watching the program were surprised. While scientific pictures of humans were available everywhere, as well as various photographs of their worlds, the common knowledge of just how large they were didn't sink in until you actually saw one standing next to an Elerian. It was intimidating, to say the least. The camera moved back and panned up to try to capture both of them. The human was an old one, and his skin was pale. The oddity that was his hair was combed back neatly, and he wore dark armor up to his neck. In the background, human soldiers could be seen moving in steadfast march towards some unseen, off-camera destination.
“Greetings, Orland. I'm coming to you now with a military councilor of Earth, Richard Schrader,” the reporter said, pronouncing the name slowly and with a heavy, garbled accent. The human cleared his throat.
“General,” the word was foreign, “are what called,” the general said in poor Elerian. It was still incredibly good for how difficult the language was for human vocal cords – for an Elerian, it was near impossible to pronounce half of a human's tones. Regardless, captions were displayed for the sizable amount of Elerians who wouldn't be able to make out the words through the gruffness of the human's voice.
“Well, jin-e-ral, I'd like to ask you some questions if you don't mind,” Void replied, looking up at the weathered veteran. She spoke slowly so as to allow him to process the words. It took a moment – he combed over the tonal variances in his head, the pauses that changed the meaning of the sentence, the clicks and hums, then cleared his throat and replied, “Ask.”
“Your senate, jin-e-ral, has approved your forces to go to war as of now, correct?”
“Is correct,” he replied after a brief moment to mull over the meaning of the words.
“How soon can it be expected to see mankind on the frontlines in Centauri?”
“Matter of day,” he continued. “First, third, fourth and eighth fleet have mobilization as today,”
Void's expression shifted to one of surprise. “You do not have a period of preparation? Of prayer, or the need to conscript and train soldiers?” The concept of a standing army was a foreign one to Elerians. Of course you would have a small defensive militia set up, but when war hit, you relied on volunteers. Only in this most recent conflict was the idea of a draft actually put into effect – as more and more Elerians died, more had to replace them.
“All force ready to fight at all time. Have deal with insurgents, pirate, rebel, all time. Not something you have deal with; climate of combat deem necessary for us constant army.” It took him a while to get the words out, but they were clearly understandable.
“I see. Well, I, along with every other Elerian, have heard tales of your military might, and being here I can't help but feel impressed. Would you mind if the cameras turned to show the flight deck?”
“Correct,” said the general. It was an affirmation – not the correct one in the Elerian language, but a sweep of his gloved hand gave a 'go ahead' to the Elerian drone camera and the crew controlling it. From its place in mid air, it turned to the left.
Troops continued to march by in five-by-eight groups down the hallway. All of them were faceless – plated carbon armor overlaying insulated, thin, vacuum-proof synthetic fiber suits. Their helmets had no visor to speak of, relying on external cameras. The troops, even in their armor, looked lithe and agile, and each one walked in perfect pace with his or her comrades. Their rifles were long and black, resting on shoulders like old-world musketmen. Elerian military technology was primitive compared to this. It was polished, of course, and the technology appeared almost magical next to mankind's, but it simply didn't do the same damage, nor prevent it as humans did.
---
Part Two; http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ahxed/wp_war_has_been_raging_for_years_upon_years_now/civq3yg | 446 | War has been raging for years upon years now. You are a reporter embedded in a famous military unit among your newest allies in this war, humanity. | 295 |
Evan was looking forward to this weekend. He was going to finally beat the RPG that’s he’s been playing for months. He was an achiever. He went for every accomplishment possible in the game. He even restarted his file to get every romance before defeating the final boss. He hated English and of course he zoned out during class. The teacher yelled at him in front of everyone but he didn’t care. As soon as the final bell rang, he rushed out to his car. He succeeded in beating the traffic and went to 7-11 to stock up on Mountain Dew and other gamer fuel. This weekend was perfect. His mom was out of town and his sister was old enough to not need a baby sitter so he had the weekend practically to himself.
He started up the game on his PC and loaded up his character.
“Yes! Time to start my final path to victory!” He exclaimed.
His took his character to the cave up in the mountains with the best gear. He spent weeks grinding up materials and gold for the necessary armor and weapons to take down his future enemies. Evan then took his character to the inn at the bottom of the mountain to gather final supplies. When he turned around, an NPC startled him.
“Hello Sir Raido! Would you like to partake in a quest for me?”
One other thing about Evan, he ensured his perfect success by using guides he found online. He memorized every quest and every NPC with ease. He alt-tabbed out and Googled the NPCs name, but nothing came up. He wanted to say no but what if it’s a hidden quest that hadn’t been found yet? He chose to ask more about the man.
The man smiled. “We know each other quite well, Evan”.
Evan was taken aback. He thought NPCs only knew him by his name in-game. He responded:
“My name is Raido, I have never heard of Evan”
The man shook his head. “I’m not something the programmers made. I’m trapped in here”.
Evan considered logging out and playing again tomorrow. But for some odd reason, he felt that he had to listen to this man.
“I’ll get to who I am so that you’ll believe me. I introduced you to gaming three years ago with the first installment of this game. I’m glad you’re keeping up with the series, son.”
“Dad? But, how did…”
Evan instantly believed him. There is no way a programmer could put a person’s history into games yet.
“You remember Brad from my work? My supposed ‘friend’? Well, he got pretty annoyed that I ‘took his promotion’ and so he replicated a machine from Tron and somehow it worked”
Everything fit together. Two years ago, his dad went missing. No trace of him was found anywhere. Mom was devastated. She still holds hope that he’ll show up again.
“Mom still thinks about you. She still wears her ring”.
“That’s good to hear”
“Now, how do I get you out of here?”
His father sighed. “It took some time. But I found a way, but it’s at a big price to you. I’ve been tracking you through this game. You’ve accomplished so much…I’d feel horrible if…”
His dad wiped tears away before continuing.
“There’s another NPC that Brad put in here who’s harder than the last boss. However, once you kill him, I’ll be free; however, your file will go away. You’ll have to accomplish everything all over again. Once you beat him, there’s no ending for killing him. The game will think you cheated and delete your file. Alternatively, if you beat the last boss now, I go away for good.”
Evan couldn’t believe it. He had to choose between saving his father or going through everything again.
“Dad…”
“Evan, I understand…everyone is already used to me being gone”
“Where is this guy and how do I kill him?”
“Are you sure?”
Evan made his character bow to his father. “Once I kick this guy’s ass and get you out of here. I can just play this game again with you…like old times”
His father’s eyes welled up with pride.
“First, we need to go through the Forest of Despair…”
| 59 | A gamer comes across an NPC in a game who claims to be a real life person who has been trapped in the game, and that he can prove it. | 208 |
'Look, I'm sorry folks. We're having a slight problem with the river at the moment, there seems to be a disturbance up stream. We'll open up and get you across as soon as possible.' Charon called over the crowd of angry souls. The queue had never been this long since that Herakles incident and even then, Charon could take his boat across the river. This time, the river was completely impassable. Some continuously rolling rock had got loose and caused Phlegethon to leak into the Styx. A massive flaming stream of wailing souls was not conducive to ferrying the dead safely across to their ultimate fate. They've been through enough, let's not make them seasick, Charon thought as he finally caught up on some light reading.
'Excuse me, sir! This simply won't do!' a soul exclaimed from the front of the queue. Typical businessman, can't wait in the queue like everyone else.
'Well, I'm afraid you'll have to wait, unless you want to swim through a flow of burning agony. I don't make the rules mate, I just enforce them.' Charon replied wearily, keeping his full attention on his reading.
The queue had changed a lot in his charge. Greeks and Romans were fairly polite, they lived in fear of this journey so they kept fairly orderly. Hades, Vikings were upset when they realised this wasn't the queue to Valhalla. The Furies had to be called on more than one occasion to break up a fight. Renaissance folk were quite pleasant, holy types were always a bit of laugh, seeing their faces drop as they realised they picked the wrong side.
The current crop of the damned was not so pleasant. Constantly fighting with other people in the queue over this and that, shouting that 'it wasn't their time yet!' or worse, trying to bribe him with promises of stock options and credit cards. He still hadn't got that Ferrari or Walkman, whatever the hell they were.
The queue began to shift and shudder, voices began to yell and scream. Someone had started a push, back by the 2010 souls. Charon had no desire to walk the queue and sort it out, it'd only be more paperwork if he sent some poor spirit to the back. Besides, he'd just got to a good bit in his poem. Someone about Nobody outsmarting a Cyclops. It sounded vaguely similar to a story some blind man told him round 800BC.
A message had told him the maintenance could last as long as 10 months, only adding to the damned queue. I'd better get comfortable, Charon thought. It will have frozen over by the time it's fixed.
| 30 | The River Styx is closed for maintenance and Charon is forced to contend with an increasingly belligerent crowd of dead souls waiting for the river to open again. | 85 |
**Part One**
______________________________________________________________________________________________
I was supposed to prevent his death.
I had failed.
These past two months searching for the man who would assassinate the President of the United States, and all along I should've been looking for a woman.
A woman that was sitting in my bedroom.
A woman that meant more to me than anything in the world.
"...Do you trust me?"
The high powered rifle now fully taken apart and put in its case.
My hand slowly reached for the Glock in my holster.
"Don't do this, babe", she calmly said.
Her hand on a silenced USP.
All along I had searched far and wide for the killer of the Prime Minister, the Commissioner, and the arms dealer.
All along they were closer to me than I could've imagined.
"The business trips, they weren't actually for the law firm were they."
"No." she said choking back a tear.
"And those times you visited me at the Bureau, they weren't just to say hi."
A pause.
"No" she said again.
Her posture had stiffened up, her hand now holding the USP.
Several more tears fell down her face.
We both knew what had to happen next.
I pulled out the Glock.
She fired.
3 rounds hit me square in the chest, toppling me onto the floor.
The Glock now out of my hand.
Silence pierced the air, as quickly as the rounds had.
She walked over to me, bent down and gave me a kiss.
"Stay still." she mouthed.
As she opened the door and walked down the hall, a glint dissipated off the corner of my eye.
She knew I was wearing kevlar.
Someone was watching us.
________________________________________________________________________
**Part Two**
________________________________________________________________________
"Stay still" she had mouthed.
Time had passed.
Now alone in the room, a commotion erupted outside.
I tore off the now broken kevlar, picked up my Glock, and leapt out the door.
Running through our apartment building's halls, the noise level grew to a crescendo.
As the noise increased, so did my pace.
I no longer cared about the case. I no longer cared about the details.
I just wanted answers.
As I rammed open the lobby doors, part of me wished that I hadn't gone home early today.
All hell had broken loose.
People swarmed the streets, smoke filling the air.
Off to the corner of my eye, I spotted a glint of her auburn hair.
I shoved my way through the crowds.
I needed to get to her.
Sirens wailed through the screams.
I pushed towards the source of the smoke.
My vision deteriorated, the smoke stinging my eyes.
I kept running.
Gunshots rung through the air.
I reached for my Glock.
I opened my eyes.
I had reached a clearing in the smoke.
And there she lay.
A man towering over her, a .45 Colt in his hands.
I fired a round into his chest, knocking him back.
I kept firing.
The magazine now empty, the man lay motionless on the ground.
I lowered myself towards her and rested her head on my arm.
Two bullets had pierced her chest, her hand filling with her own blood.
"...Do you trust me?", she had said.
A tear streamed down my face.
Her mouth gasping for air amongst the blood, her eyes fixated on me.
All time had stood still.
I could no longer hear the wailing sirens, or the terrified mobs.
All I could hear were the echoes of her voice in my head.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Whoa, this blew up while I was out. Also, thanks for the gold!
Edit 2: After such a positive response I appended a second part onto the story. Thank you guys for the support!
| 453 | A stunned nation watches as images of the President's assassination flood the news. The killer has yet to be identified, but witnesses claim to have seen someone in a gray hoodie. You go home early, only to find your SO disassembling a high-power rifle in the kitchen... wearing a gray hoodie. | 413 |
I would wait until she fell asleep. Then I’d simply grip her by the throat and dig in. Not the most elegant plan, I admit, but effective nonetheless. I told Holly, but she just licked herself and grinned at me before running out to chase a bird. Why the stupid woman would get two dogs when she clearly hates us is beyond me. But then the second dog had to be Holly, who is probably retarded. I still think Holly was foisted on me out of spite.
When I turned back to go lie inside, Yagami was watching me. He was preening on top of a cupboard, but stopped to stare at me, bright green eyes narrowed.
“Don’t even think about it, Doug,” he hissed, jumping lightly to the ground. “I detest hunting birds. That human feeds me, the way I like it.”
“She ties me up in the garden most days,” I growled back. “I won’t take it anymore. And you can’t stop me.”
I felt his eyes on me all day, though he kept himself out of reach of my teeth. Sneaky little bastard, too cowardly to face any fight with honour. Ellie chased me out of the house when she came home and put the leash back on, slamming the door firmly behind her. I’d been prepared for this, however. It had taken weeks to get the message across to Holly - that she must drag the leash back over my head once I was tied up tonight. Luckily it was already loosened enough by my own efforts. Holly finally managed it, rolling in the dirt with joy afterwards. I sighed and ruffled her belly with my snout. I sometimes suspected she had difficulty distinguishing between me and Ellie.
I padded lightly through the hallways, listening to the rhythmic sounds of snoring coming from her bedroom. In the doorway, I bared my teeth when I spotted her sleeping form. I would enjoy this.
“Doug,” I heard a quiet whisper. Yagami’s eyes shone in the darkness.
“Get out of here,” I said. Ellie turned restlessly in her sleep. My whisper was a finely honed skill, but still quite loud.
“C’mon, I want to talk.” Yagami slipped past me, looking back over his shoulder. “You can always munch on her later.” I sighed and followed –
despite myself, I was curious. A dog’s curse, you might say.
In the small room where my (usually empty) bowl stood, I paused.
The bowl was filled to the brim with food. I immediately began to salivate, glancing at Yagami in confusion.
“I know she hasn’t fed you yet today, thought you might like a little bite to eat. It wasn’t hard to tip the bag into the bowl, though Holly helped me. You can thank her later.”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked suspiciously, but walked over to my bowl anyway.
“Like I said, I want to talk.” He yawned, revealing needle-sharp little teeth, and smiled. “Think of it as a peace offering, eh?”
I considered it for a second then shrugged before attacking the food. It had a funny taste, though it was still pleasant. She must’ve bought a new brand.
“So what is it you so desperately need to discuss?” I asked, looking up.
To my horror, Ellie was standing there – glaring at me in her pyjamas.
Yagami snaked around her legs, looking smug. Ellie screamed at me to get out and smacked my head. She tied me up more firmly this time before returning to the house. I stared at the moon, and thought about what I'd do to that cat when I got hold of him. Later, Holly walked over.
“Sorry. Thought you hungry,” she said, trying her best to speak. It was a lost art, really, not all animals could do it. I suppose Holly wasn’t much more stupid than most.
“I was,” I sighed. “It was nice though, thanks.”
“Added sweet stuff,” said Holly with a grin. “Yagami said it good.”
“What?” I asked. “What sweet stuff?”
“Dark sweet stuff,” Holly clarified helpfully. “Uhm…was Ellie’s. Yagami bit
it to pieces, I helped put in bowl. Was good?”
Holly’s face looked slightly blurry. Actually, everything looked kind of fuzzy now. I shivered, and decided to lie down for a bit. I closed my eyes. Exhaustion swept over me, and I was glad to be outside, where the cool air was soothing on my warm skin.
| 106 | You are a dog who is trying to kill its master, but the family's cat stops you at every turn. | 169 |
Wind brushes my bangs back like the familiar fingers of my mother. This touch is more soothing than her shriveled and cold hands would be now. She died three years ago. Before my father, after my brother.
Now, in the familiar hospital courtyard that had become a second home, I pace. Chris went in for surgery four hours ago. The procedure is typically two. Somehow, though I know it’s impossible, I sense a shadow in the corner of my vision, one who has found a home there my whole life. Much as I have found a home among these rickety benches and inappropriately cheerful flowers.
When I was born, my grandparents both died. “You certainly can’t blame yourself for their death! You were an infant!”, is what you must be thinking. But no. They were fatally injured in an accident on the way to the hospital *to see me*. Luckily they made it to the same hospital. Unluckily, I never met them because they never regained consciousness after the crash.
My other set never visited. Perhaps it was all the better for their health.
Michael, my brother, died at the ripe age of four, in this same hospital. Scarlet fever.
My mother? Breast cancer.
My father was attacked by a burglar and suffered fatal injuries. He died in this hospital too.
Countless pets throughout my childhood, all for different reasons.
Nothing connected them. There was no commonality, no definable cause. Aside from me.
Now Chris. Knowing my penchant for destroying life, love wasn’t a thought I entertained, but a lifestyle that he forced upon me. For a few years, I was so grateful for that persuasion. But here I am now, in the same hospital that I was born in, where I watched my family die.
Looking at my watch, it has now been five hours since Chris was wheeled away for a two hour surgery.
“Mrs. Gray?” A nurse stands by the door, clipboard in hand. Turning towards her the shadow in the corner of my vision shifts. Still there. | 30 | You begin to have the sneaking suspicion that Death *likes* you | 38 |
It was supposed to be a simple run to Costco. Run in, buy food and water, and run out. Why did my car have to break down on the way back? A stranger in a Hummer stopped to help me. He told me he’d drive me home. Before he started his engine, he looked around with a scared look on his face and said:
“Why do you think the aliens are coming around more?”
It was an odd way to start a conversation lately. Although abductions have become more frequent, people are afraid to talk about it. Alien hunters were ecstatic when even the government confirmed that aliens do exist. They just couldn’t hide the truth anymore after the first lady was abducted. Whenever a loved one disappears, the significant other moves from town without explanation. That’s what I did when I lost my husband. I knew what happened to him, but instead of dealing with it at home, I left town and changed my name. After a few minutes of silence, I answered.
“Maybe they really do want to take over our planet. They’re starting to get close; they already have half the population of Europe”.
The man sighed, shook his head, locked the door, and started the engine. The vehicle changed into a spaceship and flew off. The aliens were getting creative in their abductions. I could only stutter:
“Wha---what are you going to do with me?”
“We are saving you…from It” He explained as he drove the spacecraft higher and higher.
“We were not the only thing the government was hiding from you. We were in fact a decoy from the real truth. After It consumed our planet, we debated whether it was worth saving your species and we decided that we could bear to witness another planet being destroyed. So for the past Earth decade, we have completed the first phase of our mission to save your species. We are now in phase 2”
I looked at the window and saw that Earth was now a speck in space. When I glanced ahead, I saw something familiar, it was another Earth.
“I—is that…?
The alien nodded. “Yes, we recreated Earth. Your Earth has been mostly corrupted by your species unfortunately. It craves corruption. Some of your species we are leaving behind to bait It. We do not know when It will arrive.” The ship landed on my street or should I say, the “other” version of it. Nothing seemed different about this place at all. I walked in and embraced my cats. Suddenly the TV turned on. The news was on with the headline “**I AM HERE**”. A dark cloud began to cover Earth. You could not hear any screams as the Earth was broken apart by the cloud. It disappeared and all you could see were stars. A voiced boomed from nowhere.
*Unfortunately, we were not able to progress as far into Phase 2 as we wanted to. Your home has been destroyed. However, take this new Earth as a chance to not only redeem yourselves, but to take great care of your new home*
| 19 | Alien abductions have started to become more frequent, and people have started to fear leaving their homes. You leave to get food and water and end up abducted. Turns out, the aliens are abducting us to save us from what they only refer to as "It." | 28 |
**This is Wolf Blitzer with CNN Headline News with a BREAKING NEWS STORY, that is ACTUALLY NEWS:**
The missing plane has been found.
Republicans have stopped blocking Obama's policies, and Obama has responded by pulling back in his efforts to push the country to the left.
The Cubs have won the World Series.
Kim Jong Un has declared that he is stepping down, in order to allow for free elections. He is also opening up all internment and prison camps, and has personally phoned South Korea to ask for the possibility of reconciliation.
The Turkish government has publicly apologized for the Armenian genocide.
The pope has come out and said that he is opening up the Vatican Archives to any legal representatives who wish access, whether they be from the Italian government seeing information on money laundering and tax evasion, or plaintiffs in molestation cases.
Israel has announced that any Palestinians who wish, may begin filing suit in Israeli courts to get their land back.
Northern Ireland has asked to be reintegrated with the Republic of Ireland.
Vladamir Putin has stepped down and has asked the country to elect a leader who has no previous ties to either the government, or the KGB. He has also asked that the Crimea and Georgia be allowed full autonomy. He says he has decided to convert and become a Rabbi.
One of the leading Rabbinical colleges in the US has released a statement publicly apologizing for the execution of Jesus Christ.
The Turkish and Iraqi governments have announced they are creating a new country just for the Kurds.
The Chinese government has announced that they do, in fact, regularly and routinely spy on, and hack into, military and government, and economic databases around the world. They also admit that they are subsidizing theft and copyright infringements. And they admit they are falsely keeping their currency pegged. They have announced they will begin dismantling these institutions and policies.
Over 4 Million reported "Vegans" and "Vegetarians" have gathered in parks across the United States for a "Steak-Off", an unofficial meat-eating contest. Added to that, PETA has announced that "Fur is, in fact, NOT murder".
Wal-Mart has announced they will allow their workers to Unionize.
Hispanic organizations in Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico have announced that they will be turning over all documentation regarding any and all illegal immigrants to the United States government.
The IRS has announced they will be shutting down for 4 months while they rework their system so that it finally makes sense.
Both the House and the Senate have announced that they will begin actually WORKING to debate and solve problems, instead of just pandering. This includes immediate passing of the "highways and byways" bill, intended to put millions of Americans to work restoring and building highways and bridges.
And Kanye West has released a statement admitting that he is a, as he puts it "Talentless hack who has an oversize ego, who married a talentless tramp just cause she got a fat ass, because he needed attention. He's sorry for calling all his doubters 'haters', just because he is a giant baby."
**More to come, stay with us ...**
*[I viewed this as an attempt to poke fun at all the things people said would never happen "until hell froze over" - i'm not saying i personally agree with any of the above statements. i was going for onion-esque satire, and thanks to all of you who replied. some of your comments have been included]*
**And this is Wolf Blitzer, reporting live with more actual news.**
I'm pleased to report we're reporting over 1 million actual viewers.
Fox News has released a statement admitting that over 1/3 of their facts aren't actual facts. They are also admitting they have proudly started a partnership with the O Network, with Oprah taking over as Fox News' head of programming.
Valve have announced that Half-Life 3, 4 AND 5 will be released over the next 3 months.
The Toronto Maple Leafs have won the Stanley Cup.
The Detroit Lions and the Cleveland Browns have tied in the Super Bowl, being held this year in Anchorage, Alaska. The officials have decided to award both teams with the victory.
Leonardo DiCaprio has been awarded the Best Actor, Supporting Actor, Director, and Song for his work on the film "Shaft 2020"
This year's front runner for the United States' presidential election is the surprising team up of Ralph Nader and Ron Paul. Hillary Clinton having announced that she will avoid running in order to devote more time to baking. Governor Christie, of course, having decided to avoid running so he can focus on his career as a personal trainer.
Maury Povich has managed to run his 15th consecutive episode where they have found out who IS the father.
It's being reported that drivers in New York have managed to go an entire day without swearing or honking their horns. And in a related story, all traffic in Los Angeles and San Francisco is running on time.
Message boards on the internet have been relatively quiet for the past few days, with no one's mother being mentioned. In a related story both Christians AND Atheists have decided to have a civil discussion with regards to education programs in the United States.
Detroit and Flint, Michigan, are proud to announce their second year of record profits, as well as an almost 0% crime rate. Additionally, almost 90% of police departments across the country are announcing amazing success rates thanks to mandatory DNA testing on their cold cases. Over 125 criminals have been exonerated in Texas alone.
The NRA has announced that they are asking their members to put their guns away for a bit, and perhaps consider whether or not they NEED to own a firearm.
NAMBLA has announced that their members are in desperate need of counseling and psychiatric help.
A Nigerian Prince has announced that he DOES in fact have a million dollars which he is proudly donating to AIDS research.
College students everywhere have signed a pledge stating that they will focus entirely on study and exams, and refuse to partake in marijuana or alcohol. Beer Pong tables have taken a record beating in sales, with numbers declining by over 80%.
George Lucas has released a statement apologizing for Episodes 1-3. He says, and we quote "I think I just forgot to tell a story, and got a bit hung up on CGI to cover my butt".
The House and Senate have passed a joint resolution banning all soft-money contributions, as well as any and all Lobbying. They have also voted for a 15% decrease in their salaries. They have also passed their "clean air" resolution, increasing taxes on corporations by 15%, as well as requiring any and all carbon emissions to be decreased by 10%.
Saturday Night Live has announced that this year they will make an extra effort to actually BE funny.
The Pentagon has announced that they will be decreasing the size of the armed forces by 30%, stating that they don't see the need to keep empowering the Military Industrial Complex.
The Canadian Government is stating they are ashamed over Justin Beiber, and have asked that he not only stop claiming to be an artist, but that he also go into seclusion.
OPEC has announced they, GM, Ford, and VW are all merging with Tesla to perfect the creation of the Electric Car. Until it's ready, OPEC has announced they will gladly decrease the price of gasoline to be $.50 a gallon. They state, and we quote "who really needs that much money, anyway?"
Mike Tyson has been hired to teach public speaking and elocution at Harvard.
The World Cup has been won by Canada. In a related story, the Brazilian football federation has released a statement which reads "Please stop thinking we're the greatest soccer nation in the world. We're really not that good."
The French government has publicly apologized for, as they put it, "Being French." They say they have grown tired of having to act rude, and would rather be extremely polite. To that end they have announced a joint venture with the Canadian government, and the Mormon Church. Experts from both Montreal and Salt Lake City are being flown to Paris, in an effort to educate Parisians on manners and courtesy.
More chaos from Germany and Switzerland as trains were 10 minutes late today. In a related story, trains in Italy were all 5 minutes early, and the Italian government actually accomplished something.
Mexican and Colombian drug cartels have announced they are getting out of the drug business, and are forming an LLC to fund treatment and rehab centers across the globe. To aid in this venture, the US Government has announced it will no longer classify their efforts to combat addiction a "War On Drugs". They will instead refocus their efforts on addiction treatments, and rehabilitation.
Apple has announced they are delaying the release of the Iphone 7 because, and I quote "it's no different from the Iphone 6. We just wanted money." In a related story, Apple and Samsung have decided to drop all lawsuits against each other. A joint statement released by both companies states "Does it really matter? Sometimes good ideas feed more good ides. Let's just grow up and drop it."
More to come, stay with us
**And we're back, with more breaking developments.**
Once again this is Wolf Blitzer, and our top story tonight is that CNN is proud to actually bring you real news, again.
The Greek Government is proud to announce they are finally able to pay off their debts to the European Union, with an additional 10 Million Euros being given to the German Government, just because they are "Feeling Generous."
Sepp Blatter is stepping down as president of FIFA saying, and we quote "We don't really care about football anymore. At this point we're too busy making money. I should probably turn myself in for tax evasion." This announcement comes on the heels of the earlier declaration that the decision to hold the World Cup in Qatar was, in fact, due exclusively to bribery.
O.J. Simpson has announced that he will be releasing a follow-up to his novel "If I Did It" that will be entitled "Ok, so I DID do it", in which he confesses to the murders for which he was acquitted.
Verizon has announced they will be removing any and all opposition to Netflix stating that they "were just seeing how far they could go, but realized they were not being professional." This comes on the heels of Congress passing the "Net Neutrality" bill, which requires all broadband access to be free and impartial. Both the Speaker and the Majority Leader issued a joint statement saying "It's time to start doing our job, and stop pandering and taking hush money."
The Turkish government has announced they will be returning full control of the island of Cyprus to the Greek Government.
The Japanese and Chinese governments have announced they are recalling all of their fishing and whaling fleets. They are also placing a 5 year moratorium on all fishing, and a lifetime moratorium on whaling. The joint statements reads "I guess it's about time we started caring about ocean wildlife."
Taxi Drivers all across the United States are signing the "No Phone" petition in droves. The petition states that the driver will not talk incessantly on his mobile phone while driving.
The Church of Scientology has announced they are not a church, but rather a giant scam, and are turning over their financial records to the IRS for a full audit.
Sarah Palin has announced that she will be moving back to Alaska, to go into voluntary seclusion. She states, and we quote "that it's probably a good time for her to stop bothering people."
The United States government has announced they will begin teaching and using the Metric System.
The popular film director Michael Bay has announced that his next 3 movies will feature no robots, or explosions. Instead he will do film adaptations of "The Tempest", "Othello", and "Twelfth Night." Nicholas Cage, Helen Hunt, and Nick Nolte are already announced to be attached.
Michael Vick has announced that he is quitting football and will seek to head the local chapter of the ASPCA.
NIKE has announced that they will be releasing a new shoe which is both stylish and affordable. They will release it in large quantities so that any who wish to purchase one, may do so.
Exterminators across New York are baffled as to why they are losing business in such large numbers. Both cockroaches and rats have, effectively, disappeared from the city, and no one knows why.
Wal-Mart has announced that they will begin requiring a dress-code for customers. They are asking their customers to look in a mirror before leaving home.
Hollywood has asked that movie theaters across the United States drop prices on both tickets and concessions. They are requesting that both be priced at a reasonable rate since, and we quote, "most of what we're putting out isn't all that wonderful anyway."
The United Nations has announced that a global declaration of Women's Rights has passed with a unanimous vote. The bill's spokesmen, from Pakistan, India, and Afghanistan, have stated they are proud to finally do something to protect women, who are deserving of equal treatment and protection under the law.
Warlords across Africa have announced that a continent-wide cease-fire will go into affect within the next 12 hours. They have all unanimously agreed to meet with governmental leaders. The respective governments have all agreed that many of the problems the rebels have with their governments are actually well-founded. They have pledged to stamp out corruption. While this pledge is not a new one, it comes on the heels of 85% of African Nations having new presidents, the former ones all turning themselves in for Tax Evasion, Corruption, and Abuses of Power.
Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua have all announced another year of record economic growth. Many experts attribute this to the governments abdication, and request for legal and political experts to come in and assist them in actually running their countries, as well as Rebel Forces laying down their arms, and promising to work with the government to actually solve problems. Honduras has also proudly announced that the murder rate has remained steady at less than 1% for the second year in a row.
Realtors and Landlords across New York City have announced that for a third straight year the average monthly rent for a two-bedroom apartment has remained between $750-1250. Unfortunately this has not lessened the supply of apartments and condos, which remain at an all time high.
The popular website "Reddit" was briefly shut down for an hour earlier today with a sudden influx of entirely original content. The top page was swamped with new posts and new ideas. Even the moderators were unable to determine how this happened.
**More To Come, Please Stay With Us** | 843 | As a joke, Satan freezes hell over, and everyone on earth is contractually obliged to fulfil the things they said would do upon Hell freezing over... | 1,463 |
"And if they we don't help them they will, and I quote, 'Eliminate the human race like Hitler would a Jewish painting critic.'"
"My God," the president said, "They sound super serious."
And so arrangements were made at the crash site to provide enough irony to fuel the strange exotic engines to the point where the aliens could make a peaceful departure from our blue planet. Everyone with something to contribute came.
Paris Hilton was surely one of the greatest hero's on the scene, giving massive educational lectures about the best methods to prevent STD's, but there were many other noteworthy donations.
Michael Jackson had come out of hiding and opened a daycare center, Richard Sherman was being awarded a sportsmanship award and even Eeyore showed up to for a book signing on his latest release "How Not to be an Emo Ass."
Irish contributors were leading AA meetings, Latvians were having potato sales while Gimli was making out with Legolas while being condemned by Gandalf. The band Hollywood undead performed their song ridiculing Emo kids infront of their usual crowd. Pterodactyls flew around in the sky above deflecting the numerous asteroids that were seemingly targeting the damaged craft as dance music from the 50's played and M. Night Shamalyn awkwardly tried to dance "The Twist."
Mongolians were building walls around the circumference of the activities while Chinese nomads interrupted their work because a fortune cookie told them to. Democrats were enjoying elephant rides while conservatives played pin the tail on the donkey. Bob Sagget recorded tragic family happenings while Anne Frank learned to tap dance.
Magneto toured a plastic factory while Xavier got accepted to hogwarts. Charlie sold his chocolate factory to a pregnant oompa loompa then kicked the bucket against Vietnamese foes. Harry got his scar surgically removed as Tom Riddle philosophized with the Sphinx and Smeagol.
Countless Muslims read and cherished each word of the constitution while black people everywhere took vows of silence. The LGBT community preached as guru's on finding the true self and the constraints of obsessive labeling while the Amish hosted vulgar parades.
Soccer player's did handstands as football players became vegans. Evil neighbors were crushed beneath flying houses from Kansas as scarecrows cracked the secrets of quantum mechanics. Theon Greyjoy got sprayed by every skunk he could find as Mario felt jealous as he watched Luigi play in the NBA while gobbling psychedelic mushrooms. Doctor Wiley confessed to Megaman he had once been known as Doc Brown but was stuck in the future and couldn't find a way back.
Gargoyles stayed up all night and got stoned as hippies held cage fighting matches. Terrence McKenna died of a brain tumor and acid heads everywhere claimed ascension.
August Gloop became the phattest rapper ever by spitting alphabet soup onto microphones everywhere. Eminem chased rainbows while Dr. Dre got his PHD in philosophy. Aesop rock spoke competent English while slug busted a freestyle.
Usaine Bolt was there in fine form with his name and lightning speed intact. Lightning bolts struck Ben Franklins grave as Nikola Tesla wacked off to a lightbulb.
Things were going great.
"They say they need way more power Mr. President."
"How could this be? Have they accounted for the Miley Cyrus Justin Bieber Role model training courses?"
"Yes sir, but it's not enough."
"Shit.. any progress on convincing Mr. Clinton to commit to celibacy?"
"No sir, he won't budge"
"Damnit.. this may be the end for us then..."
Someone tapped the president on the shoulder, he turned around to see Marilyn Manson standing before him.
"Yall are missing the most ironic part of all this!" He said. "Is it not ironic that all of humanity came together as a team only when forced to by an outside species?"
"My God.. he's right..." The president said.
Just then the thrusters on the Alien Ship lit up and it took off... but it was slowing down fast, it seemed they didn't have enough energy to reach the necessary escape velocity.
"oh yeah, and it's kind of ironic that I was the one to point this out" Marilyn said as the ship gained another boost and broke free of earths atmosphere. | 22 | An alien spacecraft runs out of fuel and crashes on Earth. The engine runs on irony, and the aliens have to set up or find the most ironic situation they can to produce enough power to escape the planet. | 28 |
She cried, the way she had when she when I first saw her. Tears cascaded from her eyes, her cheeks were red and a small amount of snot dribbled down her upper lip.
*I love her. I love you.*
Those were the first thoughts that came to my mind when I saw her. When she emerged from the womb and I set my eyes upon her beautiful face for the first time. I had cried too.
*I love her.*
It was soft in my hand, unrightly so. Something so simple has no right to be so powerful or wrong.
Her fit continued. Her legs and arms kicked out as she lay on her back. Her cries became louder, more intense, a sound that once drove me mad. She was a crier; she wasn’t like her brothers who slept through the night just after three weeks. Growth spurts, teething, hunger, all of it would send her into a spell.
But she had grown up tough. I’ll never forget when I saw her fall on the bike for the first time. The logical part of me let go, it pushed her away from me as the two wheeled vehicle moved across the pavement. But the fatherly side of me screamed. It shouted and pounded at the confines of my mind as I let go of my little girl. She wobbled and fell. It was my fault. The fatherly part of me took over and I raced towards her.
She was holding her knee and grimacing. Her eyes had begun to water but she hadn’t started crying. I went to pick her up and she stopped me.
“I wanna try again, Daddy.”
Softball had been the same. Countless days we would come home from games and she’d have an icepack or bandage on some burn she got from sliding into a base. She wasn’t the best, far from it actually, she was small and not as athletic as the other girls. But she had gumption. She had vigor. She was tough.
*I love her. I love you.*
And here she was, back as a babe before my eyes.
“*To enter paradise you must be cleansed.”* God’s words echoed in my mind. I stood on the precipice of eternity, hell in one hand, heaven in another. “*Cleanse yourself of your most wicked thought and you may enter, my Son.”*
She lay on a bed before me, her fit was about to reach its climax. As an early father the thought has crossed my mind, if only for half a second I wanted to be rid of the crying. I wished to sleep. Half mad, half sleep deprived, I wanted my independence back. But it was only for half a moment. It was only for the briefest of seconds yet it now defines my eternity.
The logical part of me told me it was not real. Told me that this was simply a test, no different than what Abraham had gone through. It said to do it and be done with it. To join my parents and brothers. To see my wife again.
But the fatherly part of me was ashamed, it screamed wrestled with the very real thing in front of me. It tore at my conscious and pitied what I knew I had to do.
The decorative pillow was in my right hand, it was small yet held giant repercussions. I knelt next to my crying daughter and lifted the pillow to her face. I started to cry with her.
*I love you…*
A flash of light, yellow and red, then nothing. I held her in my arms for the last time. The clouds and sky shot up before me but I did not move, the universe was moving for me. The world cascaded towards me, then
everything went dark.
-----
“Push!”
“I see the head now, you’re almost there, Dear. Keep pushing!”
She cried out and gave what little she had left.
“There you go, almost there!” I gripped her hand and told her it was going well. I told her I was there, and that she was almost done. She wasn’t listening though. Thinking back on it, I think I was more talking to myself than her.
Then the room was filled with something queer, a new sound added to the chaotic cacophony: a baby’s cry.
“It’s a girl!” the nurse exclaimed. She swaddled the baby in a blanket and extended her to me.
“Here,” she said, “Congratulations, you’re a father.”
I eyed my baby girl. My beautiful Olivia. She cried, tears cascaded from her eyes, her cheeks were red and a small amount of snot dribbled down her upper lip. I smiled.
*I love you.*
----
**(*Like my writing? Check out more at nickblakeslee.com*)**
| 15 | The twisted and most evil thoughts you've had in life must be enacted upon you before you can enter Paradise. The price for admission is this final "cleanse." | 15 |
Colonel Heinz Thorvald strode into the room. He was the Grammar Nazis' best, the one they called when things *really* hit the fan. He found several of his colleagues gathered around a computer. Another stood off to the side, excitedly talking to someone on the phone.
"How bad is it?" Thorvald asked as he sat down at the computer.
"It's not good," his coworker responded, "Just look at this shit! This is the worst abuse of a language that I've ever seen!"
The monitor displayed the comments section of a Youtube video. A remark made by the user xXSooperLegitTrikSh0tsMLGproXx was highlighted.
>"Yah well u bithcs couldnt evn handel my skll. Ill 360 noscope every one of u faggs and while i fuk ur moms too I be playin 2 good for u to even **touch** me an u can take that to the bank, muddafuccas."
Thorvalds mouth gaped. This.. This... This uneducated **Philistine** had the worst spelling he had ever seen! Not only that, but his writing contained almost no punctuation! This had to be the most deplorable use of written communication ever witnessed in the history of mankind! Thorvald stood, drawing his pistol and chambering a round.
"I'll handle this one... *personally*."
In a small suburb outside of San Francisco, Thomas Joiner, also known as xXSooperLegitTrikSh0tsMLGproXx, sat in his room drinking a Mountain Dew while he racked up a 40-kill streak on Call of Duty. Suddenly, a middle-aged man with an impressive mustache burst through his window, rolled across the floor, and leveled a pistol at Tom's chest. As the stranger stood, Tom noticed his red armband, which was decorated with an angular black G stitched onto a white circle. The stranger brushed the glass off of his uniform and then spoke.
"Thomas Bernard Joiner, you are hereby charged with multiple counts of atrocious spelling, poor grammar, and absent punctuation. By the authority of the Grammar Nazis, you are hereby sentenced to death for your crimes against the English language, and against humanity. Do you have any last words?"
"I just wanted to pwn n00bz!!!!"
Heinz winced. They **always** messed up the grammar right at the end. He pulled the trigger with no regrets. The world was better off without people like Tom. | 11 | In a world where linguistic delinquency is on the rise, a Grammar Nazi is called to the scene of one of the most heinous crimes of his/her career. | 21 |
I know that you're all expecting words of inspiration, an exhortation that we can succeed and survive, a stirring reminder of what's at stake. A speech for the history books.
That's not a speech I can give you.
At this point, we all know how this battle is going to go. Our enemy's numbers are too great, his ships too well armed. This is our last world, our home, and soon enough, not even that.
Every ship we have left has been gathered here. Every pair of boots has stepped up to the line. Every single man and woman who can hold a rifle or pilot a ship is up here today, with us. There are no reserves, there is no plan B.
This is not a fight that we are going to win. Every last one of us is going to die today. That is a fact. There is nowhere to run, and no one to come to our aid.
In this, humanity's last stand, I implore you. Do not go gently. Our enemy is intent to cast us into the abyss. Let them try, and drag as many of them down with you as you can.
We may not win this fight, but we will make damn sure they remember it. I want you to make widows of their women, orphans of their children, and cripples of their men. If we are to be extinguished, we're sure as hell going to burn whoever tries.
Today, I go to my death, and I am proud to do so alongside you.
In our death throes, we will cause such pain in our enemy that his descendants will look back a thousand years from now and weep for what they lost. In the dying moments of our species, we will deny them what they seek.
When our fleet has been swept aside, and their colony ships have landed, is when we will take our last vengeance. The Warp drives taken from our remaining capital ships and embedded throughout the moon will be activated. Their target is Earth's core. Our planet will be sundered and shattered, and their prize will be taken from them.
All our preparations are made. Everything is in place. There is no time to be bought, no desperation to hold them off for a few moments more. In this fight, I ask only that you cause our foe as much harm as you can. Make him suffer, as he has made us suffer.
This is Colonel Kenneth Andrews, Acting Captain of the CDV Kalahari, signing off. Godspeed to all of us unlucky bastards, and give 'em hell. | 25 | You are the commander of the last human fleet, acting as the final line of defence against the armada coming for Earth. Write your final speech to your fellow soldiers and everyone on Earth. | 19 |
I just turned 18 and for as long as I could remember I wanted a tattoo. I even knew exactly what it would look like. It would be Dory from *Finding Nemo* with "just keep swimming" written underneath it.
When I first saw that movie it spoke to me. My parents were getting divorced and it felt like my world was shattered. All I had was advice from a little blue fish. But that didn't stop my mother from trying to intervene. She warned me about tattoos taking away whatever they give and that they aren't worth it.
But that didn't stop me.
I was an adult now. I could do what *I* wanted. Her opinion no longer mattered; so I took the plunge.
I walked into the store called Inklings. It sounded perfect for a first timer like me. The artist was so nice although his tattoos scared me at first. He had the Toostie Pop Owl in the middle of his neck. When I asked him about it he said "it helps me solve problems." I wondered if all artists were this cryptic.
My shoulder felt like it was on fire. The needle dug through my skin as if it were clawing up a mountain. I closed my eyes and white-knuckled the armrest doing my best not to cry out. Just when I thought I couldn't handle anymore there was a break. The outline had been finished and now he asked if I was ready for the colour--a process that was even more painful. I looked at myself in the mirror and those timeless words stared back at me. My mind bellowed *just keep swimming*.
And I did.
It took another hour but there it was forever on my shoulder. A reminder whenever I needed it. My mother was not impressed, she said I would regret it. But I knew she was wrong. This was for me and no one else. She didn't have to like it because I did.
***
I dove into Lake Cobalt. The cold water swirled around me and my mind finally felt clear. It was almost as if all my worries vanished the moment I hit the water. I've never experienced water like this before. It felt like I could see all the way across the lake underwater. I felt at home.
I dove deeper hoping to experience that rush of clarity again. The further I went, the better I felt. I was at peace.
My lungs should be desperate for oxygen, but they aren't. I was baffled. I haven't been swimming since the tattoo; they said to avoid soaking it for at least two weeks. I was extra good and waited a full month. I stopped to ponder this but the thought left as soon as it entered. The waves carried it far away from me.
I continued my descent as the waves brought a new thought to the surface of my mind.
Just keep swimming.
Just keep swimming.
Just keep swimming. | 49 | Tattoos give you power, but always take something away. You have just gotten your first one, and the results are...surprising. | 39 |
We thought they'd surrender, like everyone else did. Once defeat was inevitable, what sane species would keep fighting? The correct answer is none, because these people, this race... It's clearly not made up of the sane. When we surrounded their colonies, they would let fly every missile at once, the combined explosion shattering the planet and crippling whatever fleet was sent after them. Long after their ships had dwindled to practically nothing, they kept fighting. And they started winning. It took a whole fleet to destroy a colony, but this tactic of theirs, this suicidal, self-destructive determination not to let us gain anything from their defeat, it was beginning to take its toll. We had less fleets than they had planets.
We thought their defeat was inevitable, but we were wrong. By the time we'd limped towards their capital, that disgusting blue-green orb, we were on the verge of defeat. Our fleet was forced to bypass many colonies, it took hundreds of years to construct what they destroyed in a day. And what did we find when we approached their capital? A shiny, brand new enemy flotilla. We never had a chance. These flostak worked themselves to death creating a new fleet in practically no time, and bombed themselves to death to weaken ours. In reality, our defeat was what was inevitable, these creatures, these beings, would rather die than lose, which is why they never lose. We've accepted our place in their empire, watching as other races make the same mistakes we did, and now... Well, we strive to emulate these things. Their victory is absolute, and who doesn't like to win? | 61 | You are descended from a proud, powerful alien species. Retell how the humans from Earth bested your species in war. | 42 |
**Wow this got so huge! Definitely the most popular post I've ever made haha. I'm so glad you all enjoyed it! I will definitely be adding more tonight as a reply to this post, be sure to check back later!
Thank you all for your kind words!**
Destructo could sense somebody in his lab, even with the lights off. Before he moved his arm toward the switch, he closed the door behind him. The steel locks clicked into place, the noise loud enough to cover up the quiet beep as he touched a large button under his button-down shirt. He spun around quickly, flipping on the lights as a the fabric of his left sleeve disintegrated, revealing a plasma cannon that slid down over his hand and whirred loudly.
25 feet away, sitting in his favorite chair, Ultimus blinked several times while his eyes adjusted to the light. He was only wearing one of his bright blue boots, the other foot covered only with a dingy off-white sock, his big toe protruding through a hole in its front. While he was indeed wearing his trademark red tights, his underwear was worn *beneath* them. He held a bottle of Jack Daniel's up to his lips, tilted his head back and drank deeply, emptying it in seconds. He then reached down into a brown paper sack at his feet and produced another bottle. He drained it just as fast.
For a moment, Destructo was unsure how to react to this pathetic sight. Before him sat the super-powered bane of his existence, who'd sent him to prison again and again, forcing Destructo to devise ever-complicated methods of escape. What's more, here sat this indestructible man, drunk off his ass and farting into his favorite chair- Destructo had no idea what to say. He finally settled on,
"What the fuck, Ultimus?"
The hero burped loudly, the force rattling glass beakers and metal instruments across the large laboratory. He stood, stumbled closer to Destructo and raised his finger to jab it into his chest, empty bottle still in hand.
"You know what guy..." he paused for several seconds, his eyes clearly struggling to find focus on his adversary's face. They finally came to rest upon Destructo's mechanical left eye. "You... I figured you out today," he slurred. He brought his mouth close to Destructo's ear and whispered, "I know *exactly* what you're all about."
He moved back to the chair and attempted several times to bend over and grab another bottle. This task took him more than a minute, during which time Destructo looked at the ceiling to his lab, noticing for the first time a large, human shaped hole in it. Above the hole was 44 stories of solid bedrock. He sighed and powered down his plasma cannon, which slid back up his arm in plates that came to rest as a band around his bicep. Then he rubbed his temples.
"Why are you here Ultimus?" he exhaled, walking over to pick up a bottle and hand it to his nemesis. The hero looked sheepishly at the bottle, and after grasping air a few times finally gripped the bottle and slumped back into the recliner.
"You do... you do my job better than me," he whimpered. Needless to say, Destructo was stunned. He opened his mouth to protest, but was quickly interrupted. "N-no no, no you don't you say nothing. I know. I seen it on your marker-board," Destructo glanced at the floor-to-ceiling whiteboard, upon which was described his eighteen part plan to solving each of the worlds most pressing problems. "I get it, *maaaaaan*," he drew out the last syllable, "you can't fix things by punching. You can't!" he chuckled. A small bit of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth. He sucked it up and wiped his chin with his hand.
"You... you know what you're doin'. You got *eeeeeverybody* all convinced that yer a bad guy. But I know... I know..." he sobbed loudly for several agonizingly awkward seconds. Destructo looked from side to side for help, but realizing he was alone in this situation he slowly put his hand on the shoulder of his arch rival.
"I just make ebring the.... every the... everything worsh!" He wasn't wrong, so Destructo didn't say anything. "I don't even deserff to to wear this U on my chest." He pointed to the symbol, flashily embroidered on his costume. Destructo winced.
As sympathetically and compassionately as he could, he leaned down and said,
"Buddy that... that's the symbol for "Omega"... and it's upside down."
Ultimus stared up into his eye for a moment before bursting into super tears.
| 474 | A superhero who has been fighting a supervillain for many years suddenly realizes that all the 'evil' things the villain has done have ended up doing good in the long run. | 488 |
He might once have had another name, but these days he's called Dave.
He is one of the gods of parties, because there are several. Parties are complicated affairs and no one god can be expected to take responsibility for every component. Specifically, Dave is the god of the alcohol that no one can remember bringing, and also the god of the bottle you take along to get past the guy on the door. Traditionally, you offer the bottle as a sacrifice and tell the guy that you "know Dave". If he is a believer, you will be allowed in.
You can tell when Dave has been present at your party. You will have five cans of a six pack sitting near your kitchen sink. They will be branded something like "Muller Light", "Bendwiser" or "Curs Extra". If you are specially favoured, Dave may leave a bottle of spirits (often called something like "Bundesbank", or "Joggermister". You might even get a bottle of Scots if you've been a particularly good host).
The correct thing to do with these gifts is to store them. Spirits should go at the back of a drinks cabinet, beer should go somewhere cool and dark. No matter how long you keep them their flavour never decays - even if you come back to your bottle of Scots a decade from now, it will taste as bad then as it would today.
Obviously, these holy relics are not actually for drinking unless your need is very great or there's actually no other choice. Theologians speculate that Dave's purpose behind leaving these gifts is to ensure that, come the Apocalypse, Humanity has something to party with when the rest of civilisation has been wiped away. | 14 | Tell me about a god. Any god. | 18 |
"THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU....to reply to our latest proposal within three business days."
"That joke will never get old for you, will it?"
"Sorry, I just can't resist. Seeing you there with your horns and bile and all...it just feels like the mood needs lightened. You're quite disgusting to behold, Char."
"I appreciate the compliment, Stan, but it's not getting me to retract the vomit clause."
"Perish the thought. Now, about the supernatural body disfigurement..."
"Come on, Stan, that's a staple! The Boss loves it!"
"It's very upsetting to these particular parents, Char. I don't want to speak out of turn, but....I think the mother might have had some body dysmorphia issues when she was younger. I've been told that any extremities moving in unnatural ways or at unnatural angles will be responded to with the addition of an 'Old Priest'."
"OK, fine. But this doesn't include speaking in tongues, presumably?"
"Arcane languages are fine."
"All right. Cursing?"
"As long as it is not directed at family members under the age of 10 or over the age of 75. Including dead relatives."
"What about dead relatives who died between the ages of 10 and 75?"
"Hmm....all four of their grandparents are still alive, they didn't lose any children. What do you know, Char? He's not going to taunt them about dead Aunt Sally twice removed."
"I'm not at liberty to discuss my clients plans."
".....I'm going to have to get back to you on that one. I feel like I need to run this by my clients and make sure they're not holding out on something."
"Fair enough. Levitation of objects within the room, up to and including Sarah?"
"That's fine, so long as the levitation is non-damaging to Sarah."
"Unnatural darkenings of the room, movement of drapes or shutters, mysterious cold drafts, cloud formations, and assorted demonic sounds?"
"All good. Now, length of time..."
"You're not OK with the standard six months?"
"Well, school starts the third week of August, and Sarah was out with the chicken pox at the end of last year as well. Her parents feel that missing time at the beginning of this year as well would put her too far behind."
"You're really breaking my balls here, Stan. When we started negotiating in good faith with the Church, we were assured that six months would be a standard."
"That was 400 years ago, Char! Times change. These girls have a lot going on in their lives."
"That's not really my problem, Stan. If they're so concerned maybe they should have gotten her some tutoring over the summer, instead of running her around half the state for gymnastic meets she doesn't even really like. Or, you know, maybe it's not the end of the world if she doesn't get straight A's for one semester?"
"Don't get mad at me Char, I'm just representing my clients wishes. If you're willing to cut down this possession to 2 months, however, they are willing agree to a second possession...over Christmas."
"Whoa, seriously? Are we talking like, Christmas Day, she's puking up blood on a crucifix and screaming she wants to fuck Baby Jesus?"
"To be honest, they authorized me to give you the whole week if that's what it took, but I figured Christmas Day would get your attention. I give you that and you let me go back to them with the rest of the week and the initial 2 months, and I think we'd have a deal."
"What's the catch here? Are there any additional restrictions on The Day?"
"Nope. Apparently Christmas dinners with both in-laws in the house can be...rather contentious, and they see this as a good excuse to not have to deal with that this year. Plus, the family doesn't really consider themselves very religious people."
"They know you're in here negotiating with a demon, right?"
"Mine is not to reason why, Char. I expect we'll see them in the pews regularly after you're done with them, though."
"Damn straight. Let me go run this by the Boss but I can't imagine he'd turn this opportunity down. We'll even agree to the dead relative thing...I'd say we have a deal. A pleasure as always, Stan."
"Stay ugly, Char." | 157 | An exorcist has a startlingly rational conversation with a demon while performing his duties. | 102 |
It's a twist on the prompt involving criminals and their victims that I wrote a few months ago for an anthology that folded up at the eleventh hour. Someone ought to read it...
Dyllan’s leg manacles slammed against the door frame as the guards ushered him into the examination room. He fought them for every step, because screw them. The room was cold, white, and sterile, a huge improvement from the filth of the prison, but somehow this room terrified him in a way the cell never could.
The guards sat him down on the steel chair in front of the Doctor’s desk and chained him to the floor. Dyllan’s useless lawyer followed him into the room and skulked in the back of the room like the coward he was. An older doctor with streaks of gray mixed into his jet black hair sat down and looked at Dyllan over his wire-frame glasses.
“Mr. McDullan, I’m Dr. Scholten, your court appointed doctor in this matter,” he said. “Do you know why you’re here?”
Dyllan spat on the floor. He wanted to show these fascists he didn’t care. Not one damn.
Dr. Scholten looked at Dyllan’s lawyer who shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll take that as a yes. Judge Jones has signed off on the sentencing order.”
Dr. Scholten picked up the official printout and read. “Dyllan McDullan, in accordance with the Human Regenerative Ban Act of 2032, section five, paragraph one, as the perpetrator of a violent criminal act resulting in the irreparable harm of another human being, you are hereby sentenced to immediate body replacement to a host determined by the State.”
“I refuse. I do not recognize your authority to usurp my bodily autonomy and I will not cooperate,” Dyllan was yelling by the end of the sentence. His lawyer’s rehearsed response left his lips like a magical ward.
“I’m afraid the Supreme Court rejected your appeals. There are no more arguments to be made. This is happening,” Dr. Scholten said.
“I demand you return me to prison,” Dyllan growled. “Or execute me immediately.”
Dr. Scholten held out the order for Dyllan to attach his thumb print. When the criminal shied away, he held it up to his lawyer.
“Dyllan, we both know that executions were banned in 2022. Personally, if it were me…” Dr. Scholten leaned in really close to Dyllan’s face. “I’d have no qualms about taking you out back and beating you to death with a crowbar, but I’m old fashioned. Judge Jones made the call. The prisons are full and you’re too expensive to feed for the rest of your miserable life. One body transfer and you’ll be free to go.”
Mr. Finergin, his lawyer, stepped up and put his thumb print on the readout.
“Don’t you sign it! You bastard,” Dyllan rattle the chains and tried to stop his attorney, but it was done. Four hundred dollars an hour and Mr. Finergin folded like a cheap suit at the end. All the money in the world couldn’t buy Dyllan an acquittal.
“Call me anything you want,” Mr. Finergin said. “But I’ll tell you this. Your money is gone. My signature is the last thing I’m being paid for. Once this transfer goes through, you’re on your own.”
“You can’t do this!” Dyllan shouted. “It wasn’t me. I’m innocent!”
Dr. Scholten glanced at Mr. Finergin, who shook his head.
“Two juries and three judges say otherwise, Dyllan. Hell, the forensics alone is damning; fingerprints, blood, semen, fibers, RFID signatures, GPS records. But what really sealed the deal for the Judge … we pulled your victim’s memory cube and your ugly face is all over it.”
“I don’t care what that bitch remembers,” Dyllan cursed. “It wasn’t me.”
Dr. Scholten went back to reading the printout. “By law, I’m required to make you aware of the side effects of body transfer to a non-genetic match body. You may experience some or all of the following: Moderate to severe host dysmorphia syndrome, migraines, blurred vision, depression, anxiety, increased risk of schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s. And of course, the body you’ll be getting is slightly used, so you’ll have all that to deal with.”
“What body am I getting?” Dyllan whispered, the finality of his situation starting to sink in.
“Are you familiar with the old saying,” Dr. Scholten said, “you broke it, you bought it?”
#
Dyllan woke with a splitting headache. The bright lights of the hospital ward made him nauseous. The first thing he noticed, besides the pain, was the absence of handcuff, or restraints of any kind. He had been in a cell or locked up for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like.
He couldn’t be entirely sure of his feet, because he could feel them at all. Everything below the waist was numb. He threw off the sheets and pulled up his hospital gown. A high-pitch shriek of horror escaped his pretty new lips.
“It’s gone,” Dr. Scholten laughed as he walked into the room. “Change of bodies, change of equipment. You might have learned to enjoy it, if you hadn’t ruined the poor girl.”
The doctor held up a mirror in front of Dyllan and Harriet Baggott’s terrified and scarred face stared back at him. He was small, and frail, and damaged. The quarter-sized incision scar in the middle of his forehead where they’d implanted his memories in her cortex confirmed that the nightmare was real.
“Come on,” Dr. Scholten said. “We’ve got something to show you and then you’ll be released.”
The good doctor helped him out of his bed into a wheelchair. They rolled down the hall in silence and took the elevator down to the basement. Dr. Scholten stopped briefly at the door marked “Morgue” and said, “You’ll like this part.”
He pushed past the door and wheeled Dyllan in where two medtechs were waiting with Dyllan’s young, powerful, and handsome body, now cold and lifeless. They let it die.
When the techs rammed the body into the cremator and the jets of flame roared, Dyllan cried for the first time since he was five. No one had ever taken something from him, and now they’d taken everything. | 11 | In the future, mind-transplants are possible. The minds of those about to commit suicide are unknowingly or unwillingly traded with the minds of those with terminal diseases and the elderly. | 58 |
A girl with long honey blonde hair knocked lightly on the door of the bright Victorian style house. Her legs shifting back and forth in a bowlegged pattern. She looked up at the expanse of the house. *She really wants to dispel the whole witch rumors huh? Oh... She has to help me... She just has to.* The door opened a crack.
"Business or pleasure?" Whispered a soft sultry voice on the other side of the door. A flash of raven confirmed it was her.
"B-Business." She cast her eyes down to the floor and fidgeted. The voice gave a derisive snort.
"Very well..." The door opened a smidge more and she was quickly pulled inside. "Well dear sister... What brings you here? Something the matter? You never have asked for me to use any of my powers." The girl looked at the long black haired woman that supposedly was her sister.
"W-Well.." The woman ushered her to sit down.
"Come dear Camille. There's no need to be shy." The woman cast a quick glance on Camille's odd limping gait and hide a crooked smile behind her lace fan. "Now what is the matter dear?" Camille took a deep breath.
"It's Wallace..." She paused. "You know? The man that I've been seeing lately."
The woman gave a twitch of a grin. "Oh yes I seem to remember him..." She fanned herself profusely. "What's the matter with Wallace?"
Camille flushed red. "It's rather embarrassing but I didn't know who else to turn to dear sister." She took a deep breath and whispered. "Wh-When we make love, h-his manhood seems to triple in size. Making it hurt and n-near impossible. And whenever I ask him about it he avoids the question and refuses to get help."
"Well I can't help him if he doesn't want help darling."
Camille nodded. "I know... So I want you to change *me*"
The woman's eyes widened in shock. "Change *you*?"
"Well yes. I-If his m-m-manhood grows than I want m-my womanhood to grow as well!" She looked down at the ground. "Is what I'm trying to say."
The woman had to fiercely bite down on her lip to keep a cackling grin from spreading across her face. She looked away from Camille. "If this is what you want dear sister than I suppose I can accommodate."
************************************************
"Wallace..." Camille and Wallace were curled up under the night stars by the creek not too far from Wallace's estate. Camille bit her lip and whispered into his ear. "Will you make love to me tonight?" He looked at her flabbergasted.
"You know of my problem. It will just hurt... Again."
Camille nodded. "But I think tonight will be different!"
Wallace rubbed his shoulders his eyes seemingly downcast. "If you think you can handle it tonight then I suppose we can try."
Camille wrapped her arms around him and brought him close for a passionate kiss. Giggles, and kisses and touches were exchanged. Breathless and half clothed, Wallace threw Camille onto the picnic blanket. He pulled her milky thighs apart, his breathing rapid. He squinted his eyes shut as he thrust forward not wanting to look on her pained face. Silence broke across the lovers.
"Is... Is it in yet?" | 200 | After cheating on a woman who was secretly a witch, a man is cursed with a size-shifting manhood which becomes inversely-proportional to the love he has for each woman he makes love to. | 318 |
Joe smiled devilishly as he gained access to Tom's facebook account.
"Whats should I do first?" he asked himself. "I'll just go with the classic."
Joe typed *Hello everyone, I just wanted to let you all know that I'm gay* into the status bar.
_____________________________________________________________
Tom stared into Lucy's eyes. He went down on one knee and pulled out the expensive engagement ring he had bought just a week before. It was no problem for him though, as a lawyer at Goldman Sachs, money wasn't a problem.
"Lucy, I love you, will you m-"
Suddenly, lights flashed in Tom's vision. A warm feeling overcame him, and he felt different.
"What were you saying, Tom?"
Tom looked back into Lucy's eyes and he saw-- nothing. She wasn't attractive to him anymore. He looked around and saw a shirtless man jogging. Suddenly, he was extremely attracted to him. He-- he was gay.
"I'm sorry Lucy, I have to go."
_____________________________________________________________
After a nice night of sleep, Joe woke up in the morning ready for some more pranks. He logged on to Tom's facebook and decided to change the occupation this time. He deleted *lawyer* from the page and added *garbage collector.* Joe laughed, and went into the kitchen to make himself some pancakes.
_____________________________________________________________
"What do you mean you don't know who I am? I've worked here for 2 years!"
"I'm sorry, sir, you're not employed by Goldman Sachs."
Tom looked at his boss and felt depressed, angry, and attracted all at the same time. He stomped out of the building when he felt his phone vibrate. It was a call from a contact called "Boss." "I guess it was all a prank," Tom thought to himself.
"TOM! Where the hell are you? Get to the dump right now!"
The line went dead, and Tom stood there in shock. He decided to investigate this strange occurrence, and hailed a taxi to take him to the dump.
An hour later, Tom stood fuming in a jumpsuit as a bag of smelly trash broke open over his head.
_____________________________________________________________
Joe sat down after eating a delicious stack of pancakes. He had been watching "The Simpsons," and the crazy cat lady peaked his interest. He went on Tom's facebook and under *Hobbies,* he wrote, *Caring for 32 diseased, elderly cats.* Joe collapsed in a heap of laughter, and went off to play Call of Duty.
_____________________________________________________________
Tom came home exhausted from from his day of work. The bag that broke had contained twenty pounds of spoiled tuna. He opened the door of his house, ready for a shower, and was overwhelmed by the smell of urine, feces, and 32 diseased, elderly cats. The cats, on the other hand, were overwhelmed by the smell of spoiled tuna. Before Tom could move, the cats pounced on him.
Tired, smelly, lonely, and covered in scratches, Tom sat on his bed and opened up his laptop. He logged onto his facebook, and saw that he had a message waiting.
It was from his friend Joe.
"lol hackd u haha rekt." | 17 | Somebody hacks a facebook account, and then the modified information becomes true in the real world. | 17 |
Suddenly there wasn't a lot to say.
Still, he tried. He always tried to say something. What else was there?
But the voice in his head was muffled, as if far away...and growing farther.
He could feel his body, but it too seemed to be stretching to its last connecting strings, as though pulling a rubber band to its breaking point...
*SNAP.*
An explosion took place. The only place that existed. And the place seemed to grow with the explosion.
A rush of sound was everywhere all at once.
Blinding light too.
And it seemed to just go and go and go. For all recorded history.
It would have gone on forever, but instead, he came to understand. It *was* recorded history.
And this place took on an inaudible meaning.
This place was his.
And it was just growing into itself as he realized it.
Little spots of light and heat and energy.
What the hell was he supposed to do with it?
He was lucky though. He could no longer hear thoughts.
These spots of light *were* his thoughts.
And they moved and circled each other.
They danced.
They gathered and had exchange with each other and it was good.
And as the fire of birth cooled down, little grains found themselves made from the dust and blood of this place.
They circled the thoughts, and soaked.
These grains began to mirror these thoughts.
And the grains grew and changed and spun and had exchange with each other.
One grain was first. And on that first grain, the thoughts of this place had had time to drench, to fill every pore.
Soon thought was pouring from the grain's surface and playing and changing.
Tiny little flittering sparks of ideas shooting in and out of sight as the grains spun and spun and circled and circled.
Then, out of all of the little flittering ideas, one did not feel new. It felt like an echo, lost in a chamber, only now finding its way back.
This little flittering idea called itself a Man.
And this Man looked upon the thoughts, and the grains, and the hot noise of the place.
And wondered.
And tried to find something to say. | 11 | A recently deceased, outspoken atheist finds himself reincarnated as the "God" of his own universe. | 17 |
The week leading up, they swore up and down it'd be a smooth transition. "Oh, just plug in your new receiver-modulator!" My grand-nan used to say. "Your old routers and switches will work just the same; and you don't even have to plug in the cable!"
She'd stopped repeating those marketing slogans these days, even facetiously. First it was a temporary outage--fixable in a day, two at the max if you lived out in the boonies. Then it was a week, while the cable companies waited on 'legislation' that was stalled in congress. Then it was a month.
I think it was about half a year, a few weeks back. I mean, sure, we know the date that the last people were online, but it's been a while since everyone counted the days in some hope that they'd be there when it came back on. Good riddance, I said. Well, at first.
Today I had to service 17 drone interceptors, and repair our radio-sat connection so we were capable of coordinating with Alandale down the river. Maybe if I'd spent more time on Google Earth, I'd have a better handle on the geography of Gregor county. Turns out we're what you call, strategically valuable.
It was a month before anyone knew for sure that the internet wasn't coming back--the cable companies had tight lips on the matter, of course, and news trickled in very slowly with the general populace's disuse of radios and telegraph. Terrorism, as one could predict, was the blame. Hours before the launch of the outnet, several key service blimps were taken down. Drones were the official ruling, but you never can know with these things. A day later, a bomb exploded thirteen stories up in the Cofederated America building in downtown Seattle. Hundreds killed. A real tragedy.
TBC | 28 | It has been seven months since the Internet was shut down for good. Describe your day. | 51 |
It was 438 pages of legalese, written in the most convoluted, confusing manner that Senator Burke could pen. For most people, reading a dozen pages would leave them with little more than a headache and a confused frown. But I could parse the words as easily as if I was reading the Sunday paper. I knew what it meant.
It was a death sentence to the elderly. It was a modern day ice flow. Your time is done. You’re taking up space that other people need. It’s time for you to go.
There had been loopholes, of course. Burke was no fool. At the age of 98, Burke would be facing the same fate soon enough. There had been a clause buried in the fourth paragraph of page 392 that gave exemption to elected government officials. Burke knew I would understand the implications. I could practically see the wink, wink, nudge, nudge written in the margins.
There were other exemptions too, exemptions for those of exceptional value to the world. That would be enough for every rich and powerful person to buy their way out of death. What was a few million spent on philanthropy to them? And if they greased the wheels even farther, just owning a multi-billion dollar company might be grounds for exemption.
I had already made copious modifications to the document. That’s how this worked. They gave it to me, and I signed it or I sent it back with my notes. I had sent it back twice already. The first time, I noticed that they’d barely read the document updates at all before approving it. This was common enough. If the world knew just how little their representatives paid attention to the things they voted on, I would like to think there would be a revolution. During the second revision, I’d made another small change among the others regarding penalties for attempting to dodge the Life Board. I’d added a few simple “no”s. No exemptions are to be made for serving elected government officials. No exemptions are to be made for people of exceptional value to the world. No exemptions for anyone. Ever.
That was the current document sitting on my desk. It had passed the Senate and the House, and it sat here, awaiting my signature. I had no doubt that every single man and woman who voted this believed they were doing so with impunity. They believed their office would protect them, and if not, then the fat kickbacks from wealthy benefactors who wanted nothing more than to protect their own position in life would be enough to buy their way into a future. But they were wrong.
I signed our death warrant. | 352 | In 2089, you are the World President. Human aging has been controlled down to a near halt. To prevent overpopulation, a popular law to end everyone’s life at 100 is sitting on your desk for final approval. Tomorrow is your 99th birthday. | 408 |
She walks by fast, a knitted cap containing her thick curls. A ringtone. She stops, her long, thin fingers dig into the tight back pocket of her jeans. Her head tilted slightly, she answers the phone with no words, at first. A deep sigh. "You have to stop calling," she says in a defeated voice.
I lean nearby, the sun on my skin a warm relief from a long day in the office. She says words I cannot discern. Suddenly, she turns, upset at whoever is at the other end of the call, and we make eye contact. There is a rush of recognition. Memories begin to fill my mind. Memories of her beginning to cry. Of her dropping the phone, its innards scattering. Of helping her collect the battery and case as she thanks me, embarrassed. There is a memory of my asking her if she wants to talk about it, a memory of our long conversation over coffee when she agrees, memories of meeting again and again. They keep coming. We get married. We honeymoon. A memory of her telling me who was on the other end of that phone call that brought us together. Her ex-boyfriend. A memory of her, over dinner, only weeks after our honeymoon, crying. Saying she cannot do this. "Even though it's been years, I never should have given up on him," she sobs. A memory of screaming at her. Of pain.
The memories stop. I take a deep breath and they rapidly begin to fade as she breaks what was only a brief moment of eye contact. "You have to stop calling," she says into the phone. While trying to shove it back into the pocket of her jeans, it slips, and falls. Its innards scatter. My heart pounds as I quickly walk back into my building and go back to work. | 12 | You are walking down a city street when you suddenly begin to have visions of your potential, unrealized futures with multiple strangers that pass you by. | 25 |
It was his 13th birthday, the day where he would be tested to see if he was worthy of living. Al knew that he couldn’t perform magic. He’d known ever since he could remember. And he knew if he didn’t pass the test later, they would execute him for his lack of magical ability.
Knowing that he lacked magic, Al had made a plan. A devious plan that was so glaringly obvious, he figured it would have to fail. After all, it was so obvious that someone else should have already tried this method.
Al stepped on the stage where he was about to be tested. His family happened to be amongst the richest and most powerful, his father the ruler of this world, his mother the best magician that had ever existed. Al smiled a bit as he recalled what he’d done last night. The theatre was lined with Amagonium around the exits, a substance known to block magical abilities.
As his tests began, he aced each one with flying colors. He had no real magical abilities, persay, but he did have the power of illusion. He had learnt it from a few old books he had been privileged to find from before the time of the “real” magicians. With real magic, magicians didn’t pay attention to illusionists. And why should they? Only the truly magical could survive these tests, right?
The crowd of elites and higher ups gasped and cried out as he not only passed the tests with flying colors, but did so stylishly as well. And finally the moment he’d been waiting for came. The final test. He had to teleport himself, to disappear. He had already rigged the stage for his act. Smoke and Mirrors, he thought to himself. That’s all these tricks really required.
He looked out into the eyes of the audience. He had known many of them since he was a young boy. They had always been kind to him, always helped him, and a few had even given him one or two of the old books on illusionists, thinking nothing of what he might do with them. Everyone had already assumed he would have “real” magic.
Hatred and resentment brewed inside of Al as the audience waited for his final act. He threw his hand down, releasing a ball of smoke and made his disappearance. When the smoke cleared, the audience cheered that he had passed his final test, or at least he figured they did. He had already escaped the theatre and was sealing off the final exit with the Amagonium.
He started to hear screams as the theatre went up in smoke and fire. He knew they’d all try to escape using their magic, but the Amagonium had taken care of that. And when they tried the old fashioned way, they’d find that the exits were barricaded. He watched with pleasure as they burned, knowing that now he would be left in charge. His first move would be to eliminate the purging of the non-magical. Those who opposed him would be hunted down, suspected of being the ones to start this fire that killed all their leaders.
Al turned his back and walked away. Their rein of terror was finally over. And no magician would ever try to touch him, not when they knew that he had survived an attack his parents couldn’t. They were the best magicians in the world, after all. No one would ever suspect that everything he was doing was truly an illusion, nothing but lies and misdirection.
-193 | 19 | You live in a world where everyone is tested for magical ability on their 13th birthday. If they cannot perform magic by then, they are killed to improve the human race. It is your 13th birthday. | 21 |
It’s been one week since his life was claimed by disaster, and in that one week, my heart was claimed by misery. My life seemed unbearably empty without him in it, and the only moments in which I felt whole were when I looked through our photo album. The only time in which the weight above my chest lightened were when I was lost in a memory of him and I... my memories seemed to be the only thing keeping me together, and as I reminded myself that they were nothing more then events that had already taken place, my memories are what sadden me once more.
We had a photo album. He’d started it after our first date. It had gone so wonderfully. that once we had returned to my home, he’d asked to take a picture of us together. Although strange, I’d seen no harm in the picture so I agreed... how foolish I’d been, for all I could’ve known he was jack the ripper... but somehow, for some reason, I trusted him... thus, the first picture in our small leather book. I smiled as I studied the picture, color fading with chipped edges and all, the picture was aging, but it meant nothing. I began examining the house that stood behind us... the first thing I noticed was the paper “S” taped to my porch... that was unusual... but I’d had three younger sisters at the time so it wouldn’t surprise me if they had had something to do with it.
I flipped the page, my smile never faltering, and there we were once more. Our second date, and the picture taken in front of the restaurant we’d gone to... I couldn’t remember the name of it for some strange reason, but when I tried to check in the picture, I realized that we’d been standing in such a way that had blocked every letter from the cameras lens except for one stray “O”. I chuckled as I began to fully understand how awkwardly we’d been holding the camera. I studied our faces once more before I moved on. Although we’d only known each other for once short week, we were facing each other, rather the camera, each with a goofy grin pinned to our faces. I smiled a sad smile as I flipped the page.
I examined yet another photo and intended to reach the end of the book. It began with our first date together, and ended with a picture from our wedding, and whenever I looked through the book, it was always start to finish. I’d read this book so many times over that even I’m surprised I hadn’t seen it... I think it was the final letter that gave it away. There we were, standing on the dance floor, me in my white dress and he in his tux. My face had been buried in his chest but you could still see a sliver of my smile. His eyebrows had been pointed up, and his finger to his lips. I’d always thought that he was telling the photographer to be quiet, thinking I was asleep... after all, he was gesturing for quiet... wasn’t he? Or had he been implying that there was a secret? I searched the picture up and down looking for anything out of the ordinary, treating it as though I were playing spot the difference... and there it was. His arm around my waist, and there in his hand, was a cardboard cut out “E”... and that’s when it clicked, the paper “I” on my porch... the “O” from the restaurant... was there a message?
I flipped back to the beginning of the album and began writing down all of the hidden letters within the pictures... it had taken me a while to find them all, but by the time I’d returned to my wedding picture, I was in tears as I read his code aloud. The promise he began to make after our first couple hours together... after 2 years of strategically placed letters, he managed to tell me,
“Someday I’ll marry you... that’s a promise”
... he was always good at keeping promises | 37 | After her husband dies in a car crash, a woman looks through their photo album and begins to notice hidden messages. | 45 |
    The mark never saw it coming. This, after all, was New York City, where crowds of self-important humanity swarmed the sidewalks. This particular fellow looked like a middle-aged businessman, constantly on his iPhone, probably checking out the next subway schedule. No, that couldn't be it. He followed the exact same route every day. He got on the same train every day, and every day that I watched him, he always had that same lump in his right pocket on his business coat. What was it? Although I'd gone respectable and quit my thieving days a long time ago, I longed to see what was there. Was it a ring? Was it a watch? Inquiring minds had to know. I told myself that it would be just this once... and I'd even put it back after I saw what it was. Surely it wasn't theft if you put it back, right?
    I got up and sized out the target. This would be easy... he was distracted and there was a lot of people around. All the better to accidentally run into someone, you dig? I put on my best air of being distracted as he came closer, and maneuvered my way through the throngs of people to the best location that I could. As the moment came closer, I sized him up out of the corner of my eye. He was furiously swiping his fingers back and forth on the phone, as if he was trying to find something and technology was refusing to give him satisfaction. Perfect. He was distracted, so I turned around and slammed into him.
    As we fell in a heap, I snaked my hand into his coat, grabbed what felt like a box, and quickly slipped it into my coat as I hastily hollered apologies. I helped him up, dusted him off, and apologized again. He nodded understanding, waved me off and smiled. A final wave my way and he turned around and went. I smiled to myself with satisfaction. I still had the touch! A bit rusty, I thought... but passable for being out of it for some time.
    I walked home, carefully snaking my way through the crowds and finally reaching my apartment building. I went to the elevator, called up my floor, and excitedly waited for the doors to open. It came, and I positively hopped into the elevator, daintily tapped the floor button, and waited for the door to close. It finally shut after an eternity. I got to my floor, jumped out, and almost flew down the hallway to my apartment that I shared with my wife. She wouldn't necessarily be happy, but she didn't have to know, did she? I unlocked the door and slipped inside.
    "Hon, I'm home!" I hollered out. Silence. I shrugged my shoulders as her going out on an impromptu shopping trip wasn't that uncommon. She'd be back in five to ten minutes. I got out the box and looked it over. It was just an ordinary blue box that one would use to hold jewelry. I sighed with disappointment, then opened it. Surprisingly, it didn't have jewelry... rather it had folded up pictures. I looked at the first one, and almost dropped it in shock. It was a picture of a beheaded body. There was blood everywhere. The next picture showed limbs that were hacked off in a most gruesome manner. I shuddered as I went through the pictures, one by gory one.
    I wondered what I had gotten myself into as I finally looked at the last one. As I opened it and looked at it, I started screaming. The picture was of my wife's head. | 241 | You are a professional pickpocket. You've just picked someones pocket only to discover that the thing you have stolen is truly horrifying. | 267 |
My body rotted after the first two weeks.
Yeah: *rotted*.
I languished under the bed, wasting away alongside a few pairs of smelly socks and stray toys. I needed the kid here, thinking of me, to keep my form. Those magnificent claws? Gone. The big-hulking muscles all over my body? Gone. My razor-sharp teeth, dripping green acid? Gone. Granted, the teeth dripping acid was always a *little* much, but I guess that's just what comes to an 8-year-old's mind in the dead of night, when he's all alone in his bed. I chuckle when I think about it: how easily I could make that kid howl with fear!
But now I was just a stray shadow, devoid of any power at all. Soon I would fade away entirely. Just how much longer was that little brat gonna be at camp? Another week? Two? Three? Didn't matter; I'd be dead in days if I didn't feed.The only problem is that there are no other kids in the house.
Of course, there were other *people*, though...
I slunk out from the bed, shifting through the house like a thin train of smoke. What I was about to do was not right. More than that: it was absolutely forbidden. Adults were off-limits. It was always so. I never really knew why. There's no reason we shouldn't be able to feed off them. It's in our nature to provoke the worst hidden fears from any sleeping prey we desire. And we can do it just by coming near them, by snuggling-up within arm's length of them.
Now kids might be *easier* to scare, maybe. Heck, they're scared of *anything*, in fact. Sometimes my brat would stay up late to watch a horror movie, and when his head finally hits the pillow I could come up and torment him as a giant vampire/werewolf/robot/zombie (yeah, 8-year-old brains, you know...). Sometimes I'd run a long tongue up from the base of the bed and slurp at his toes, or maybe fly above his ceiling fan as a shadowy bat. It wasn't exactly hard to make him wet his sheets, is what I'm saying.
And there's no reason it should be any different with an adult. My motto, which I live by to a fault, is that 'everybody scares'...
I hover over the mom's bed, watching her sleep. I spread my shadowy body all around the bed and leer down at her with a ravenous appetite. Her body begins stirring, uneasy, and I can feel the fear in her veins begin to boil. If I had teeth right now they wouldn't be dripping acid. They'd be *salivating*.
After a moment the fear comes. I knew it would. I prepare myself to change and I wonder what, exactly, I could become. Maybe a giant cockroach? Or a big ol' snarling wolf, perhaps. I liked the idea of using a wolf's body; wolves were one of the only things my brat *wasn't* scared of.
My triumphal mood turned a bit when the images started hitting me. I didn't exactly understand what was going on. First I got a glimpse of the brat, and that didn't make any sense; why would *he* be in her fears? I could see him playing at summer camp, swimming in a lake. Suddenly the kid grips his side and screams in pain, like he's cramping, and then he starts struggling to keep his head above the water. He yells out for his mom a few times as he struggles to stay afloat, but then his head sinks down beneath the water. I wait for it to come up again, but it never does.
Next I get another flash: mom writing out a string of checks from her checkbook, and she's looking all worried and upset. Then I see their house- from the outside- and it's got some kinda sign on the lawn from a real estate company. After that I see her and the brat wrapped up in dirty clothes, huddled on a street corner somewhere, and she's digging around in a dumpster for food. Brat doesn't look so good, either: he's thin, and his skin's all pale and sickly.
Before I can pull myself away from that flash I get another: it's the brat *again*, but this time he looks older. He's got longer hair than he does now, and he's lying on a couch somewhere. His arms are bare, and they're all skinny and covered in little dots. He's got a syringe sticking out one arm and a really strange, goofy look on his face. Something's not right with him; he's got a train of white foam curling out his mouth. He's not breathing, either...
...the mom started, quickly sitting up in the bed, and she gasped, hand against her chest. She sat there breathing hard for a while, before finally collecting herself and sinking back down to sleep.
As for me? By then I was already back in the kid's room, wedged safely under the brat's bed, shivering like a wet dog. I simply couldn't understand: she had no fear of ghouls, ghosts, goblins, or even giant vampire/werewolf/robot/zombies.
But what she *did* fear was a thousand times worse, and there was no feeding off that kind of fear.
It even chilled *me* to my core.
As I lay there huddled in the darkness, weighing my remaining options, I thought to myself that death would be a far better fate than ever trying to brave the mind of an adult ever again. When push comes to shove I talk a good game, as under-the-bed monsters go.
But the monsters *they* dream up are the real deals.
EDIT: punctuation/grammar | 19 | A child goes to summer camp, leaving the monster under his bed with no fear to feed on. Starving, it breaks the rules and feeds on adults. | 29 |
"Ha. That was actually kinda fun. That softie thought he could come up to me and talk shit. Bitch, I'm a fucking taekwondo black belt. Hey, that looks kinda tasty!" James thought as he dug his fingers into the eyes of a barely conscious inmate. Other prisoners stood in absolute shock as they watched this happen. The guards were seconds away at that point but it wasn't enough; the inmate was dead and mutilated. While being dragged away James looked up at another inmate and asked him "you've killed before, want to go next?" The inmate began walking away and mumbled to himself "fuck that! Fucking time off program they said..."
Within minutes the superintendent came down to see what was going on. He went into the room where James was being held and asked "why on earth would you do that? We were going to let you go in less than 24 hours!" To which James replied "it looked fun... It was fun." The superintendent stepped outside and contemplated what this meant. He spent months talking the board into approving the program: take some nonviolent offenders and have them pretend to be hardened criminals so they can yell at some kids and deter them from doing more crime. Some kids get their life back together, some non-violent inmates get out sooner and the prison doesn't have to pay for either of them in the future. It sounded so great. But now an inmate was dead and his career was no doubt over. | 12 | A kid in the Scared Straight program turns out to be scarier than the inmates trying to scare him. | 38 |
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Your Highness."
The soldier raised his glass to me. It was not more then I deserved, really. The lesser should pay tribute to the great.
"All who fight alongside me are men great men with glory and honour" I replied. "Even the one who clean the latrine pits!"
He poured water into my glass. It was good water, clear water. Almost the same quality as my own. I wondered where he got it, but it might just be one of my stewards who gave him a bottle for this very reason when I told him I would visit the common soldierly.
I lifted up the glass and tasted it. "This is good water. Worthy of Heroes in the Kings Service!" The soldier nodded.
"Indeed, sir. The Quartermaster was very kind and stocked prime water for this voyage."
"I should make a commendation to the brave man who not only volunteered to serve but also does his job well."
The Soldier looked keenly at me.
"You do not know, sire?"
I glared back at him. A King cannot confess ignorance.
"He took one between the eyes in the last attack. This is what he kept from us. We took it for ourselves - and for you when you decided to honour us with a visit."
He paused.
"You said he volunteered? That is not what he told me. We have heard none who have gone willingly to this field, Your Highness."
"But you stand here!" I countered. "You stand and fight instead of running like yellow-livered cowards!"
He shrugged.
"A choice between two deaths is much choice."
I took pity on the man. I could not just as well send him home - think what that would do to morale! - but I could encourage him. A soldier without morale was as good as dead and I kind of liked this young lad.
"Of course you are all volunteers, here because of your free mind, good spirit and brave hearts!" I thundered, vying to impress.
"The kings word is my law." he answered and stood up. "I am a Volunteer no longer."
"What?" I could not believe this! I ought to have him hung!
"The King spoke and we obey. We are volenteers. We can chose to end our service and I will."
The last one was a shout. I had to deal with this at once, but as other voices took up the message, I found myself quite impassive.
And it was that by the next morning, over half the Army had just decided to quit, to leave the field and camp. Some have pocketed what they thought was their right share of pay, others packed food, water and kit. I do not know why those who remained chose to do so but I made a point to thank them each personally the next morning.
Because what had been an easy victory turned into certain defeat. All Humans under the binary moons on this world was doomed. And as I gazed upon the enemy charging us in the distance, I decided I did not like the lad after all.
| 41 | A king drinks with the lowliest soldier in his army... and it changes everything. | 50 |
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