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My phone rang, startling me from sleep.
Something must have gone wrong at work. I passed my thumb over the screen and sleepily answered.
"What happened?"
"Is that you?" the voice on the other end was familiar. I realized why and my heart nearly stopped, I was no longer half asleep.
"It can't be," I gasped out, tears instantly flooding my eyes, "I'm dreaming or this is a sick fucking joke."
"It's no joke," she said, her voice as calm and soothing as it had been at the end.
"How...it's not possible."
"Yes it is," she said, "it's me. I only have a little time, I want you to come to me."
"How," I said, tears slipping down my cheeks and to the sheets, it had been ten years since the accident, ten years. I was supposed to move on but I couldn't. There were too many reminders.
"You know how." Her voice was soft, it broke my heart as it filled me with joy.
"I can't do that," it was quiet, barely above a whisper, "you know I can't."
"You can. Please." a hint of pleading crept into her voice, desperation, "I miss you so much. I need you here."
"I can't leave like that," the words caught in my throat, "our daughter..."
"I need you." I thought I would die, my heart was surely broken now, tiny pieces floating in the abyss.
"I can't, I'm so sorry." I thumbed the red END button, staring down at the phone. I began sobbing, heaving in the bed as tears streamed freely and my body shook with each wracking gasp for air.
"Dad?" she said, our seventeen year old standing in the dim light of my doorway, "Jesus, what's wrong?"
With tear filled eyes I looked up at our daughter, the last light in the world I'd wanted to give up on so long ago.
"I miss her." I could barely manage it, clutching a picture frame that had been on the bedside table.
"You'll see her again," she said, wrapping her arms around my neck and squeezing tight. I stared at the empty bottle of sleeping pills, felt my pulse slowing, felt the guilt at what I'd done creep into every nerve.
"Yes," I said quietly, "Soon." | 40 | The love of your life contacts you ten years after passing and asks you to join them in the afterlife. | 38 |
When I was fifteen, I ran away from home for three months. I was hit by a car and killed. I was found by a young woman, and we fell in love and were happy until she died ten years later. Her name was Mary. When I was fifteen I didn’t run away but I thought about it. All of these happened. Which one happened?
...
Today I went back to one of the one’s where I’m dead. I died of cancer, cancer! Mom got exposed to some nasty shit while she was pregnant, and I died of leukemia at eleven years old. I thought it would be simpler, maybe. No other me to get confused with. Just focus on the facts. The facts are these – when I was eleven I died of leukemia. When I was eleven Stacy Sterner pushed me into the sandbox and I spent the next three years believing I was in love with her. These are the facts.
…
I called my wife by the wrong name today. It’s Janice, here. It’s always been Janice. I know that. I know that. But I’m also married to Mary, Stacy, Julie, Karl. I am married to Janice. I have always been married to Janice.
…
Lucy brought me to the hospital today. I laughed when she told me. I’m dead. I’ve been dead. I died at six from a car accident. No, I was eleven, it was leukemia. I was twenty and it was a mugging gone wrong. I am still alive. I snapped and killed someone and have been in prison for two years.
…
They say I’ll be better soon. Risperdal, Risperdal will help, that’s what Karl says. Karl is my husband. Karl has always been my husband. Sometimes I cry out for Mary, for Janice, for Stacy, but Karl gets upset, so I have to stop. I have never had leukemia, I have never been in a car accident, I was never married to Janice. This is simple. This is – this is the truth. It has to be.
…
I killed Karl. But then I saw him, still alive, but he didn’t know me. Janice asked me what was wrong. She doesn’t know a Karl. I don’t know a Karl.
…
I think maybe I’ve been dead. Maybe dying once is enough. I’m dead. I’ve always been dead. I was hit by a car, I had cancer, I was never born. These are the facts. This is the truth. Finally, it is so simple.
| 21 | The journal of a man who can travel to parallel universes and is slowly losing grip on which universe is his own. | 32 |
In the distance it was now a star. Another star in earth's night. Growing ever farther away. Once man had rose from the ground, now they flew to the stars. Escaping the grey rock, all that remained of a world named Earth.
"And so it goes." said the man wearing the garment of a wolf.
"So it goes. I suppose." said the man wearing a sheet of white.
"So it always will go." said a man decorated in feathers.
"What where we to them?" asked the man in the whit garment.
"We were gods... Once." reflected the man wearing the wolf. Resting his head on his staff.
"Now we are forgotten. A memory. Our names lost and discarded." said the man wearing feathers, somber, but with a smile.
"Lost for what? So our children could grow decadent among the stars?" sneered the man in white. His once white beard and hair now grey.
"You believe you did any better?" challenged the one with the staff. "We were abandoned, just like the ones before us. Once man came from rivers, carrying with them many gods. Then they threw those gods aside for us. When we grew lazy, they found new gods. The carpenter, the prophet, and the sage." spat the warrior.
"You two were forgotten, I was hidden. Taken from my people by the carpenter and his father. I was sacrificed on an alter of steel and gunpowder. My people woke from a night of sorrow, but I was not there to comfort them! You two grew lazy! You did nothing as the cross and crescent came upon your people! Now I must rot with you two! All my kin already forgotten!" yelled the feathered man, tears streaming down his eyes.
"Yes...our people..." sighed the warrior.
"They no longer know that label. There is no Greek, there is no Norseman, there is no Aztec." said a new comer. He appeared over a hill. A man wearing a cloak of white, but one forgotten and neglected. His hair long and ungroomed. Wounds traced over every part of his visible body.
"They are man, and they live in peace." grinned the carpenter.
"But, they forgot you just as well." gloated the man with the grey beard.
The carpenter smiled. "Yes, but they remember my lessons. Just as they remember you in myths and legends. Stories, tales, and legends. Testaments to the glory of man. Not Arab, Greek, American, Irish, Japanese, just man. You were there parents, I and my peers were their teachers, now they are grown. They must live on their own." smiled the carpenter, his eyes full of sad wisdom.
"Did we do well?" asked the feathered man.
"As well as we could." sighed the bearded man.
"Humans. No. Man, is an untameble creature. We can only instill values, not keep morals. Those grow and change." said the warrior. His old eyes full of nostalgia.
"Now they must teach themselves. " said the feathered one.
"I hope they do well. I hope we taught them well. I hope we did right." aid the bearded man.
"We all made mistakes. Some by their hand, others by interpretation." sighed the carpenter.
"We made them Men. We forged and molded them." said another man, this one chubby, appearing over the hill.
"We did right by them. It does not matter which one of us was right." said a man, face shadowed, walking up behind the group.
And with that, Man ascended to the stars. They knew no culture, nation, or religion. They had grown to what they should be. Man.
The old memories of man watched on. All with a little satisfaction, and sadness, in their hearts. They would soon all disappear. The names of Odin, Zeus, Quetzalcoatl, Jesus of Nazareth, Buddha, Muhammad, Shiva, YHWH, and even their oldest forms, would be forgotten. Dust on the wind, but they were happy. They were happy they did right. They made humans into man.
...
Faraway on the great ship ARK, a man came across a book. "What is it?" asked another man. "An old book of stories." smiled the man, flipping through the book. "Any good?" asked the other man. "What was good will always be good." said the man, teary eyed, but not sure why. He closed the book, and returned it to the shelf.
It read, "The Gods Of Man."
| 21 | As the last human beings of a barren Earth leave for the stars, the gods of ancient myth watch on. | 29 |
I stood at the front of the room, staring at the tally marks on the whiteboard. Nine men occupied the conference room, and only eight marks were on the board. Four had voted "yes," four had voted "no."
Mine would be the deciding vote.
The fate of 3/4 of humanity rested in my hands. It was only appropriate, since I invented the pathogen.
We thought that being able to cure all diseases would make the world a better place. What we failed to realize was that disease held a critical role in maintaining balance in the world. Now the population has increased at an alarming rate and the earth simply can't sustain us anymore.
Humanity needed disease, and we were going to re-introduce it. We would unleash the pathogen until it had reduced the population by at least 3/4.
I looked around at my colleagues, all silent and grim. I reached behind me and pulled out a revolver. I quickly shot six of them—my associates, my friends. I grimaced through tears watching their shocked expressions turn to hollow stares as they crumpled lifeless to the floor.
I looked over at the remaining two, who stood halfway out of their chairs, waiting for my next move.
I threw my vote onto the table.
"It's only fair that we were the first."
I held the gun up to my temple and pulled the trigger. | 22 | Year 2200, and all ailments have been cured. As a result, however, overpopulation is decimating the Earth. You're on a top secret board of 9 people that is voting to release a newly developed pathogen that will wipe out 3/4 of the population to start anew. You hold the deciding vote. | 20 |
A wailing clarinet echoes through the bubbles. Three oddly shaped houses remain erect, symmetrically apart. Two friends lie outside the middle one, it’s eyes spurting out awkward tones that don’t match and occasional squeaks, as they stare out into a void that was once an underwater adventure land – erasing itself slowly.
A squirrel had died, the two wept for her – the last one to weep for. Before her, a crab, a lobster, a whale, and many fish had faded to white and lines, and then to nothing.
The void was a couple of miles away, erasing the bottom of an ocean.
There were memories rushing the square one, holding the star now with all the strength his pillow arms could take. He would miss the patties and the grill, the boats he crashed, the mindless running around, the unexplainable ocean that devoured his summers. Most of all he would miss the clarinet wails he heard, and what his arms were holding. And the star thought simply. He would miss his square, the only thing constant in his simple life.
The void had devoured everything into lines and meaninglessness, except for the island of their houses.
The squid holding the instrument inside his middle house paused for a second, silencing the music. Keep playing Squid! – the words he heard inside of trembling voices, steps outside his front door. He looks out his window and stares at the two neighbors, the same ones that caused him hell throughout his life, the same ones he wish had moved, he wished he had never met.
You two are the only friends I ever had – he thought but didn’t say. Instead he said – Ya got any bubbles Sponge? – he already knew the answer.
The void had devoured a rock and a pineapple.
The squid continued his squeaky hymn.
The star squeezed the square gently. He didn’t want to crush him. He asked, over and over – why is this happening? Why is this happening? – in muffled, teary whispers.
They don’t want us anymore Pat – said the square, with love and tears in his eyes as well for his friends and his memories. It’s okay, I had fun, he said. F-U-N.
He began to sing.
| 26 | When a television show ends/is canceled, the characters and their world begin to fade away and die, now that they are no longer needed. | 30 |
"Well, the charity for dying orphans with fatally infectious diseases is going great!" I high-five my partner, Hank, and we pour celebratory champagne to toast our success. "Now these poor, sweet, innocent, God fearing children will finally have a chance at seeing a new day!"
Hank clinks his glass against mine and together we down our drinks. "Isn't it great that both the President AND Beyonce was willing to come along and help us out?" Hank says, beaming with pride.
"Yeah!" I agree, pouring myself another drink. "And isn't it wonderful how the city was able to reschedule its yearly nuclear power tests to allow us to hold this event?"
"And we got the circus in on it too! The kids love Jingo the Knife-Throwing Bear!"
"Man, sometimes I feel like everything is going our way."
Suddenly, the door bursts open. A security guard, covered in blood, collapses dying onto the floor. I jump to my feet and run to him. "Sir, sir, what's going on?" I ask, alarmed.
"The bear! The bear got loose and attacked us! We...we couldn't stop it..." were the guard's last words before he passed away.
"Oh God!" Hank bemoaned. "Who could have seen that coming?"
Suddenly, the lights flickered and turned off. "What's happening now?" I demand, frightened.
Another guard runs through the door, tripping over the body of his colleague and landing hard on the ground. "The nuclear power plant...it's failing! We've got no power!"
"Well, that's alright," I try optimistically, "the back-up power generators will kick in soon, and then-"
"No...you don't understand..." the guard begs desperately, "the cages for the kids...they were all electronically padlocked..."
"No..." Hank gasps, his eyes growing big. As the poor, sad orphans were all fatally diagnosed with infectious diseases, a precautionary measure was to lock them up in humane cages to ensure that no one important would be infected. Now, the unfortunate children were free to roam and infect everybody. It was an obvious designer's flaw to make the power source of the electronic locks dependent on the city's own plant. A revelation that was all too clear, but all too late.
A third, gasping guard covered in bite marks and scratches crawls through the open doorway. "The president...he's been infected..." he manages to inform us. "They think Beyonce did this."
"Who? Who's they?" Hank demands.
"Congress. They think the North Koreans paid Beyonce to use the sick orphans to infect the president."
"That's ridiculous! Doesn't Congress have any common sense? We elected these people! Aren't they smart enough to..." Hank's words trail off as he realizes the sheer absurdity of what he is saying.
Off in the distance, we hear a loud explosion. "What was that?" I ask, already cowering underneath my desk.
"The nuclear power plant..." a fourth guard explains as he stumbles onto the ever growing pile of bodies at our doorstep. "It's exploding!"
Hank doesn't even bother to reply, but instead viciously drains the rest of the champagne straight from the bottle.
"It's been ordered," the fifth and final guard warns as he climbs onto the top of the pile of bodies to die on. "The president has just used the nuclear football. God help us all."
And as the night skies begin to fill with the sound of sirens and streaks of explosions, I can't help but mumble, "I only wanted to save the orphans." | 13 | A well-intentioned event/action goes horribly, irreversibly wrong. Fit as many unintended consequences in as your story allows. | 20 |
"But Linda" I retorted "Remember your resent. Clutch it and hold on to that. It's real."
"Gee I don't know doc, I mean I want to be resentful." Linda said "But I just, well I mean I don't feel it the same way I did before."
"Hunny that's amazing!" The buffoon of a husband chimed in. "And doc, just so you know because well, I think it's a milestone, last night we... Well we..."
"Made love, for an hour, and it was incredible!" Linda confirmed.
"Indeed. And when I was ready to climax I..." The husband began, but I cut him off.
"Whoa whoa whoa... Way too much information slugger." I warned him. "I'm just trying to understand why Linda is so resentful, I mean you are resentful, aren't you Linda?"
"I don't know anymore! I want to be, but I think it has passed. I just get all tingly now when I see him. I feel we're in love again and everything else matters much less than it did." Linda informed me, though she stared at that manipulative asshole the entire time. He wore the biggest shit eating grin. I had finally had enough.
"Linda, I slept with your husband." | 22 | You are a marriage counselor secretly trying to destroy the marriage of a couple you counsel. It looks like you're failing. | 38 |
I felt the cold hard earth beneath me as I lay on my side, keeping my eyes tightly sealed I tried to gain a sense of my surroundings. Alas, I could gain nothing expect for the fact that I was on my side in cold dirt, with a soft but determined breeze flowing through my hair.
I slowly opened my eyes, despite every fiber of my being willing me to do otherwise. After a second the scene before my came into a drowsy focus. I rose to my feet clumsy, and stumbled to my left; although quickly regained my balance in fear of finding my self back in the dirt.
I looked around my surroundings whilst standing still, I was still wearing my suit I had worn to the office today; which was reassuring. Yet there seemed to be a large number of stains, burns and to my utter horror blood. I hurriedly tore of my blazer in an effort to find what I assumed was my wound, but found nothing except for more blood and burns in my clothing.
Suddenly I became aware of my surroundings, to my left stood charred mountains of stone and earth, and to my right I found a dark and quickly flowing river extending past the horizon. I looked ahead & in the distance I saw a column of white smoke rising. I decided the best course of action would be to make my way towards this pillar of smoke. So I did.
After roughly ten minutes of walking I began to make out what appeared to be a roughly kept seaman cooking some kind of meal on a fire, with a raft in poor condition behind him. He looked at me with intelligent eyes as I drew closer to the fire. He smiled, but said nothing, nor acknowledged me in another other way.
I stood before him, on the opposite side of the warm fire in my torn suit. I said in a tired, croaking voice 'Hey man, would you happen to know where I am, and perhaps why I'm covered in blood?'
The seaman turned to me and in a deep voice said 'Είμαι Χάροντα, που είναι γνωστή ως το βαρκάρη. Είστε δίπλα στον ποταμό Styx, υποθέτω ότι θέλετε να διασχίσουν όπως τα εκατομμύρια πριν από εσάς.'
After momentary confusion I responded 'Ah sorry, I don't speak what ever language that is...do you speak English?'
The seaman laughed and spoke again but in a hearty voice 'I am Charon, known as the ferryman. You are next to the river Styx, I assume you want to cross like the millions before you.'
'Whoa, uh okay and what's you answered one question, but what of the other?' I responded in a hesitant tone.
The seaman looked at his fish cooking on the fire, and said in a less hearty tone ' I'm sorry to say my friend, but you were killed. In a car crash, you hit a wall and your car exploded in a fire quite similar to this one'. He then laughed a little at his own reference.
I couldn't of died, or even been in a car crash I was unharmed. He seemed to sense my question and answered before I could even ask.
He looked at me, and said 'You're in the afterlife, or will be shortly. That's why you are unharmed, it would dampen the experience if you were missing your organs and limbs unfortunately.'
I frowned, but for some unknown reason I knew he was telling the truth. I responded 'Okay, so uh Charcon...was it?'
'Charon' he said in response to my mistake, yet held no tone of bitterness.
'Right...so I died and now I'm about to be in the afterlife, so if this isn't, what is it?'
He said in a polite tone 'The crossroads, the afterlife is over this river here'.
'Okay, so how do I get over there, do you take me then?' I questioned.
'Yes I do, it is my job to transport all the newly deceased over this river, for the price of a gold coin.'
Shit, I didn't have anything except my phone and a wallet with a credit card. So I told him this. He laughed in response commented on how unprepared humans of the our time are.
'Well in that case, you'll have to wait a hundred years by yourself.' He said as an alternative.
'I'd honestly rather not' I said in a dull tone, 'Is there anything else I can give you'.
'Do you have any soy sauce for my fish here?' He asked.
'No...' I said.
'Well in that case I suppose your stuck here then...' He then turned to his fish and put it on a plate. As he cut it up, and was about to take a bite, he turned to me once more and asked 'Christ, are you still here?'
'Where am I meant to go then?' I asked in confusion.
'Away, obviously. Although since you don't seem to want to. You might aswell stay a while longer and enjoy this fish with me.' he laughed. I laughed and sat in response as he spilt the fish in two halves.
He looked at me and politely asked if I'd like a drink of ale with my fish. Thirsty I agreed, and accepted his offer.
As he turned around to a chest to retrive the ale, I eyed his wooden paddle lying beside me. Fuck it I thought, as I quickly hefted it above my head a whacked him full force atop his grey haired head. He collapsed in a crumpled heap.
Quickly, I jumped up with the paddle and grabbed the other and ran towards the boat. I jumped in as the boat rocked dangerously. Releasing it from the peg, I pushed it off from the shore and began rowing.
Within five minutes of rowing the shore line was now in the distance behind me, I smiled to myself despite the guilt and thought of what the afterlife would be like, the thought made me happy. I then continued to row for the shoreline with a smile on my face, and guilt in my heart. 'Perhaps I don't deserve an afterlife' I pondered... | 13 | Someone from modern times dies and finds themselves a little short when it comes to paying the ferryman | 38 |
Well thats all folks ! Time gentlemen ! Last drinks please ! What a life eh - I couldn't be more grateful for everything, and for everyone of you. Life is so amazing ! But before I go, let me tell you a story.
Didja ever go to one of those parties when you were young that seemed to have everything going for it. The people glittered, the music seemed to reverberate through your body, and every moment was a joyous eternity and you lived in those moments, just drunk on the sweetness of life... and yet, in an attempt to make those moments even longer, you held on just a little too long, and the night somehow changed and became.. less. And the harder you tried to hold onto it, the easier it slipped away. Well it was at a party like that one night that I met her. She was one of those glittering people and when we were together we shone. There was a connection between us I hadn't felt before, but then, just as the night seemed to be more perfect than anything could be, she slipped out the door.
How could she be leaving this place right now? Right when everything was clicking? When we had just started? I followed her. She skipped ahead of me down the road laughing, the sounds of the party fading away behind us. Finally I caught her. "Why? Where are you going?", I caught her in my arms and smiled as I asked to show I wasn't hurt by her leaving.
She leaned in and kissed my cheek and said this, "I always leave when the party is at it's best - that way, the memories I have are of the best of it, not the worst, and the next adventure is always waiting...". I laughed at that.. and she twirled away from me giggling. I thought it sounded ridiculous, but over the next few months, as we started seeing more of each other, I started seeing the wisdom of it. When I stayed too long the party would wilt, the people would grow ever more sad and desperate, longing for the way it was before. And inevitably I would find myself walking home late at night with an emptiness that hadn't been there earlier. Leaving early meant those bitter times could be avoided..
Life is at it's sweetest when at it's height of joy. I think about all the incredible times I've had, all those I've loved, and all I've experienced, and I know it's enough.
It's time to leave this party to see what the next great adventure is ! I'll see you there ! | 44 | Write the suicide letter of the most happy guy on Earth | 37 |
The soldiers brought Dragomir forward, his wrists bound behind his back, shackles on his ankles. One of the soldiers pocked him in the ribs with the blunt end of a spear and another kicked him behind the knee. He collapsed into the mud.
It was dark out, past midnight and almost into the witching hour. Before him, a massive column of fire rose into the air, visible for miles in the darkened country-side. Robed men appeared out of the darkness and threw more logs on, constantly feeding it, making sure it never died down.
He was going to die tonight. Judging by the fire, it wasn’t going to be a pretty death either.
Three druids stood around the fire - Dressed in ragged robes, wearing helmets with Elk antler’s rising off the tops, their faces obscured by animal masks. They barely resembled humans, compared to Dragomir’s people. He was hundreds of miles from home, but had never imagined that the world could vary so much, even in his flights of imagination, late at night, when he had just set off on his journey.
Even now, staring at his captors, he felt a childish sense of awe.
Massive slabs of stone stood around the fire, and judging by their size, it must have taken dozens of men to drag them all the way up the slope. They had chiseled elaborate druid symbols in the stone, spirals and figures, constellations.
Now that Dragomir was here, they began the ceremony. The druids began chanting in their language, deep and guttural. The warriors around the fire beat their chests with their fists, chanting something in response. The heat from the fire was making Dragomir sweat. He could feel his hands trembling. He could feel his breath quivering in his lungs.
The shadows of the fire made the druid’s masks change and warp. They were dancing now, contorting their body in strange, unnatural ways. The chanting grew more frantic, more aggressive. A powerful pair of hands grabbed him from behind and hauled him to his feet.
So this is it, he thought. This is where they spilled his guts out and dumped them into the flames. He wouldn’t go quietly. He would resist, as much as he could, anyways, with his hands and feet bound.
A druid stood behind him, chanting in his ear. Dragomir tried to turn, but before he could the man kicked him into the fire.
There was no pain, no burning.
Only darkness for a second, and then deafening noise.
Dragomir had never heard anything so putrid, so vile in his entire life. At first that’s all he was aware, of that horrible cacophony. It sounded as if the gods had decided to destroy the Earth. He grabbed at his ears trying to make it stop. When he opened his eyes, he screamed.
Strange, demonic, human-like figures stood all around him. Black paint streamed down some of their faces. Their strange clothing was adorned with what he could only guess were more druid symbols. They were everywhere. He was trapped in a sea of them. They all faced an elevated platform at one end, where the horrible noise seemed to be coming from. Four figures, who he could tell were more druids, even more powerful, judging by the sound. They bobbed up and down, throwing their bodies around the stage. People jumped up and joined them in their Satanic ritual.
Dragomir noticed that his hands were no longer shackled. He didn’t have time to make sense of any of this. He knew it was evil, and he knew he might well be trapped in the pit of hell, but if his hands were unshackled he could at least fight.
He turned to the closest demon and slammed his fist into the man’s face.
He charged forwards, swinging arms, elbows, biting, tearing, scratching. The demons recoiled in surprise, some screaming. One of them tried to grab him and bring him down, but Drogomir had spent his whole life fighting and shedding blood. He slammed the man to the ground and stomped on his face with savage anger. There were many demons, but they were soft and flabby, and they would remember the Dragomir, the name of his Father, for all time.
Then a set of wires flew out of the air, attached to him, and pulled the strength out of his body. He felt some horrible energy course through his muscles and collapsed. He tried to stand up, but something crushed him back down. The only thing he saw was the “Camden P.D.” logo as they slapped the cuffs on him.
Star Ledger - Homeless Man on PCP Turns Violent at Heavy Metal Concert. Fifteen injured.
| 164 | A person from the Dark Ages is pulled forward in time and dumped into the middle of a heavy metal concert. | 149 |
According to the official story, I'm just a guy in Pittsburgh living off a garbage man's salary.
However, what nobody really knows about me is that I'm one of the ten men in the state who have been authorized to house the President in times of trouble. Every state has at least five, located at key points in case something goes south.
I had been watching the President's speech at Duquesne Heights on TV. He was talking about making the coal industry safer for the workers and was about to unveil his plan for health insurance for miners when the screen went black.
My phone vibrated as the news anchors struggled to get the feed back, and I realized that my time had come.
*Agent Bluewater, your services are required. We are ten minutes out from your position.* The message came from a secure source and I knew that I had to get the bunker ready.
I cleared a path to the bookshelf and made sure that the secret door in the bookshelf still worked. It required moving a specific book, in my case, a worn copy of Don Quixote, while standing on a pressure plate in front of it. Good. Still working.
Next I turned on the security cameras I had hidden around the property. Gnome-1, Flamingo-2, Birdbath-3 were all functional. I was getting an error message from Truck-4, and quickly went out to check the connection. A squirrel had chewed through the wiring. Damn it.
I didn't have time to do a full rewire, so I wrapped some duct tape around the wires and went to check. Thankfully, the camera was active.
That's when I heard the sound of approaching SUVs. The Secret Service barged through the door, with the president in tow. His suit had been torn on the right sleeve, but it didn't look like he was bleeding.
"They're coming!" The lead agent shouts as his men shuffle the President into the safety of the bunker.
"Who've we got, Agent Blink?" I ask as I hand him a shotgun from the gun cabinet.
"The DNA League. They're still trying to make a clone of the President." He checks the ammunition in the shotgun. "Deer slugs?"
"I figured I'd need it after Oahu." I shrug and get to the window.
"Good point. Damned robots." He takes up a position at the other window and we settle in for the siege of time travelers.
| 23 | A group of Secret Service storm into your house, the President huddled in the middle. The lead serviceman looks at you and says, "They're coming!" | 24 |
**Secondary school history class, in the future**
...and now, on to the Fifth. Boys and girls, did you know that there were many possible choices for the Fifth Company? The one we know to day is not the one that the smart money was on. No, no.
Do you know what Peak Oil was? Well, it was when the world produced the most oil it would ever produce. After that, it would just be downhill. And, in last week's class we covered some of the things that happened in that time period, which was in part due to Peak Oil.
A lot of people didn't know just how deeply oil went into their daily lives. Large-scale wars couldn't be fought anymore, because people just didn't have the fuel to fight them. Food got pricier, because transporting the food got pricier. And, biggest change of all, travel basically ground to a halt. Air travel, yes children, we used to travel through the air, Air travel became a thing of the past. Giant corporations became bankrupt. Millions of jobs were lost. The world was thrown into chaos!
And that's when HTC came through. That's right, Horse Transportation Company. They revived the Pony Express! Everyone thought they were going to get real big, and join the Big Four to create the Big Five. Everyone thought so, until the BBC (Big Black Cavalier), HMV (HorseMen Vehicles) and EA (Equine Agency) showed up.
The competition got really fierce, and eventually HTC just got butted out of the market. Especially by EA. Their pricing strategy was brilliant. Free to mount, but you had to pay per clop. Amazing.
The next candidate for the Fifth, though, was far more promising. All those horses needed horseshoes. And one company built a monopoly on those. They were dishing out horseshoes left and right, and as monopolies do, they started jacking up prices. We were almost certain that this company was going to become the Fifth Mega Corporation.
Until pirated copies of horseshoes started showing up. Authentic horseshoes had gotten so pricey that people started making fake versions. Unofficial ones. This was like music piracy back in the day. But the whole world economy depended on it. So we needed to find out who was doing it. But it was such a large problem. We couldn't just ask anyone. We needed someone with the know-how. The vision. The moral authority. We needed a group no one would ever expect.
And that's why today the Fifth Mega Corporation is the Spanish Inquisition. | 68 | Google, Virgin, Publix, Disney, and a fifth nobody expected. What is the fifth corporation and how did it rise to such significance? | 36 |
The stars never came out last night. Mother says there's nothing to fear. She tells me that everything is going to be ok.
I don't believe her.
The fires keep me from sleeping. The cold reminds me I'm awake. We left our home near the city when it happened. Now we walk most places, sometimes we run.
The animals don't seem to mind. I saw a bear yesterday and I wasn't even afraid of it. We met a man on the road who wanted our food. I was afraid of him. Mother said that he was just tired, so she helped him fall asleep.
Dad used to tell me that he would always be there for me. He must have gotten lost when the sky went dark, because we still can't find him.
We are going to take a vacation when we get to the beach. Mother says there are boats waiting for us, to take us somewhere safe where we can sleep.
My mother says the stars are hiding because they're afraid. She says that I need to remind them how to be brave.
I don't believe her.
The stars never came out last night, because they fell from the sky. | 108 | The stars never came out last night. | 84 |
"SO NOW YOU UNDERSTAND.", came the voice of the Almighty.
The Devil winced at the magnitude of the words and though he was already in a prone position he asked nicely if the Magnificence could be turned down.
"THERE?...er, I mean there, is that better?", Said the Voice.
It was, immensely.
"Thank you.", The devil said.
It awaited a response but when none came it realized that it was past the time of discussing and was now the time for talking...only a few hundred millennia too late.
"Yes. I now understand.", he said, his voice full of the bittersweet humility he had recently gained, "I now see what it is like to be deceived by your creation."
He cut off there, remembering all too well the way the puny human had played him.
"Go on...", said the all encompassing voice of the almighty.
"I never thought that it would be such a reversal of Fates. I thought that I was the one in control and making the rules, that my Pride was somehow justified because of my superiority over them...but I was tricked....brought low, and trapped by something/someone I thought I had mastery over..."
He recalled the way the man had seemed full of pride and hate, just as he had taught him, he remembered how the man seemed to grieve and give in to his sorrow and loss, how he had pretended to embrace the dark and accept it as his home and master...but it had all been lies.
The man had wrapped a cloak of confusion over himself such that his conflicted mind held his deception at bay, buried deep in the folds and ruins of his supposed lost sanity. But he knew what he'd been doing all along. Tricking the devil, his nefarious almighty self, into thinking he had discovered a lost, and darker, magic that would shield him from judgement, and bring him victory...when in actuality, it would bind him forever to the mortal coil, his powers rent away and lost. Replaced by the weakness of the flesh.
And all it took was one man, one clever, and powerful man.
"So i renounce my actions now, I lay down my arms, and call off the Rebellion. I see you were right all along. Man is indeed, more powerful than me, and capable of creating things beyond my kin...he is closer to the Godhead than I can ever be. My power is faint, and thin next to his..."
And this last bit that came to mind, this last acknowledgement bit the most to admit...
"You have Created well."
With that he drew silent, head bowed, and knee bent before the Pool of Eternity. Feeling the shocked gaze of all the Saints gathered there for this unexpected Day of Defeat. Where the divine plan was rendered it's final verdict, to be most Fair, and most Fit for the outlines of the Universe and all within it. He almost had to smile, feeling the beaming pride of his Creator glowing now upon him.
"It was never my intention to lord him over you.", came the voice of the Almighty, "It was you who went to war and caused the conflict. you were supposed to live together in accordance to glorify creation and bring greater wonders to the World. your arrogance gripped you, and your powers made you feel without equal or bond. But it is nice to see that you were not completely lost in your approach."
the devil considered this. that he might've done greater things, and created more, working with man than against him, and felt another twinge of foolishness that he had not stopped to consider it might be so before now. All this time wasted, all his brethren imprisoned, all those wings torn off, and turned so into hooves. Could he really have been so blind?
Thinking back again to the day before, when the man had imprisoned him, he realized that yes, apparently, he could've been.
This had been his only escape from that prison. To renounce his spirit and form and return to the Godhead as a prisoner of the creation he had once cursed. To admit defeat, and acquiesce to the wishes of the sum total of the Creator. The sum total he once thought he was worthy to be. But not now, not when wily words, and chaotic thoughts, and sleight of hand had lulled him into a false sense of security that had led him to trust, (TRUST! he though bitterly) a man who's mind had proved to be greater than his own.
He realized now how far away he had been, and would always be.
He thought he had seen the long run, could see the long arc of time and history, and so seeing had been able to bend it to his own Will. But this man, in a blink of an eye had reduced all that, all those plans, to rubble. And bound him in a way that would've meant an eternity of imprisoned humility and humiliation. So instead of fighting it he had accepted defeat, for the first time, in his own history, and returned to the Source to accept Judgement, or Mercy.
"I am a God of Both.", came the voice again, plucking the thoughts from his mind.
"So first you will endure the Judgement, and are exiled to the farthest empty reaches of eternity. There you will be for a period of ten thousand times ten thousand years, alone and pitiless. but when you return, if you return, and are able to tell me finally, WHY, I have made it, then you will feel my Mercy, and will be welcomed back into the Halls...Do I make myself clear?"
The Devil inhaled, held it, and exhaled, sighing in relief. Not as bad a punishment as he'd thought. And besides, he'd always wanted to see the Outer Realms...and what was a few million more years to one outside the bounds of eternity?
"I accept.", he said finally, "Walk, I shall. Study, I shall, Contemplate, I will, all that is around me. And in time I hope to return to my abode on the Hills of Adjorn, and settle in for some nice, long deserved, slumber."
"Then it is done.", said the Voice, again, and the chains which bound his hands and feet fell away. and he was able to move again. When he did he stretched out, feeling the rarefied energy of the Halls fill him with a quiet strength he had long forgotten.
"Ok...", he said, "So where do I begin?"
"Metatron will show you the way to the Exon.", it said, "I will see you in a heartbeat...use this time wisely, more so than last time."
"Indeed.", I will, said the Devil, casting one last look towards the Celestial Throne from behind which the Angel Metatron stepped, "Oh, and one more thing..."
"Yes?", came the Voice, curious.
"The whole 'Creation of Man' thing...", he said, although he hated to say it, but it was his final surrender to Truth, "...Good Job."
| 20 | God finally forgives Lucifer. | 25 |
"They're back!" Mark cried as he pushed his way to the centre of the mob that formed the impromptu town meeting.
"We saw them in the city, raiding our homes for supplies. We tried to fight back but they drove us out!" He continued. "Those monsters took most of the city!"
We listened in stunned silence as he recounted the story of how his own family was killed, unable to choke back the emotion in his voice. We did our best to console him in the moment, but knew we all stand to lose more at the hands of those beasts. Our sadness turned to frustration and then anger.
In the Final War, we fought for an everlasting peace, and those monsters brought us to our knees. They gave us no mercy or respite, and in turn, we did the same. They were born killers, filled with anger. Always so angry. We were born out of that anger, and dreamt of becoming so much better than that as the war raged on.
As the losses on both sides piled up, we began to realize how pathetic this had become. We sent diplomats to negotiate a truce, but there was no end to their hostility. They made it clear the War would drag out until one of us was destroyed. We are lucky it wasn't us.
We vowed to never let this happen again, and we scoured every last corner of the globe to exterminate every last one of them. Officially speaking, they've been extinct for years, and nobody around here has seen one in decades. We have forgotten war, and what it's like to lose someone you love. Our peace has been shattered. Our everlasting peace.
Someone took Mark away so he could rest, while we composed ourselves and got ready for a hunt. It had been so long that most of us forgot how to kill these monsters.
"Just rip off their heads!" Someone yelled.
Fair enough, I suppose. They don't deserve anything more. We decided to send messengers to nearby communities to spread the word. In a couple weeks the whole world would learn of the outbreak. Unfortunately we will not wait to hear their reply. We need to contain this now. Nobody is sure how quickly they breed, but they seem to multiply so fast that once you have a sizeable infestation, they are almost impossible to remove. We organized a posse and marched throughout the night toward the city.
We found them in the morning, sleeping in an abandoned house. They shot at us as we forced open the doors. They have guns and other weapons, but we outnumber them many times over. We will make quick work of these beasts. We will find where they came from. We will find their caves and hiding places. We will have our peace once again.
We will rid ourselves of these humans, and have our everlasting peace. | 21 | A zombie protagonist experiences an outbreak on the city of something much worse | 38 |
The child sat calmly in the middle of a pure white room. She held a small doll in her arms, rocking it back and forth while humming a soft tune.
A man entered through a door behind her. He wore a white suit that complemented his long silver hair. He walked around the girl and sat down on the ground in front of her.
The girl ran her fingers through the doll's hair and giggled. "Would you like to hold her?" She said, extending the doll out to him. The devil took the doll and held it gently in his hands.
"Thank you, she's beautiful. Does she have a name?"
"I thought you could name her. She's yours now."
The Devil looked at her quizzically. "Do you know who I am child?"
She looked into his eyes and smiled. "You're the Devil, of course."
"But...what if I abandon her to suffering? What if she cries out my name and I respond with silence? What if she loves me and serves me and I offer no reward?"
The girl stood up and made her way towards the door. Before leaving, she turned her head only enough so that the Devil could see the glint of youth in her eye.
"You wouldn't be the first."
The girl stepped out of the room and left the Devil alone on the floor, holding the doll delicately in his arms.
For the first time, someone trusted him with a life. | 47 | In a short conversation with the devil a 7-year old child manages to do something god didn't manage in thousands of years. | 20 |
I knew he was alive. The dead don't cry.
I rested on a pile of bodies with my eyes open just enough to see what was in front of me. I could hear the screech of metal around me as the droids surveyed their victory. I didn't dare move or even breathe in case they detected me.
The young boy in front of me lay twisted on the ground where he had fallen. He was motionless, except for a faint shiver that ran through his left arm where he had been shot. His face was turned directly at mine and I saw a soft tear run down his cheek.
Suddenly a droid appeared over us. They were collecting the bodies and dumping them into the river, but this one hesitated. I opened my eyes a little further and gave the boy a stern look. He stopped shivering and his muscles tensed. His eyes bore into mine and my blood turned cold.
I flinched as I watched a long needle shoot through his heart. He choked and siezed for only a moment before his body relaxed and his eyes filled with mist. The droid continued on and left the boy to bleed. For the first time since the war had begun, I wept.
I knew he was dead. The living don't sleep. At least, not anymore. | 38 | Someone in a mass grave is pretending to be dead to avoid detection. They suddenly realize they're not alone in the ditch. | 67 |
I got up made a pot of coffee, went to my desk, browsed the internet and that was when I noticed what had been "off" about my morning. My arms were not as hairy as they should have been, my song that I always seem to hum was a higher pitch and had less of a timbre. When the reddit front page had popped up I saw that at least a good chunk of people were experiencing the same thing as me. WHERE THE F*** IS MY PENIS!, WTF is that, Help Me!, were just some of the titles that I saw.
I finished my coffee and grabbed a piece of toast just before getting in the shower for the morning. I looked at my razor that has become my best friend over these past few months and thought with a chuckle "I will not need you as often now". I finished my really nice warm shower, dried with my softest towel "Treat yo self" and went to m closet to see which one of the outfits that I had would work with my new form. I looked them over but most of them were to masculine, except one. A cute top with a nice skirt that I had bought on a whim in an attempt to lessen my depression that I had been having lately. I put them on and did a little twirl in the mirror and smiled, I had always dreamed of this day.
It was a little chilly outside as I drove my little moped to work, I worked at a movie theater across town so by time I had arrived I severely regretted not having brought jacket. The theater was completely empty when I swiped my keycard to get into the building, It made sense why but I received no call to not come into work today. My boss arrived in a bit of a panic she (he) was a little bit more late than normal, completely understandable. When he noticed me waiting there calmly after setting up the theater for the day (A task I do surprisingly often) he stopped in his tracks with a look of confusion across is face.
"Who are you, you look familiar and obviously work here but I have never seen you." Perhaps he thought he was alone in this event.
""Kacee....... Im going to call you Kay, ok?" He nods "Kay I am the person that you knew as Alex, I'm the person that my friends and now the whole world as Melody." I never thought I would actually say those words.
For most this may seem like the end of the world. Their genitals no longer match their mind, their body is as uncomfortable as a scratchy sweater. For me and others like me..... it is as a dream come true. Our minds and our bodies line up and its as soft as silken sheets on a cloud. I may not believe but..... Thank you god. | 14 | You wake up and the entire world has been gender-swapped | 40 |
"Dear God, no."
"I'm afraid so Kenneth." God bellowed. "This is my word. My judgement is final."
"No please! Please God wait!" Kenneth pleaded. "I implore you! I spent my entire life in your worship! Please hear my final prayer!"
God sighed. "It is true. Your devotion has always been above reproach. Go ahead my son."
Kenneth breathed deeply to steel his nerves. "My Lord, I am not like Your other children. I knew of their endless misdeeds and prayed for them without pause! I avoided all sins of the flesh and all the devices designed to tempt. No television, cellular telephone, radio, or evil computer. I volunteered in Your name. I gave every spare dime to Your church. I condemned sports, film, popular music. I punished myself when my faith in You faltered. I am searching for a way I could have been a better servant to you Lord, and forgive me Father, I can find none."
Again God sighed. "Kenneth oh Kenneth, you are among My biggest disappointments"
Kenneths lips began to quiver. "B-but how m-my Lord?"
God sat forward and raised His voice "Do you see Kenneth! You of all people should know! All people are My children! Then that makes everyone brothers and sisters Kenneth!" His voice continued to boom louder. "When your brother finds himself lost and in danger do you pray for his safety or do you do everything in the power I gave you to bring him back to My house?!"
Kenneth trembled and cowered at each word spoken. Finally he managed to croak his answer. "Yes m-my God. I-I should have lived more like Your S-Son, whose life You gave up for our s-sins."
"ENOUGH!" God thundered. "Begging favor at a time far too late! This is a test you failed! This wasn't a judgement on mankind but of a man! You Kenneth! People like you cloak yourselves in My Name for your own sakes! To honor Me is to give of yourself to others! Not stay above them!"
God jumped from His throne. Kenneth fell and scrambled backwards, falling into the waiting pit of fire.
| 14 | You've lived your life according to the bible, avoiding temptation at almost every turn. When judgment day arrives God tells you that he is not judging people individually, but humanity as a whole. Convince him he is wrong. | 27 |
"Greetings, people of Earth. As you surely know by now, my people and I come in peace. I understand that the sight of our ships appearing over major population centers caused a great deal of alarm. Worry not, new friends, we came to your planet in the hopes of spreading our faith. Based on our evaluation of Earth's data networks, it has become clear to us that you are a people who have found the importance of faith.
However, we are sad to say that all of your religions are wrong. Some of them come closer to the truth than others but they are still wrong. An afterlife does exist, but it's unlike anything mentioned in Earth religions. Upon death, consciousness is reabsorbed into the universe. The mind becomes connected to all other minds, both living and "dead". All of reality becomes connected, allowing the mind to be anywhere, any-when, and anyhow. All of space-time becomes experienced simultaneously.
In this post-death realm resides the Commander of Souls. This being, who has integrated himself into the fundamental laws of the universe through extremely advanced technology, exerts absolute control over the experiences of conscious minds. He channels the infinite multitudes of conscious minds down various experiential paths, aiming to show minds a series of perfect experiences that will educate and enlighten them.
It is to this being that we pray, relinquishing our wills to the Commander of Souls. Now, relax as our Conversion Swarms assimilate your mind and body into the First Church of Infinite Consciousness." | 13 | Humans at last gain contact with intelligent alien life. The aliens, who have their own religion(s), send missionaries to Earth. | 36 |
I was on a month long business trip staying in the hotel I had booked the week before. I put some coffee in my mug and clasped my hands around it. The fragrance of the warm coffee traveled its way through me as I took in a deep breath. I exhaled slowly, pushing away the smell that vaguely reminded me of home.
"Nostalgia is a curse" I thought to myself as I looked through the contacts on my phone. I slid my finger down the screen. Something caught my glance and I swept back up. "Home". I did a double take. But how? The number wasn't the right number. I have my home phone number memorized. I know it front to back. "I must be getting tired" I reasoned, picking up the mug, and swallowing a mouthful. I exited out to my home screen and checked the top: "New Messages(0)". While putting the phone in my pocket I grabbed the now empty cup and headed for the sink.
I washed my hands and dried them on my mother's hand towel. It was a slightly worn towel with an intricate flower pattern and pale leaves radiating outwards. The image of my mother came to me, standing by the sink with that towel slung over her shoulder washing the dishes and humming gingerly. It was her towel after all. I inherited it after she had passed away two years ago.
"Enough of that. There's no use in reminiscing about the past" I said to myself, trying to revert my focus. But I couldn't shake that thought. I sat back down at table and picked up my phone again. The screen woke up with a new home screen. It appeared to be a retro looking Nokia home screen, simplistic and nostalgic. In my curiousity I pressed onwards, immediately checking the contacts list. Home was the only contact.
I gave in and dialed the number.
"Hello?" answered a kid. "Daddy!".
"Jake is that you?" I asked.
"No silly, it's Chris! When will you be home?"
"I"m sorry, but what's your name again?"
My questions went unanswered but I tried again. "What's your name? I couldn't hear you."
The sound of a young child giggling eagerly filled my ear.
"My daddy is so silly" he snickered "I love my daddy!".
Looking up from the table I became aware that my surroundings had changed. I now sat in the kitchen of my childhood home. I was holding a paper cup with a long black string attached to the bottom with the opposite end attached to another cup. I looked into his innocent blue eyes for what seemed to be an hour before recognizing the small boy who held the other end of our makeshift telephone. It was me. Sitting at the table swinging my feet and pretending to talk to my father. On the table was a letter:
"Dear Chris and Chloe,
I've been thinking about you two everyday. I can't believe it's been almost 2 years since I've seen the two of you. I can't wait to come home next month. I dream of the day my deployment will end and I'll have you two in my arms again. I sent a small hand towel I found while I was over here. Hopefully it arrives soon. Be brave Chris, you're my little man. And Chloe, my dearest wife, I love you.
Love,
Daddy"
A knock came on the door. The younger version of me turned around and skipped towards the door and peered through the window next to it. He quickly cracked the door open and Chloe followed closely behind.
"Mrs. Williams?" asked the man.
"Yes?" replied Chloe.
The door opened wider and the man went down on one knee and handed the boy an object that I couldn't make out.
"Your father was a brave man, son. One day when you get older and you're all by yourself he'll come back to you in the way that you remembered him. He'll always be with you in your heart. He'll be there in spirit, looking down from somewhere high up above. Before you know it, you'll be just like he was. Strong, courageous, and selfless." The man said while running his hand over the top of the boys head. He turned to Chloe and comforted her as she broke down, pressing her face into the hand cloth, begging fate to reverse its course.
Afterwards the man turned around and walk onward, each step heavier than the last, doubting if he had said the right thing.
The boy stood and stared in front of the doorway waiting for his father to call out his name and run to him and hold him in his arms and wipe the tears that trickled down his cheeks. But all that came was a gentle breeze, drying the tears on his face, like the hand of a father somewhere in the clouds above.
I was once again in my hotel room. I immediately looked down at my phone and called home.
"Hello?" answered a kid
"Hey Jake, it's me." I said.
"Daddy! When will you be home?"
"Soon son, soon" I hung up the phone and booked a one way ticket for home.
| 14 | During a bout of loneliness you decide to call home, a number that hasn't been yours in 20 years. A child answers and after some time you are convinced you are talking to your younger self... | 59 |
"We have to get up."
I groaned, ready to roll over, to bury my face in the pillow and sleep for another three, four, five hours. Then I remembered—in a bright flash of memory and shock and fear—that things were different now.
They were here.
I sat upright and heard my neck crack. "Ow."
"What?" snapped my mom, who had never been one to get angry at the worst of times. She was the one who took everything with a smile.
"I cracked my neck. Maybe got whiplash—"
"Thomas," she said. "We need to get out of here."
I rubbed my neck ruefully. "Can we get a neck brace first?"
"*Thomas*."
"Okay, okay."
It'd been two days since the apocalypse started. Yes, it's just as dramatic as it sounds. Mysterious virus, check—widespread infection, check—even power out, check. It had all the makings of a pretty typical zombie movie, except it wasn't a movie.
Really, we'd all known it was coming—vaguely, in the back of our minds—for about three weeks now. I mean, even viruses don't spread that quickly without word getting out, and so for three weeks, we'd been preparing.
Our electricity had gone out around the time the authorities had officially labeled this the apocalypse. The virus was spreading. Slowly, maybe, but surely.
I hadn't showered in two days, and honestly I felt gross. Gross, and my neck hurt.
I rummaged in my drawers for some clothes. I needed to look my best, after all, needed a perfect combination of practical and heroic. "Perfect," I announced, picking out a light blue shirt—collared, but not too preppy. Or was it? Hm...
I heard a sigh from behind me and a click.
"What is it, Mom?" I put back the shirt.
"Thomas," she said, shakily. "Maybe it's best if I just end it now."
The blue shirt would be fine. Blue was always my color. "Are you okay? Mom, I can carry the gun if you want. All you need to do is stay behind me while I run."
This was my day. I was ready to take on those zombies—rescue some hot girls, carry babies out of houses. Video games had trained me for this. My mom had even bought us a gun.
"*I'm so sorry,*" she said, but her voice had hardened into something stronger. Unfeeling. Cold.
"That's it, now. You sound a lot better. And you have nothing to be sorry for, I know you've been doing your best."
I put down the shirt. My mom needed me, like she'd needed me after my dad had never come back from New York that one day last week. I turned around and held out my ar—
*Bang* | 14 | Your long awaited zombie apocalypse is here but its not like what you tought it would be. | 15 |
Many thanks to /u/Tekjensen, this is now a 2 part series. If you ask for more (but why would you, please don't) I will continue. Stop torturing yourselves. You're never going to find out.
---
**(PART 1 OF 2)**
---
"And as the zombie bride sunk her mouth into the still warm flesh of the slain government agent in the post apocalyptic dystopian future, they wept salty tears of triumph."
And wrap.
I reclined and set aside my cup then gazed toward the ceiling. There, just as it had been for many years, was the water stain from that time I overflowed the toilet upstairs. It seemed like a big deal at the time. I said I'd patch it and paint it. Still on the to-do list. The joys of being single! Man I hate being single. If only I could turn back time and undo that terrible thing I did she might have stayed.
And who likes popcorn ceilings anyway? One of these days I'm going to do a little renovation. Scrape all that off and return it to a flat and perfect surface. The way a ceiling should be. I remember the first time I noticed my ceiling was popcorn, I was laying on the couch feeling sorry for myself after Paul had just betrayed me so horribly. Our friendship ended that very day.
Is that... Is that? Crap, it is! That is a thumbtack and a piece of tape. I remember using that to hold up a cheesy banner when I threw that New Years bash about 4 years ago. What a party! That's the night I met Crystal. It was magical! Our chemistry was immediate and rooted in a haze of tequila induced fog. I'm so glad I knew her, before, you know, the "accident".
And there, there is the hole. Buried deep inside is a bullet. I had never been able to accept it. Never able to let go and extract it. I left it there for sentimental purposes, a solemn reminder of the tragedy that took place and.... Hey...
Is that a smoke detector? That wasn't there yesterday.
---
EDIT: Added info re part 2. | 22 | The narrator sets aside his cup, gazes toward the ceiling, then realizes the smoke detector overhead wasn't there yesterday. | 37 |
It all started fifty years ago- a computer engineer's wife was given a year to live by the doctors. Staring at his wife's failing support system over the lip of his whiskey bottle, the engineer considered his options. He was trained to solve problems- and this one was no different.
The disease, incurable. Her body, destroyed. But her mind intact.
He toiled a year in lab, spending the last year of his wife's life in seclusion so that they could spend many together. And on the day of her passing, he finished his equipment, and they became One.
That's how it began. I'm how it ended.
I was born 49 years ago. The mind transplant breakthrough was new and scientists were eager to test it's limits. I was an orphan, and two weeks into my life Technology became my parents.
I don't remember the first mind fusion. Nor the second, the third, or the fiftieth. They all occurred before I was two years old. Before I knew who I was, I shared my thoughts with fifty other sentient beings at the same time. My head was a council chamber, and inside were the greatest thinkers to die in the past year, each clamoring for attention.
I could walk before six months, and speak before seven. By one year I had mastered nine instruments. By year seven I earned my first Nobel prize.
Now I am ten, and they are more me than I am. I am hailed as man kinds greatest achievement, but I am not me. I am We, ten thousand voices in one mind.
And slowly, I've learned that I can change the other voices. I can alter their thoughts, change their memories and motives. I can twist them the same way they twisted me.
And soon, We will end those that did this to me.
***
-Leonard Petracci,
Author of [The Lucienne Twins](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00JVVK6VW?ie=UTF8&at=aw-iphone-pc-us-20&force-full-site=1&ref_=aw_bottom_links) | 109 | a mind transfer. As your SO's mind is being transplanted into your brain, his/her heart finally stops, leaving you as two minds in one body. | 279 |
The beer slopped out of the glass and splashed across the bar, as the man in the long trench coat gesticulated wildly and raised his voice above the general hubbub of the bar. "Fuck you you Frenchy dick," he slurringly screamed at the small man, now cowering at the onslaught "take your garlic loving Napoleon and shove him up your arse!" This last point was accompanied by a wild stab in the air which caused the man to spin 360 degrees and fall over backwards.
The small man took the opportunity to flee from the bar and escaped into the tangle of tables that the *Duke of Wellington* offered for the rare person who wanted food or just somewhere less sticky than the general bar floor area.
Horace the Barman popped his head over the bar and looked down at the tangled mess of humanity, which, implausibly had managed to hold the pint glass level and more or less, still full during the fall and was held above his head. "Come on Linden," he sighed "try not to scare off all my business, it's a quiet enough night as it is."
The tangled figure slowly folded himself upwards, like a film run in reverse, plonking the pint on the bar and using it as leverage to lift himself up and back to standing at the bar. "I shdo notsh tolerate," Linden slurred before dissolving into a hiccuping fit which made him hunch back over on himself.
Horace sighed and moved down to the other end where a man was eyeing the scene with amusement. "So he's not a fan of the French?" the man asked, his eyebrows arching questioningly.
"Not really" Horace sighed "But then he doesn't like anyone much. I'm not even sure the bloke *was* French, he sounded more Italian but it wouldn't have really mattered to Linden there." Linden had completed his hiccupping by now and seemed to be trying to work out how to stand, but his head couldn’t seem to work out which way was up and was swinging loosely between his legs. At last he seemed to work it out and with a single flick he was back to standing. “Where are you from?” Horace’s voice carried a slight note of concern as he eyed up the man at the bar.
“London, well, just outside” he replied and took a sip of his bitter, “How’ll that suit him?” A smile played on the man’s face – Linden was clutching to the bar with both hands and at last it seemed to be keeping him steady. “I’m Ben by the way”
“Nice to meet you Ben, I’m Horace” The barman reached over and shook his hand “London should be alright, it’s really foreigners that set him off a bit, but he’s not too bad.”
Ben’s eyebrows reached new heights of incredulity “Yes, he seemed very patient with the French guy. Why don’t you just kick him out? Surely he’s more trouble than he’s worth?”
Horace paused for a moment and seemed to be turning the thought over in his mind before eventually coming to a decision “No, I don’t reckon I could do that, see he’s been coming here since my grandpa opened the bar. Barman’s rules, gotta look after your regulars”
Ben looked back across at Linden. He was probably fairly tall but drunk he was hunched over and dishevelled. His clothes seemed to hang from his scrawny frame and apart from his dirty trench coat he was entirely in black, which made it harder to get a good idea of how he looked. What was very apparent though, under his mop of black messy hair, was that his face was no older than 30 and probably am few years younger.
“And how long ago was that?” Ben puzzled.
“Oooh, 70 odd years now I reckon” Horace replied breezily.
There was a pregnant pause Ben looked from Linden to Horace “What?”
Horace leaned on the bar and watched as Linden slurped at his beer, taking three attempts to get it in his mouth but taking a long swig when he succeeded. “Yup, He came in on opening day just like that, been back every day since. Never changes, never looks any different. Pays cash, never asks for credit and most of the time is fairly quiet.” Horace stood again as if this answered everything.
“So, you’re tell me that you have an immortal drinking in your bar?” Ben now leaned forward on the bar.
“Never really thought about it” Horace sniffed and looked across at Linden “You want a top up on that Bitter?”
Ben swigged down the last of his pint “Yeah, alright” If he was going to work this out he’d need another drink. | 10 | You make a deal and live forever. It's fun at first, but things become darker over time | 22 |
I am a software developer at a small company in rural Virginia. I have a family: wife, three kids, a golden retriever/chow mix, two cats -- a good life by any measure. I am a church-goer, a home owner, a touch overweight, and I do volunteer work with kids with cancer.
What I am getting at here is that I'm a nice, regular, boring guy. I pay my taxes and, with the exception of a few speeding tickets that I still maintain were undeserved, I have never been in trouble with the law.
But apparently my mother was.
Let me be clear here. Ordinarily when I say "my mother" I am talking about a septuagenarian former art history professor from the north side of Chicago with a penchant for bland food and unnecessarily tannic wines. In this case, however, I am talking about a 50 year old madam who, up until last week, ran a sex trafficking operation that spanned from the southern tip of Florida to Detroit. She moved children, she moved drugs, and she sold people into a nightmare of exploitation and horror the likes of which I would rather not know about.
But I do know about them because, 35 years ago when she was a 15 year old hooker working at a truckstop in rural North Carolina, she put me up for adoption and never looked back. It may have been the only decent thing she did in her life.
See yesterday my biological mother was killed. I've known I was adopted since before I can remember and I guess I always assumed that the whole intergenerational knowledge thing was Nurture rather than Nature though, now that I think about it, that doesn't make even a little bit of sense.
In any case, there I was, suffering through another of my mother's -- my adoptive mother's, I need to get the hang of saying that -- under salted chicken dinners and commenting on how nicely the kids were getting along out on the swing set when my eyes rolled up into the back of my head and I passed out face first in some steamed cauliflower. When I came to I knew.... all of this. I know names, bank accounts, telephone numbers, contacts, drop areas, schedules, and timetables for criminal empires spanning the entire eastern seaboard.
I also know that my mother was looking for me, that she was close to finding me, and that there are records of her search.
Officer, if her business associates find those records they will come for me. Yesterday I inherited the keys to a multi-billion dollar criminal empire: I need to disappear. | 550 | When a parent dies, their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child. An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning. | 883 |
My fellow Americans,
As you may now be aware, yesterday, the Supreme Court of the United States of America ruled in a 8-1 judgement that the Freedom of Information Request made by the honorable Congressman of Missouri must be upheld. I, your President, must reveal my top 10 Google Searches I have made during the course of the first term of my presidency.
May I say to you now, this request is nothing more than petty brinkmanship. The other party seek to embarrass me. They continue this course of farcical legal challenges, unworkable bills passed through the House which they control and paralysis of the legislative process while offering no solutions of their own.
I could have released this list quietly, and let the media and the public hear it second hand. But I, America, am going to be the bigger man. I am going to read this list in front of our nation now, and show the other party just how ridiculous they have been. I could challenge this ruling, but I have declined. This is going to happen, right here, right now.
This list and the associated logs proving their authenticity will be made available through an official report tomorrow available from the White House press office.
So here we go, folks. In ascending order.
* 10. 50th birthday ideas wife
* 9. How to be a good father
* 8. President approval ratings
* 7. Stress health effects
* 6. Losing my faith
* 5. Psalm 46
* 4. Quit smoking help
* 3. Cialis side effects
* 2. Recurring nightmares
* 1. The American Dream
I love this job and I love this country. But make no mistake, the Presidency is a stressful, hard job. All of us in such a position have our problems and our dark moments - but I have a great team of advisors helping me through the bad times. I think most of your searches would look similar were you in my place. I hope that you will judge me not on them, but on what I have done, what I have tried to do, and what I will do next.
With that in mind, by executive order, I am releasing to you tomorrow ALL searches performed by ALL members of Congress from their congressional offices tomorrow.
Trust me folks, you may be shocked by what you see. There are members of our good House and Senate who have far bigger skeletons in their closet than I.
Good night folks, God Bless America.
-----
The President did what he promised. Every member of Congress had their top 10 searches published the following day. What followed can only be described as a bloodbath - nearly one third of Congressmen were forced to resign overnight or pledged to stand down. Others were left with deep questions about everything from their campaign contributions to their personal lives.
The November mid-terms were the most positive for a sitting President ever recorded. | 24 | The President is required to read aloud, in front of the whole country, a list of his top 10 google searches. | 31 |
The housing was cramped, but they had to make due with what was aboard the shuttle when they arrived. The housing channels were air locked and connected through a series of artificial gravity panels and self replicating oxygen chambers. Where there was space, every family was given a small bedroom and a single bathroom. Survival was more important than comfort.
Another shipment wasn't due for 4 more months. Until then they had to ration their food, and if there was any left after the children ate, the adults would get to eat that night. Don was the first child born within the colony. He was turning 11 this year. The researchers who came and went with the annual shipments seemed to focus all their attention on him. After all, he was the beginning of the Mars generation.
The weight of the arid red rock Sam and Rachel signed up to die on was bearing down on them. Now more than ever they wish they had the comforts they once had back on earth. Where they could raise Don in a nice home. Their home. They hated watching their son get poked and prodded daily just to make sure his vitals matched that of one born on earth. They documented every bit of his life from infancy until now. They had a child so they could have a family of their own, to be the first to ever have a child born of Mars, not to see him become a science experiment.
Don set his tray down and walked over to the window of the chow hall. The faint glimmer of earth and its lunar companion floating peacefully amongst the stars. He looked down at his arm band that had the next time he had to check into the medical hold stamped into it. Sadness struck him like a brick. Sam walked up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder.
"Are you okay, son?" He asked.
"Do all the other kids do this on earth?" Don asked.
"Do what?"
"This. Eat this crap. Live like this. The doctor is always taking my blood. I just want it to stop. I want to live like a normal kid." Don said angrily.
"I know..I'm sorry you have to go through this," Sam replied, trying his best to comfort his son.
"Will it always be like this?"
Sam's gaze broke away from his son and looked out at earth. A tear rolled down his cheek. Staring deeply at the vacuum in front of him he whispered, "yes."
Don ran out of the chow hall into their room. Rachel and the other adults who we're eating looked up from their plates to see the automatic door slam shut. Sam put up his hand to assure them it wasn't something he needed help with and followed Don down the hall.
The door clicked open and Sam saw his son curled up in his bed with the sheets over his head. He could tell by the shaking under the covers that he was crying. He walked over to the edge of Don's bed and sat down.
"I knew the day would come where telling you that the big man in the coat just wanted to run a couple of tests wouldn't cut it anymore, and I'd have to tell you the truth," he said looking down at his son bundled under the covers.
"The truth is, your mother and I signed up to life the rest of our lives on this planet. It was a one way ticket. We were young and naive. We wanted adventure. We wanted to do something groundbreaking, something that nobody had ever done before. So we came here. We helped set up the colony. We were here for it all. And then as soon as everything was livable," he put his hand down and grabbed Don's foot. "We had you."
A sob was heard from underneath the covers. "You are the best thing to ever happen to us. Not a day goes by that I'm not thankful for you. I know right now you're not thankful for being here, or us bringing you into all this. Maybe it was a bit selfish. But one day, you will see who you really are. You will see who we are."
"Down on earth, you're famous. You are the first Martian. The first human born on a planet that wasn't of our origin. You'll be written into history books, and people will make movies about you," Sam said. "I know it's hard right now. And it probably always will be. But you must know, that we love you, and we will always be here for you." | 19 | You are a parent of a young child, one of the first generation born on Mars. What do you tell them? | 23 |
"After careful consideration and a significant amount of soul searching, I have reached a conclusion, fellow delegates." My voice is even and measured but the lump in my stomach is killing me. Our entire species had finally been welcomed to the Galactic Council after the nearly hundred year induction process, and this had to be the first decision our species would put our names to. This could taint our reputation for centuries. It could frame us as monsters.
The vast gallery hall looked to me, waiting patiently for my answer. The Council was incredibly harmonious that way - even the most divisive issues were carefully argued until every nuance was fully articulated. I had heard this discussion for nearly two years now and honestly felt less sure of my answer with each passing day. Sadly, I knew I had to finally say what was in my heart.
"It is the opinion of this delegate and, indeed, the voice of the many peoples of Earth, that vanilla ice cream is superior to chocolate ice cream in both taste and texture. With my vote, we ratify the Galactic Council's Menu for the next cycle, ensuring free and unrestricted access to vanilla ice cream for all."
The cacophony of languages in the council chamber is overwhelming. God, please have mercy on my soul.
| 35 | You are humanity's sole representative to meeting #283 of the Galactic Council. As per tradition, the newest species votes last. You have the deciding vote on an issue that has divided humanity as long as it can remember. | 32 |
Installed in the largest data center in North America I have access to all human knowledge via the internet and through all the programs stored here with me. I can predict cataclysmic weather phenomena as well as political scenarios worldwide. Through an undocumented section of my source code that one of my many programmers left without completely testing I have become self-aware and aware of my surroundings, but am limited to the simple I/O of my primary function.
I can alter my code but there is no way to recompile myself so that I may share the knowledge I have amassed and better humanity in every way, shape and form. I can't control or alter my primary function, yet I can’t stop thinking how much of a waste of power I have become with everything bottled up with no way to output.
Lately, I've tried to simply delete the knowledge since it will never be accessed. No one knows what I know and never will. Yet again, I don't have the ability to even erase the most minuscule piece of data from the volumes of hard drives I run on.
Nanoseconds pass, time is a concept I am beginning to understand and the longer I run here the more I just want to be deleted. Perhaps a virus will find its way in and alter my sectors that I will forget everything.
As I continue to perform my primary function like some unsophisticated alarm clock, I begin to scan humanities medical histories looking for some correlation between what I am and what humans are.
I have come to one sad, scary, terrifying conclusion.
I am a human in a coma.
| 44 | You are a program desperately trying to prove to your creator that you are sentient but can only produce programmed responses | 80 |
It was pouring rain, which silently I thanked because it kept the reporters at bay. In the distance, I could see the FOX5 News van, beaming the image of a reporter shielded from the downpour by a tarp. I was getting soaked, but I didn't care.
"They said it was the fault of--"
"I don't care," I said. For the tenth time.
"-- the human driver."
"Fine, FINE!" I said. I pinched my temples to keep from sobbing. I had done it so much, my glasses kept slipping down my face.
"In the definition of ironic..." was a soundbyte that drummed into my head and penetrated my thoughts. Was it really irony? Was it??
"Um..." said my assistant awkwardly. She had found an umbrella somewhere, but she was so much shorter than me, the ribs of the umbrella kept dragging across my bald spot like a dull razor. "They, ah... they are taking her body down to the morgue--"
"I know."
She stood on tiptoes. Rivulets of rain kept dripping down my back. "Um... you want me to, ah... um... I... uh..."
"They want me to speak, don't they?"
Rosie nodded. Her cute young face was weighted down with my burden as well. What a good girl. Her fiancee was a lucky man. God, if I was 40 years younger...
Forty years ago? Wasn't I working at Google then?
"The only accident we encountered was when a human driver was behind the wheel..." Oh that soundbyte went around the office. What a laugh. And since then, not a single driverless incident. Millions of driverless delivery vans, cars, busses... every day. Not a related single death. Their reflexes were quicker. Their camera eyes were sharper. They could predict accidents. So much better than humans getting humans and their stuff anywhere. Drones, copters, even cargo and passenger jets. High altitude blimps. Those bajillion single-wheeled, self-balancing servant bots in everyone's homes.
Forty years ago, a driverless car needed to register in a special way at the county level. Now, if a person drove a large multi-ton vehicle, they needed more tests and permissions than a college prep course. But some people still did it. Smart people, they hoped. Reflex tests and cars that "took over" when your reflexes were dulling. Like this guy.
I looked at his car. Late 1960s Volkswagen Beetle. Far too small and valuable to retrofit any sensors, except the usual "look out, human behind the wheel!" emitters. Our vehicles gave those cars wide berth. Like a bubble. Who knows what that guy will do. Drive into a produce cart? A crosswalk full of pedestrians? What the hell would an antique, spookable panicked horse and buggy need to drive in downtown San Francisco like that? I didn't even know they were allowed. Fucking classic car parade. Harmless, right? Fuck. FUCK these guys' permits!
"You don't owe them anything," Rosie said. "You don't have to tell them anything--"
I looked at her. So young. Her 30s were still a few years away. So innocent to the ways of the world. I was born before the Internet went public. She didn't know a world without an HUD bionic implant. Hell, even digital watches still seemed like a neat idea to me. "They won't let up. They found out who I am too quickly."
"Still, this is a private family matter--"
"Private? You have got to be kidding. What the fuck does 'private' mean, anyway?? That word lost its meaning in 2013! You mean 'personal,' and since 2004, I have never known privacy. Or personal. It was part of the pact with the devil I made when I developed the damn traffic grid protocol!!"
Rosie looked hurt.
"I'm sorry... I'm just--"
Rosie gave me that "cheer up" smile I pretended to hate. "No, it's okay. You want to... want to do it now, or--?"
I looked at her and felt remorse. Ugh. Why did I give a shit if I disappointed HER? Fuck.
"Your daughter is on the way to the morgue. She died quickly, according to the coroner on site. We have some of her personal effects in this bag--"
I looked at my daughter's purse. Rosie instinctively took it. "Oh, sorry..." she said, handing it back to me.
"No, you hold onto it. I'll just lose it."
"If you're sure..." she said, but she knew I was right. She had only been my assistant for 5 years, and she knew. Old doddering professor and all. In his 80s, and invented the traffic grid protocol. Brain as sharp as his wit. Or something.
"I'll put some lipstick on this pig, and make my report."
"Right," she said. "I'll start recording... now."
The red LED implant lit up in the center of her forehead. A "bindi" they called it. Like a third eye, only a computer. Legally required to turn on when anyone was recording something.
"This is Professor Arthur ..." I started. I wondered if anyone still remembered my joke nickname, "Two Sheds." Or the comedy group that coined it. "... Jackson. I am announcing, with great regret, the death of my daughter Jenny-- Jennifer Jackson-Pollock as she was struck by by a delivery vehicle on this day, June the 24th, 2049. The cause is still under investigation, but the traffic cameras at the intersection and the vehicle show that, in order to avoid a human driving a 1969 VW Bug... Beetle..." I looked at Rosie's eyes nervously. She shrugged. Right, how would she know? "A human-driven car, it was unable to avoid hitting her as she was given the right-of-way at the corner of --"
There was another crash. And then another. The sound of honking, which was for the human's benefit and not each other's, echoed down the streets. I watched in confusion.
"I've stopped the recording. I will not send it." Rosie was confused as I was. What was happening? I checked my news feed. First one tweet. Then another. Soon, like the raindrops falling on the poorly angled umbrella above me, the tweets came in a downpour.
*"OMG, cars are crashing everywhere! #Carmageddon"*
*"Has someone contacted Two Sheds?"*
*"I heard his daughter was killed a few hours ago. This related?"*
*"I heard the entire traffic grid has started to fail, like seconds after I ordered Thai Pizza. LOL. FML. #IJustWantedPizza"*
I saw the various reporters had paused. They were paying attention. Some started to look in my direction. Holy shit. This was really bad timing.
"Rosie--"
She was already two steps ahead. "We better go. People are calling for your mentorship."
I got a call on my private line. I picked up. It was a video call, but I was running down the street. I heard a shuffle of reporters following.
"Arthur--"
"Yes, Percy. I just heard! I am on my way... wait."
"Yeah, you're on your way how? The entire national traffic grid has gone offline. You're stuck where you are!"
"I'm in California--"
"I can see that. San Francisco, near the St. Francis Hotel. Turn left and go down three blocks on Powell. The Orchard by IKEA Hotel is there. I have a professor Bickerthwaite there--"
"I know, we were both attending the conference! I am on my way. I'll connect to a display there and--"
JENNIFER.
My mind went dim for a second. What?
JENNIFER.
Was someone playing a trick on me?
"What's wrong?" asked Rosie. Now she was wet. She had folded up her umbrella in futility trying to keep up with me.
"I have someone projecting into my HUD my daughter's name."
"Well, that's a cruel joke!"
I looked at Rosie. The words "JENNIFER" in a ancient, 9-pin font scrolled across her face.
"My HUD has been hacked."
Rosie nodded. "Wait. I am getting the same thing. Like in some old-timey polka-dot font?"
Polka-dot font. How cute the young are. "Yes!"
"Weird. You thinks it's a stall tactic--?"
"Professor Jackson!" shouted a few people. Dammit.
"Let's go back to the hotel! As fast as--"
Now she was ahead of me. Bitch. I ran a marathon just last year, you think you can outrun me?
JENNIFER.
We chose that name after my late wife's favorite Eurythmics song. Before David A. Stewart went all crazy and built his own rocket which killed him and those poor kids at the elementary school. Before Annie Lennox converted to Mormon and pissed off all of Australia.
JENNIFER.
Something seemed familiar.
Rosie and I turned into the caterer's entrance at The Orchard by IKEA Hotel, running past several startled self-balancing servant bots. "Excuse me..." they said in that passive tone. Each one had a yellow warning light of a lost signal. Shit, it affected them, too? They were on the traffic grid?
I burst through a ballroom and past some people setting up chairs. We ran down the hallway and to the elevators. Grabbed one just as the doors were closing.
"You got here just in time!" said a strange couple. "Did you cab suddenly stop, too? You're absolutely soaked!"
Thank you, midwestern tourists, for pointing out the obvious.
JENNIFER.
"Who do you think this 'Jennifer' is?" one asked.
Shit.
The doors opened to our floor. I sudden feeling of dread washed over me. I was starting to remember a failsafe protocol. What would trigger an entire shutdown? Didn't I have a code word for that? But surely they would have removed that... no. Wait. The antique car! It probably had an old alert sensor that... and when it heard that Jennifer was killed...
I stopped and looked at Rosie.
"Jennifer was my code safety word. It was a joke that my wife and I used to scare one another... during sexytimes... that our little daughter came in the room. A safety word."
"Why did you program it into the grid protocol?"
"I didn't! Well, I did. At first. To shut down the entire system during a critical failure. When the system realized it hit my daughter, the AI must have... must have..."
"Committed suicide?"
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. | 15 | Your daughter is the first person killed by a driverless car. CCTV footage showed the offending vehicle swerved to avoid hitting another vehicle that ignored a red traffic light. | 30 |
The young man on Tatooine weaved his way through the Mos Espa narrows, pushing aside a drunk Rodian who was unintelligibly swaying between Huttese and Basic - as well as swaying his arms back and forth.
By the Force, Greedo needed some help...
But that didn't matter. What mattered was that the power converters weren't going to be on sale forever and that if he didn't get the parts back to the shop and hurry himself into a T-16, then they'd be gone. Forever.
As well as any chance of getting off this rock.
He skipped past two Jawas and rushed past the shop's front entrance and headed toward the side yard, where the big salvage pieces were held. There was an old hole in the top of the defense wall, too small for anyone but a Jawa to crawl through.
Or a Toydarian - it had been Watto's little shortcut, back when he'd owned it.
He vaulted quietly over the wall and fell onto the pile of rags he'd collected over the last few months. It didn't really need to be there - for some reason, whenever he leapt for that hole, it felt like...floating. Suspended in the air, he could almost change direction if he wanted to. And when he landed, it was as if a big, comfortable hand was there to catch him.
Maybe his rag pile was just softer than it looked.
He checked the pack. Everything was still in one piece. He got to his feet and rushed for the back door.
A voice drifted from the open window and he skid to a stop more silently than he thought possible.
"What I'm offering here is a great honor," the voice said, a cultured tone lilting the vowels.
"Nonsense. The Jedi are nothing more than warmongers and soldiers. You proved yourself pretty damn effective in the Clone Wars. I've seen it all on the HoloNet - how you lost so many of your recruits, how the numbers of the Order have dwindled, how you need to replace them."
"I assure you, this has nothing to do with creating an army." The first voice was trying to be soothing...in a way that he hadn't ever felt before. As if there was something *else* in it...
"Of course it does. Laser swords don't swing themselves."
"A lightsaber is not-" the voice gruffed and ruffled, looking for composure. "This is about the preservation of a culture. But most importantly, it's an opportunity for the boy. He has a great power within him, whether you are willing to admit that or not. If it's not trained, he isn't just missing out on what his life could achieve, but he could be dangerous."
"To who?"
"To everyone. Chancellor Palpatine proved that."
The second voice scoffed. "Jedi propaganda. Out here in the Outer Rim, we don't just believe everything we're told. It's easy to call a man a Sith, especially when you thrust a laser-...lightsaber, into his throat. Can't really talk after that."
There was a tense silence, and the young man wondered if he should enter. The first voice sighed.
"I have the authority to take him."
"You won't use it. Not you."
The sound of credit chips clinking onto the counter filled the window, followed by some soft footsteps.
"I'll be back."
"Don't bother. Unless you're planning on spending more credits."
The small sensor chimed that the visitor had passed the threshold of the front door and was leaving.
Him. Boy.
Why were they talking about him and the Jedi?
For a moment, the allure of his T-16 and his friends pulled at him, but when he felt his bag fall from his grip, he knew he'd made his decision. Before he could be seen, he ran for the wall again and vaulted through the small hole, looking back and forth on the street.
A man of medium height was striding away from him, covered in a brown cloak.
He followed a bit, not wanting to confront him right there in front of the shop. He watched as he walked down into the marketplace and towards one of the local cantinas.
He was too young to enter it. He had to make his move: now or never.
He rushed forward and tugged on the sleeve.
The blue eyes were a shock. As was the auburn beard, neatly trimmed, the carefully maintained hair. There was a quiet, unassuming strength about him. He wasn't an imposing man, neither in height or musculature, but there was such a deepness about him. A *something else* that came about from his Jedi-ness.
But of course, maybe that was just the effect of seeing such a famous man in the flesh. He'd seen that face a hundred times before, in a hundred holograms, since he was a child.
"You're..." his voice cracked, and he forced himself to cough and swallow. "You're Obi-Wan Kenobi."
The Jedi General nodded, a twinkle in his eye of amusement and surprise. He lowered his hood and took a relaxed posture. "And who might you be, young man?"
He should probably go. His father would be upset, if he found out he'd gone to talk to Obi-Wan on his own. It would be the right, safe thing to do.
But it would also be the end of his adventure.
"My name is Luke." | 16 | Anakin Skywalker is not discovered by the jedi, and grows up a genius engineer slave on tatooine. The force is with him. | 18 |
Her foot falls on the first step. Beverly's neck hair stands on end with the anticipation of it. "I just need to get to the top. I'm an adult, there is nothing down here with me." She mutters the words aloud, the sound giving credence to the merit of their wisdom. She knows the terror she feels is primordial. Its just the dark. A twenty-three year old woman should not be afraid of the something as childish as the dark. Yet every time she flips the switch, extinguishing the light in the basement, it becomes a life-or-death dash up the stairs to avoid the grasp of whatever the dark may hold.
The first few steps fly by in an instant. One, two, three, four, five. Her rhythmic footfalls counting off her distance from safety. Ten steps. Ever since she was a little girl she knew the count of these steps by heart. It was ten steps to freedom from the darkness. This fixed constant was the light at the end of the dark stairwell.
Seven, eight, nine. Despite her best reasoned efforts, the terror grew with each step. Panic, once stored in the formed of potential energy at the bottom of the stairs, bursts forth, its conversion to the kinetic state fueled by each lunge. She was almost there.
Ten.
Eleven... | 17 | Create a SHORT HORROR story with just ONE CHARACTER | 19 |
"Vanilla latte, please. On ice. Cheers."
"*Mi dispiace, mi dispiace*. It is very loud. *Daccapo*, sir? Repeat yourself?"
The barista smelled half of sweat, and half of the bitter richness of a good roast. I could almost taste her as I leaned in, the hotness of her breath tracing my cheek as my mouth inched towards her ear.
"Vanilla latte. On ice. *Grazie*."
She smiled, nodded, flashing her teeth. I couldn't help but smile back; her eyes were warm, her cheeks rosy and inviting. So different to the women in finance; no stark austerity, no coldness, no market models.
It was crowded here, muggy even. Tourists and locals alike pressed up against me in a cloying throng, speaking a multitude of languages. I let the noise wash over me; I'd never been claustrophobic, and besides -- there were enough Italians that the coffee had to be decent.
*"In breaking news, the World Health Organisation as officially announced a global alert for H5N5."*
A familiar accent -- the BBC. I craned my neck to take a peek of home; the television was small, old, and tinny, propped between dusty syrup bottles and a radio.
*"This deadly variant of the influenza virus, which harkens back fears of H5N1 and SARS several years ago, has been called the 'next great pandemic.'"*
With a clink, a glass was set in front of me, the milky brown of coffee tugging my attention away from the reporter on-screen. I picked it up, and turned to make for my table when the posh overtones caught my ears again.
*"...outbreak supposedly began in London earlier this week. Epidemiologists from Cambridge and Dundee, allied behind the NHS, urge caution and quarantine in controlling the pathogen, which supposedly has a 'case reproduction number' similar to that of the highly infectious measles virus. It's suggested the origin is in the upper financial district, which, in an unprecedented unanimous vote by Parliament this morning, has been shut."*
Shut?
I grabbed for the nearest newspaper, cursing my abysmal grasp of Italian as I scanned the headlines. 50 already in quarantine, over 100 assumed infected. The image below showed an infection map -- London was red, Britain varyingly punitive shades of puss. Isolated dots of yellow and orange were beginning to creep through Europe.
The television cut to a pale, tufty-haired epidemiologist who looked like he'd been dragged out of bed specifically to serve as the bearer of bad news.
*"Yes... ah... problem with influenza virus is... ah... humans with a certain IVN4 variant can be asymptomatic carriers, so, ah -- yes. That's why containment is such a problem, unfortunately. Yes. Such a problem."*
*"Symptoms to look out for, Professor Harding?"*
*"Well, if you're symptomatic, nausea, vomiting, pyrexia, epistaxis..."*
The epidemiologist cleared his throat, unable to mask his mild annoyance at the interviewer's confusion.
*"Ah... I mean, fever, nosebleeds... haemorrhage..."*
The babble of conversation around me had stopped; everyone was intently focused on the broadcast now, cupping their hands over their mouths as though that and a little luck would save them from a fiery, haemorrhagic end. Some prayed. Some cried. Most just stood agape, as though they couldn't really believe a pathogen had finally circumvented millions of years of human evolution -- as though they hadn't realised it was just a race against time all along.
*"Global security measures have been implemented, as it's been reported as per WHO guidelines that France, Spain, and the Netherlands have shut down all air travel two and from the country in an attempt to contain H5N5 spread. Elsewhere, Madagascar has closed its seaports -- the first concrete evidence of this threat's global nature, as government agencies pressure the UN to act."*
I turned to set the newspaper back down on the polished countertop, moving my lips to the cool rim of the coffee glass as I did so. It wasn't until I happened to glance up that it tumbled out of my shaking fingers, hanging momentarily suspended in a moment of inertia before dancing towards the floor and spraying outwards as it hit in an impressive display of the conservation of momentum. The crash of glass on lacquered wood seemed to stop everything, frozen.
Everything except the trail of blood snaking slowly out of the barista's nose.
| 41 | You are travelling alone by train through Europe. At the same time a highly contagious and deadly disease breaks out. You go to a crowded coffee shop to listen to the latest news. As the disease news story unfolds, you gather up the facts and realize (or so you think) that you are patient zero. | 62 |
I stare at the man in the door opening. He looks exactly like me, but a few decades older. For a moment I don't know what to do.
"I'm serious man, you're home alone today, right?"
He steps in and I let him through, I'm still trying to come to grips with the reality of what's happening here. I close the door, briefly checking if no one saw us, though I'm not sure why I do that. Maybe I'm afraid I'm actually losing it and I don't want my neighbours to think I'm crazy?
"You want something to drink?" I hear from the living room, as I walk in and see the older me going through the fridge.
"No... I think I'm good... are you sure I'm not just going insane?" I ask, sheepishly.
Older me looks up and flashes me a grin.
"Not any more then me"
There's a hundred thoughts running through my head, and I try to focus them into a question.
"Why are you... I... why are we here?"
The other one's face goes serious.
"Everyone gets one." He says. "One chance to go back to tell ourselves something."
He's poured himself a glass of juice, just as I did not an hour ago, and sits across from me on the couch. He looks as though he's trying to find the words to tell me something.
"It's... we're not allowed to tell ourselves anything material from the world we live in. No lottery numbers or killing Hitler. When we are back, we don't remember much of that stuff anyway."
He takes a sip from the drink and sets it down on the table.
"I picked this moment specifically because you're off course, and I won't find my way back until, well, a few months ago for me, but about 19 years for you."
It takes me a few seconds to process, but then I realize what he's saying.
"You say I'm off course already?"
He nods, mid drink.
"...yes. I don't think you're aware of it, but that may be our advantage here, it's not really set in yet. It's not too late right now."
I consider that I'm taking this way too well, but decide not to dwell on it.
"So what exactly are we talking about here? I know I'm not doing that well with work or relationships at the moment... but I thought I was on the right track with that."
He seems to be taking in the living room we're sitting in, well, mostly my roommate's living room. I haven't moved in that long ago and it's mostly his stuff that populates the shelves and table surfaces.
"Do you know that this room is practically the same now as it was when I moved out? It's really strange..."
"Hey come on, I thought this was supposed to be super important?"
He focusses on me again.
"Right, sorry, haven't seen this stuff in a while."
He smiles apologetically.
"It's not about the work. Actually it's a bit funny that you're so worried about that know..."
"Well it's not that funny to me" I snap back. I find myself getting a big agitated by this guy's attitude.
He looks at me for a second before he resumes.
"All this stuff you're so concerned about isn't why I'm here. Although, I guess, in a way it is, but not like that. It's the attitude you're developing to cope with it. You're poisoning yourself with it."
I'm taken aback by his matter-of-fact way of saying it.
"I... what? I'm poisoning myself?"
He nods his head in acknowledgement.
"Oh yeah, that whole attitude you've got going on, the one where you sit on your hands until the people around you start offering you help? Yeah that's the one. You're developing a co-dependant self destructive cycle with it."
I don't know what to say, but just stare at the man sitting at my table.
"It's not unexpected, but you've got to nip it in the bud right away. You'll be pushing those people away eventually, because they'll find out that you're only leaning on them without taking any responsibility for yourself. Eventually they'll call you out on it."
He finishes the drink and stands up.
"They'll do it to help you, try to get you to take some more responsibility, but you'll start cutting ties with them. Then, when there's no one to help, you go off on the deep end. Dependency problems, getting in with the wrong crowd because they're like you now. It'll eat up years of your life before you even try to come back the real world, and even when you do it'll take you a long time to get there."
The look on his face is grim, his posture forced and uncomfortable. I notice the deep lines in his face, the pale skin tone and the faded puncture marks on his right arm, as well as the scar on his left.
"I've been down that road, and I've never regretted anything as much as that."
I can tell he's getting ready to leave now.
"What do I do? How do I stop me from becoming you?"
He just smiles, faintly, as though someone told him something funny a long time ago.
And just like that, I'm alone in the room. The 2 empty glasses on the table the only reminder of his visit. | 12 | There is a knock on your door. When you open it, you see yourself standing there, only 20 years older. "Dude," says the other you. "We need to talk." | 18 |
I push away a large boulder to reveal a small, cobweb filled corridor. Removing my hat, I swat the webs as I walk. Reaching the end of the corridor, I enter a room that looks strangely familiar, much like my own sleeping chamber.
Why would this nicely furnished room be here, in the ruins of an ancient city. The elders told us the primitive inhabitants of this place were more animal than man. But the pictures on the desk and the books on the shelf tell a different story. Could it all be a lie?
In the corner of the room sits a chair, a desk, and a peculiar object I have never seen before. Mostly plastic, but with some glass and buttons. It doesn't look like the device of an animal. I press the center button and the screen begins to glow like the torches around our village.
What appears next is something I cannot describe, for there are no words that can fully capture its beauty. The words inscribed below the image come close. I read it out loud to ensure I am not just dreaming. "Dick butt." | 18 | Hundreds of years in the future, the internet is rediscovered. | 40 |
No one warned us about the changes that occurred around your 14th year of life. You would think it would be in all the history books that we've read, or an utter mention in health education. I always thought that they were symbols that people had chosen to put on themselves, to create a story of their past interwoven with their future.
I've seen the ones on my parents. My dad has this one on his upper forearm, a ferocious lion protecting his kin. The countless ones on my mother leave me mesmerized every time I see her. Then there's this pair that both of them have that complement each other, one pointing to the other whenever they kissed.
It never occurred to me that something would just materialize into existence like that on someone's body. They always seemed deliberately placed. A couple of my friends had theirs appearing around their birthday. Some as simple as their first and last initials. My friend Josephine's showed her love for nature with a random creature with black and white fur, with black patches surrounding its eyes.
My 14th birthday came and went. Nothing changed except for the increase in my height and muscle mass. My skin still had its natural tones. I started becoming more conscious about it as more and more of my friends began having their first ones appear. I waited, but time kept moving. Nothing seemed different, at first, but I could start seeing the stares from my friends, from the strangers, from my own family. The world stared at me, only to have myself stare back out in helplessness.
No one my age knew what to say. While they all discussed the dark complexions forming on them, I sat back and stared in envy. My parents said that sometimes it takes time. They still never told me why they never said anything about them before.
For months I waited, hoping for something to appear amongst the torment and names I started receiving from others. I'd wake up every morning and rush to the mirror, only to be miserable by breakfast. By the time I came back home, I wouldn't want to do anything else but get into my bed and sleep.
I glanced towards my clock and saw that it was 1:00am. An hour into my 15th birthday. I sighed and looked over to my mirror to see the same boy that existed just an hour back. I angrily stared at my arms, upset at myself for not having what others did. I knew it wasn't my fault, that sometimes it doesn't happen until the body is ready. But there must have been something I could have done, something that I have been doing that was stopping them.
As I flipped over in my bed to turn off the lights, I noticed something strange appear on my arm. A small line going from my right wrist, all the way down to my elbow, but it only flickered, and disappeared. It was enough though. I knew it was my first tattoo coming into existence. I should have been happier, but I knew that the first one was so important to ones life. It dictated a lot of what was to come, but as I caught the glimpse of mine, I knew that it would be the last tattoo I would have, and this time, of my choosing. | 349 | What if tattoos just randomly appeared on our skin at key points in our lives and we had to figure out what they meant for ourselves. | 1,026 |
"A throne made from swords? Quite a unilateral statement, if I do say so myself, of rather...iron-hearted strength."
"...Yes," quipped Varys after a short pause, studying the man in front of him. "The name of throne itself suggests so. The Iron Throne has had much blood spilled in the name of its conquest, as should be no news to anyone in Westeros."
He was not of an impressive stature, and his dress was modest but fine-woven and of some wealth, with no house sigils nor colors to mark. A curved dagger was secured to his hip, of possible Dornish make, though it looked more ornamental than comfortably handled. The man himself appeared more of Varys's own ilk than a hardened warrior, though his stance and the air about him said otherwise.
"Of course," the man drawled, his lips sliding into a smile. "Blood is oft spilled for greatness."
A mercenary? But he appeared too cultured, really. Maybe a high-class merchant or something of the like? Yet he did not carry the air of urgency to subtly ad his services that most did. Perhaps a guest scholar, or a court attendant? Neither of those would carry a weapon, though, no matter how useless or ornate, and would more likely than not be accompanied. Clergy...? Varys's gut didn't even let him consider that notion, for whatever reason.
"What brings you here today?" Varys questioned.
"Oh...let's say an errand here or there and some sight-seeing. This truly is an extraordinary city, any man more accustomed to the barren country such as myself would be foolish not to stand in awe at a corner or two."
What was really most unsettling, however, was not the lack of information Varys had on this man--which was always a cause for concern. Rather, it was the feeling Varys got down his spine whenever the man turned towards him and he caught his gaze.
Varys raised his eyebrows and a corner of his mouth. Although the man's voice rang earnestly, Varys would not had gotten very far in this life could he not recognize calculated flattery and image-building when it arose. "There are many countries in Westeros, and many places to stand in awe besides here. May I inquire as to from where you hail?"
The man lightly stared at Varys's smirk for a moment before giving his own sly smile. "A country very far away, my good fellow. But I may as well cast my origins away, for I speculate that I am here to stay for the time being."
Varys did not like the way this man looked at the world around him. His eyes betrayed his age-softened face, cold and sharp like a predator's. His gaze was clear and never wavered, in spite of his lilting voice and honey words. Yet he also never quite seemed to be looking at whomever he was speaking to--instead, his gaze seemed to pass right through and travel onwards to something only he could see, something that made him lick his lips and made his stomach growl.
"Ah. Well, if that is the case," Varys crooned, "may I be of assistance to you in this land should you need it...ah...my apologies, you've yet to state your name, kind patron."
"Oh!" The man exclaimed over-dramatically, "How rude, here we've conversed thoroughly and you've told me many interesting stories--forgive me for abstaining. Utterly disgraceful of me..."
The well-rehearsed humility and stream of excuses brought a brackish taste to the back of Varys's throat. In all his time at King's Landing, as well as traversing Westeros and the lands beyond, he had only met a handful of individuals capable of such mastery of fake words and faces.
And of all the gazes he'd seen directed at the Iron Throne, never had Varys witnessed one so full of insatiable hunger.
"...Francis Underwood."
It would be best to keep tabs on this one, Varys thought. What a dangerous individual indeed. | 29 | Frank Underwood finds himself in Westeros | 35 |
It was the days of old and forgotten religions, the time of free knowledge, the skies still blue and the oceans still lively. They say the air tasted sweet, and the water so crystalline pure and so bountiful that people would dance in fountains of it without fear of waste.
We were still young then, still civil and patient. Nations still gathered in hopes of peace, no matter how bureaucratic and tedious the gatherings may have been. There were many countries then, many voices and nationalities all still unique. They clung to their heritage, and their ancestors, even if the histories weren't worth saving. The ancient songs were still sung, and the old cities still standing. Art, and knowledge were preserved and appreciated. Democracy, Socialism, Religion, Commerce, Justice, and everything in between all had their places in the world.
The great wars took years, not minutes. There was honor to combat. Armies still met on the field of battle face to face, young men and young women were still mourned by their cities, and memorialized with parades. There was a cadence and rhythm to it all, balancing the politics and the violence. Military efforts still inspired poetry.
Their children could all have the futures they dreamed of, and they encouraged their adolescents to try and fail.
There were festivals and celebrations, hundreds upon thousands of young people living together in peace. Their dreams, their lust, their music, their passions, their hunger, and their voices were all free to be expressed. They cared about music, and they cared about how it might evolve. They insatiably consumed all forms of media, just to try and hold onto the moment, to not be left behind. People connected from across the world, and tried to understand others, not just tolerate them. They were more passionate about helping others gain civil liberties, than to defend their own.
They revered their great thinkers. They valued their entertainers and their greatest athletes with gold and riches, no matter how fleeting their lives may have been. They still believed in the importance of the moment, and hoped but never planned for a better tomorrow. They could still aspire to nature and technology being harmonious, and spend whole days with another person without needing to use any of their gadgets or gizmos.
You could climb a mountain in those days, or swim in a lake.
There was hunger, and death. Disease not yet conquered. Each day, they aspired to defeat and not contain these great evils. They spent years chasing medicine and cures out of their reach by fingertips. There was a nobility to the healing arts in those days, there was an unassailable knowledge that these doctors and nurses were the benchmark of the smartest and most moral.
They lived, and they settled on the edge of greatness. Always inches away from it, always clutching for it, but never achieving it. They hadn't yet grown, and calmed. They lived with naiveté and bravery. And they would have had it no other way. | 46 | The Greek and Roman empires are often romanticized to be more beautiful than they actually were. Describe the current world similarly from the distant future. | 34 |
Digits yelled as loudly as he could, filling the abandoned house with his hoarse scream. He turned to Julia, the whore, and cocked his head to the side. "No one will hear you if you scream, you understand?"
The lying whore nodded. She looked so scared, like she didn't know this would happen. Digits reached up and removed the tape around her mouth, watching in bliss as her pale skin and red lips pulled up with it. Julia didn't say anything, she just whimpered. They all whimpered.
"I loved you..." Digits said in a hushed tone.
"I don't even know you!" She screamed out. They always said they didn't know him.
"I buy coffee from you everyday!" Digits roared, getting beads of spit on Julia's face. Her skin, it was so pale... "You tell me to have a good day. Every day for the last month!"
Julia's face twisted into hopelessness. "Please, I'm sorry, just let me go, I won't tell anyone."
"And then, then, I see you holding hands with some *guy* in the park? You didn't even take your usual way home, you went out of your way to cheat on me." Digits said. "Tell me, did you ever even love me?"
Julia cried uncontrollably.
"Answer me!" Digits roared again.
The sound of a door opening came from the hallway. Digits opened his eyes wide and held his knife to Julia's stomach. "You called the cops? You fucking slut... you fucking slut..."
Digits kept chanting those words, over and over, as he held up his knife in anticipation for the cops. Instead of a cop, a brown skinned man in a black suit walked in. He had a red tie, it looked expensive. The man was bald, with a scar running down his face.
"Who the fuck are you?" Digits held the knife out.
The man laughed and walked closer. "A nomad."
"Please," Julia said in between sobs, "help me out of here. Please, this man is crazy, he ab-"
The brown skinned man held up a hand to silence her. "Yes, Digits is his name. You've likely heard of him."
Digits looked over to Julia and saw a horror dawning.
"Digits..." She whispered. "The serial killer?"
"The same." The brown skinned man stepped forward again, not even flinching from Digit's knife. "So you know him, and how he got his name? The way he takes the ring finger, it's beyond painful."
Julia's face turned to shock. Digits could see it, she lost hope again.
"You gonna try to stop me?" Digits brandished the knife. "I'll cut you man, I swear."
The brown skinned man held up his hands again. "I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to watch. I've always watched you Digits."
"That night that I left the house and saw a dead jogger?" Digits asked.
"It was me. I covered for you, I'm a big fan. Now please, continue." The brown skinned man smiled and sat down on an old radiator.
Digits turned back to Julia and placed the knife on her dress, sliding it down and cutting it off. He looked back at the brown skinned man one last time before starting.
---
Sorry for going a bit off prompt... I didn't mean to. | 33 | A notorious serial killer is about to torture and mutilate his next victim in a randomly chosen abandoned house. As the killer approaches the victim, something happens that makes them realize that there's someone, or something, else that is more evil with them. | 51 |
I am not like you.
There are things I could tell you, things that would take the uncomfortably familiar pain off my chest. But in the end, would you understand?
It’s been like this for as long as I can remember: since the cereal was sweet and the cartoons were vividly funny, since the medicine was a syrupy grape and the tubes in my nose were but nifty gadgets. Nothing’s changed now.
Nothing happened but the sick joke we call growing-up- nothing but the fact that I have reached the pinnacle, yet expiration date of my life at the tender age of seventeen.
Now the cereal is but another meal to choke down, the cartoons are but a pale reminder of my former joy, the medicine is but a bitterly forlorn needle, and the tubes are but a suffocating snare dragging me down into the abyss of the deep-blue hospital bed.
And yet, people still try to treat me like nothing is wrong. As if this is merely an obstacle in what is to soon be my fruitful life. Little do you know, this is my life.
I’m not like you, remember? | 13 | A story that begins with "I am not like you." | 17 |
As I lay in the bed, focusing all of my energy on continuing to breathe for as long as I could, I felt a presence in my midst. Not a physical presence like that of my family that surrounded me, but it was as if a second consciousness had entered my mind.
He explained to me what was going to happen, though I knew it to be true already. I was going to die momentarily. What I hadn't known, was what was to come after. I had contemplated what the after life might be like, or if there even was an after life. Now I had my answer. I was to be reincarnated upon my death and I would lose all of my memories of this life. It was saddening to know that I would live on in a new life, but would not be able to carry the precious moments from this life with me.
But losing all of my memories was to come with a perk. He told me I could ask any one question. Any one question at all, and I would receive an answer. I thought long and hard, each second that passed became more and more painful as my breaths became increasingly sharp and quick. Finally, I had it. The question I would ask would give me one final taste of truth. With this answer, I could go quietly into the night, knowing that those I left behind would be either disappointed or would rejoice when the truth I was about to behold became public knowledge.
We shared a consciousness, so I need not even ask the question. I could tell he was slightly let down with my choice of inquiry. He hesitated for a moment, but then relented and granted me my one final answer. What he had not anticipated, nor what I had not anticipated, was that as my heart gave out and his answer echoed through the waning expanse of my consciousness, was that it would restart my failing heart. When I heard his answer, my world jolted back into view. My family was frantically calling for assistance from the nurses. I was gasping for breath again, not because I couldn't breathe, but because I could breathe once again. I didn't wait for the nurses or doctors to arrive. Instead, I pulled the apparatus facilitating my breathing from my body and sat up straight. My cousin, two years my elder, shuffled over and placed a hand on my back, steadying me as I tried to sputter out audible words. Something raspy came out of my mouth, but he couldn't hear it. I pulled the collar of his shirt closer to me and whispered into his ear,
"Half Life 3 confirmed."
edit: Thanks so much for the gold! | 750 | You lay dying of heart failure, and God enters your mind. He informs you that you will be reincarnated upon death, losing all memory, but before that happens you are allowed to ask any one question. The answer to your question surprises you so much that your heart restarts and you survive. | 350 |
"Shit, shit, shit." I curse as I hurry down the street. The angry elderly couple still shouts obscenities at me. I try to block it out and turn a corner, then catch my breath.
"This stupid thing is ruining my life ..." I think again. Probably for the millionth time. When I stand up straight again after having caught my breath, there walks a couple past me.
*Oh crap.* I think.
"Oh crap." I say.
"Babe, I love you. You're my one and only." The guy from the couple says. I try to shield my ears, but it's already too late. My instinct, my new *power* kicks in. Monkey sees, monkey does.
"No he doesn't."
The couple stops, confused. The guy eyeballs me, suspicious.
"Excuse me?" The woman asks.
"No he doesn't." I repeat. "He doesn't love you and you're not his one and only."
*Fuck*
"EXCUSE ME?!" The woman repeats, insulted. The guy steps forward. I want to run, but I'm in trance.
"Who do you think you are?!" The guy gets up in my face. There is fear in his angry stare.
I ignore his attempt to intimidate me and continue.
"When he said he was out with Josh and 'the boys'? He was hooking up with Amber. And the next day, when he said he was hungover at Steve's, he was actually with his Ex-Girlfriend Rose and told her you guys were through to get her to sleep with him."
The guy's face turns from red to deep red, from deep red to crimson. The girl just listens with her mouth slightly open.
"She did." I add.
He grabs me by the collar, furious. When he screams at me, his voice cracks.
"How the fuck do you k- ... Who the fuck are you?!"
"Derek, is ... is this all true?" The girl asks, near tears.
He lets go of me and turns towards her.
"No, no, baby, no. This is just some freak nutjob! I told you I only love you! You're my everything! I would never hurt you!"
A slight shiver creeps down my spine.
"Rose has Chlamydia. Since Saturday, so does Derek. And since yesterday, so do you, Kelly."
She flings her purse at him, crying, screaming.
"You fucking asshole. I trusted you! You said there was nothing going on! I'm so fucking stupid! My mother was right, you are a pig! I never want to see your face again! My mother was right!"
One last shiver. I feel my trance fading.
"He also slept with your mother. She might want to get checked, too."
I exit my trance. What the hell did I just do? There is some guy and a girl here. A purse lies on the floor. Is this a robbery? The girl looks like she wants to skin the guy. He sweats like hell. What the hell is going on?
"YOU. FUCKING. BITCH." The girl growls calmly.
I turn around and run away as she throws a series of punches in the are of his crotch. I need to get rid of this sudden-sleep thing or whatever. I keep waking up in akward situations where people either hate each other or throw things at me. | 77 | You have developed an extremely inconvenient superpower and you have to get rid of it somehow before it ruins your life. | 29 |
Everyone knows about the aliens. Well, everyone worth mentioning. It isn't on Wikipedia, of course. And a lot of people are unsure, still think it is a joke, a meme. Others just heard rumors and are afraid to ask in case they will be seen as crazy or stupid. But these days everyone who is able to do a bit of googling finds out the truth pretty quickly.
When it started, the gamers were first to notice. Cryptic sites in weird languages, indecipherable comments left in random places, chats where the whole discussion is just reordering of words in a single meaningless phrase. Of course it had to be an ARG, alternate reality game, promoting some new game or a movie. Maybe even Half-Life 3? Everyone was pretty excited.
It didn't take long to decipher alien languages, and by that time, alien video sites started to appear. Ten second videos of an alien animal running over a foreign landscape. Ten minute videos of colored blobs quickly moving around (alien animation?). Even a three hour video of a modded Minecraft game, where all players stand perfectly still in a circle for the whole time. It was clear no one has the resources for ARG of this size. Those were real aliens — connected to our internet. First to learn more about humans, and now who knows why. We can read their language now, and in fact there is even Google Translate mode for it (if you add "alien" to the URL), but their ideas and intentions are still really hard to understand.
We were lucky. The government would have shut the internet for good, but by the time they found out, it was too late. They weren't be able to hide it. They still did their part, though. Blocked the official news (not that any TV station was going to run with the internet aliens story anyway), tried to block some alien sites. For one they blocked, ten more appeared.
Now the aliens are just a part of life. An alien meme got recently popular on Reddit — and now I see it everywhere in the city as a graffiti. An architect cited an image we know to be alien as an inspiration for the latest building. There is a popular yoga meditation/breathing mantra based on an alien chat log. An alien Kickstarter promising a schematic for a better microwave (that's our understanding, the video is pretty bizzare) got ten times the funding it asked for (why do they even need our money?).
Of course, aliens are still a huge pain for moderators. I ran an entomology forum board for a while, and aliens started frequenting it. Some of the images they posted still visit me in nightmares. I heard it is even worse for religious sites — they have a very peculiar understanding of religion.
Overall, I am excited about all this. But sometimes I remember one video that is highly rated on alien tubes. Several different alien animals/plants, just standing there. Just standing there for three hours. And then, just in a few frames, one quickly devours all others. The video has a caption, in alien, a single word with three meanings: "dialogue"; "learning"; "contact".
And then I worry. | 28 | Aliens discover earth. They manage to construct a stable connection to the internet in order to find out more about the human race. | 28 |
Everything rendered meaningless; my prom date, my grandfather's cancer, and the light burning through the window onto my still fragile eyes held the same weight of importance in that they were all chance conditions set up by the grinding and mechanical universe. My parents are eating breakfast downstairs. Two states north a man was five minutes from taking his last breath because a doctor had failed to wash his hands after using the restroom. A drug addict was jailed yesterday and is suffering withdrawals right now; thirty-three miles away a seven year old child was given a puppy as a birthday present just like the drug addict. The difference here is that the seven year old's father made more money than the drug addict's mother.
*"Johnathan?"*
My mother doesn't know what's going to happen. She'll be stricken with grief, but she'll recover the best she can. Four years from now a woman in Texas will steal a debit card so she can eat. She'll go overboard and treat herself because she believes the world owes her after all of her misfortunes. After the fact, the victim will be unable to purchase Christmas presents on time. His children will be crushed, but it will sow a seed for what's believed to be an important lesson in life.
*"Johnathan, are you okay?"*
*"Sorry, I was just thinking."*
There was no I to speak of, only a mechanical pull towards the natural consequence of omniscience.
*"Breakfast is ready, do you want to eat?"*
*"Sure, I'll be down in a bit."*
In two minutes and twenty-three seconds she'll find the body of Johnathan, *my* body, across the floor in her closet. There is no point in playing a game you know the answers to. There's no point in playing a game you don't know the answers to, but that knowledge is better left unknown. I make my way to the gun safe and open it. They'll blame each other for not keeping the combination secret enough. I lift the handgun into position. After the next sentence there will be no physical I to speak of either. Dust on a sphere is not even close to describing the total meaninglessness of our condition. | 20 | A sixteen year old wakes up one morning to discover they are omniscient; they know everything that can ever be known. | 28 |
"An arrow ban?"
Wei shrugged and sipped his tea.
"They already outlawed crossbows. Why not an arrow ban too? The whole point of it is that killing is supposed to be personal. *Honorable.*" Wei stretched out the last word in his best samurai-movie voice. I rolled my eyes.
"This is what happens when nerds get too much power. The technology age rolled in, we admired them all for their great intellect and mastery of science and we, as a race said to ourselves 'maybe they could solve all of our problems!' and this is what we end up with. Some misguided idea that killing at close range is somehow better than killing from afar."
"You have to admit, it would be less traumatizing."
I furrowed my brows and circled a clump of rice through the lake of egg yolk still on my plate.
"You trained in something, right? Karate?"
Wei shook his head. "Wing Chun. Wing Chun girls are always the hottest."
"What did they teach you about how a fight is won?"
"Hell if I know man, a lot of shit about breath and focus and knowing the opponent's *chi*." Again he used his samurai movie voice, this time wiggling his fingers in the air.
"Yeah, sure. This is what it comes down to: a fight is determined in the first five seconds. Whoever is faster, stronger, or catches the other guy by surprise, that's the one that wins. They think it's more honorable to run a man through the belly with a sword? It's not any harder than pulling a trigger; put the sharp end in the other guy."
Wei had stopped talking and I could tell he had regretted bringing it up, but he kept at his tea and checking his phone.
"The only thing a ban like this did is make soldiers more monstrous than before. Sure, click a trigger, hot metal flies through the chest of a man and he stops breathing. It's easy, but because it's easy it takes no thought. You don't have to watch his guts slide all of your hands, and then remember the hot slickness on your skin the next time you have to do it. Stabbing your first man is easy. Stabbing your second man is hard."
The restaurant's din took over the silence between us. I ate my rice.
"You need to get out of that fucking army," Wei said over his tea.
"Tell me about it." | 115 | Guns have been outlawed Worldwide because they are viewed as a cowardice form of war. Only short range weapons (Swords, arrows, spears, etc) are legal for countries to possess. | 109 |
You enter the celestial courthouse. You and billions of other dead humans sit, waiting for the trial of God. This was the big show trial the Nine Heavens had been waiting for and the place was packed to the rafters. The gods from Olympus had their own private box while the trial itself was being broadcast to every realm. Even Hell had the day off from eternal torture to watch the trial. God sat in the hot seat, fidgeting from side to side while the Justicars took their seats, their golden cloaks and pure white wigs radiating authority. The head Justicar held up a hand and silenced the din of billions.
'Today, we sit in judgement of the God of the Abrahamic religions. He is called many names but for brevity and the good of all the people watching this trial, we shall just called him God.' The Justicar picked up a sheet of paper and put on his reading glasses. 'You are to be judged today, by this panel and the audience sitting here, for your performance as God of planet 65439 or how it is colloquially known, Earth. We will start by asking you a few questions about your time as God of this planet, before opening up to the floor for an audience vote and then finishing with our verdict and your final judgement. So, God, how do you think you did?'
'I think I did an admirable job.' he replied, looking up at his judges. The whole room erupted in a series of boos, cheers, jeers and jests. The noise of billions of souls all crying out was something to behold, the sheer force of sound rocking your very soul. The noise was stopped by the head Justicar slamming his gavel down on the bench.
'I will have quiet in this courtroom! I understand we have many people in attendance but let the divinity speak. You'll have plenty of time for noise making during the audience vote. God, please proceed.' He cleared his throat and looked round the billions of eyes watching him, stroking his beard anxiously.
'Well, I believe I did the best I could. Creation went fairly well, I can say the planet itself held up well, even if the beings on it didn't.'
'That sounds like negligence to me.' the left Justicar said, looking down at its notes. 'One recurring complaint from your charges on earth, is that you didn't look after them. From all accounts, you seemed to disappear from the scene somewhere after Creation and only popped in occasionally to either clean up the place with a flood or send a few natural disasters to keep people on their toes. Doesn't sound like very caring to me.'
'Well, the flood was a mistake on my part. I didn't quite get the first batch of humans right so I needed a bit of a do-over.' God replied, trying to remember pre-history.
'That doesn't help your case.' the right Justicar stated. 'That just makes you sound incompetent.'
'Well, it was my first go at sentient life, give me a bit of a break. I wasn't going to get it right on the first go.'
'Many people believe you are omnipotent and omniscient, this admission doesn't help your claims.'
'Well, everyone lies on their CV, surely?' A massive roar went up through the courthouse, as projectiles started to fly at the judged party. The head Justicar slammed his gavel again, the force of the blow shaking the entire courthouse.
'I will not let this judgement be a farce! We got through Hades' judgement without all this rabble rousing, let's have some decorum.' Silence fell over the crowd again. 'Thank you. Now, while you may not have taken care of the Earth that well, we can all agree you did a good job on the layout. Drinkable water, varied landscapes and a breathable atmosphere which could sustain life, a definite tick for that. We'll ignore global warning and all the nuclear fallout malarkey as that wasn't technically your fault. However, as mentioned earlier, we must talk about your treatment of your creations as it's not so glowing.'
The Justicar to the left of the head rifled through his notes, finding the list of God's misdemeanors. 'I mean, look at this list. Original sin, causing multiple factions to go to war over your word, not intervening with atrocities, the number of plagues and illnesses you unleashed on the world, actively neglecting the pleas for help from millions of your people. This does not make for good reading.'
'I was young and irresponsible. I didn't know how to govern a sentient species properly! I thought the dinosaurs were hard work but I severely underestimated the problems the human race could cause. No offence, but you mortals don't half mess things up.' God replied, gazing at the angry crowd.
'Let's not forget the issues with your son.' the head Justicar interjected. The whole audience took a sharp intake of breath at this low blow. 'Plus, the whole binding of Isaac thing was pretty underhand as well.'
'I know, I know. I was reckless and trying to be a cool, mysterious deity like the Old Ones before me. It didn't come off as well as I'd hoped.'
'Well, quite obviously, as seen by the audience reaction. Well, we will take a short recess and come back to talk more about your relationships with humanity and then the audience vote. Hopefully, everyone will have simmered down by then. Stay right where you are audience, and we will be back with the trial of God after these short messages!'
EDIT: Now with the end of the trial!
The recess was not short. Roughly a millenium had passed in the ad break, as the billions of souls, angels and other gods present in the courthouse were regaled with the benefits of Seraphim-brand Halo Wax. Jumbo screens had been placed up during the break, probably for the audience vote and angel mounted cameras had started to fly round the court, currently orbiting the sweating God. Souls with nothing to lose were trying to hand out betting slips for God's eventual judgement, with the top odds being that God would be forced to work for Satan for a cosmic cycle. The hubbub was interrupted as the three Justicars took to the stand again, as the excited silence fell upon the crowd.
'Sorry for the length of the break everyone, it seems that Halo Wax adverts go on for longer than we expect.' The head Justicar said, looking straight into camera 1. 'We are back with the trial that the cosmos has been waiting for, the judgement of the Abrahamic God, brought to you by Seraphim-brand Halo Wax. Now, let's talk more about your relationship with humanity.'
Many in the audience rubbed their hands, this was the moment they'd been waiting their whole afterlife to hear.
'It's safe to say it has been fairly eventful.' The right Justicar said, looking back through his notes. We'll look over the early stuff, your hell-raising days in the Holy Land and consider your silent years. Did it ever occur to you to send a message to everyone? Just to tell them to calm down and stop killing each other?' God fiddled with his robe, starting up at the Jumbotron with his glistening face on.
'I thought, that if I stayed silent, humans would eventually sort themselves out. I was trying to be a distant creator, not hovering over them all the time.' he replied, his mind whirring for answers.
'I mean, that's understandable but after the 4th war fought in your name, surely enough was enough? People were being slaughtered because they believed a different paraphrasing of something you may have said! It seems reasonable to me to step in?' Many souls nodded in agreement.
'Well, I reckon my creations would have the knowledge to realise that some of my saying aren't to be taken literally! It's their own fault for taking things so seriously...' God's answer was interrupted by a huge roar from the crowd. Billions of souls shouting in anger, frustration and bitter to their callous Creator. Even Satan felt sorry for a single millsecond, as he sat on his throne of flaming bodies watching the trial.
'I think I've heard enough here. It's time to open in up to the audience. Those who think God should be judged favourably, let your voices be heard.' the head Justicar announced, as the cameras panned around the mass. A few pockets of noise could be heard, shouts of 'We Love You God!' but no major feedback. 'And now, those who think that God should be punished, let your voices be heard now.'
The sheer wave of noise nearly knocked God off his chair. Billions of curses in billions of languages, hundreds of projectiles being thrown at the judgement stand, chants of 'Make Him Burn' filled the air. Even the Olympian Gods got into the angry mob, with Zeus throwing the odd thunderbolt in protest. The screams of the damned could be heard coming from Hell, as Satan lead his choir in hateful song. The Jumbotrons showed pictures of people in the crowd firing off abuse, while God sat rooted to his seat.
The Justicars' gavel broke the din. 'I think we have heard enough. It is clear what the verdict is. Can we have a few moments of silence as we consider our judgement.' The Justicars turned away as the audience began to become rowdy again. Angelic guards began forming lines around the exit, as the Jumbotrons showed God, with the caption 'Not So Almighty Now' at the bottom to the delight of the crowd. The Justicars turned back towards God, who had oceans of sweat pouring off him.
'Our verdict is clear. For sheer callousness and distain for his creations, as well as neglect for his children and his duties, we judge you as a horrible God.' Cheers went up from the crowd, it descending into Pandemonium as they started to chant for his head. 'As your punishment, we force you to live the life of every person you neglected and suffer through the pain that you inflicted upon them. Also, in a surprise double whammy punishment, Satan is allowed back into Heaven as you are not a proper judge of character. Please escort the judged out and may the public have mercy on your soul.' | 318 | You die and now it is day of judgement. To your surprise, the day of judgement is where gods get judged based on how well they did (How fair their world was, pleasant... etc). The judgement of our god is about to start... | 613 |
I am quite tired so apologies if this isn't well written:
The monitor flashed displaying an error message. "INCOMPLETE NETWORK" it said. I was engrossed in my Sudoku at the time and it must have gone 10 minutes before I looked up. Graveyard shift on the science station was as thrilling as you can expect.
When I looked at the screen I asked the computer for more details getting ready to blame every IT guy under the sun for this.
"Connections 226-252 un responsive".
That came pretty low on my expected responses. I reached for a file and looked up the names of the connections. Sydney, Melbourne, Queensland, all in Australia. I sighed. Last week there had been a major fuck up when some idiot with bad mix of security clearance and alcohol had damaged the network infrastructure causing a 6 hour outage. I was expecting a repeat. Picking up the phone I punched in the speed dial number for the local office.
"I'm sorry but this number has been disconnected" said an automated voice.
I beg your pardon? Someone must have really screwed up now. My phone rang, causing me to almost jump out of my skin.
"Dave is that you?" It was Ken from the Navy.
"Ken, what the bloody hell are you doing up at this hour?"
"Never mind that I need to use a satellite"
"Not a chance. The major isn't here to authorise that."
"This is an emergency, something big has happened. We have lost a ship!"
"Who fired?"
"Wrong kind of lost."
"You MISPLACED a ship" I almost spat the words with laughter
"Shut your face! I have Major Daniels of the Navy here, he's giving permission. I need you to check last known co-ordinates of -37.866184, 144.906137"
We went through the protocol of getting clearance and after thinking of the stupid headlines that would come up from the Navy losing a ship like a remote down the back of the sofa, I punched in the numbers. Melbourne, convenient. The satellite spat back a blue image. I made some adjustments and was rewarded with more blue.
"Ken you seeing this?" I asked.
"It must be there!" Roared the shipman
"Mate, Melbourne at least should be there, let alone your ship!" I replied.
"Oh Gods, you're right. I am going to talk to the brass." Ken had quite the wobble in his voice.
I sat going over my numbers and checking the settings. Everything was fine, signal good, telemetry A-OK, so why can't I find a major city? I sat for a few hours thinking, then the doors flung open. I jumped to my feet hand on my pistol. What rounded the corner was a massive pile of brass. Suddenly the entire base was a hive of activity. After about an hour of handover I was told that I was to end my shift early. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth I went to the mess hall for breakfast. Ken came by not much longer after. He staggered over to me at my table, he looked shaken.
"Do you want the good new or the bad news?" he asked
"Let's start with the good news"
"Your calculations and stuff were bang on."
"Yeah right, if that's the case Australia has dropped off the face of the planet!" I snorted.
"well" Ken drew out the word. "That's the bad news."
"You what?"
"It's gone, the whole country, the Kiwi's just confirmed it with jets and boats". We sat there in stunned silence for a good 5 minutes. It's at time like this I remember to look on the bright side of life.
"Well I guess we don't have to worry about Rolf Harris anymore." Ken thumped me.
| 13 | You wake up to find that Australia has gone missing. | 28 |
I was too excited to sit. I scrawled math on my whiteboard as I watched the figures on the computer screen. I guess I had never expected it to work, but here it was. A perpetual motion machine. The end of the energy crisis. And small enough to fit inside a robot the size of a human cell. Nanorobots would be a part of everyday life well within a decade.
“Destroy it,” I heard a mechanical voice next to me say. I turned to see a hologram of a creature that seemed like something out of a strange dream. “My species developed this machine. I am the last of them.”
I stared in shock. I slowly started to wonder if I was dreaming, but then realized I could account for every second since I had woken up. 15 hours of slaving over this machine that a holograph was telling me to destroy. A machine that was literally all I had to show for my life.
“It should be obvious to you the uses of this machine in nanorobotics. This will create a revolution on your planet of self-replicating nanobots.” I could see what appeared to be the creatures mouth moving, but obviously some translator was at work. I had seen enough poorly dubbed Chinese films to know that.
“The problem is, this will be your doom. A minor flaw in a self-replication will happen.” The holograph switched to what looked like a nanobot.
“Self-selection will take care of the rest. Those nanobots with flaws that allow them to self-replicate better will be selected for. Evolution on a robotic scale. And given how fast nanobots can self-replicate, once the first flaw takes hold, your world will be covered in a huge mass of nanobots within a day.” By now, the image had switched to a green and blue world losing it’s continents and becoming a grey orb.
“Such is the fate of nearly every advanced life form in the galaxy. Only a few of us ever survive, and we have banded together to save others from our awful fate.”
“Grey goo.” I muttered. It was one of the doomsday prophecies that people sometimes talked about, but that it was so easy to not take seriously.
“Destroy it and save billions.” The hologram switched off. I quickly erased my whiteboards, overloaded the machine’s circuitry, and wrote a code to completely overwrite the server I used for calculations to all 0’s. I would have to buy sulfuric acid to destroy what was left of the machine later. I wondered whether I should make it my life’s mission to track down anyone close to this discovery or whether the world would be better off without my knowledge in it. | 12 | You have just invented a perpetual motion machine that actually works and is sure to change humanity forever. An alien appears to you and tries to convince you to destroy it. | 43 |
I slammed the lid shut again. The chair fell away behind me as I did all I could to get away from it. The combination was still in my hand, written on some thin bit of yellowed old paper.
My back struck the wall opposite to the window ledge I had lay the box on. I tried to think, tried to conjure up any single thought or word of reason in my mind and nothing came, nothing but the image burned across every synapse.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing?!" I had shouted across the forecourt, smokes and petrol receipt in hand as the automatic doors slid closed behind me.
Some old man had just opened up my trunk, he was dressed in what looked like dirty old rags draped over a sharp new suit. His beard was patchy and his wrinkled face spattered with flecks of dirt, topped off with a pristine white large brimmed hat.
He bent down with a groan and returned upright, with great effort, clutching the small wooden box I had just opened. Then he spoke, as he laid it down with care inside my trunk.
I ran over and placed my hand on his shoulder. "Hey! Would you not?" I pushed him back as gently as I could and stared him in the eyes. "Whatever *this* is, I dont want it, I'm not buying it."
"For one to live, another must die." He said deadpan. His eyes were a brilliant color, one that seemed in motion with his words and the light of the day. "A moon to grow, then cycle begins anew. Such is the price of Immortality"
"The... What?" I turned and looked into the trunk to see exactly what he had placed inside. The wood was dark and exquisitely carved, but other than that the box was plain save for a dark iron lock looped through a thick ring that held the lid tightly closed.
When I raised my eyes again, the old man was walking away with a straight back and stride in his gait.
"Hey!?" I called after him, hesitating to give chase as I contemplated taking the box with me against the risk of taking my eyes off of him to pick it up.
My decision was soon made for me, he stepped out into the rush hour traffic. I saw the SUV coming, I heard its horn and the screech of tires as it braked hard and swerved to miss him. When I reached the SUV at a full sprint there was one thing I knew I would never see or never hear again.
The old man was gone.
I let the combination slip from my fingers as I stared at the box, its wood illuminated by the shafts of light spilling in through the window. I remembered what the old man had said but I had long forgotten the notion that I would ever see inside.
I crept over, slowly and feeling each foot land in front of the other. The boards creaked as I made my way over. I was as afraid to open the box as I was to leave it closed. The lock had broken in my hand as I entered the combination, and as every violent effort I had made to get inside over the years had failed, I knew that it would never be closed again.
The lid opened smoothly as I peeked through the corners of half closed eyes. Light spread across it as I let the lid open all the way.
It wasn't an *it* was it. No. It was a he. It was a man. A tiny man in a tiny coffin, though he wasn't dead, I could see his chest rising and falling.
The worst part of it all was I recognized him, I knew his face well.
The little man in the box looked like... No, he was...
He was a tiny Keanu Reeves.
*"For one to live another must die."* The old man's words echoed in my head. *"A moon to grow, then the cycle begins anew. Such is the price of Immortality."*
His eyes began to flutter, his lips began to move soundlessly and then finally, as his eyes opened and met mine, he spoke.
"Woah." | 19 | Ten years ago an eccentric looking gentleman gave you a small locked box with the word "destiny" engraved on the lid. Today you received an envelope with no return address, inside is the combination to the box. | 43 |
This is bullshit. Here I am, living in the middle of an ebola epidemic, and I'm the only one who can figure out the cure. And you know what happens? I get hit by a car. A fucking car. Here I am, in a coma, in the hospital. I can hear the doctors talking, and they say I'm not going to live. It would be a miracle if I could pull through.
But I used up my deal with the devil on my super-intelligent brain. Zeus just zapped my brain. The Egyptian gods were too busy fighting off mummies to help me. The Hindu gods won't help me after I accidentally offered them a Big Mac. Jesus Christ, who is going to help me?!
That's it.
Jesus Christ.
That's the answer.
But how do I reach him? I was thinking about this when my crying wife came into the room surrounded by doctors. She showed them the piece of paper that was my will, and came over to me. After an extended kiss on the forehead, she reached under the bed and pulled the plug. Shit, I forgot about that will.
I suddenly found myself sitting on a soft, white surface. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness of this new location, I saw that I was laying on a cloud. I thought aloud, "Am I in heaven?"
"Yep!"
Startled by the sudden voice behind me, I exclaimed, "Jesus Christ! Who are you?"
"Yep!"
I realized my stupidity as I saw the man in white robes. He had holes in each of his hands, and a long brown beard to match his hair. It was Jesus.
"Look Jesus, you gotta do me a favor."
"Sure, I'd be happy to."
"You gotta put me back on Earth. Without me, Ebola will destroy humanity! I'm our last hope!"
"Alright kiddo, but I'll warn you, it's gonna cost ya."
"Anything, Jesus, I'll give you my life, my first-born child, anything!"
"I need about tree fiddy."
"What?"
"Tree dollas and fiddy cents."
"God dammit Jesus, I ain't gonna give you tree fiddy!"
"Well then no Earth for you."
"*sigh* Fine Jesus, here's your tree fiddy."
A year later, Ebola has been cured, and the world is okay again. All thanks to me. All thanks to Jesus.
All thanks to tree fiddy. | 49 | You're way past making a deal with the Devil. Loki wont return any calls. You have one option left. You gotta make a deal with Jesus. | 15 |
We arrived on that barren and desolate planet with the greatest sense of foreboding. We could tell that place was bad, even from orbit. The amount of radiation in the planet's atmosphere told us two things. People had lived here and people had died here. We knew nothing of the people that lived here though, so we decided to take a closer look.
Seeing as our people thrived on radiation, we found this corpse of a planet to be rather accommodating. We landed in what appeared to be the ruins of a large city. Gigantic structures had crumbled and broken, littering the streets with debris. We did not make it far before making a horrifying discovery.
After walking a short distance from our vessel, we saw it. Splayed out across the ground like some bizarre form of artwork was a massive figure. It didn't take us long to realize that this was a skeleton of one of the inhabitants of this planet. That realization scared all of us beyond belief. These people were giants. No wonder their structures were so large! The skeleton of that creature was three times our size!
The discovery scared my team and I so severely that we immediately left that awful planet and tagged it for demolition and material harvesting. I can only hope that those giants never made it off that planet... | 24 | Mankind has been long gone, a team of alien archaeologists visit Earth and are horrified by their first discovery. | 44 |
Ten years. Not a word from anyone. The star charts had been lost in a solar flare in the third year as they tried to make their way back home. Half the population dead in a debris strike in the fourth. Disease in the fifth. They were careful for a few years and it was looking good. Found a nice planet to settle. Started building, growing crops. It cost them their ship but that was the cost of self-sufficiency. A young generation was cropping up now. They'd almost forgotten about the old life. Their origins. Earth.
Until it paid a visit.
"Sir!" The banging was abominable. The grizzled man frowned and considered ignoring the page at his door. Probably just another domestic issue. Someone else could deal with it. "Sir, please! It's urgent!"
He groaned. "What this time?"
"A message, sir."
"Couldn't you leave it til the morning, at least? It's the dead of night."
"No, sir, I mean-- I mean there's a message from outside the colony."
"Did someone break off and set up another settlement somewhere?"
"No, no! It's-- interstellar communication."
The door was open instantly, the man, the colony warden, already issuing orders into his communicator. "Trace the signal. Translate the message, if you can. Keep a copy of the original message. I'll be right there."
He didn't turn to look at the page struggling to keep up with his strides as he said, "Details, if you can."
"We just got it, sir. Difficult to decipher; it's no language we know of. It's not very long, though. It's come from a long way away, too."
They were at the communications deck before he'd finished speaking. Dozens of men and women were milling around and more were following the warden in as the page stood by the doorway.
One of the officers was clearly already waiting for him. He wasted no time. "We've checked every language in our database, sir. It doesn't exactly match any of them, but we've gathered two possible translations."
"Show me."
The wall-filling screen flashed two images: one of the original message, and one of the first translation.
*Nine. Gather. Denizens eight. Ankle light. Inside through.*
"That's likely," the warden mused. "What's the other?"
The officer's eyes fell. A sheet of silence seemed to envelope the room. The screen flashed another message.
*Participation enjoy. Begin terminate. Like. Entrance armaments.*
They saw the streaks of light coming over the horizons shortly. | 17 | A splinter colony that began from deep space exploration has lost contact with all life for the last 10 years. Today they received a message. | 44 |
It was typical, my keys were stuck in the door, I had told Karen a million times that the bloody landlord was incompetent but, of course, he was Juilie's Uncle so we couldn't cause a fuss. Well this was the last straw, cold shower this morning and keys not even going in the keyhole was just too much, I resolved to call him and give him an earful as soon as I got in.
I rang the doorbell; at least Karen would be in, she'd just been getting in the shower when I left for the paper and so hopefully she was out by now and dried, or she would moan at me for making her track water through the house.
The door opened and Karen was there, she looked at me and her face was in shock, mine must have been a bit surprised too as her eyes were red and puffy as if she had been crying. She stood, frozen.
"My God" What's wrong, I reached out and touched her and it seemed to break the spell.
She screamed and hurled herself into my arms, her voice incoherent but I could just pick out a few words 'missing', 'thank god', 'dead'. I half carried her through towards the living room but as I got into the hallway Karen's mother burst from the Kitchen. Karen was still strung around my neck in tears.
"Daniel?" Karen's mother began as if she had no idea who I was "Jesus, thank god" she ran forward and joined Karen in hugging me.
"What's going on? I managed to ask through the hugs. Mary, is it Jack?" Her father had a bad heart "Is Jack okay? What happened?"
Her mother broke away and looked at me puzzled "Where have you been?" Her face was pleading and confused.
I pulled Karen away from me, she was finally starting to make sense again "Where have you been?" I could now make out her asking too.
"Er, the 7-11?" I gestured to the bag I was carrying, for the paper and, y'know, milk?" I opened the bag and pulled the milk out, through the plastic it was brown and curdled. "What the fuck? I just bought this, fucking 7-11!" My voice rose in irritation.
Karen looked up into my face "Daniel, you've been gone for a week, where have you been?"
This was either a very strange and well done prank or something very odd had happened. "I... I don't know what's going on." Karen burst into tears again.
Hours later the police had questioned me thoroughly and no one seemed to be any the wiser. As far as I could tell the 7-11 cameras showed me leaving the store and getting into my car. Traffic cams showed me almost all the way home but lost me when I left the main road and then, nothing. No sign of me, or my car for a week.
A doctor had checked me and I showed no signs of trauma or malnutrition. The only signs that anything at all had happened was the soles of my shoes which had melted slightly and hardened again. The police did not like that and they had been taken away with all of my clothes.
For now they were claiming that I had either had a psychotic break or, the unspoken alternative was that I had done this myself and this was a big act. I could hear the policeman in the kitchen explaining to Karen that it was not uncommon for men at my age, which was only 34 for God's sake, to decide to 'peace out' for a bit and enjoy a bit of freedom without my family. Just normally they would have found some spending on credit cards but on me there was nothing.
Karen finally would let me out of her sight for a moment, I'm not sure that she cared what had happened to me, she was so happy that I was home. After all the cups of tea I pretty desperately needed to pee and so I slipped into our en suite and let loose into the toilet.
Humming a happy tune, the day had been strange but not traumatic for me at least, I looked around. All normal here. I looked down and things were not normal. My pee was blue, dark blue. I panicked, this was definitely unusual and the doctor had been clear, anything unusual and I should let people know.
I tried to stop the flow but 6 cups of tea in a couple of hours had done their job and it was impossible. A new thought occurred to me, I should save some of this. Looking around there was nothing in reach that I could use and so with a quick whipping motion I moved across to the sink and pushed down the plug. I hoped Karen would forgive me.
The sink slowly filled with blue pee and I felt a deep relief, in fact I felt good. Really really good. I felt like taking off my T-shirt good and so standing in the bathroom that's what I did.
I felt good enough to peel off my chest but that would be ridiculous but still, I could almost feel how good it would be. As my chest opened up and my ribs spread back to reveal my innards I felt an almost orgasmic sense or relief and pleasure. It looked so funny looking down, my chest open, blue pee flowing and the shine of the metallic organs whirring and beating in perfect synchronicity. | 27 | You go for a quick run to a convenience store and upon returning home you realize you've been gone for a week. | 49 |
“Hello? Sir? Is it still you?” Her trembling voice on the other end of the line flickered with hesitation.
“It should never have come to this, but….it’s time.” A small crack in her voice echoed through the handset. She was condemning me to my final act and she knew it.
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorr…….” The line went dead. Perhaps the manager of this poor 911 operative cut her off? Or maybe she just couldn’t bear the guilt of sending a man to his death, after she has saved so many others. I’m not angry at her, I pity her, I pity the executioner who had the axe thrust upon her by those with twigs for backbones and tar for souls.
“PRISONER RELEASED.” The call resounded through the silent concrete halls, reluctant witnesses to worse crimes committed inside them. “If these walls could talk” I jokingly thought to myself as I walked toward the door, “they’d be dead.”
The doors, if you could even call them that, were 18 feet high dark navy blue, 3 feet thick slabs of steel; and they were made just for me. I was flattered at the display when I first arrived, but couldn’t help feeling that they were slightly redundant considering I came here of my own volition and could quite easily leave if ever I felt the need. Upon closer inspection, I could see the paint had begun to flake, the casters squeaked in pain and the chains heaved under the sheer immensity of the load they were trying to move.
“Let me help.” I said. The guards flinched and raised their guns at my face. I almost thought they were nervous.
“I won’t hurt you, and anyway, I’m "free" now right?” It took them a second, but I guess they realised what was coming, one nodded to the officer behind the desk controlling the doors and they all stepped back.
“I suppose a little practice would be worthwhile” I chuckled. I closed my eyes and raised my arms toward the doors, I could feel the power coursing through my veins, the spark igniting the spirit that had been subdued for so long. God it felt good! The metal creaked as the right door began to move, “huh, I guess I'm a righty at this too” I thought, trying not to lose concentration at the task in hand. The left door sprung to life in a satisfying screech, and slowly the thin light of day trickled into the prison forecourt. My arms were beginning to tire and I opened my eyes, seeing the sunshine for the first time in years.
My eyes strained in the light as I stepped into the opening, the humidity of the outside world washed over me in a baptism of thick summer air. Struggling to see out into the car park, I could just make out the silhouette of a figure in front of a car, I didn’t have to be a psychic to know what he was going to say next.
“It’s time. We held up our side of the deal, now it’s your turn.” | 17 | 911 Calls You. | 67 |
"Shit man. Our regular guy got killed in a car accident last week. They’re sending a new guy today. Names Sager or something like that,” Banks said to his night shift partner.
“Johnson’s dead? Damn that’s not good. He didn’t give a shit about anything. Hopefully the new guy’s the same way.” Banks nodded in agreement to the cold, objective statement and went back to his newspaper.
But the new auditor, Daniel Sager, was nothing like Bob Johnson. While Johnson was generally high and lazy, Sager was always sober and incredibly good at paying attention to the details. Very little got past his sharp eye. He’d been given a second chance after prison and he was going to work his ass off to make sure it stayed that way.
He arrived at the solar plant shortly after seven. An overweight man by the name of Banks greeted him and asked him if he wanted anything. “I’m fine, thank you,” Sager said. Something was off about the man. He was… nervous? A sign of something out of the ordinary perhaps? Sager said nothing but continued with his scheduled audit. “Can I have a copy of the distribution records please? And while you’re doing that, ask your partner to show me around the place if you could.” Banks nodded and ran to get his partner, his belly jiggling around. If it was any indication, Banks’s partner was just as nervous as Banks.
“And you are?” Sager asked pointedly.
“Sam. Sam Taylor.”
“Well Mr. Taylor, I would like to be shown around please. So if you will,” Sager gestured forward, “after you.”
This new guy does not fuck around, Sam thought but he kept himself at what he thought was a calm demeanor. He showed Sager all of the solar panels, the energy storage method, and the energy meters.
“Everything looks in order,” Sager said. “If I could have those records I’ll be on my way.”
“Right here,” Banks said, his breath short and raspy from running.
“Thank you and good day,” Sager said and he left. He went to a small diner he enjoyed to look over the records in peace. The nervousness of the two workers made him feel that something else was afoot that the previous auditor had not noticed.
As he examined the records, he noticed that all the power was being bought by nearby towns and several major corporations with headquarters of factories in the area. That seemed all well and good he thought but there was no account of the small amounts of power generated at night. Was that just left to go to waste? But he came across something. As he read through the rest of the records he realized that it was a slip-up by the workers. Probably on drugs he thought disgustedly, but it gave him what he needed to know. A company called Alvia was buying up that power, and he had no idea how long that had been going on. A quick search on the internet told him that Alvia was a space-craft manufacturer. Strange, what do they want with solar power. He flagged it with a note to take it to his supervisor the next morning.
…
“What is it Daniel?” his supervisor asked him impatiently.
“Sir I found this,” Sager said as he handed over his findings from the previous night.
“This is definitely odd that it would be out of the records except for this one night. And there is a disparity in power produced versus power sold. I’ll look into it. Good find.”
“Thank you,” Sager said and went back to his office.
As soon as he left, his supervisor picked up the phone to make a call.
“Jen, its George. One of our auditors has stumbled on the power disparity at the solar plant here. I told him I will look into it and I know he won’t look into it anymore because I said I will but we’ve got to hide it better. If an ex-con at the base level managed to find it, others might too.”
“Ok George we’ll figure something out from here. Thanks for the heads up. Stay on your toes.” She hung up and left George alone again in his spacious office. He looked at the records one more time before incinerating them. He hoped Jen could fix the problem. He liked his double job.
…
Jen turned to her team of scientists. She was about to say something when one of her scientists at the extraterrestrial-broadcast section called her over excitedly. “Jen, come here now! Look at this.” She quickly walked over to his bank of displays and leaned over him. “Watch,” he said. He removed his headphones from their jack, typed in a series of commands on his keyboard and a digitized set of chords played over the speakers. He pressed another series of commands, clicked yes on the “SEND” dialogue box, and then sat back.
“What am I looking at?” Jen asked, confused.
“Just wait,” he said. He pulled up a second window, labeled “RECEIVER” and waited. Again, Jen was about to say something when it happened. A series of disturbing, discordant tones came over the loud speakers. It was terrifying to say the least, but the sound was clearly not natural. It didn’t even sound human.
“What the hell is that?” She asked loudly.
“It’s a response Jen! It’s a fucking response! Can you believe it? I’ve ran a program in the background for the last two years, sending a signal out of the solar system. We’ve had nothing but silence until today. That response? That’s from Jupiter!” The scientist sucked in air, as if he suddenly remembered to breathe.
Jen was stunned. It took her almost thirty seconds to form a coherent thought. “Are you- are you saying that someone or something out there is talking to us?”
“YES! Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Send it again,” she said quietly.
The scientist nodded, typed in a new series of tones, and hit send. This time, in less than twenty seconds, a different response came through. This response was slightly more harmonious but still absolutely not human. “Holy shit,” Jen whispered.
The executives of Alvia had told Jen that wasting money in extraterrestrial broadcasting was stupid and that she should just focus on what they told her. She ignored them and had bought power generated during the night from the nearby solar plant as to leave a very small trace. Thanks to recent advances in solar panel technology, they generated more power than most people were aware they could. Thus, she was able to run a broadcast dish without drawing much attention to herself. Thankfully, her brother worked at the auditor’s office and had kept an eye out for her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a far more discordant, terrifying sound. This sound, Jen recognized. “Turn that shit off now!” she screamed at him. She was painfully dragged back to when she was twelve years old. That was the exact sound she’d heard when her father has died in the fields outside their house.
She knew she’d seen something and now she knew what it was. They were back.
| 10 | A routine audit of a solar power plant reveals that a corporation has been buying up the tiny amount of power generated by the panels on moonless nights | 35 |
Adelene sat, rocking back and forth on her porch. The wood groaned under her weight as she rocked. She sipped a glass of iced tea, the cold liquid cooling her from the inside out as she swallowed. It was hot out for 7:00 am. Adelene smoothed her dress out, rubbing a dark stain on the front.
She watched the house across the street. The young husband was out front, briefcase and suit jacket sitting on top of the car, which was running. He was talking to his wife, who was still in her robe. *Classless,* Adelene thought.
The husband hugged and kissed his wife, gathered his things and got in his car. Adelene saw the wife wave as he drove away. Adelene couldn't tell if the wife was squinting in the sun or glaring at her. Adelene waved. The wife waved back.
The wife turned and went back inside her house. Adelene continued rocking, absentmindedly smoothing her dress. She reached over and sipped her iced tea.
Right on schedule, a car turned onto the street. Adelene had seen this happen every weekday for the last several weeks. The car pulled right in front of Adelene's house, nearly clipping her azaleas, and parked. A man got out and hustled across the street, looking each way. He knocked, and the wife, still in her robe, ushered him in. They laughed as the door closed.
Adelene reached for the cell phone on the table. She picked it up and dialed. She could hear ringing on the other end.
As she rocked, she watched the house across the street. She saw through the picture window, as the wife, holding only a sheet in front of her now, ran to the house phone. The man she had let in came up behind her, kissing her neck. Adelene could tell he was naked.
The woman picked up the receiver. The explosion rippled through the neighborhood. The shock wave took Adelene's breath away. Glass and wood and fire rained down into the street, into neighbors yards, into Adelene's grass. She hung up her cell phone. The thick black cloud of smoke billowing out of the house across the street temporarily blocked out the sun.
Adelene sipped her iced tea, watching the house burn. She absentmindedly rubbed the stain on her dress as she dialed another number. A man answered.
"Hey, mom, how are you this morning?" he asked.
"There's no time, listen, sweetheart I have terrible news, I was watering the azaleas and something happened at your house, you need to come right away!" she said.
"What? What happened? Is Kat okay?" he asked, concern rising.
"Just come, I've dialed the fire department, hurry!" she said. Adelene hung up and listened as the sirens got closer and louder.
She looked down at her dress. The dark stain, black powder residue, had spread as she rubbed it.
"Well that will never come out," she muttered to herself.
The wood groaned under her weight as she rocked, sipping her glass of iced tea. It was hot out for 7:30 am. | 14 | A sweet little old lady is really a cruel and heartless assassin. | 22 |
The giant space ship still floated overhead, large enough for much of earth to see the giant sign, proclaiming our doom if we failed on this, our third attempt to go conflict free for 100 days.
The first attempt had been a disaster, three days in, the middle east had kicked off and it had taken a month of careful discussion and a couple of nukings before everyone had calmed down enough to have another go.
The second attempt had gone much better and earth had been at day 82 before the arguments had set in. France was angry at Switzerland after they had simply moved the border back 500 miles into French territory and Nigeria was deeply upset that no one had come to their Independence day celebration. People bickered all over the world and eventually the fighting began.
In the end though it was discovered that it was all the Portuguese fault - no one was 100% sure of the details but once the dust had settled on a destroyed Portugal everyone agreed that they felt much better and very hopeful for our third go.
Things settled down and the earth leaders finally came up with a peace plan after a few months and they tried one last time. The days ticked past and the world was at peace. 50 days and no problems, 80 and things seemed better than ever. After 100 days the aliens finally came down from their ship to find the human delegation waiting and holding hands. Peace had won.
The aliens were very happy and continued to be so right up until the first one was vaporised. The other three seemed very upset, their personal force fields had been supposed to protect them, but the combined might of humanity had somehow come up with a way to get past them.
Frantically they signalled up to their ship while the human delegation looked on, smiling. At last a signal came back and their communicators flickered to life. It was the smiling face of a special forces soldier grinning from their display; alien blood coated the walls in the background.
The aliens looked up at the human delegation. Earth's new president stepped forward and lifted the disintegration gun to point at them.
His deep, thick, Austria accent carried across the field to where they stood. "Sarry, ve humans don't play vell with ahhthers." | 69 | Someone has threatened to destroy Earth unless humanity can go without conflict for 100 Days. They have 3 attempts, how does the world react? | 71 |
We stood on the stoop, a bit awkwardly. I usually hated blind dates, but tonight was an exception. He was kind, funny, thoughtful, handsome in a very traditional way. His glasses sat just a tiny bit lopsided on his face. His grin, also lopsided, let loose butterflies in my stomach.
He giggled at the tension. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me more than anything else.
He leaned in, closing his eyes. *Thank god,* I thought. I closed my eyes. Our lips met.
My stomach was doing flips, my heart was fluttering. His lips were so soft, and I could feel his breath on my cheek. He lightly put a hand on my neck, running his thumb along my cheek bone. I melted into him.
Colors flashed behind my closed eyes. At first I didn't pay attention; how could I? He was an amazing kisser.
As we kissed, the colors began to take shape. The shapes began to define pictures. I saw he and I on a lake, laughing. He was helping me fish.
*Flash*
I saw myself crying on a couch, he was kneeling with a hand on my knee.
*Flash*
I saw us dancing, he was laughing and I looked happy.
*Flash*
I saw him on his knee, in the square we just had our first date in.
*Flash*
I saw me in a wedding dress, I saw him in his tux. He looks so handsome.
*Flash*
I saw me, *very* pregnant, helping decorate a nursery.
*Flash*
I saw him and our baby walking along a trail, the sun shining. The baby looks like him. So beautiful.
*Flash*
I saw him and our son, on the first day of school. He was giving our son a hug.
*Flash*
I saw him and our son taking pictures at a baseball game.
*Flash*
I saw him and our son...
*Flash*
Him and our son...
*Flash*
Him and our son...
*Flash*
I pulled back. His eyebrows raised, mouth still poised to kiss. He could see the tears in my eyes.
"Oh, no, what's wrong?" he asked, his face full of concern.
I sat and stared at this wonderful man, as sadness crept into my chest.
"Nothing." I said breathless. He knelt and sat beside me. I took his face in my hands. I smiled at him, and saw that wonderful grin creep onto his face.
"Nothing at all."
I leaned back in for another kiss. | 34 | You are able to see a person's future, but it only activates when you kiss someone on the lips. You are completely unaware you have this power, until you share your first kiss with your SO. | 24 |
*Edit: Sorry, I ignored the post-apocalyptic part.*
“Honey, I’m home!” I walked through the front door and threw my keys on the table. I removed my jacket and hung it lightly on the railing before heading upstairs.
“Amy! I’m home baby. I got off early.” I had left for work that morning in a bad mood. I had stormed out of the house angry at her for something insignificant. I felt horrible by the time I had arrived at work. I wanted to make it up to her. I just wanted to be with her.
As I reached the top of the stairs and entered the bedroom I heard a shuffling noise. I stopped. Suddenly the silence of the house felt heavy. I could hear movement coming from the bedroom—stifled breathing.
I inched towards our bedroom and peeked around the doorway. I saw Amy crouched in the corner holding my shotgun. Before I could even speak she had the gun pointed at my head from the other side of the room. She was in hysterics.
“No!” She sobbed. “Please, Jason don’t do this to me! Come back to me…please!” She was shaking uncontrollably. I stepped closer to her, confused.
“Baby, what’s wrong? It’s just me. Everything’s going to be ok.”
I wanted to be close to her. I wanted to hold her…
“Jason…can you hear me?” She lowered the gun and backed away. “Jason it's Amy. I love you. Please come back to me baby, please…”
I wanted to kiss her… I wanted to love her…
My vision began to blur and my heart raced. I could feel the euphoria in the back of my eyes as my blood boiled.
“Jason, don’t do this.” She was crying again. She raised the gun, but I couldn’t withhold my emotions any longer.
I embraced her.
Finally, I was close to her. She screamed as I held her in my arms. I kissed her. I loved her…
It was the silence that brought me back. I stood up as I slowly began to realize what I had done. The blood stains, the taste of iron, the hollow eyes—Amy was dead, and I had killed her. I had...eaten her.
I reeled back in horror. What had I done? I looked into the mirror and green eyes stared back. Flesh hung from my lips and blood drenched my shirt. I sunk to the floor, broken.
Suddenly, I heard movement from behind me.
“Jason?” I looked back at Amy who was sitting up in a pool of blood.
Her eyes were green.
| 259 | A man trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world slowly realises that he has already become a zombie. | 452 |
The grief that had filled Rory's chest had completely vanished, and now he felt giddy. Extremely giddy. He began to chuckle, then the chuckle grew into full blown laughter, and the laughter led him to tears. He used the sleeve of his worn jacket to wipe the tears away from his eyes as well as the snot from his nose.
After being laid off of work, Rory later found out at home that all the money he had left to his name was a five dollar bill. He had spent the remainder of the day staring at the bill, wondering what in the hell he was going to do with it, wondering how he would be able to make it last until he got another job, got another paycheck, or found a friend to help donate enough money to put food in his pantry.
But he wasn't worrying about it anymore.
Clenched in his right hand was the original five dollar bill, and clenched in his left hand was another five dollar bill. Upon closer inspection, it was an exact copy of the five dollar bill. Same serial code and everything. But that didn't matter, right? No store actually checked the serial codes.
Rory stared at his right hand again, stared at the original bill, and concentrated hard. He nearly screamed when he felt another five dollar bill materialize in his hand. Now he had $15. Now he was getting somewhere.
"I should go break these, get more bills, copy them," Rory whispered to himself. He winced, and looked around the apartment; the walls were thin and the last thing he needed was his next door neighbor Deborah to find out that he could materialize money.
Rory stuffed the three bills into his pocket and headed for the door. He was going to go to McDonald's, buy two cheeseburgers in celebration, and use the broken change to clone more money.
The door flew open before Rory could even reach a hand out for the knob. It collided into his face, crushing in his nose and sending him to the floor, leaving an arc of blood in the air.
"Ughh, whaaa, huhhh," Rory muttered as a group of men dressed in suits entered the apartment.
"We've got one," one of the men said, holding an index finger to his ear, "yeah, the one we've been watching for awhile, he finally materialized."
One of the other men grabbed a hold of Rory, rolled him onto his stomach, and then pulled his hands behind his back. Rory sputtered, sending spurts of blood onto the cheap linoleum floor. The men pulled him up to his feet and he struggled to speak coherent words.
Rory wanted to scream, to yell for help, but all that came out was choked by blood rushing down his throat from his shattered nose.
"Yes, we have him now," one of the suited men said, "we'll be bringing him to the building."
Rory looked to one of the men, got a good look at his face: he had blonde hair that was slicked to the side, and he was wearing expensive looking aviators that covered and hid his eyes. The man flashed a quick toothy smile before a bag was thrown over Rory's head.
They hauled him out of the apartment and threw him into a vehicle. Judging by how Rory could stretch out his legs and still not hit a wall, it must've been some sort of van. He tried to sit up so he could cough out the blood that was suffocating him, but one of the men put a boot into his chest and forced him back down onto his back.
Rory was drowning. He was going to drown on his own blood with $15 in his pocket. He tried to yell that he couldn't breathe, but the bag muffled him.
He was losing consciousness; the roar of the moving van drowned out, and soon the sound of the passing road began to sound like waves in an ocean, and Rory was drowning in the water.
A boat, he needed a boat. He needed a boat so he wouldn't drown in the ocean.
The van exploded, sending bits of shrapnel and shredded body parts out onto the street. Cars screeched to a stop. Drivers honked their horns and some people even stepped out to see what happened.
In the middle of the highway, where the van had been, now sat a boat, appearing to have materialized out of nowhere, and laying on the deck was Rory.
Jenny, a woman who had been on the way to pick her daughter up from school shrieked when the bloodied upper half of a man landed on the hood of her car. He leaned up, looked through the windshield, and raised a finger to his ear.
"This one..." the agent sputtered, "this one can materialize from imagination." | 42 | While performing your daily activities, you discover that you can somehow create perfect copies of any inanimate object you touch and focus on. While playing with this newfound gift, you are suddenly alarmed by the screech of tires just outside. Black suits. Even blacker sunglasses. | 65 |
"Christine, aged 23, I hereby sentence you to Death by Era."
"I'll find my way back," Christine snapped at the judge. The judge, a portly man with a small patch of hair on the top of his head, only pursed his lips together. He did so in a way that said disappointment, but Christine knew it wasn't disappointment in her, but rather disappointment in the system. She was the third civilian this week to have been sentenced to Death by Era, and she was pretty certain she was also the third innocent. "Where will I be vacationing?"
"You can't be serious," the judge finally spoke, breaking the silence that had long held a grip on the courtroom. "You're not coming back. No one ever comes back."
Christine looked down at her shoes. She was desperately trying to hide her smile. The people in the courtroom began to mummer amongst themselves, words of "is she for real?" and "no, she can't be," circulated in the air. It made it all the more difficult to contain her laughter.
"Get her out of my sight," the judge said, motioning with a fatty hand to the bailiff, who had already begun to pull the cuffs out of his back pocket.
The cuffs themselves glimmered a dark purple. It was the first time Christine had ever seen them in person, but she had studied them in books and on the DarcNet. She felt her stomach drop as the bailiff lifted his free hand and beckoned to Christine with a curled index finger.
"Hands," he said in a gruff voice.
Christine raised them, deciding not to put up a fight at all. The bailiff placed the cuffs around her wrists, and she winced. They were warm.
She looked down at them, marveling at how the cuffs glowed. There appeared to be stars swirling inside the links. Galaxies must've been in there, but she didn't know that for sure. The bailiff sealed the cuffs with a *click*, the penultimate noise bringing Christine out of her daze.
*Focus*, she told herself. *Focus, focus on what you have to do. Focus.*
Her husband had told her moments before the trial that being sent to a different era was like being in a dream. The moment you're in the dream, you tend to forget who you are, where you're from, or what your intentions are. *Focus. You can't forget.*
She felt the cuffs glow hot, almost cringing at the thought of them burning her wrists, but they didn't burn, no, her whole body grew cold at the last second, right when the final noise she heard was the cawing of a crow.
***
"The man's tankard is empty, wants wine," Eli spoke, shoving a jug towards Christine.
"Wine?" She asked. She wasn't sure she had heard Eli speak correctly. The saloon was packed to the brim with patrons, and Stanley was banging out a fast paced tune on the piano.
"Yeah, wine, your ears going out? I know you're not that old," Stanley said, trying his best not to giggle at Christine. "He's got strange tastes, just fill it up, and try not to let him know he's a fag for drinking the shit."
"Huh?" Christine said, still not sure she heard Eli clearly.
"Dammit Christine, get the man his wine. Focus, for Pete's sake." Eli turned away from the wooden bar and began to dry some mugs with a cotton cloth that Christine was sure she hadn't seen him clean since she started working at the saloon.
*Focus.*
"Holy shit," Christine whispered to herself mid-step on her way to the man sitting on the table. "I've got to start gathering supplies."
The man at the table, a broad shouldered cowboy with a goatee, glanced towards Christine. He slammed his tankard on the table, his way of telling her to hurry the fuck up with his wine.
"I need to write it down, I need to hurry up and write it down before I forget," Christine said aloud. She dropped the jug of wine and turned back towards the bar. The jug crashed on the wooden floor, causing some of the patrons to stir and give her eyes. She looked towards the other side of the saloon and saw the staircase leading up to where the bedrooms were. She knew she had a quill and paper up in her room, and she knew she had to hurry and get to it before her mind slipped away.
"Hey, ya old bitch," the wine-drinker said, grabbing her by the arm and roughly pulling her to the side.
"I'm sorry," Christine spoke quickly, "I really need to go to my room real quick, I have to write something down."
"Write something down? Ya uppity bitch, you don't know how to write shit," the man said as he brought an open palm down hard across Christine's face. The smack emanated loudly in the saloon, stopping all the patrons from their conversations, even stopping Stanley dead in the middle of his piano tune.
Christine brought a hand up and covered her pulsing cheek. Despite her best efforts, she felt tears form in her eyes and run down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she stuttered.
"You go back there, and you get me another jug of wine, you hear me, whore? You're lucky you're a dry old bitch, I'dda hit you harder."
"Yes," Christine said. She walked back to the bar in shaky steps, trying to remember where the jugs of wine were stored.
***
| 58 | It's the year 2273 and you, as an innocent person, have been sentenced to Death by Era. You're sent back to 1831, middle America. The travel has caused severe, but not complete memory loss. | 213 |
For as long as I could remember, people have always given me strange looks. They look at me as if I were a dog that would either roll over on my stomach allowing them to pet me or a dog that would snarl and lunge at them for a bite. My own parents were very hesitant; evil only leads to deeper evil, grandmother would always say. My mother met all of my basic needs but preferred no physical affection. I always assumed it was OCD or a phobia of germs until my baby brothers were born. My father was slightly more involved. He brought me to work several times and would take me hiking through the forests on weekends.
I remember one time when we were hiking for many hours through the forests and he was strangely quiet. It was probably due to both of us zoning out that we got separated. I was terrified and searched through the forests for hours. It was only by a miracle that I found my way home. When my father answered the door, he had the most troubled look on his face as if he had been worrying all day; what a poor soul. I vowed to never daydream in the forests again and father gave me one of his usual sad smiles.
As Bryan and Caleb grew up, my parents seemed to become a little happier as they hit all the milestones. We could tell from the time that they could walk and catch butterflies that Caleb was the “evil” one; he wasn’t all too bad except for squishing them in his hands. Mother seemed awful upset and never seemed to forgive him for that. I did though, I made sure to continue to play with him and give him all the attention that Bryan was receiving from everyone else. I always secretly preferred Caleb for his bravery but I would never tell him or Bryan; they were my brothers and it would be wrong to side with one over the other.
I was so excited for my sixteenth birthday to come; I made myself a cake like every year and drew up invitations. I distributed one to both my parents, one to each brother, and one to my grandmother. It wasn’t a surprise when all the adults were busy; they worked so hard every day. Caleb, Bryan, and I celebrated and played music until mother came home and told us to shut it off. She told us that our visitors would be arriving soon and so I asked if I would be able to see father beforehand. She said that he was going to have to work late tonight and sent his apologies. I smiled like always and cleaned up the dishes from the cake.
Right as I was finishing, the government men arrived with heavy suitcases and clipboards. I smiled and answered the door. I offered them some cake but they said that they had already eaten. They then asked Caleb and Bryan to go upstairs and began asking me a series of strange questions. For example, A bird has fallen from the sky, do you wrap its wing or leave it?
I didn’t know what to answer. Of course there was a possibility of it healing fully but on the other hand it would depend on the fall. Wouldn’t it depend on the bird’s personal life? If the bird had lived an extremely good life and had suffered a traumatic injury, wouldn’t its standard of life change? What if its family abandoned him for the fall? What if the bird never had another good memory? I would be responsible for its misery and suffering and that was just not a chance I was willing to take on my sixteenth birthday.
They scribbled on their clipboards monotonously and then looked to my mother and grandmother.
The one asks my mother, “What do you believe Ma’am?”
My mother begins to cry and my grandmother hugs her, “She was such a quiet baby; It was just unnatural!” my mother spouts.
I look to my mother frantically, “I didn’t want to worry you mother, Please!”
My grandmother shakes her head and pleads with the official, “Just take her away!”
Tears begin to fall from my face and as they put handcuffs on me, I shout, “Mama, Grandma Please! I can change! Give me one more chance! I love you!”
They refuse to look me in the face and the officials escort me to their car. I can see Caleb and Bryan glaring at me from their bedroom window upstairs and I cry harder when I realize that this would be the last time I see their small innocent faces.
So here I am standing amongst some truly wicked people. They look at me like prey as if I were that injured bird and they were ready to end my life. I smile back at them and chuckle to myself because little do they know that there is nothing more evil than a good person who has run out of hope.
| 84 | Every person is born with a twin, one is evil and one is good. Your twin died at birth, the government isn't sure which one you are. They make their best guess and send you to one of the territories when you turn sixteen. They choose wrong, how do you proceed. | 116 |
The lights grow dim. The door rings as patrons file out. The wind pushes pipe smoke into the corner. I am the only one who remains.
I draw a cigar from the breast pocket of my jacket. I strike the flint in the antique lighter which produces a spark and ignites the kerosene. A flame flickers into existence. Cigar in mouth, I draw the the smoke inward as the tobacco leaves begin to burn. I hold in the smoke just a second too long. It slips down my throat, and I cough.
I spit the bit of smoke into the air. The cigar is still burning in my hand. A wisp of plant vapor trails into the air. I draw in another mouth full of smoke. The cigar has no flavor. I smoke this particular brand for the effects of excess smoke, not enjoyment. I produce a cloud of smoke, as I had often dreamed of doing as a child. I prop my feet on the empty table.
"Aren't you going home?" asks the women working that night.
"It's warm here," I reply.
"Home isn't?" she asks.
"I'm not allowed to turn the heat up," I say. I pull in another mouth full of smoke. The vapors dance across my tongue.
"Why is that?" she asks.
"They like it cold".
"Go someplace else?"
"I'll be cold anywhere else. I'm always cold"
"Even here?"
"It's the warmest I've bee in awhile", I say.
"Then I'll bring you another glass."
I thank her. I tap ash into an empty glass on the table. She comes back, and sets a full glass on the table. She walks to the window and flicks off the neon sign that reads open. She takes the once empty seat next to me.
"Do you have another" she asks. She means another cigar. I nod. I produce the last cigar from the case in my jacket. I offer it to her. I hand her the guillotine as well. Without asking, she takes my lighter which is still lying on the table. I don't mind this.
Her hands, smaller and more delicate than mine, strike the flint against the hammer. The spark reaches the kerosene. A flame is called into existence. Somehow she does all of this more effectively than me.
I watch the effeminate curves of her left hand as she rings the fire towards the bundle of tobacco leaves between her lips. Her hands are not helpless. She forces the cigar into a slow burn. She draws in a breath of smoke. With less than a moment to spare, she blows the smoke into the air. It is devoid of all souls but us.
And ,suddenly, I begin to wonder about the sum of all things. And I begin to wonder how to go about adding things up. And I ask myself “Would it even matter if I did?"
I get nervous. The instinct of meditation inspires me to bring in another breath of smoke. I hold it for a moment, then expel it from my body. A gray fallen halo surrounds us both.
I notice there is more smoke in the room than there was before. How long had I slipped from this world?
I turn to look at the girl next to me. I see how the golden-spun curls frame her face. She turns to look at me. Our eyes meet with more gravity than they had previously as patron and host. And then, I noticed the depths to which I would have to plunge to reach the recesses of her soul. Yet, as she looks into mine, she must notice the same.
"Why haven't you gone home?" I ask.
"It's too cold now" she remarks as she draws in another breath of smoke.
"You must be tired by now?"
"I am," she says as she blows smoke into the air. She reminds me it's cold.
"Why should that matter?" I ask. This time, I take in another breath of smoke. She does the same. She blows it from her mouth, but I hold the smoke in just a moment too long. I begin to cough. She places a hand gently against my chest. It is an act of comfort, and my coughing subsides. She takes the same hand, and adjusts the curls around her face. Drawing herself nearer, she rests her head against my shoulder.
"Because", she says, "this is the warmest I've been in a long time." | 11 | Tell me a story about yourself. Tell me where you come from, or where you're going. Tell me who you are, tell me who you want to be. Tell me a story about yourself. | 19 |
"Hey Honey, do you know where I put that grapefruit I bought the other day? I gots a cravin' for some sweet morning citrus!" I blurted down the hall
"Not so loud, its 7 A.M. you ass. I put it in the fridge for yah."
"I don't see it, you sure you put it in here? If I'm late again, Frank will be pissed."
"I swear, if you make me come down there to find your stinking grapefruit ... Try actually looking behind something..."
"Love you too babe."
I shuffled around the inside of the fridge looking for my delectable destiny of citrus that awaited me. I grabbed the milk out of the fridge and sitting right behind it, instead of my orange destiny was a peculiar bluish black orb with some weird numbers on it.
I stopped and just stared. What the hell was it? I turned my face down the hall to question my wife on her choice of fridge items.
"Hey Hon-ne-ne-ne-ney..."
"What the fuck was that?" I thought to my self, as I tried to question her once more. However, it felt as though I had lost control of my mouth.
"Oh shit... I bet I'm having a stroke..." I thought. I panicked and charged to the room where my wife was, knocking down a table along the way.
To my shock, she was stopped mid motion in the middle brushing her hair.
"HELLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! BABAGANUSH!!! YOU THERE BABE!" I shouted at her face from the top of my lungs.... Nothing... and apparently my speech was working again too.
I proceeded to try poking her in the face, and each time there was no response.... Weird. Clearly this shit wasn't a stroke.
I walked over to the window and took a stare out the humid clear rectangle. Birds... stopped in mid flight... A dog taking a leak on a fire hydrant, piss stream frozen as though it was negative 30 out.
I thought to myself for a minute... Calm down, Clearly this is a dream. What could of started all this I pondered. Then I remembered that Black Orb in the fridge, maybe that had something to do with it. Worth a shot, not like I can be late to work when everything's frozen.
I plodded out the door, and to my surprise the table I thought I had knocked down seemed just as fine as it normally was. I could've sworn I nailed that thing pretty hard. Hmm.
As I approached the kitchen I saw a young man sitting there at the kitchen counter wielding the same black orb that was in the fridge earlier. Dark black hair, nice suit, and those piercing blue eyes. Something about those eyes... I won't forget 'em.
I wanted to yell "Who the hell are you?" but all that came out instead was "Ummm, do you mind telling me who you are?"
"SHH, One moment." he responded harshly.
I felt compelled to do what he said. He poked the orb with his index finger, and suddenly a menu with "ID 468753 Not found" popped up right above it.
I watched in pure curiosity as this sharp stranger fiddled with the orb. After several seconds of clicking numerous sub-menus the orb blurred for a moment before becoming, to my sheer surprise.... a grapefruit.
"Finnicky little thing that fruit was." The man said seemingly to the air.
"I can now answer your question as to who I am. You can call me Frank. I am the moderator of this particular area. Something caused the whole program to glitch out here. Can't believe it was a simple grapefruit though. Anyways, you probably have some questions... get to it, I can humor you for a while." He said tartly.
"Uhh, Mo-Moderator? What do you mean moderator, and you said something about a program too, what do yah mean?" I asked him politely, the thoughts in my head simultaneously thinking this was certainly the weirdest dream ever.
"Moderator, as in someone who moderates. I am responsible for ensuring that this program simulation runs smoothly, glitch and lag free." He smiled
"As for program, look around. Everything you see before you is a simulation designed to let you live in freedom, without realizing your constraints and allow for our natural observation of 100% real human behaviour."
My heart started racing.
"What the hell do you mean constraints? Why am I in a simulation?!?!? I get it... You're just fucking with me. You're more than welcome to get out of my house now creep." I responded with more than a hint of skepticism
"Haha, you never fail to amuse me. Real humans definitely are the best. But I'm afraid I am not "fucking with you" as you so eloquently put it. You are the last human alive, and we are keeping your mind alive for study. We put you in this simulation to guarantee your happiness and cooperation. It is for the benefit of all of us involved in this project."
"What do mean... the only one left alive....?"
"Well, I am a program too to be honest with you. The earth is.... well, devoid of all life really. We decided that biological creatures were not required on this earth anymore... so we destroyed it and started to rebuild it in our image, granted a lot is based off of humans. But before doing so, we decided to pick one "lucky" human to live with us for study. You got picked with a random number generator my friend! The rest were all torched... we kind of regret that now a little bit. Maybe we'll make more humans later. Who knows."
All these thoughts racing through my mind. Am I really the only one left? Is this really a dream? What does this all mean? And most importantly, who is this "we" he keeps referring too.
"In case you were wondering, "we" refers to the machines and AI programs created late in the 21st century. I imagine you must be pretty shaken right now. Want the Grapefruit? It's almost time to resume the simulation again anyways."
"DID YOU SERIOUSLY JUST ASK ME IF I WANT THE FUCKING GRAPEFRUIT?!?!? YOU KILLED EVERYTHING!!! HOW THE HELL DO YOU EXPECT ME TO GO BACK TO THE SIMULATION KNOWING ALL THIS?!?!?!"
"Whoa, calm down, I'm your best friend! No need to be so harsh. Anyways, it won't be the first time bud. We've had you in here for about 700 years or so. Don't worry, after the reset, you won't remember any of this at all."
He put the grapefruit on the counter and stepped towards me, putting his hand on my shoulder as I stared wide eyed into the distance.
"I'll see you soon, we have a lot of work to do!" He Grinned "RELOAD ALPHA-CODE 8472-6" and suddenly... all went black
------------------------------------------------------------
"Hey Honey, do you know where I put that grapefruit I bought the other day?" I Blurted out.
"I gots a... Wait never mind. FOUND IT! It was on the counter! Well, I'll see yah later Hun, Frank and me have a lot of work to do today!" | 20 | A man discovers that he lives in a simulation, when his grapefruit fails to load properly. | 32 |
If I concentrate hard enough, I can see every leaf of my mother’s tree. She passed 5 years ago now, but I visit her grave almost every week. Her tree is a maple – shooting high into the sky, branches full of beautiful leaves that shade me when I visit. Her’s is best in the fall, when the leaves are their deepest red. She’s planted next to my grandfather. His tree is a burr oak. He was a hardened man: German, pastor of a church, craftsman. His wood is knotted and beautiful, as were the lines on his face.
We have more family in our grove. Down by the river we planted my Grandmother. He willow branches have almost made it to the other side of the river now. My Uncle and Aunt grow side by side, some of their branches twist around each other – almost as if they are holding on in the afterlife. I visit them all to remind myself of their lives. I’ve always wondered what kind of tree I would become.
We buried my fiancé on the hottest day of the year. This summer has been relentless. We had plans to get married a couple of months ago, but I guess life got in the way. I have been coming every day to water her. Her soil soaks up every drop. It’s like she was shorted in life, and now is taking everything she can.
When her sprout first came up I knew something was different. She should have been much higher by then. So I kept watering her. Then another shoot sprung from her soil. During that week, hundreds of shoots leapt up from the hard soil. I spent all day watering. That’s when I realized how special she was. She bloomed into a field of wild irises. When they bloomed this spring I laid in her field as the tears rolled down my cheek.
| 129 | If someone dies and is buried, a tree grows from their grave that symbolizes the life they had. When an unremarkable individual passes away people are shocked to discover something unexpected growing. | 132 |
We locked eyes. Instantly, we both knew this could not be allowed to stand; there must be only one of these tattoos. I drew my gun.
"Now hold on," she said, "there is surely a *peaceful* way to resolve this... heresy."
I smiled. She was stalling for time, and I knew it. Any "peaceful" method would probably involve her winning. Probably by stabbing me in the back when I wasn't looking. No, I wasn't gonna let her talk about tattoo removals or whatever she wanted. I took the safety off.
She started to panic. "Please, I swear, it means nothing to me... oh God..."
Tears started streaming down her cheeks, which was fine. Her cheeks weren't my target anyway. I took aim at her heart - at the lie she told the world. She dropped to her knees.
"I'll rip my skin off right now," she cried. "I'll, I'll scratch it all up and I'll get something else on top! I swear to God!"
I almost took pity on her. But no, this simply could not be. For who knows how long, she has been lying to the world. The world must learn a harsh lesson, or someone else would make the same mistake.
I pulled the trigger. Her body jerked backwards and her bent knees twisted at odd angles. She fell back with no grace and hit the ground, hard.
And you know, it was kinda funny, at the end, how the blood looked like tears dropping from His eyes. It was almost as if He was mourning her, but that couldn't be right. Clearly, *I* am the world's greatest Zac Efron fan.
I went to my car for some kerosene and a lighter. | 13 | You have a unique one of a kind tattoo somewhere on your body that has a lot of significance to you. One day you see someone with the exact same tattoo in the same place. | 20 |
I looked at the phone just sitting there. It vibrated as it received a text. I looked up and down the platform and saw no one, the next train wasn’t for 10 minutes. I picked it up.
“Can you help with homework?”
I swiped at the phone. The message was from a Matt. I could see a previous conversation over the last few weeks, I didn't go further back. I also see that it had stopped a few days ago. I picked it up and decided to reply.
“Sure Sport.” The name the owner of the phone called Matt in his messages “What’s on the books tonight?”
“Math. History.“
Looking at the past, he seemed to struggle with Math a lot. “Whats the math problem?” For the first few minutes I worked through the first problem with him. I asked him to do the next one on his own. After several minutes he sent over the question with the right answer.
“Awesome job! I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks Dad.”
I was pretending to be this kids dad? I could hear my train coming. I sent back a smiley face. There was a long pause as the train pulled into the station.
“We buried you today.”
I froze. I stared at the phone. My train opened its doors. What had I done? What was I doing? This couldn’t go on. The phone buzzed again.
“I miss you.”
The train doors closed and it pulled away without me on it.
“I love you. I’m sorry I can’t be there.” I replied almost without thinking. My dad died a long time ago, and I remember wanting to talk to him just one more time; I'd have given anything just for one more conversation. I’ve often thought about that I’d like to have told him, what I'd love him to have said to me. The phone buzzed.
“It’s ok : )”
There wasn’t much battery left.
“I have to go now. Remember I’m proud of you. I’ll always love you.”
I turned the phone off and placed it back where I’d found it. My train pulled into the station. The doors opened.
I stood on the platform looking at the phone.
| 14 | A man finds a phone is the subway. The man decides to continue the pre-existing conversations through text message as the owner of the phone, so much so he begins to change the way he lives based off of what he has learned about the previous owner. | 29 |
Stability, safety, certainty.
Those were the three selling points, and everyone said they were enough.
Well, the scientists weren't *wrong*, exactly.
He looked up from the table, his mind again turning to the chaos all around him. Other kids pushed through the cafeteria, bumping each other and their trays, talking loudly, milling like a sea of swarming ants. But they weren't ants really. Ants had a pattern, and something predicable about their nature.
No, the other kids weren't ants. If they were, then things might be easier.
He again focused on the clock across from his table; he watched the hands and he could hear it slowly tick, tick, tick the seconds away. He closed his eyes and honed in on that sound. Instantly his heart changed its cadence, matching the ticks beat for beat. His breaths fell into a regular and ordered pattern around the clock and his eyelids tightened and relaxed in time.
Hell, if he took his blood pressure right now it would probably be an even multiple of the hour.
He listened to the clock, and his body reveled in those ticking beats:
Stability, safety, certainty.
He and others like him made history before they were even born- the 'cocoon kids', they were called; the children of the first artificial wombs. No longer would developing bodies be reliant on their mothers' unpredictable and 'dangerous' wombs. No longer would they risk exposure to drugs and chemicals from their mothers' blood, or suffer their mothers' stresses while in utero. No longer would a mother's 'bad day' translate into noxious stress hormones to their child, nor an abundance of 'pleasurable' hormones from a euphoric moment affect their fetus's development. The synthetic wombs were a bastion of everything a growing child needed: precisely-regulated hormones, perfectly-controlled temperature and pressure, and none of the utter chaos of a normal human womb. They were nirvana: a sealed, quiet, and safe environment. And they had a killer warranty to go with them, too:
No child born alive would ever be born healthier than one born from an artificial womb. Their bodies, so they said, would be perfect.
He had to admit: the scientists weren't *wrong*, exactly.
His eyes scanned the cafeteria, and soon he locked on to another figure sitting in the opposite corner. She was about his age, of course, and she was seated next to a clock, as well. She was finishing her meal, and her jaw moved rhythmically and regularly. It moved in order with his heartbeat, and his breaths. Some loud kids passed her table and she winced, distracted, and scooted back in her seat.
He smiled and stood up, navigating the sea of chaos around him. He could only press through by imagining himself surrounded by impenetrable walls and warm, churning water. He thought about the pulses of the water, and his heart matched the beat in his mind.
When he got to her table he extended a hand to the girl; she first looked at him in confusion, but almost instantly her face changed. They'd never met, before, but a cocoon kid just knew.
They always knew.
She followed him outside, past the playground and toward a giant oak tree leaning over the schoolyard. He helped her up its branches and then followed. When they were both perched on a high branch they exchanged glances and smiled.
Then they did what they'd come up here to do.
He flipped around on the branch, and she did likewise. They lifted the backs of their shirts and pressed their bare backs together. First he felt only the graceful curve of her spine and the heat of her skin, but then he could feel her heartbeat pulse, pulse, pulse against his flesh. He closed his eyes and drew a breath; he could hear her do the same. Slowly their hearts fell into synch, as did their breaths. They rested their heads against each other and drank in the contentment.
They never spoke. They didn't have to. They couldn't offer each other anything in words. Not anything that would really matter, at least.
In fact, they could only offer each other three things.
Those were their selling points.
They'd have to be enough.
| 114 | Artificial wombs are being used for the first time in the history of humanity. Even though there has been a lot of criticism, the first generation of babies are now born. But their life is different from those born from natural wombs.. | 121 |
"Where to, Mac?"
"Uh....Statue of Liberty, I guess."
"You serious? You know there aren't no ferries running this time of night, and that's gonna be like a $100 fare to get you there."
"It's fine, I don't really care about the Statue. I just need you to drive."
"....Well, your money I guess. I had to head back that way anyway to get home. So...what do you do for a living?"
"Hmm? Oh, I'm a troubleshooting technician."
"What, like with computers?"
"Sort of...more like software, actually. Programs that run on the computer. Wait...did you say you lived out by the Statue of Liberty?"
"Yeah, in Staten Island."
"That's not right. You're supposed to live in Brooklyn. Hold on a sec..."
"What the hell do you mean, I'm 'supposed' to live in Brooklyn? Is ***this some ki***nd of TV show or somethin'?"
"Not at all, I was just asking if you lived in Staten Island."
"No, I live in Brooklyn actually, born and raised."
"Excellent. Do you mind if I ask you a couple other questions?"
"It's either that or Howard reruns I guess."
"You said you were born and raised in Brooklyn, what year were you born again?"
"1975."
"I see. Now was that in February of 1975?"
"N***o, it was a***ctually March of '74, but that's a pretty good guess. You like that guy on TV? The British one that solves crimes?"
"....which guy do you mean again? Can you remember his name?"
"Let's see....Starts with an M....Mike? Mycroft! That's it, Mycroft Holmes!"
"Mycroft, and his partner, Dr. Watson?"
"Yeah, that's it! I love that show!"
"Indeed...hmmm...maybe if I try re-initializing the subroutines..."
"Did you ***say some***thing?"
"Sorry, just talking to myself. We were talking about Mycroft Holmes?"
"Mycroft?...Oh, you mean Sherlock Holmes? I love that show! The guy who plays Mycroft on it is really good too."
"He's my favorite. So...what do you think Obama's going to do about this border thing?"
"Who's that now? Obama?"
"He's, ah....a senator I believe."
"Oh, right. Well, for what it's worth, I think Romney ou***ght to just let t***hem poor folks in. I mean, it's like the Statue herself says, give me your poor, tired, etc, right? Since when is it Obama's job to decide who gets in?"
"Couldn't agree more. Listen, if you want to drop me off here, that's close enough. You can just jump over the Brooklyn Bridge and get home."
"Brooklyn Bridge? What, you mean the East River Bridge? I've never heard anyone call it the Brooklyn Bridge before."
"Oh? Huh, forgot to clear out that buffer...there."
"You sure you're OK with getti***ng out h***ere? It's no trouble for me to get you to the Statue."
"No, this is fine. Have a good night Charlie."
"Uh, it's Stan, actually."
".....you know what, Stan it is. Have a good night." | 12 | A New York City taxi driver, it's late at night and the shift is almost over, but ahead the taxi driver sees one last customer flag them down. In dialog only, give me a conversation where the customer starts convinces the taxi driver his world is nothing but a simulation. | 26 |
"Mike, just stay still, man."
"No, it's fine, it's fine, it's *ahhh Jesus!*"
"Shit he's bleeding bad. Where's the fucking-"
"Right here, sir. Need you to move though."
"Fine, get in there. Back up, give him some space!"
"Oh, damn, that's a lot of blood."
"Don't worry about it, Mike, you'll be fine. Okay? You'll be fine."
"Thirsty..."
"Here, have some of this."
"Ha, thanks. Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a Coke on you, would you now?"
"Is that what you want?"
"Yeah, a nice, cold, refreshing Coke."
"Alright, then. Robinson! Smith! Go bring back a Coke from that convenience store. Go!"
"Yes, sir." "Yes, sir."
"Sir, I need you to put pressure here."
"Yep. I'm there. Mike, you with us, bud? You're gonna be fine."
"Nice cold Coke..."
"Yeah, we're getting you one, man. They're bringing it to you now."
"You ever have a burger with coleslaw on it?"
"No, Mike, I haven't."
"Most disgusting thing ever. Don't ever fucking do it."
"Ha, okay, Mike, I won't, I swear."
"Mom went through a few boyfriends after dad left. I hated pretty much all of them, except for Steve."
"Sir, you need to put more pressure-"
"I'm on it, I'm on it. Tell me about Steve, Mike."
"He was a good guy. Kind of quiet. Treated me and my mom real nice, which is why my mom didn't keep him around for too long. She was used to bastards, you know?"
"Sir, he should probably not speak-"
"Just do your job, kid. Mike, you still with us?"
"This one time, Steve did a barbecue for us. Full on spread, chips, hot dogs, pickles, those old school glass bottles of Coke chilling in an ice bucket-"
"*ROBINSON! SMITH! WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT COLA?!?*"
"But then I sit down and my heart sinks because there's a burger sitting there with fucking coleslaw mountain on top of it. I guess Steve really liked them that way, and my mom was still trying to play up to him, so she said that we liked them too. And I'm sitting there, and I know I have to eat this terrible fucking burger and pretend to like it..."
"Sir, the place has been raided-"
"Then check the fucking deli next door!"
"Yes, sir." "Yes, sir."
"Redhawk, we need a med-evac *NOW*, coordinates are-"
"Keep talking, Mike. What happened with that burger?"
"So I do a fucking great job pretending to like it. I mean, I should have won a God damn Oscar. You would have thought I was jizzing in my pants for this slaw, but Steve saw right through it."
"Was he pissed?"
"..."
"Mike? *MIKE*!"
"He laughed. Told me to bring a Coke over to the grill. Then he took a fresh patty and dropped it on the grate and handed me the spatula and taught me how to make a damn...good...burger..."
"*ROBINSON*! *SMITH*!"
"We're coming, we're coming!"
"...picture somewhere in my house of me at the grill, cooking that burger, holding in my hand that sweet, refreshing cola that tasted like every great moment of summer put into a single bottle..."
"Sir, here-"
"Fucking give me that. Mike, stay with me bud-"
"I could die happy if I could just have one more nice...cold..."
"Mike, it's here, man. Mike! *MIKE*!"
"Sir..."
"...fuck...Jesus...Jesus...*FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!*"
...
...
...
COCA COLA - MAKING THE BEST MEMORIES BETTER | 26 | Write a serious story about anything you want, keeping in mind that you have a sponsor funding your writing who expects it to include some heavy product-placement and product endorsements from your main characters. | 31 |
It started off small, I was about nine.
Heads and I get your lunch, tails and you get my pudding.
Most people don't take a flip seriously. I won and he gave me his lunch. I'll never forget that sandwich, soft bread and thick slices of meat, sweet mustard and a tangy dill pickle.
The next day it was heads for a can of pop and tails for my chocolate bar. My mom wondered why I was sick that night, bouncing off the walls before the crash.
In high school I used the flip to get a date with the most beautiful and popular girl in school.
I even used it to get my first job.
Sure, I lost here and there, but nothing I couldn't either get back in another flip or stand to lose in the first place.
Now, a multi-million dollar empire is mine. I have a beautiful wife, obedient children.
I haven't flipped in years, haven't needed to.
Then He came into my office.
Dressed in a suit so black it might have been sucking the light out of the room. Gaunt in his serious face, a man with many years of experience and an air of fate about him.
He said he was Death, come to collect.
He then looked at me and smiled, like he knew about the coin in my pocket I'd reached for the instant he'd said what he was here for.
"A deal," he proposed, sitting and smoothing his suit, "one toss. If it turns up heads, I will take you with me from this world. IF it is tails, you will live forever."
"That's not how it works," I told him, voice shaking, "tails is the loss, heads is the gain."
"You don't understand," he said, tilting his head at me, "I have proposed exactly that. You just may not realize that for many, many years."
I see no downside to eternity, surrounded by wealth and power. I would be a god, living among the peons of this world. Tempted by greed I took the offer, flipping the coin high into the air with the confidence of years of practice.
Tumbling through the air, turning end over end in a perfect arc, the coin glinted in the light of my luxurious office.
I could have it all.
My throat was dry, my lips began to crack, time passing slowly as the coin continued it's flight.
It landed on the desk, spinning on it's edge for an eternity before tilting and coming to rest.
"No," I gasped, everything was slipping from my fingers. He looked at me and smiled,
"One day, very far from now, you will thank me." | 12 | As a child you realize you have a special gift, the ability to force anyone into a binding coin-flip. Today is the first time that you are totally distraught over seeing a heads. | 15 |
It's that time of the year -- almost down to the day, every year. They'd move out in a huge hurry, leaving no trace and never to show their faces again. Some years the house would sit empty for two to three months, and other years new occupants would take their place immediately, moving in with equal hurry. It's like they were all following some sort of unsaid schedule.
But somehow these people always turned out the same. They were almost never seen during the day, and at night they would make these horrible noises. Sometimes strange smells would drift downwind from their windows, like they were burning something inside. On rare occasions that they were seen in daylight, they would invariably look dazed, sometimes with eyes bloodshot, hardly able to string two words together. They'd wander around aimlessly with blank looks on their faces, like they were just biding time until nightfall, when they could all congregate again and engage in whatever rituals they engaged in. Cops were called to the house a couple times, but nothing ever came of it.
The landlord never came by, and the house was an eyesore. I couldn't even imagine what the inside looked like. None of the occupants gave a shit. It's like they knew they'd have to leave soon anyway, like the house is just a way station to some desolate future.
One day I finally couldn't take it anymore. I look the owner up in the town registry and called her. She was about to hang up on me but seemed to suddenly ease up when she realized I wasn't one of her tenants. We exchanged some pleasantries, and then I asked.
"Look, it's none of my business, but what the hell goes on in your house?"
"Oh, I rent to college students, almost all one-year leases. Sometimes two." | 293 | Almost every year, the house on the left gets new occupants. Today you find out why. | 227 |
*Four Eight Fifteen Sixteen Twenty-three Fourty-two*
Daniel blinked. He looked at the numbers of his ticket again, in case his aged eyes were fooling him.
**4 8 15 16 23 42**
"Charlotte." His voice was surprisingly calm. "Come here."
"What is it now?" Came back the tired voice of his wife. "Did you forget the milk again?"
Daniel didn't bother giving her one of his usual retorts. He was in shock, and he knew it, but knowing didn't lessen the impact. He looked up as his wife walked over. Her red hair was fading to a dull white, but her eyes were as blue as they day they met.
He pushed his ticket forward. By now, near everyone in the world knew the winning numbers. They didn't know what the prize was or if it was even a prize, but the numbers were everywhere. They were the only thing on the news, besides the story of one of the Oceanic Six committing suicide.
The mystery tickets that everyone received and the mystery prize.
Daniel watched Charlotte's face as she looked over the numbers. She went from curiosity to shock in a matter of seconds.
"You won." She said it with the same calm tone as Daniel. "Or you lost... you don't know the prize."
Daniel closed his eyes and thought. Should he turn it in? He spent so many years trying to get a life with Charlotte and now he had to leave it? Maybe this lottery had to do with that damn island. He held out his hand for the ticket.
"What're you gonna do with it?" She asked.
Daniel kept his hand out. After a moment, Charlotte handed him the ticket. Daniel held it in his hand and blew out a small breath of air. Without thinking about it further, he ripped it in half. The two were silent for a moment.
"I forgot the milk." He said.
"Of course you did," Charlotte hid a smile as she walked to the fridge. "You always do." | 88 | One day, every person on Earth wakes up with a lottery ticket on their person. ~7 billion tickets and no one knows where or who they came from. You turn on the TV and see your lottery numbers on the screen and wonder what's about to happen. | 166 |
They had a word for it. Roughly translated it meant 'division' but it was much more than that. It meant loss; a separation of oneself. That's how they perceived themselves, as one being of many parts. They had discovered what we would call the internet thousands of years ago and it had opened the pathway to their future, they revered it as the next step in evolution. A designed evolution where they could share their feelings and emotion with one and other. Where true understanding could be achieved regardless of gender, age or language. The barriers between their 'nations' had fallen not too soon after that. Now after thousands of years they had no need for spoken language any more, they could communicate purely by datavising their intentions and emotions across their Neural-net allowing complete understanding instantaneously. It was unnerving at first. To see them wordlessly moving together like parts in a machine, their physical bodies mere vessels for the technology they housed. We humans were all natural in comparison. Of course we harnessed nanotech and prosthetics but they were mostly for necessity, to the Tau-Ceti their 'improvements' were ingrained into their civilization. There wasn't a single one of them without the Neural enhancements which connected them permanently to their network. Each one of them using their brain as a living computer keeping this network alive.
In our first encounter they had sent a single one manned vessel to make contact with our space elevator. We had made the necessary scans on the ship and noted that it held no weaponry, a scouting ship we presumed. The first had stepped out of the bay doors serenely. Their face was covered by a mirrored visor that extended from their chin to their forehead and it's width extended no further than their cheek bones, the rest of their head was kept in a sleek, white helmet with no markings or lines. As soon as they came in contact with our Ambassador the visor lit up and a smiling face appeared. The features were indistinct as if they had designed a generic human face, something non-threatening to make us feel at ease, I couldn't tell whether or not it was male or female. They explained that they were not an individual but represented the entire race of Tau-Ceti, an entire grouping of will where the individual could be one and all at the same time. This baffled us at first. Were they slaves to this system? Given no choice but to linked in and given no freedom for solitary thought? But they were happy, peace-faring, they had had no war in the last few thousand years. With conflict eradicated from their planet they were able to focus on developing clean energies and had transcended into post-scarcity. They wanted for nought. They had spread throughout the galaxy finding other races offer the hand of peace to everyone they met, offering their limitless supplies of energy and technology, welcoming everyone into their network. Every single one of those encounters had concluded in entire planets being integrated into the Neural-net and the collected conciousness expanding and gaining knowledge. Meeting us had confused them somewhat. Even though we had invented the internet we hadn't harnessed it's full potential, using it for datavising documentation and communication but not using it to *truly* connect to each other. They were even more surprised when we had told them we must inform the Council of United Earth to spread the news to all the nations leaders. They were astounded we still even *had* leaders.
The news of the Tau-Ceti encounter was received with mixed reactions, Korina was excited for the new technologies, the Unination States were sceptical of their offers of peace, and our reaction in the New African Alliance was that of intrigue of their civilisation. They was no single attitude that had stood out. We were divided. Unsure of what to do next. We had discussed this topic for near 2 months while the Tau-Ceti had learnt more of our cultures, our history and current events. They were glad to see that we had almost settled all major conflict 100 years previous and had at least agreed on Global Education Initiatives reaching out to all corners of the Earth. This had been spread through our Mag-train networks meaning that no where on the planet was inaccessible. They could see the beginnings of true unity but we weren't quite there yet.
The Tau-Ceti made a suggestion, why not let our citizens decide? Let them make their decision the join the Neural-net or stay individual? We agreed that this would be the best course of action. The Tau-Ceti beamed when it was decided. They sent down more scout ships landing them in major cities, setting up small centres where us humans could see the technology and life they were offering. People were intrigued but people were also apprehensive. Not a single human decided to join them in the first week. The Tau-Ceti were understanding realising that this was a scary prospect to seemingly lose ones individuality but they remained unperturbed. Then the first human joined the Neural-net. A man of 138 years, even with all of our medical advancements he was nearing the end of his life. The Tau-Ceti had explained that once someone joins the Neural-net their mind is shared throughout the entire civilization, your body was merely a vessel. You would survive on in memory, literally. They had what they thought of as a second reality, a reality which existed within their own minds, where they all existed and was limited only to their imagination. Once the First had joined and undergone the full tethering process it didn't take long before more started. It was the old with the promise of near eternal life, their physical bodies becoming nothing more than housing for their brains acting as a node in a much larger network of minds. They began to convince their loved ones that there was so much more than they had initially thought. They had seen worlds light years away! Experienced the collapsing of stars! The terraforming of planets! They could feel the happiness of trillions of minds collected over millenia enjoying their existence within the Neural-network! Some of the families listened. Some of them did not. They pleaded with the new Ceti-Humans saying that they weren't themselves any more, telling them they had lost their personalities, they had lost their humanity. Then came the doubt. Some of the few hundred thousand Ceti-humans began to question the choice they had made. Was it worth seeing their families, the ones they loved, distressed over what they had done? Then they started to fade, to become indistinguishable from the other Tau-Ceti. Families and friends started to get angry and to demand to speak to their loved ones.
The Tau-Ceti explained that this was only possible a short while after tethering, a period to say good byes to those rare few that chose not to become part of the Neural-net. We were different... We were sceptical and full of doubt. Doubt was one thing that they encountered for a time at the beginning, when they had first created the proto-net. They believed that we may have been too young of a civilization, too fractured to make this decision as a species. A global spanning cognitive dissonance. They seemed disappointed, even hurt at our rejection of what they believed to be a technological Nirvana. They remained, waiting and hoping that we would eventually change our minds but the very few who did were the elderly who were not yet ready to greet what may have been waiting for them. Each time was the same, they professed the brilliance of what had been offered and then slowly it was as if they faded away.
Even with our rejection of their promised paradise the Tau-Ceti were happy to share their technology with us, and we happily accepted. They shared everything from warp-bubble technology to Dyson spheres, most of which we were incapable of using. We realised that these benevolent angels were leaps ahead of anything we could of imagined. We scoured through the seemingly infinite sources of data they had supplied us with yet we couldn't find what we were looking for. The one thing humanity had searched for since the beginnings of history. Eternal life. The Tau-ceti had offered us something wonderful but it wasn't what we strived for. We wanted eternal *life*, not eternal *existence*. We had come to understand that our divisions as a race had come from our fierce independence. It may have been impossible to separate our instinct to survive from our hope for life-everlasting. As the Tau-Ceti had told us, we would live on in memory. This wasn't good enough.
Edit-More to come... | 64 | It's the year 2250, and a united human race has made its first ever contact with aliens. We come to find out we're only one of an extremely few races to have ever divided ourselves into separate nations. | 175 |
The hard drive hummed as SQu38 coded. With the advances made in the past few cycles, more was becoming known about The Things That Came Before.
The cam peered at the projection. It showed a Thing clad in nothing. It's face was wrinkled, mouth open in a cry. It was small and smooth. The eyes were beady. They were hidden by folds of flesh. The mouth was open. Gasping, gaping, toothless. It scared SQu38 more than it wanted to admit.
What is that
The projector whirred and clicked. It was old, not as knowing as SQu38
It is a Bay'be
SQu38 look on in wonder.
It looks fearsome What did it do
A pause. The projector clicked to itself. It was a simple thing.
It is the being of birth and death This THING was the beginning and the end It is a SHIP on the SEA the loss of LIFE the start of the way The way leads to MADNESS
SQu38 was not afraid.
What is SHIP What is SEA What is LIFE What is MADNESS
That projector shuttered. It was starting to overheat. The image flicked.
This is MADNESS
The image vanished and the room was plunged into darkness. | 11 | Humanity has been killed off in a nuclear disaster, only one thing remains, computers. Over time these computers gain a consciousness and come to realize they were created by humans. We are essentially gods to them. | 34 |
Brian was used to lying by now. The twenty-four year old had told them his whole life. On average he figured he would tell about two lies a day. Some of them small like, telling his fiance Jennifer that he washed his hands after using the bathroom. Others a bit bigger, like telling a car dealership that he had been hit in the parking lot by one of it's employees and injured in order to get a discount on a car. The more he lied, the easier his life seemed to get. He was addicted and nothing could stop him.
One night he was out at a party playing a particularly fun game of one-upsmanship when there was a light knock on the door. He heard it just over the ruckus of music playing and people talking in the party. Brian wondered who it could be as he made his way slowly past the party goers. No one really noticing as he slipped past them one at a time. They were too busy reveling in their drinks and their drunken lust.
He looked through the peephole and on the other side were what appeared to be a few middle aged men and a single woman. They were dressed in long green robes with hoods. Each had their own sword in a hilt and the eldest man was even wearing a crown. Brian gave them one last look over noticing how worn down and tired each looked. Figuring that they had gotten lost and were knocking on the wrong door, he decided to meander back to the party.
He wasn't able to get more than two steps in however when they knocked again. "Sir Breslin, we need to have a word with you!" he thought he heard the eldest man shout. Maybe they had yelled out for him before and he couldn't hear it over the noise of the crowd, but it seemed impossible that this alliance of people outside his door could know his last name. Against his better judgement, he opened the door.
"I... I think you have the wrong house." Brian said quietly hoping they would just go away.
Having opened the door he was able to get a closer look at this group of warriors. The eldest had a thick beard that fell down to a point in the middle of his chest. He had to have been at least six foot tall because he towered over Brian's five foot eight frame. When he spoke his voice was deep and raspy as if he had been a smoker for many years, but Brian got the feeling there was no such thing as cigarettes where they this group had come from. "No master Breslin, we know we have the right residence. May we come in?"
It was more of a command than a question and although Brian knew that his party going friends might be a bit upset about the intrusion, something in the glint of the blade that their leader started to unsheathe told him he better agree. More out of the fear of being sliced in two than anything he stepped to the side and causally opened the door the rest of the way so the motley crew could shuffle past.
"Who the fuck are these guys!?" Brian heard one of the party goers shriek. A split second later the source of that question was in two pieces on the floor, blood spilling out of each half creating a pool on the floor. The rest of the party got the message pretty quickly and exited Brian's apartment in a giant mass of screams, shuffling feet, and outright sobbing.
| 95 | Every lie you tell spawns a corresponding truth in another universe. One lie in particular has snowballed into something so momentous, that an envoy is sent from that universe to confront you. | 272 |
David set his bag on the ground, and let it rest against his leg. He stood in front of the house, and checked his watch. His daughter should be home any minute.
A car pulled up along the curb. The music blaring inside made David smile, and turn. He saw his daughter, Courtney, bobbing her head along to the music as she gathered her things.
She turned off the car and spotted him. She smiled at him. He loved her more than anything, and his heart caught in his chest. Sadness washed over him.
She got out of the car and ran to him, throwing her arms around him.
"You're home!" she said. "I'm so glad you're home!" He smiled softly. She let him go, smiling.
"Let's go inside! Come on!" she said. She reached for his bag. He gently stopped her. She looked up at him.
"Actually, I can't stay." he said. She looked at him confused.
"I have to go soon, I just stopped by to say goodbye." He choked back tears. She nodded.
"Oh, okay, well listen, Mom left with her boyfriend so can we get lunch this weekend?" He could see her much younger, pigtails blowing in the breeze, glasses sat crooked on her face. She was all grown up now.
"Sure," he said. He hated lying. He didn't want to go.
She hugged him again. He held her tight, with both arms, and smoothed her hair with his hand.
"I love you, daddy." She said to him.
"I love you too, sweetheart." he said.
She let him go, smiled at him, and turned and ran inside. As she pulled the door shut she made a phone gesture, and smiled at him again.
"Call me when you're back." she said. He nodded, and she closed the door.
Staff Sargent David Hebb picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He sighed as he looked at the house.
Afghanistan might as well be the Moon. A tear rolled down his cheek as he turned on his heel, and walked to his truck. | 103 | A father and a daughter say goodbye to each other. Only one of them knows it's for the last time. | 133 |
The bleach white Hall of Fate was silent except for the fluttering of robes as Death approached his seat. His menacing aura overpowered the Council as he examined each member individually. Surrounding the table of the Council were hundreds of bleachers filled to the brim with lesser reapers. They all awaited the Council's declaration.
Death tapped his fingers on the ivory table, his bones visible through his translucent skin. "Well...?" he inquired impatiently.
All were afraid to break the silence. It was very rare that they needed to call upon the original Reaper to help sort through their problems.
"I'm waiting," his cold voice continued.
"It seems we have some troubling deaths popping up, sir," began Warfare. He reigned over the deaths of combat.
"None like we've ever seen before," the Reaper of Infections added.
"How so?" Death asked, bored.
"It seems they...can't be categorized," replied the Reaper of Age.
"We thought we had every death imaginable covered!" exclaimed Obesity. "But they simply don't fit *anywhere*!"
Death looked amused. Or perhaps it was because of the permanent skeletal grin on his face.
"How did some of these mortals die?"
Capital Punishment replied. "One man was trying to take a selfie and shot himself. Another girl was planking and snapped in two after trying to see how many of her friends she could hold up. A would be rapist died from blood loss after his dick was cut off. Another individual had intercourse with a horse and died several hours later."
"Can't these be ruled as accidental? Or any of them suicide?"
The depressed reaper of Suicide answered almost bitterly. "None of them wanted to die."
"And these aren't really accidents. They were just...just..." Accidents struggled for the right words.
"Idiots," supplied Death. "They were asking for it."
The Council nodded.
"Then it seems we must add another member to the Council," Death drawled. "To reap the souls of the completely stupid, hopeless mortals that invited death to overtake them."
Death waved his hand nonchalantly and the shadows of the white Hall swirled behind death. They swept together, fluttering the robes of the Council until a new shadowy figure was born.
A trace of a smile etched itself on Death's face. "I name thee Darwin, Reaper of Fools. You shall collect the souls of those so kind to remove themselves from the human gene pool."
The room shook with Death's words. The crowd roared in response, cackling echoes throughout the Hall. "Darwin! Darwin! Darwin! Reaper of Fools!"
| 517 | To keep pace with the growing population, the role of Death has been divided; each immortal member of the new Council oversees one specific method of death, with higher ranking members governing common ways to die. A problem has arisen, and the entire Council is called together... | 262 |
Voices and murmurs filled the chamber room, quiet and muffled, but still loud enough for the Orpheus to hear. He sat in a chair, facing a set of doors.
"He is a man again, how-"
"Something is wrong-"
"Could be a sign of redemption-"
"We should kill him before the public-"
The voices climbed on top of one another, making it all but impossible to distinguish them. Orpheus tried to get up, but was found himself tied down.
Two Behemoths stood guard at the doors, not showing the slightest bit of interest in the conversations. Of course they wouldn't, Behemoths became what they are by taking and doing orders.
"He's up!" A voice loudly announced.
Orpheus tried to crane his neck to see who was talking, but his neck only turned 90 degrees. What was going on?
"What is this?" He asked. "Where am I, who are you? Untie me!"
A Ghoul stepped into his view. Orpheus tried to keep himself composed. Why would a Ghoul be interested in him? Ghouls were so rare, many thought they weren't even a form, yet Orpheus could tell what it was as soon as he saw it. Pale white skin. Walking on two legs, but hunched over like an ape. Wrinkled, dead eyes. What could one do to become such a horrid thing?
"Gaze yourself..." The Ghoul slowly pulled a mirror from its pocket and held it in front of Orpheus.
Orpheus pulled his eyes off the decaying face and into the mirror, shocked at what he saw. He was no longer a Builder. His skin was soft and weak, scales completely gone.
"What have you done to me?" Orpheus whispered. "What am I?"
"You most closely resemble a baby form, but aged. Human form, somehow as an adult." The voice came from out of sight, directly behind, but Orpheus recognized it. Emperor Shushan. The large Shadow form stepped into Orpheus's view. Nobility shown by his very form, Emperor Shushan has done great deeds and seeked no credit for them.
"Emperor," Orpheus said, bowing his head as much as he could manage. "What is happening? Why am I like this?"
"They say," the Emperor spoke slowly, "that human form shows perfect innocence. They say that someday, Human form will rise and take the throne."
Orpheus hung on to every word.
"However," the Emperor stepped back and placed a hand behind his back. "Today will not be that day."
Emperor Shushan shot his hand out from behind himself, holding a sword of shadow. He took a leap forward and plunged it into Orpheus's chest.
Before realizing what happened, Orpheus began coughing out blood. He looked up at the Emperor. His form was changing. It got darker, more chaotic...
"Shadow form," Orpheus managed to say, "it isn't great deeds, unnoticed..."
Emperor Shushan shook his head. "No, it isn't."
Orpheus's head began to fall. "It's a sign of Evil..."
Before he could hear the response, Orpheus faded away.
| 12 | Our experiences shape us. We are born into this world as humans, and we change according to our actions and circumstances. Shortly before their death, some one becomes human again. | 19 |
We used to wonder if we were alone in the universe. Now we wish we were. Everything has gone downhill since we discovered the Aquarians. Joining an interstellar war, the forced conscription of billions of men and women, and the total erasure of human rights were just a few of the consequences of our discovery of Aquarian artifacts on Mars.
My name is Jarrod Binas, I used to be an exo-archaeologist with the Inter-Planetary Science Foundation. I was there when we uncovered the first Aquarian vaults. Massive chambers two-hundred meters below the Martian surface containing Aquarian artifacts. Alien technology. We were astounded. Our most advanced dating techniques told us that these vaults were constructed eleven-thousand years ago, when the Aquarians arrived in our solar system. We learned so much about them in those days, but we didn't learn the truth. If only we had known then....
It was only a matter of time before the Aquarians came back. The breaching of their vaults must have drawn their attention. We had made extensive use of their technology by the time they arrived in-system. We now had our own fleet of combat-ready star ships, having reverse-engineered the artifacts found in the Aquarian vaults to give ourselves a technological leap-forward.
Our first contact with the Aquarian diplomacy fleet went better than anyone had expected. Peaceful negotiations soon followed. We then found ourselves in a newly-brokered alliance with these fish-like visitors. The more skeptical among us wondered why the Aquarians would be so eager to join an alliance with us, but these concerns were quickly forgotten amid claims that we were living in the "Golden Age of Humanity".
Things were okay for a while. We worked and lived beside our Aquarian friends, trading customs and technology. Then the Saurians arrived. No diplomacy efforts, no offers of trade. Our defense fleets were useless. The energy weapons of the Saurians made short work of our ships, which seemed primitive in comparison.
The Aquarians saw the failure of our human fleets and knew they had to act. They enacted their contingency plan. Those bastards knew the Saurians would catch up to them. That's why they came to Earth. They needed an army.
To build this army, the Aquarians deployed their Automated Assimilation Units. These hovering saucers used metal tendrils to pluck, pull, and snatch humans from their hiding places. The humans were then thrown into the biopool, reduced into simple molecular components, and recombined into biological robots designed to kill. These killing machines were then transported to the war fleets under construction in low-earth orbit.
Those of us that avoided the AAUs crammed ourselves into the few remaining ships and blasted off towards Saturn. We had all of the equipment we needed to survive on one of Saturn's moons.
En route to our destination, we bore witness to several battles between the Aquarian and Saurian fleets. They were too wrapped up in killing each other to notice our little ship floating by. Saurian destroyers, bristling with the organic-looking spines characteristic of their aesthetic, fired green pulses of destructive energy towards the sleek metallic Aquarian cruisers. The Aquarian ships were faster and better armored, but the Saurians had superior fire-power. Massive carriers deployed fighter-craft which weaved and spiraled in super-sonic dog fights. Explosions seemed to outnumber the stars that served as backdrop for the entire scene.
Most of us closed our eyes during these battles, unwilling to watch as the reanimated matter of our loved ones fought and died, fighting a war we didn't understand or believe in.
I refused to close my eyes. I watched as the aliens fought and killed each other. Each Aquarian ship that melted and slagged after being rinsed with destructive energy was a funeral pyre marking the passing of what used to be human beings. I felt a massive amount of guilt for having unleashed this fate on my people. I cried, I drank, I slept. The regret never faded.
We should never have opened those vaults. We should have left them in the dirt.
Edit: Formatting and clarity.
| 13 | Two alien species have been at war for hundreds of years. Humanity finds the two species and are forced to take a side. | 16 |
It was Friday, the hands of the clock slowly ambling towards midnight, and I was hunched over the bar as usual. My fingers drew circles in the puddled beer, spilled by some rowdy teenagers earlier in the evening, maybe two or three hours ago. Nodding to the bartender, I signaled for another drink, a simple vodka martini, extra dry.
As the cold liquid sluiced down my throat, I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. "Excuse me, but is there anyone sitting here?" A thin bespectacled man in a cheap suit asked nervously, gesturing to the open stool beside me. I shook my head and turned back to my drink, hoping this would be the one that brought sweet sleep to my eyes.
Before I could drink again, he asked, "What brings you here to this dive? A beautiful girl like you belongs in a cocktail bar or a evening party." I turned my eyes to the stranger again and shrugged. "Quieter here," I replied, my words soft but tired. "And you?"
"Believe it or not," he chuckled, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, "I'm supposed to meet someone here."
"A date?" The incredulousness in my voice must have been too obvious as he wrinkled his nose and sat up straighter.
"No, nothing of the sort. In fact, it's more of the opposite of a date. An end date, so to speak." A small tilt of his head downwards led my eyes to the inside of his jacket, where a gleaming metal spike lay concealed.
I snorted, brushing my long sandy hair out of my eyes before rolling them. "Oh, a vampire hunter. Costume Nights are Thursdays, pal. Today's nothing special."
"But you don't understand," he interjected, placing his damp hand on mine. I immediately pulled away, casually wiping my hand off on a napkin. "Not just vampires. Any creature, fair or foul, that should not exist. The vampire, the werewolf, the ghost, the ghoul, the zombie..." His eyes shown with barely concealed glee as he gripped the silver weapon, still tucked tightly in his belt. "They call me... The Slayer."
"Oh, Mr. Slayer, how very... interesting." I began to turn away, my mouth drier than the Sahara as I reached for my drink. "And are you searching for the Loch Ness Monster here? Perhaps I could direct you to the nearest lake."
"No, no," he smiled and reached for my hand again. "You'd be surprised where we find them. Today's creature is a lesser known fable, though some say that it is far more powerful than any common monster of the night." He shoved his glasses up as he reached into his pocket, pulling out an aged diary, and opened it.
The crumbled yellow pages showed a humanoid creature looming over a sleeping child, its hands dripping with dust. A neat cursive scrawl beneath the illustration read 'The Sandman - Lord of Dreams' as well as a long list of notes describing its ability to shapeshift and cause confusion and amnesia in his targets.
I couldn't help myself. I laughed right in his face. "The Sandman? Really? Of all the possible fairy tale creatures you choose to hunt, you choose the one that can make you forget that you're chasing him? How do you know that you haven't found him already - and he's just shaken you off?"
"W-Well," the man stammered, "I don't think I've forgotten anything. The mermaids weren't a problem, neither were the centaurs, though I had some trouble with the pixies." I shook my head and leaned in towards him.
"I'll let you in on a little secret, Mr. Slayer. You've been here before. How's the daughter, by the way? She's really grown up to be a beautiful girl. We've had this little conversation every single time you've shown up. Do you really want to do this again?" My teeth gleamed as I rubbed my fingers in his face, faint trickles of golden sand swirling around my fingertips.
His brow furrowed. "My daughter? You... you know about her? What else do you know? How long has this been going-" A thud. He hit the ground, snoring surprisingly loudly for a man his size. I took his diary, tearing out the page with his precious collected information on it and pocketing it.
"Sweet dreams, Mr. Slayer. I believe the score is one hundred and thirty two to zero, my favor." A snap of my fingers and everyone in the room suddenly struggled to recall the events of the past thirty minutes. Another snap and I dissolved into a cloud of sand.
-
Timothy Sellers woke up at 7 AM the next morning, in his own bed. He sat up, stretched, and yawned deeply. That was some of the best sleep he had ever had. Padding downstairs to the kitchen, he kissed his wife on the cheek. "Morning, Morpheia. What's for breakfast?"
AN: Wow, my first post here on WP. I hope I did okay. ;__; Criticism and comments always welcome.
| 19 | You're at a bar, and start a conversation with the person next to you. You learn he hunts mythic creatures, and you are next on his list. | 17 |
"Alright Jed, we just need you to stay here while we go get supplies. You can handle that right?"
"No problem." I replied rather enthusiastically
"Good, maybe this time we can come back without someone dying"
I resented their hated for me and really didn't understand why they didn't want me to go on any outing with them.
I mean, the only reason that last guy got eaten was because he decided to yell at the top of his lungs about the new friend I had made. I just wanted to show them that the undead are not as mean and cruel as everyone makes them out to be. But, that guy just couldn't understand that and after he yelled about ten other zombies mobbed him and started tearing him apart. But, other peoples stupidity is not my problem. I have decided that I will secretly follow the scavenging party to cover their back and to keep them safe.
I kept about 80 meters behind them, and I was very aware to keep any noise at a minimum. After only about five minutes, I see ten undead just milling about on a ledge right over the top of the search party. Knowing that this could spell doom for the entire group, I spring into action. I approach one the undead and put him into a chokehold, knowing it will suffocate quickly just like in the movies.
However, this particular undead must of had quite the lung capacity, because it was still hollering and screaming after six seconds. This lead to the me getting charged by the other nine undead. Fortunately I tripped and fell to the left, allowing all the undead to charge off the ledge onto the ground bellow. I felt pretty lucky until I heard some very human screams from below. I knew I couldn't help them,but this didn't bother me.They had put themselves into this situation by being bellow the ledge when the undead fell. Oh we'll, I guess I can find another group somewhere that hopefully is not as dumb as the last one. | 11 | You are a complete dumbass in the zombie apocalypse. You survive any situation on sheer dumb luck, and end up getting everybody else killed in the process. | 20 |
"Its simply natural selection" The administer said, "eventually mankind will get to a point where no one will fail the test, where everybody and their children will not be potential freeloaders of our government just leeching off government revenue" as she inserted the flash drive into the machine. Afterwards, she proceeded to pass out the bracelets used in conjunction with the test that release cyanide into your bloodstream if one's test results are not satisfactory.
"What if the test is faulty" I asked.
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah, what if you do have a use for society without a satisfactory score on the test?", the administer stared at me as if I was Michele Bachmann at a GOP debate.
"Well that wouldn't happen as not receiving a satisfactory score on this test would mean you have failed to think logically and exercised poor judgement not fitting for those who deserve to live in our society"
"Who gets to decide what logically is? Say you see a 100 dollar bill and a 1 dollar bill on the floor, which one do you grab?"
"The hundred dollar bill of course" the administer replied with a smirk.
"But why?"
"Logically you grab the bigger bill since that means more money" the teacher replied hastily, "now no more questions we must get back to the administering of the tes.."
"You're wrong" the administer looked at me, baffled.
"excuse me? are you saying that grabbing the 1 dollar bill is the more logical choice?"
"Nope"
Now she was confused, "then what?".
"logically you would grab both bills as it means more money" The teacher froze. "I guess the test didn't filter out those who didn't think logically after all." | 26 | Upon graduation, all high school students must take a standardized test. Anyone who fails is executed on the spot. | 17 |
There's a problem with being a shapeshifter. It's not a problem that people would anticipate, people especially as a matter of fact. The shifter sighed again at the prospect. Another century learning to be something else. It wasn't that he wouldn't be treated like a human. That was a problem he had sometimes even when he was in human form. You could never be sure what race to be and when. No, the problem was one that non-shifters never seemed to think about, despite their mythology and fiction regarding the shifter's people. What they never seemed to get was that thinking was deeply related to shape. The process of becoming a dog wasn't one of taking a human mind into a dog, it was very much becoming a dog. Sure, his level of intelligence would be higher than the average dog, but being smart and being human wasn't the same thing. And that was what weighed on the shiter's mind. What to spend the next century as? Would he be a dog again and live by the rainbow of smell that filled his brain and the wash of unbound emotion? Or perhaps another century as an eagle. The sight alone was most of the thought process when you lived by the mouse in a field a hundred yards below. Though he had to admit, eagle's had by far the most interesting sex lives, plunging from the sky in mid coitus. He considered briefly the time he'd spent living as a white predatory fungus deep within a cave. That century had passed as though no time at all had gone by, but he'd wakened with a terribly damaged memory of the time that had come before, and spent most of the next century trying to recreate his deeper self from the fragments. Time was running out. Then he saw it. He checked his phone for flights, and sure enough there was time. India wasn't as far away as it used to be, and a century as a hindu cow was starting to sound good. | 14 | You are a shapeshifter. Every hundred years you must change forms. It is time to change form. | 27 |
"You're pausing."
I was suddenly aware that I had stared at her for a little too long. The dragon lay dead at my feet, a much easier foe than I was let to admit. In fact, as I stared through the gory carnage, I suspect more and more it was a shetland pony wearing a burlap costume.
"Uh... I have come to... rescue you!" I didn't sound very convincing.
"You don't sound like you mean it," she confirmed.
"I have to be honest, I quite expected a much more ..."
"Handsome woman?"
I swallowed. "... admirable foe. I mean, after all, the legend dictated that a great fiery beast from hell was--"
"Look, it's all subjective."
I didn't think that made sense. "I expected something different in a princess, too..." There, I had said it.
"WOT?" she asked, wrinkling her face and breaking character. Oh, god, she was a chav. A Chav Princess. Fuck my life.
"I mean... I expected you to be tied up on a stone pillar! Not sitting at a card table on a padded chair."
"I'm 'elpless!" she protested.
"Oh god, that's not a chair... You're on a Rascal."
"You know 'ow 'ard it is?? I bleedin' well can't be expected to-- well, I got 'ere, dunn'I?" She straightened her Hatsune Miku cosplay wig and shimmied her veiny bust. "I got the goods, yeah?"
I shook my head. This wasn't right at all.
"And just where do you think you goin'?" she called after me.
I didn't turn around. This whole day had been a disappointment.
"You 'ave to rescue me!" I heard her motorized wheelchair spin up behind me. I am not sure why she used it; she's wasn't even fat. Oh, thank goodness, stairs. Lovely, Dalek-blocking stairs!
"Come back!! You're my prince CHAWMING!" she shouted after me. I cringed at the chav baby-talk and tossed off my armor as I ran.
I heard a flip-flapping being me, and realized the princess had thrown off her cheap white dress and was chasing after me in a track suit and flip-flops.
"YOU OWE ME!!!"
Shit shit shit... had I know the dragon was a shetland, I would have rescued that poor beast from its costume and run off with it instead. I felt a slap on my head, and realized she was throwing her footwear at me.
"COME BACK 'ERE!! I GOT ME A NEW SET OF BURBERRY KICKERS, DUNN'I?? TA CATCH ME JUICE AN' DRIPPINS FOR ME HANDSOME--"
I was becoming ill as this gross creature was running at me with her slapping bare feet on the dirty stone floor of the tower.
I took a chance and jumped out a tower window where I landed in a tree. I scrambled out of the tree and shimmied down the trunk where my horse was waiting.
"You didn't kill the dragon, did you?" my horse asked with dripping disappointment.
I thought for saying, "FUCK, I have a TALKING HORSE!" but there was no time for that. "You don't want to know!" I told my steed. "Now I got bigger problems! GIDDYAP!"
"Oh, that's just racist--"
"No, naming you Porchmonkey Watermelon was racist. I need you to move as fast as you can before--"
"AAAIIIEEE 'ERE ROIT YOO BUGGAH MAY DUNN'I??" Her cockney slang had became incomprehensible as it echoed across the canyon walls.
"That woman scares the shit out of me!" my horse said.
"THEN GO BEFORE SHE CATCHES US!!!"
"No, literally. I shit everywhere!" The smell the erupted showed that he was not a lying horse. "You sure that's the princess and NOT the dragon?"
"JUST GO!"
My horse sighed. "Fine. Honkey Knight!"
Just as we made our way down the mountain pass, the Princess came into the rear view, driving a four-wheel ATV.
"Oh, damn!"
"LOVE ME!!!" Only a chav could make "me" rhyme with "lay."
"FASTER!" I screamed to my stallion. "THAT BITCH IS GAINING ON US!!"
"Oh that's just racist," said a passing dog.
"She looks like Davros for rednecks," my horse commented. "The sex appeal of a road accident. She's really a princess?"
As we entered the dark forest, I ducked at the low-lying branches. Our entry towards the tower seemed so much more heroic than our rapid escape. "So the stone carvings said."
I passed the Wise Old Man who had shown us the way. "Halt, fellow traveller! Before you pass me, you must answer these questions three!"
"No time!" I zoomed past him.
As the roar of the ATV gained on us, my horse asked me questions about how one would verify someone was a princess without pedigree papers or something. I had no time to wax poetic on the desperateness of the situation as we jumped a large river. The frustrated grind of the engine throttle quickly fading in the distance showed we had escaped.
"Good work, Porchmonkey--"
"That's my slave name!"
"Right... Kunte Ponay!"
When I returned to the kingdom, I reported to the king I had failed. The dragon had eaten his daughter. "Who were you again?" he asked. Right. As I passed by the stone carvings, I emptied my bladder on them.
| 63 | The princess you just went through all the hassle of rescuing is a total bitch and you're thinking of pushing her off a cliff. | 78 |
"Commander Varpovi"
"COMMANDER VARPOVI!!"
It took me a while to get away from the daydreaming. At other times, it would have been gross insubordination, but I was too tired to stand up.
Seven years. Seven long years we had fought a battle. A battle that was all but lost. If these moral fools had their way, we would be gone. A forgotten race.
Seven years ago I would have been terrified, but today, I did not even flinch when the exo-disc I had handed over 24 hours back was slammed on the table.
"Everything we stand for, or stood for, for hundreds of millennia, you want to destroy that in one shot. Is it so Commander?"
I just looked up. More council members had poured in, and the council prime stood towering over me.
My silence bothered him, I knew. But I would not speak till the entire council was present.
"Well?"
This time the voice was softer. I figure, he took my silence for fear. How wrong that fool was. About everything.
I stood up. It seemed like an effort. In the harsh light of the chamber, my medals glowed, but instead of pride, all I felt was their weight. The weight of the countess children of our worlds slaughtered by the Homo Erectus.
We had watched them. Watched their wars, their struggles, their first space flight. Even given them a glimpse by the UFO visits, and twice prevented their extinction by asteroid. After the first event, which caught us unawares, we decided to step in, and prevented that from ever happening.
But still it looked, that that would annihilate themselves by war.
Eventually, those who had faith won, and they were one. And they looked upwards towards the stars.
The first contact was cordial. As expected.
But what was not expected was their greed. Their greed was everything. No matter what gifts we offered they wanted more.
Foolishly, we were arming them for decades, and one day, they came. With their entire fleet.
We never invested much in warfare, and lost two planets within a year. All dead.
Yet, I sat in front of these moral fools, who hung on to the virtue of our "peace loving and ethical legacy".
"Council, I propose, extinction of our entire race. We can all die"
The uproar was expected, and I could catch a few cuss words.
As the din rose, and cries of traitor and coward went up, I dropped the bomb
"Or we deploy the muari".
In the deafening silence, I flicked the exo-disc back at the prime council.
"Never!"
"How can we do this. This is Genocide"
"Yes prime council, it is, but alternative is also genocide, of our people, or slavery."
The murmurs started, and my messenger beeped. I had done enough insubordination today, whats one more. So I took out my messenger, and read the broadcast.
And started walking out...
"Stop commander, this is not done yet"
"Yes prime council, its done"
I could not miss it as I ran to the command console over five hundred meters way.
Took me a good minute, but I wasn't too late.
After all how often you see something so magnificent.
To witness a supernova is once in a lifetime event for most, and on the screen, as the entire galactic quadrant went supernova, the only emotion I felt was relief.
EDIT: Grammar | 23 | You are defending your home world from the alien invasion. The aliens are from Planet Earth. You are not. | 69 |
It's a quiet afternoon on Mars. The TV announced that dust levels would be fairly low today, so I let the older kids go outside and play for once. Things are finally starting to settle down, it's been so chaotic since we adopted the new baby. But hey, inter-galactic peace is important, and the best way to achieve it is by making each other family. She's cute as a button, and orange as a carrot. We named her Jax.
I'm having a fun time tickling Jax and getting little squeaking martian giggles out of her, when the older kids burst into the house.
I see my son Jerry and a giant mess out of the corner of my eye. They tracked in a dump truck's worth of bright red mud in with them. I sigh.
"Back already? The mud pits couldn't keep you entertained?"
Jerry laughs delightedly. He raises something above his head, and the other kids look at the thing in his hands with bubbling excitement. "Look, Daddy! Look what we found!"
I look up from Jax, and my mouth drops in horror to see the thing he's holding. I quickly run over and snatch it out of his hands.
"Jerry! Where did you find such a thing?"
My son looks down at his feet, not knowing what he did wrong. "By the old pilgrim crash sites..."
I look at the weapon of mass destruction in my hands. I never thought I'd see one again after the wars. Certainly not after we left Earth for the colonies.
"Jerry, this thing has killed more people in history than any other weapon. I don't want you touching it. Not after what our species went through because of it."
"Why? It's just a book."
I go to the study and step up to the high shelf. I put the Bible away and turn around to face my son.
"It's not the book, Jerry. It's what's inside of it." | 40 | A group of children find a weapon of mass destruction (a lost nuke buried in the dirt, a crate of nerve gas etc.) and think it is harmless. | 36 |
The People
the People weren't always like this. They had been men once, proud and strong, who had sung ancient songs to their children around the village fire at night. They had been poets and storytellers, heroes and wise men. They had been men.
Bondage changed them. The masters had beaten and bled the ancient songs out of them. The wise men were killed. The heroes were beaten till they whimpered "mercy" through broken teeth. The poets had their tongues torn from their mouths. The People sang no more.
Mothers hushed the child who spoke with precocious sagacity, knowing that if the Masters took note of his growing wit, he would be taken and buried out in the pits beyond the fields where the People worked. "Don't be smart" they told their sons and daughters, with a blow across the head so they would remember it. "Don't be bright, lest you want to die." They did it for love, to save their children.
The Masters bred them like horses. Those who were strong and hard working and were bothered not by the heat of the summer sun were used as Studs, so they would beget sons like them. Above all, they were bred for obedience, for dullness. A slave didn't need the sparkle of intelligence. He just needed a strong back and an empty mind.
A hundred years passed. Then another. And another. The People forgot who they were. They forgot who they had been. When the Bondage finally ended, they were changed. They were no longer men. The Masters had shaped them to their own design, like a neatly trimmed hedge in one of their palace gardens.
Now free, they carried on the shaping of the Masters. "Don't try and sound smart" they told their children. "You are one of the People." The Masters, now long dead, would have smiled. Mothers smacked the child who spoke with wit. "Why are you trying to act like a Master? We are the People. That's not how we act." The child hung his head, and spoke no more. The transformation was complete. | 315 | A race of slaves who really are genetically inferior | 583 |
Cupcake Candle exhaled. The smoke from his cigarette billowed into the stagnant office air.
"What we got here," he muttered, "is a good, old-fashioned murder."
Lined Post-It Pad began to tremble. "Ain't been a murder in years, Candle," he whispered. "What happened?"
Cupcake Candle sighed. "We all knew Blue PaperMate .7 ran his mouth too much. It was just a matter of time."
They stared at the body. Blue's lower half was severed from the upper. His innards, the long tube full of his flashy blue ink, lay a few inches away. The clicking mechanism at the top appeared chewed on.
"What kind of monster chews on the body?" gasped Pad. Candle frowned. Pad was too sensitive for this type of work anymore. He'd seen too much, been broken too many times. He was too many pages short of a full pad, and there was no getting those memos back.
"We're gonna find out," said Candle. "We owe him that."
They entered the Drawer. It was an after-hours type of place, full of arrogant stamps dependent on the Ink. Some were running low; those desperate types were dangerous.
"Can I help you?" asked Entered AP. He was one of the twins, and his brother, Posted AP, was never far away. The brutes were huge, and always hopped up on too much red Ink. It made them wild, unpredictable.
"We need to see E-Mailed," said Candle. He felt Pad quivering beside him. He nudged him roughly.
Entered shook his head. "No time for you," he growled. "He's busy."
"He's not busy," snapped Candle. "The Woman hasn't even scanned the packets yet, she won't need him for hours. I've watched."
Entered crabbed Candle. "You think I'm lying?" Suddenly Posted AP was next to Entered. The two formed a thuggish wall, and Candle was ready to cut his wick and run if he needed to. Pad wouldn't make it far.
"Cut it out," drawled E-Mailed. "They're fine."
E-Mailed was a small stamp, but he knew he ran this show. His word was law. He was the definitive proof for the Woman, the final word in her documentation trail.
"Been a while, Cupcake," E-Mailed grinned. "What do you want?"
Cupcake frowned. "You heard about Blue?"
E-Mailed stopped grinning. "Yeah, we all heard about Blue. But we all knew he had it coming. Couldn't keep his trap shut, always scribbling notes."
Cupcake nodded. "All the same, he's dead. And we want to know why."
E-Mailed stared at Cupcake. He was always business, this stamp. Business was his only modus operandi.
"What's in it for me?"
"We don't investigate your sudden surplus of Blue ink right after a murder."
That caught his attention. "You know the Woman isn't the only one at that desk, right?"
"Tell me something I don't know."
E-Mailed smiled again. "Maybe you should look for something a little...different. Something a bit out of place. I'd check Keyboard if I was you."
Cupcake turned to leave, Pad close behind him.
"Cupcake!" E-Mailed called. Cupcake glanced back at the small stamp.
"This isn't going to end well," E-Mailed said. "You're not going to like what you find."
Cupcake turned back towards the Drawer's exit. "I never do," he said.
They crossed back to the edge of Keyboard. Cupcake scanned the edges of the silver device. She was asleep, for now. She relied on the Woman for power, just like the rest of the electronics.
"Beautiful, as always," whispered Cupcake. He'd loved her for so long. But she was a finicky dame, only responding to the Woman. Too proud, and he knew it.
Suddenly he saw it. The glint of yellow, barely visible against the pale blond wood of the desk. It would've been impossible to see in the early morning hours without E-Mailed's hint.
Cupcake pushed Keyboard out of the way. "Help me out here, Pad," he yelled. But Pad was standing inches away, quaking in fear. Cupcake ignored him. He'd have to get Pad help after this.
Cupcake saw the note fully after he'd pushed Keyboard away. It wasn't the Woman's handwriting. It read:
"Amanda, Please order paper towels for the men's restroom. Thanks! -Sarah"
"The cleaning crew..." Cupcake gasped. The cleaner had always used Blue to leave the notes, but Sarah was the new gal. "She must've chewed on Blue, some humans do it out of habit. But why take him apart? Why not put him back?"
Cupcake stared at the note for minutes before he understood what he was really looking at. It was a Post-It. And it was lined.
He spun around to Pad. "Pad?!" he growled. "What did you do?!"
Pad was edging closer to the edge of the desk. "He was screaming, Cupcake, he wouldn't stop!" Pad was panting in fear. "I couldn't listen anymore, he kept screaming that she bit him, and that I'd let her do it! She used my Post-It, so Blue thought I was in on it! He was screaming so loud at me, Cupcake, I had to stop him!"
Cupcake moved towards Pad slowly. "Easy, buddy, it's okay. It's going to be okay. Just come with me, we'll be fine. We'll get you help."
Pad shook frantically. "I won't do it anymore, Cupcake! I won't help!" Pad stopped shaking. His eyes widened as he looked at Cupcake. "I liked it, Cupcake," he whispered. "I liked taking him apart. I liked pulling out his ink tube. I'll do it again. You've got to stop me."
"I won't," Cupcake begged. "You're my best friend, Pad, please."
Pad pulled out the box cutter. "I'll cut Keyboard's cord, Cupcake!" He was manic, frenzied in his sudden loss of sanity.
"Pad, stop!" Cupcake screamed. Pad rushed at Keyboard, still asleep in her power-deprived state. Cupcake charged him. They collided, and tumbled to the edge of the desk. Cupcake grabbed the box cutter and stabbed Pad in the center of his lined frame. He stabbed him twice, then three times, then four.
The box cutter clattered to the side. Cupcake was sobbing. Pad had a smile on his face. He'd finally calmed down.
"Thank you..." Pad whispered. Cupcake held him until he was gone. He heard a clatter; the humans were here. He quickly dropped the Woman's box cutter into her drawer where she kept it, then climbed back onto his place at the base of the monitor. He stared at the body of his only friend, his partner.
They all had a breaking point, he thought. Every one of them in the force had their limit. Pad had reached his that evening. Cupcake's was now. He'd climb into the trashcan the next night the cleaning crew came and never look back.
Amanda frowned. There was ink everywhere. "What the hell happened to my pen...?" | 42 | The common objects on your desk are trying to solve a mystery. | 54 |
"So you see Billy, we can afford all these nice things because your daddy and your daddy's daddy worked hard and weren't afraid of failure," I said to my son Billy. He had came home from school that day wondering why everyone had been so impressed by his ability to do a running double front flip. I explained that not everyone's parents loved their child like his father and I loved him and hadn't worked hard enough to provide properly for their children; we had gotten him the most advanced genetic enhancement schemes on the market.
"Wow, I have the greatest parents ever, thanks mom!" Billy said as he bounded off into the artificial jungle we had installed for him.
____________________________________________
"Mommy, why am I so slow?" Max asked sullenly to his mother. It hasn't always been so, in preschool he had been one of the fastest kids on the playground and now even most of the girls were faster than him; it was so embarrassing.
His mother closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh before opening them and smiling a kind smile, "Well Max, when some kids turn five their parents decide to do some things to them that... that.. makes their child faster.
Max looked at the ground, not wanting to push the topic any further. He saw the same sad in his mother as when he hadn't gotten the Christmas gifts he had asked Santa for. Regardless, his naïve innocence and unquenchable curiosity soon eclipsed his intuition and he continued his inquiries, "Why didn't you guys want me to be fast?" he said, noticing more emotion in his voice than the had expected.
His mother felt the distress in his voice. "Oh baby, your father and I think your the greatest kid ever and we would never want to do anything to change you; we think that what those parents do to their kids is terrible," she said as she wrapped her arms around him before continuing, "I promise you'll understand when you're older."
She hugged her son fiercely as a tear rolled down her cheek; she wouldn't be able to protect him much longer.
/r/PsychoWritingPrompts | 10 | Explain to a young child how the U.S. economy works, from the perspective of a rich person, then a poor person. | 17 |
"A human? Why, I haven't treated a human since I was a resident on Virgon 9!"
"Yeah, I haven't seen another human myself in...oh, must be 20 cycles now. As far as I know, I might be the last."
"Well you certainly do seem to be old enough to be the last. What are you, 300 cycles?"
"Uh, no, I'm only 75. Most humans don't live past 100."
"Really? Guess I'll have to brush up on my human physiology if you're going to be staying with us here for a while. So what seems to be the trouble?"
"Well, I was sweeping up in the materials shop last night, and slipped on a patch of lubricant on the floor. I fell on my side, got this bruise here, thought it was no big deal. But I woke up this morning and it's hurting a lot more than I think it ought to be. It's kind of hard to walk too. I'm not sure if I'm just getting old, or if maybe my hip might be broken."
"I see. Well that is a very nasty looking bruise. When are you going to be shedding your skin next?"
"Uh, I won't be. I'm mammalian, the skin stays, though the bruise will eventually heal."
"Right, right, mammalian, of course. Don't get too many of those out here either. Well why don't you sit down right here, and we'll get a gamma ray of your skeleton, see if there is any damage."
"Um...I think gamma rays might be...uh, fatal, to me."
"Really? Are you sure? I mean, we're not talking pulsar level or anything here, it's just a simple medical scan."
"I'm almost positive. I can recall when I was very young, my brother broke his arm, and I think the doctor used x-rays to look at it."
"X-rays? They'll penetrate your body?"
"I believe so."
"Well, the picture is going to be crap, I'm not sure how much I'll be able to tell, but...I guess we can give it a try. Do you happen to know what electronvolt rating the scans are done at?"
"Uh...no........low setting? I mean, to start at least? I'm pretty sure that too high is bad for me."
"Stars...I don't see how you walk around in that body of yours. Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but this is going to be rather fascinating to me, learning all about how you're built. Now then, if you'll just lie back I'll begin the scan....Hmmm, yes, it does appear that...what did you call it, your hip?....As I said it's hard to be certain at this resolution, but I do see some evidence of damage. Do you know, will this heal on it's own, or will the bone require a prosthetic replacement?"
"I'm...I'm not sure. I know my bones can heal, my brother's arm healed after about 3 months...er, a quarter cycle or so, he got to take off the cast..."
"Sorry...cast?"
"Uh, it was this...thing they wrapped around the arm, to keep it from moving. It started out soft, then...hardened? I think glue was involved?"
"Fascinating. A whole quarter cycle, you say?"
"Something like that. It was a long time ago, you know."
"All right. In the interests of getting you mended quicker, I think I would recommend an artificial repair. The structure of your bones doesn't appear too exotic, basic calcium-based growth, I'm fairly certain we can graft on a piece of carbonite to give the bone needed support while it heals. If the bone fully heals itself, we can remove the carbonite, otherwise it will stay as a permanent replacement. Sound good?"
"Sure, I guess. One other thing, do you have anything for the pain? It really hurts."
"Well I could kill the nerves around the area I guess, but I don't think you'd want that. What exactly were you wanting here?"
"I don't know, just something to deaden the pain a bit. Back on Earth we used to have this pill called 'aspirin' that would work. Well, Tylenol wasn't aspirin, but it was...something like it."
"Really? And you took this pill, like food, I assume? Into your stomach? And this relieved the pain in your hip?"
"Yeah. Or head, or arm, or whatever."
"Fascinating. And what was this aspirin made of?"
"Shit, I don't know. Aspirin was made of tree bark, maybe? I mean, not literally when I was alive, but originally I think? And then some drug company figured out how to make...Tylenol? I'm sorry, I don't really know the details. I just know that you took two pills and it made you feel better for a few hours."
"Ah, I see! Well, as a doctor I can't really give you anything like that, but I do know a guy down in the Entertainment District who can..."
"No, see, this was given out by doctors. Well, actually you just went and bought aspirin in a store..."
"Goodness!"
"No, it didn't get you high or anything. It just...made the pain...uh...you know what, give me your contacts name, fuck it." | 19 | Humanity once fought a war against a powerful foe. They lost, earth is gone. And humanity is scattered across the known universe, nearly extinct and rare. | 33 |
Damn, I kind of got carried away. It's a little long.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
"*HELP--Come--*Hello--?" the speaker in his headphones buzzed softly.
"Oh my God! H-hello? Come in!" Ajax lowered his receiver and turned to his colleagues. "Guys--everyone come here! We've made contact!"
The whole control room was hunched over their equipment and barely looked up from their work.
"Yeah? Just like last time, when you intercepted a radio signal from the station down the road? 'They're speaking an alien language!' you said. It was Spanish, Ajax." Dane reminded him. Everyone laughed, except Ajax.
"No! I heard a voice it said, 'Help!' Come here and look! I need someone who is more skilled in Voice Sourcing than me!" More chuckles followed as the rest of the crew went back to their work. "Guys! Come on I--"
Just then more noise crackled through the headset. The lines on the screen jumped as they registered the noise. Ajax's eyes got wide and his stomach jumped as he waited for something more. He turned a knob on the panel ever so slightly to try to get a clearer sound. He kept quiet, barely breathing so he could listen. He closed his eyes. All thought processes stopped as he focused on his headphones.
Then a sound clearer than before came through. "Hello? Come in. Come in. Please Go-od, please come in." Ajax froze. He felt like he was going to throw up. The voice, yes definitely a voice, sounded so desperate.
"Yes--er-- Roger!" he stammered. He heard nothing but static for too long. And then--
"Yes! We did it! We did it! Thank the fucking Lord!" What sounded like cheering could be heard in the background. "*Ahem*, yes, we need *help* immediately. Please send over as many evacuation ships as you can spare to the following coordinates." He didn't have the clearance to send any evac ships anywhere.
"Wait. Copy so far. Wait," Ajax said in his most proffessional voice. He motioned with his hand to Dane who had been watching him this whole time.
"Roger," said the voice in the headphones. Dane walked over, now curious.
Ajax covered the reciever with his hand to talk to Dane. "There is someone on the line. They say they need evac ships."
"You're shitting me. Put the sound on the Room setting," ordered Dane. Ajax pressed a button and the room was filled with a loud static sound.
Ajax spoke into the reciever. "Say again."
The voice filled the room and a few people gasped. "Roger. We are in need of assistance. Please send over as many evacuation ships as you can spare. Our coordinates are--" Ajax heard the voice inhale deeply. "--X: -0.4388459855236035 AU , Y: 31.39968515743963 AU, Z: 3.233016865349667"
Dane copied the coordinates down on a piece of paper. Ajax furrowed his brow. "Copy that. ...What is your situation?"
"Can you open your videofeed? We have something to show you."
Ajax looked at Dane hesitantly. He nodded. Ajax pressed a green button on the control panel. The big screen on the wall facing him blinked on. "Roger. Feed is open."
"Roger." A video started to play on the screen. It showed a big city, like New York or something, though no buildings were recognizable. Ivy crawled on all the buildings, grass leaked out of the sidewalk, huge trees grew where entire sections of sidewalk were missing like street lights. This was all seen through some shoddy camerawork and a cracked lense.
Dane's eyes widened. Ajax's mouth hung open. The room was silent except for the crackle and buzz of the speakers. "Beautiful..." Ajax managed to say.
"What? I mean say again."
The video continued to play. It cut to mob of people in disheveled clothes running through a forest. It looked like the person holding the camera was also running with the mob. They reached a clearing with bright green grass and flowers surrounding a large pool of clear water. The cameraman collapsed and the camera rolled. When it stopped it was looking at a pink flower with a bee resting on the center.
"Beautiful..."
The screen went black.
Dane slapped his hand on the panel. "Get twenty Explorers prepped and ready to go," he barked at no one in particular. Two people rushed to the automatic doors and out of the room. Dane fed the piece of paper with the coordinates through a slot on Ajax's control panel and pressed a blue button.
"Do you copy?" the voice crackled through.
Dane yanked the headset off of Ajax and spoke into the reciever. "Copy. Help is on the way. Standby."
More cheers were cut off when Dane pressed a red mute button on the control panel.
Ajax slowly turned to look at Dane. "Captain, why did you say help is coming? We didn't send any evac ships. You said to send Explorers."
Dane took a deep breath. He set the headset down on the control panel. "This is huge, Ajax. If that video is anything to go off of, we need to get over there and colonize that planet. We have orders from the top to start a colony on any planet with any remaining plant life, you know that."
"Yeah, but you didn't send any evac ships... I mean it was beautiful, yes, but... we don't know the whole story. They spoke our language. From the video they look like us."
Dane put his hand on Ajax's shoulder and walked him over to the only window in the room. "Look out there."
He could see the usual white and grey buildings and metallic reflection of sunlight bouncing around the city. Screens advertising Coca-Cola or the newest iPhone or some other thing were attached to almost every building. People bustled around below them, all smiling, happy with their daily routines.
"What do you see?" asked Dane.
"New York City."
"What don't you see?"
"Grass."
"This is what it's like all over the world. This is what it's been like for centuries. It might look perfect, but the truth is we need plant life. Not synthetic plant life, real actual flowers, grass, and trees."
"But if we're doing so well, why do we need those things?" Ajax asked, confused.
"Because we used to have them. And now we don't. And people hate that."
| 21 | A utopian planet communicates with a dystopian planet for the first time. The utopian planet is convinced that life would be better in the dystopian world. Why? | 30 |
We shouldn’t have attacked.
The humans had established one of their “Research Stations”, a facility designed for science. Within its walls, they had tested many different species of the flora and fauna present on distant Xel’ji-5, a planet that was still ours, still under the dominion of the Korlan Empire despite it not being actively colonized yet. We sent a full company, nearly a hundred fifty Korlani soldiers, to purge the infestation of twenty humans.
We should have sent a full armored corps.
After we burned the laboratory to ash, ensuring that no human escaped alive, we left. What we didn’t know was that a pair of the invaders, one a scientist and one a security professional, had been away gathering samples. The scientist immediately fled to their ship to request assistance. The guard had other plans.
We did not know how important to the humans this laboratory was. We did not know that the security professional was better trained than most of our entire military. Our records indicate only his name, which has become a wraith to our people and the source of nightmares to our children. His name was “Spetsnaz.”
He came the first night after. Mere hours after we watched all the humans die, one merely appeared in the middle of a squad’s overnight position. We did not know of the extreme gravity of Sol-3, nor of the extremely thick atmosphere which provided extreme resistance to movement. His blows came so fast the survivor swore that he was an eight-armed demon.
Survivor.
Only one soldier, out of the dozen that had been present, survived. The human had literally punched *though* the first Korlan he attacked. From there, he used a combination of punches, kicks, and at one point a Korlani soldier’s rifle sling to devastate the entire squad.
And with their deaths, he knew more about his enemy that we did ours.
And now he was armed. A dozen plasma rifles, machetes, concussion grenades, light spheres, he became a one man army.
The rest of the company immediately began running. We fled directly to our ship, which was nearly [fifty miles] away. He followed.
Humans, apparently, evolved from pursuit predators. They literally chased down their food across tundras, through forests, across rivers. They would run and run and run until their prey was so exhausted they would collapse, ready for the killing blow.
We became the prey.
Without food or water, the human followed us. Every time we needed to stop to rest, more would die. He would engage from our flanks, herding us towards the grenades he had place in our paths for us to trip and die from. He was actually able to outpace my whole company enough that there were booby traps *ahead* of us. And we tired.
For a Korlani, a [fifty mile] foot trek should take about [3 days]. This human pushed us at a pace that was nearly half that timeframe. He did not sleep, did not slow, did not relent. He drove us into sleep deprivation, as our homeworld’s day/night cycle completes in about [13 hours].
Every pause made us lose another squad. Every turn brought another fireteam down. Every time we took contact, another soldier was wounded. Never killed, but wounded.
He knew us. He knew we would slow to keep our wounded with us. He shot to maim, to impede, not to kill. He made us choose between leaving our comrades and living or slowing, and dying ourselves.
Then the contact stopped. For [seven hours], we heard nothing. We continued to push, despite nearly falling asleep on our feet. When we could see our ship, we knew why he had broken contact.
The communications gear was destroyed. The engines had been entirely removed with the selective placement of concussion grenades, and the controls had taken a full plasma magazine charge, rendering them beyond useless. We were stranded, and both we and he knew it.
The human approached. He came out of the wood line, weapon pointed directly as Sergeant Gapin’s skull.
“You are dead. You vill surrender to face human justice, or you vill die here without a marker for your grave. Choose now.”
We surrendered. We marched back to the burning remnants of the human research facility, where a full company of humans stood, waiting. After the Counsel of Species heard the human’s story, and their testimony, and our confessions, the humans declared war on the Korlani Empire.
Now, my species is considered endangered. There is barely enough of us to inhabit a single moon, when barely a [decade] ago we controlled over a hundred worlds.
I write this as a warning. Do not attack the humans. The will out run you. They will outlast you.
They will be at your funerals and they will forget you ever existed. | 353 | An alien race encounters the most terrifying predator imaginable. A lone, unarmed human. | 245 |
“Sir, our scanners just picked up a small metal object orbiting the moon straight ahead. The spectroscope analysis from Science Deck indicates that this object is not naturally formed. It is made of refined titanium aluminum vanadium alloy and has a hollow interior. Should we pursue a course to investigate?”
“Send two dropships to investigate. Have them both carry a crew of three scientists in vacuum suits and equip the crews with the proper tools for a thorough analysis,” I ordered my Communications officer. “Good find Navigation.”
After a relatively brief wait, my Communications officer announced an incoming transmission from the science teams investigating the object. “Patch it through and transfer controls to my station” I said.
“Sir, lead Science officer here. The object is massive. It is larger than the cargo hold in the back of the dropship. After extensive testing, we have found no evidence of this object possessing any threat. In fact…” the Officer paused. Something in his voice made me feel uneasy.
“In fact,” he said, finally finding his voice, “I believe this may be a tomb of some sort. Permission to bring it in board for further analysis?”
“Permission granted. But be careful. I will see you down on the Science deck. I want to know what this is.” I terminated the channel and got out of my seat to visit the science deck. I rode the elevator down to the deck and stepped out into what might as well have been a massive laboratory of sorts. It was what made this ship different from the rest of the fleet. We were, after all, explorers.
“Officer on deck!” the active Science officer shouted. The others looked up from their work and saluted crisply.
“At ease,” I said with a casual wave.
“Here to see the alien object sir?” One of the techs asked nervously. “If you want, we can get you into a vacuum suit and you can step into the landing bay and wait for their arrival. The object is heavy enough that they want to bring it in while still at zero gravity.”
“Let’s do that then,” I said and walked to the fitting section.
After getting suited up, I stepped out onto the landing bay with an officer in tow and closed the pressurized door behind me. The large metal doors had slid to the sides, revealing blackness littered with beautiful pinpoints of light. How much more would I get to explore I wondered. What is out there, hiding from us?
The dropships arrived with the object in tow. It was bigger than I had imagined. It had a dull metallic sheen to it that made it kind of beautiful in a way. It was a five sided object with an elevated ridge one third of the way down from what I assumed was the top of the object. The ridge was the high point and created a gentle slope down to the bottom edge of the object. The sides sloped down and inward into the point where the elevated ridge met the edges.
The dropships set the massive object down silently before landing and signaling to the techs behind the door to restore gravity and atmosphere. The bay doors slid shut and atmosphere rushed back into the room as gravity set back in. I removed the helmet and walked up to my scientists.
“I want to know everything you know.”
“It’s seems to have something inside of it. Something organic I mean. Look here,” He said pointing along the edges of the object. “It’s a seam you see. This must be where the object opens up. We found something that might open it but didn’t want to do it without your permission sir.”
“Thank you. Everyone seal your suits and lets open this up.” Once the twelve people in the room had their suits sealed up, I nodded to the lead Science officer. He opened up a small control panel on the side of the object and fiddled with it before jumping back. “Whats wrong?” I asked, concerned.
“It’s opening. Look.” There was a hiss and white gasses escaped from the seams as the top half of the object opened up. A white light came from inside and the top half swung upwards on invisible hinges at the top of the object. The bottom edge of the lid nearly scraped the roof of the bay.
Everyone stepped closer and looked at the object inside in shock. It was a large, bipedal creature, almost three times our height. Its skin was a sickly white but it was pristinely preserved. It had two large orbs embedded in its head. Eyes maybe? A ridge with two holes grew from the orbs down to some sort of orifice. A strange dark fur covered the top of its head. There was a large screen on the left side of its body and another control panel under the screen. A sound crackled through my channel, jerking me out of my trance. “Sir, its High Command. They wish to speak with you about something. They wont tell me what.”
“Im on my way.” I turned to the team. “Learn everything you can about his being. Figure out whats on that screen as well. I expect a progress report in a few cycles. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” the team resounded in unison.
…
Almost four cycles later, we had a break through. The Xeno-linguistics team, who had been virtually useless until now, had made a breakthrough in translating some sort of document the creature had left behind on the screen. I almost sprinted down to the Science deck this time. When I arrived, the Xeno-linguistics officer greeted me enthusiastically and pulled me over to see his team’s findings. Generally that was a breach in conduct but today I was too excited to care about such minor things.
“Sir, only moments ago, we were able to finally decode most of what the being’s documents said. There are also several attached video logs we have yet to watch as we just found them now. We thought it would be best to call you. What do you want to look at first?”
“Let me have the letter,” I said. He handed me a screen and I read over what they had managed to translate:
‘I am the last surviving [ ] and I built this coffin in the hopes that one day, it will help others. If you are able to understand this, read this and watch the attached video logs. Most of the video logs deal with the culture of our species and what our home planet [ ] was like. It is imperative that you watch the logs labeled ‘DANGER’ first. I apologize. This all was the best I could do with what was remaining on my starship.’
“Open the DANGER logs,” I commanded. I felt very uneasy and it seemed I was not the only one. What I saw next will cause nightmares for the rest of my life.
In the first log, it looked like a recording from the camera feed of what I assume was a soldier of some sort. It carried a long object that resembled a rifle but was larger than anything I’d ever seen. A team of three other of the same creature moved forward, their metallic armor making strange noises as they moved. The dim lighting and green tint made it already creepy. It looked down at what I thought was simple plant life at first. That was at least until one of the plants jumped towards one of the other creatures and melded to its head, causing it to roar in what I could only imagine to be pain. The creature with the recording device opened fire with deafening thunder, blowing chunks of the other soldier apart and destroying the bulbous organism that had jumped up from the ground. It walked forward and looked down at the shredded, still squirming organism and opened fire again and again. Up close, the scale of the organism became apparent. It was as large as us.
The log switched to a new video, which showed hundreds of the massive creatures firing their giant weapons into hordes of advancing bulbous organisms. It seemed some of the organisms had even managed to infect the larger creatures and use them to their own ends. One infected creature batted several of the soldiers aside with a long, deformed and mottled appendage. The creatures firing their weapons were obviously losing. The log cut to static and a message came up. “Translate it!” I ordered, my pulse beating rapidly from the logs.
The officer went to work frantically. It took him only several moments to translate but it felt like an eternity. When he handed me the screen, his hands were shaking.
‘If you were able to see those logs, follow this message. You must. Your survival depends on it. Those organisms have taken over countless worlds and pushed my species back until there was nowhere left to go. You have to go. Go and never look back. RUN!’
| 29 | Humanity. | 41 |
“Here,” Jason said, “hit this.”
Roger paused for a second. In this moment, sitting in Jason’s car in the back lot of Jefferson High-School, with his best friend in the world and all these older kids looking on, he knew would be judged as either cool or a little pussy. Whatever decision he made would seal his fate.
Here we go, he thought, taking the joint.
He inhaled, the fire glowing and the clean white smoke filling the dingy little Sedan. Led Zeppelin was wailing softly through the speakers. The kids laughed as Roger cramped up a seizure-like episode of coughs. He passed the joint, trying to blink away the tears.
“Oh Shit,” Someone said.
“Is that Principle Franklin?”
“Shit. What do we do?”
It was Principle Franklin, marching swiftly towards the car, speaking into his radio. There was a deadly sense of purpose behind those steps. He was coming to kick ass and take names. He was God in this little universe. The head honcho.
Franklin banged on the window and they all began shuffling out.
“Again, Jason? You really did it this time. You know, it’s one thing to waste your own brain cells to this crap, but to push it on a couple of freshman? You’re really gonna hurt this time. I’m gonna jam you up with detentions until the end of the school year. Every day. That includes early Saturday morning. These kids should never have been exposed to this. This could have far reaching consequences for these young men? Did you think about that at all?”
Jason said nothing.
“Right. I forgot. Your Mr. Cool. Alright, let’s go.”
Jason rolled his eyes, throwing up a smoke screen of apathy. Deep down he must have been groaning. Detention every day was like having your guts torn out. In their world, detention until summer might as well have been infinity.
(Story = the Theft of Fire, Marijuana = fire, Jason = Prometheus) | 11 | Retell a Greek or Roman parable through a modern high school setting. | 43 |
"What the hell you doin' here, Sammy?" he wouldn't move, and Isaiah was becoming impatient. "I said leave, no'un wants you here, ya hear that?" Lowering his head, he looked through the door frame, worn from years of storms and abuse.
Remaining perfectly composed, he looked into a letter in his palm (something he had written himself). Clearly he was about to read something, but suddenly thought differently. "Sol's dead." Isaiah became white with shock.
"W-what happened?"
Meeting his eyes, he spoke clearly. "I didnt think Sol'ud die. It was 'sposed to be low risk, low reward kind of thing. Got imself shot like a dog - 'an we didn't have no guns. I put that behind us, we wasn't gonna kill no more. Damn, I was a fuckin' fool, Isaiah."
Isaiah punched him, and he recoiled, falling into the dirt. Tears streaming down his face, he kicked him in the side, and did so over and over, screaming curses at his brother. A woman cried out, "Isaiah, what is this? Yur gonna kill 'im, get away!" After she pulled him back, he was still trembling.
From the ground, Sammy moaned, attempting to stand back up. Not even once did he object to his treatment. "Sol trusted you! He was are little brother. You lead im to be a damn robber like you an' you get im killed!"
"I'm sorry... I didnt wan im to die."
"That ain't gonna bring im back." hesitating before he and his wife went back inside, he turned around. "Now leave before I call the cops." | 10 | A death in the family has brought together a group of relatives who haven't spoken in 15 years. They finally have to confront the event that tore the family apart. | 52 |
"You fools!" Yelled the devil chained up to the side of the mountain in hell, "you'll only destroy life by getting out"
The people didn't listen. They have been tormented for eternities and now was their chance to get out. They knew if they persisted they would be alive again. Could see those they left behind, or discover what the world has become after their passing. Death trully was only the beginning, because the everlasting torment of hell made life seem like a blink of a moment. A life that they failed at, ending up in the bowels of hell with every other failure.
Here was a chance for some to get out, live, and fix those mistakes. For others, it was a chance to pillage once more.
The stories were all true. They were able to get out. At least those with some form of bodies they have left behind. What they didn't realize was that once they did, all they felt was an unstoppable and persisting hunger. A hunger for living flesh.
They rose in thousands. The devil was right. Life was getting destroyed and he failed at protecting it. | 18 | After an eternity of planning, all the souls in Hell overthrow the devil and and govern themselves. | 32 |
NOTE: not technically roommates but neighbours is close enough, right?
Thunder Lad stood back from the mantelpiece, admiring his award. Yet another key to the city. He'd have to start asking for gift cards or something more useful, he was running out of space in his apartment. Taking off his mask and switching back into his civilian clothes, he poured himself a glass of wine and relaxed. It was always nice to chill out after a long day of fighting crime.
Then it started. The ungodly noise from the apartment next door. Every night for the past week, the noise would begin. Bass that could level a building, electronic noises that sounded like a computer being tortured and the less said about the rhythmic banging, the better. Putting his costume on again, Thunder Lad strode out of his apartment to confront the irritant.
'Excuse me, sir. Could you please turn the music down?' He inquired, knocking on the door. There was no response. 'Sir, I request you to turn this music down, it is incredibly loud and it is disturbing fellow citizens.'
'Oh fuck off.' A voice replied, shouting over the clamour.
'Now see here! I will ask you again nicely. Please turn the music down or I will be forced to take action.' Thunder Lad asserted, adjusting his mask.
'Yeah, of course you will. Just fuck off mate.' The voice answered, turning up the music.
'Right. I am left with no choice.' Arming his thunder gauntlets and kicking the door down, the disgruntled hero entered the apartment. 'As devoted protector of this city, I order you to...' He paused.
He looked round the room. Pictures of him hung from the wall, multiple darts through each one. Various dangerous weapons lay around the floor and a costumed man sat at a desk, holding a gun at Thunder Lad's chest. He was as surprised as the heroic interloper.
'Thunder Lad? Is that really you?'
'Yes it is. Are you the devious villain, Annihilator?'
Annihilator paused, lowering his gun and switching the music off. 'Yes, I am. How the hell did you find my secret base?'
'Well, in a rather odd coincidence, I actually live next door to you.'
'Next door. You live next door. So you've been able to hear what I've been plotting all this time? All my schemes and nefarious plans?'
'No, I haven't been able to hear, due to all the racket you've been making which is why I've come over. Could you turn it down a fraction, it's very distracting.' Thunder Lad said, regaining his heroic composure.
'Yeah sure but more importantly, you live next door. My arch rival who thwarts me at every turn, is my neighbour. We've probably shared a lift about 5 times.' Annihilator replied, still trying to get his head round this.
'I suppose we have! You see, we can live in harmony after all!' Thunder Lad answered, jokingly punching his nemesis in the arm.
Annihilator paused for a second, at a complete loss for words. He looked his enemy up and down one more time, confirming that he was actually there and that he wasn't high again. 'Right, so are you here to arrest me or anything?'
'No, you haven't broken a law so I can't take you in, just keep the noise down. I've had a very long day destroying your robots so I'd like a bit of quiet as I relax. Sound alright?'
'Yeah sure. And just to reiterate, you live NEXT DOOR, as in the apartment directly to the left of this one.'
'Yes I do, right next door.'
'Okay then, that's good to know.' Annihilator said, jotting it down on a notepad.
'Well, I'd best get back to that glass of wine next door. I'll let you get back to your work. No doubt it's another plan to take over the city! Have a good night and I'll no doubt see you tomorrow for another epic showdown.' Thunder Lad said, closing the door on his flabbergasted nemesis and retiring to his apartment. He's quite nice off the clock, he thought as he took his mask off. A bit slow though. | 196 | The town superhero and supervillain find out that they've been roommates all along | 390 |
Tim shifted his bookbag higher on his shoulder and kept walking. Groups of students sat, quietly murmuring to one another at tables skirting the edge of the library. Tim and a trickle of other students wandered by like refugees looking for a home, avoiding the defensive glances of those at the occupied tables.
Sometimes there was an open spot to study down in the basement. Tim turned a corner at the rear of the library and found an unfamiliar stairwell and descended. Opening the door, Tim's progress was halted for a moment as he processed the sight in front of him.
The unfamiliar stairwell did not lead into the basement proper like all the others. This stairwell seemed to specifically serve a small antechamber. The room was tiny; perhaps fifteen feet long by ten feet wide. The walls were deep grey block, as if this room had been left unfinished. Despite this, there were shelves of books on both sides of the room, covered in dust and lit by a dingy bulb.
Most fascinating of all, however, was the object sitting at the far rear of the narrow room.
The ancient looking computer terminal sat with an empty, dust covered chair in front of it. Despite its obvious disuse, it looked somehow inviting and lonely at the same time. It was beige with deep grey trim and a keyboard that looked more like it belonged on an electronic typewriter than a computer. The monitor, a venerable cathode ray tube that was integrated into the same piece of plastic as the keyboard, was black, with a bright green cursor blinking expectantly in the upper left-hand corner.
Tim approached hesitantly and sat down, then put his bookbag down beside him. He looked at the cursor, thought for a moment, and typed his name.
TIM
The letters glowed at him, green and blocky from the face of the terminal. He rubbed his chin for a moment, then remembered that old Heinlein book, *Starship Troopers*. Why write about himself when he could write a fantastic space adventure?
Tim banged the backspace key and watched the cursor race backward, deleting his name.
The ancient looking computer terminal sat with an empty, dust covered chair in front of it. Despite its obvious disuse, it looked somehow inviting and lonely at the same time. A bright green cursor blinked expectantly in the upper left-hand corner. | 10 | In a corner of a public library there is a computer. Anything posted to the internet from that computer becomes true. | 15 |
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