body
stringlengths 1k
39.5k
| comment_score
int64 10
23.1k
| prompt
stringlengths 1
310
| post_score
int64 15
42.1k
|
|---|---|---|---|
"The Representative from Kentucky has the floor."
"Thank you chairman." Spoke Hal Rogers (R), my local congressman. I always hated that fucker, even though I was a Republican. WAS. After listening to these pieces of shit for 2 weeks, I officially hated Republicans, Democrats, Independents, and every human being who ever lived. "As I wanted to say, we should build a giant fence to keep out the immigrants."
"AMEN!" yelled Ann Kirkpatrick (D), or what must pass for a Democrat in Arizona.
"Wait your turn, congresswoman." Spoke John Boehner.
"Thank you sir. As I was saying, I love America." All of the Republicans erupted in applause, except for John Boehner, who was weeping, and some fucker from Oklahoma that was playing Solitaire.
"Guys, I have work in 10 minutes, please just clear a path to my door."
"Can't you see that we're in session, congressman?!" yelled a teary-eyed Boehner.
"I'm not a congressman, I'm a cashier."
"I'd like to make a motion to clear a pathway to the door." Spoke Keith Ellison (D), a representative from Minnesota.
"Thanks Keith."
"Motion denied!" yelled Kirkpatrick.
"Why?"
"The immigrants might get in."
Round of applause.
Shit.
"Alright, motion denied." Said Boehner." "Now, motion to raise all of our salaries?"
"HERE!" the crowd overwhelmingly screamed.
"Alright, meeting adjourned, time for a 3 week recess."
| 20 | Congress was having too much trouble in Washington. They relocate the capital of the United States to your bedroom. | 16 |
"Here you go babyyy!" I said teasingly to fluffy as I poured out a fresh serving of her favorite food for her, "I think you've grown while I've been gone today! Ooooh you are soooo cute!" I said as I dipped my hand into the water and stroked her little gold fin.
"Dude, you need a cat or something," my best friend Jon said, he had been jealous ever since I brought my goldfish fluffy back from the pet store.
"Nah screw cat's man, they think they are god's or something, besides, Fluffy's not a normal goldfish," I replied knowingly. It was true, I've had this goldfish for seven years now and she showed no signs of slowing down. She had learned the basic tricks like 'play dead' and 'roll over' in a matter of minutes when I first got her, and these days she was actually tutoring me with my algebra!
"Yeah whatever dude, it's all in your head," Jon responded like the ignorant fool he was.
"Oh don't listen to him baby," I said to Fluffy and I plugged my nose and pointed to Jon. Fluffy let out a little laugh. "Okay Jon, please go home, I need to move this story along somehow," I said to my friend.
"Uhh okay whatever weirdo," Jon replied before leaving my house.
_____________________________________________________
I awoke in the middle of the night to a large crash, it was Fluffy's aquarium! I bolted to my feet and looked to the pillow I placed her fish tank on so she could sleep, and sure enough it had fallen off and went crashing to the ground. "FLUFFFYYYYYYYY FLUFFFFFFFFFFYYY!" I said calmly as I turned on the light and frantically dug through the glass shards looking for my REAL best friend. I couldn't find her anywhere.
Bright lights shot through my window, it was some sort of space ship... I walked over to the window and shut the blinds and continued searching through the glass shards for Fluffy. My whole house started shaking violently and soon enough my whole bedroom wall got off of the rest of the building! There was no ignoring the asshole spaceship at this point. I ran over to the UFO and was about to yell at it when I noticed something, it was shaped like a goldfish! Could it possibly be...? It shot a blinding green light into my eyes.
The next thing I knew I was on board the space ship and I was surrounded by flying goldfish. "Oh my God! Are you Fluffy's bitches?" I said to second rate fishes.
A mustached one gave me a cold eye and began to speak, "No, human, infact Fluffy works for us, or worked for us rather. You see, Fluffy was to go destroy your pathetic race but instead chose to befriend you for some... impossible reason..."
"Helpppp meee!" I heard Fluffy scream from somewhere on the ship, I lost it. I began punching every goldfish in the face that was near me, they were biting me and swimming up my pants and up my nose and stuff but it didn't matter, they were shitty little fish and I was a human. I killed them all and eventually found Fluffy.
"Fluffy! You're okay!" I said to Fluffy who seemed to be okay.
"Yes!" she said with a smile, "Now lets get out of here! You have an algebra test to study for!"
"Oooh Fluffy!" I said as I gave her a high five and we proceeded to leave the ship.
/r/PsychoWritingPrompts | 22 | Your pet turns out to be an alien god/goddess sent to learn about human society. Not only have they gone native, but they've grown rather close to you since you first got them. | 38 |
They don't usually answer back to what i say. Perhaps because the days have not been kind to them. Their skin seems firmer, their faces have become expressionless... But i know they still love me. They have to, for i am their Shepard, and they are my sheep. And so i tend to my flock.
There is little left to do in this world, i wait for the television repair man to come fix the box, it's shown nothing but static for weeks. The other night i swore i heard my neighbours arguing, i called the police, but no one came... The streets feel empty...
The little lambs need warmer clothes. I try to tell the older ones, winter is close and the snows will come, but their vacant expression tells me they don't care about the lambs anymore. But i still care.
One of the lambs fell over the other day. Her mother didn't even notice, too busy making eyes at the pool boy. I swear she never blinks. I tried to make a joke of it once but those cold eyes, make-up so fine you would swear it was painted on, just kept on staring. Never blinking. I picked up the lamb, so strong she didn't even shed a tear. She has her mother's eyes. I tell her not grow old like her mother...
"I never will." She replies. | 23 | The only, and deranged, live man on the planet doesn't know that he lives among mannequins. Start with the line, "They don't usually answer back to what I say." | 60 |
In this spectacular world, so full of change,
Where nobody stays the same,
I thought that I would try my hand
At playing this strange new game.
~~~~~
On the first day I bought some brave,
To try and fight my fears away.
At first, it really seemed to work,
Now I was the predator, no more the prey!
~~~~~
But soon I found the price of courage,
And the feeling seemed to fade,
For the only time that one can be brave
Is when they are afraid.
~~~~~
On the second day I bought some diligent,
In the hopes of fortune and fame.
I worked all night, and I worked all day,
Soon my life was no longer the same.
~~~~~
But even though I had power, had fortune, had fame
Even though I had it all,
The life of one who works their life away
Is really no life at all.
~~~~~
On the final day I bought some happy,
To brighten up the mood,
So I went around the place with a smile on my face,
My energy all renewed.
~~~~~
But soon I stopped and realised
That life is no simple toy,
For when you laugh all day, and play the time away,
You forget the feeling of real joy.
~~~~~
So listen closely, boys and girls,
There is a message I want you to hear:
Amongst this muddle, I was quite puzzled,
But there was still one that I did prefer.
~~~~~
Out of all these natures, all these lives,
All these people I could be,
Good and bad, happy and sad,
My favourite was still me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EDIT: Thanks guys, I didn't expect my poem to be quite so well received. **Any criticism is also more than welcome! I love being told how I can improve.**
On a side note, I want to say that I really do believe in this message - you are unique. You are beautiful as you are, good and bad parts all included, and if anybody ever tells you otherwise, they don't own you (unless they are engaging in slavery which is illegal in most developed countries and you should defs call the cops). Be glad that you are who you are and make the most of it! | 124 | Personalities are an item you buy and wear, like clothing. | 89 |
“Come, come, the king must not be kept waiting” the little orange tabby called as he looked at me over his shoulder. “To keep him waiting is an offence punishable by bath.”
“Um… Punishable by bath? As in, being submersed in a bathtub full of water?” I asked.
“Of course, foolish human. To endure such hardship leaves marks upon the soul, and more importantly, leaves the shiny coat dredged with liquid akin to poison.”
“Wet. It leaves you wet.”
“Did you mishear me? Truly, what the king wants with you, I do not know.”
The tabby shook its head and loped deftly ahead, nimbly turning at each switchback and quickly making his way up the hill. Being a human, Rick simply treated the switchback hill as a set of stairs, and they made quick progress. At the top of the hill lay a castle, made of the finest carpet covered wood available, with bells, feather, and string dangling all about it. Around the base ran mechanical mice, changing directions frequently and randomly, to entice a chase from passing cats.
The kittens currently playing with the mice stopped to lazily observe Rick climbing the hill, curiosity sparkling in their eyes. After a few seconds, they returned to their games, but Rick saw the furtive glance they occasionally stole.
“Our apologies, human, but the castle was not designed for your kind. You will have to walk around to the back, where there is a hole through which you and the king shall discuss matters of interest.”
“My name is Rick, not human. And sure, that’s cool.”
“You are all the same to us, human. You are designed to stroke our fur and deliver food, as well as supply us with the heavenly nip. If you choose to name yourself, we shall not stop you, but neither shall we play along. To us, you are human.”
Rick decided he would get nowhere if he argued with this cat, so he gave up the fight. He headed around to the back of the castle, where he indeed saw a hole. It was at chest height and set into the castle, with more floors and tunnels above, below, and all around. Inside the hole lay a cat, a magnificent grey meincoon, which appeared to be napping.
“Our king slumbers, human. See him. See his softness, and his mane. When you have taken your fill, I shall rouse him.”
“Uh… Yeah, just wake him up.”
“Mmm, the human does a disservice to the mighty king. Alas, it is your loss.” And with that, the orange tabby leapt up to the kings floor and gently nudged him with his nose.
The king chirped and purred, an odd combination of sounds, before getting up for a long stretch and a wide yawn.
“Oh great one, thirteenth ruler of the feline land, slayer of rat and bringer of nip, I present to you… a human.”
“Thank you. You may go”, the kind responded in a surprisingly high voice.
“Greetings, human. I have brought you here today to perform a service. Our lands, though bountiful, have recently-“
“Whoah, hey, what? Perform a service? You can’t just order me around. And my name is Rick. Who are you? What is the feline land?”
“Please, do not interrupt. It is rude, and unseemly. Names are of no consequence. Cats do not know each other by names; we know each other by scents and our eyes. As such, your name means little to me, and I shall call you human.”
The little grey cat paused here to lick his paws and rub his face multiple times.
“As for who I am, I am the cat king. All cats answer to me, all cats do my bidding. Together we form a loving and helpful society, where all are provided for, and all are equal. I was chosen as king because I am efficient, and meet the needs of the felines quickly and bountifully. And for the question of where you are… You are in the feline lands. This is the realm we inhabit, where we hunt and play, live and love.”
“…You’re in a pasture in my Uncle Jeffs field. He built this cat house thing with scrap wood and some carpet. And he’s the guy who brings out your food and water, and lets you and all these cats stay around. You deal with the pests, he gives you food.”
“Such a simple, simple mind you have. You do not know the nature of our existence, nor our ways. It is alright, for we forgive you. But now we seek succor, for hardship has fallen on us. The other human, he has not brought the supply of nip we so desire. We beseech you, bring us the nip, and your rewards shall be wondrous.”
I thought it over. The house was only about five minutes of walking, so it would take five to get to the house, a couple minutes to find the bag of cat nip, and then five to walk back… Twelve minutes for a wondrous reward seemed pretty good.
“Sure, yeah, I’ll do it. I’ll be back in like, ten minutes.”
“Oh thank the ones above! The hardship shall be lifted, and all will be well within the lands. Gracious savior, godspeed unto you!” the little guy yelled, as Rick set off to get the cat nip. The grey cat beckoned the orange cat over and gave him some instruction.
“The human brings the nip, and shall be back shortly. Please bring for him the finest slain rats and mice we have in store, as well as a few pieces of that thin shiny metal we found in previous nights. ‘Tin foil’, I believe it is called in their lands. Such a large gift should surely be enough for the heaven nip.”
The orange cat agreed, and after gathering the reward, they solemnly waited for the humans return. | 15 | The King of Cat Kingdom, the Cat King, has decided that you are to join him at his royal court. When you are finally brought before him, he is not pleased with what he sees. | 17 |
The crunching leaves made Tiffany look up from the fire. She laughed when she saw he was nude. Michael laughed as well, not trying to cover himself.
"The sun hasn't been down five minutes and you want to fuck?" She asked, still laughing.
"Well, better now than later." He grinned even bigger, but his member hung flaccid.
"Let's drink first."
She held out the bottle of Jack Daniels to him. He grabbed it and took a long pull. The bottle gurgled as he did so. Almost a quarter of the bottle was gone when she got it back. He stepped into the tent as she took a shot herself. Not nearly as much as Michael but she was a light weight; she would have been throwing up if she tried to do what he did.
He stepped out of the tent wearing just pajama bottoms even though it was getting colder by the minute. The fire kept them nice and warm though, so Tiffany didn't think much of it. He sat next to her on the log, and gestured for the bottle. He slammed it again, taking three large gulps of the fiery liquid.
"If you throw up on me, I'm going to kill you." Tiffany said, half joking.
"No worries." He passed back the bottle and she was startled by the lack of his ring. He had it earlier today, she was sure of it. She even teased him about it as they drove up here.
"Where's your ring?"
He did something strange then. He looked at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. Then he looked at her. His eyes were a different color. It might have been a trick of the light, or the alcohol setting in, but she knew his eyes weren't blue. They were green. Not now though. Tiffany blinked several times, taking another shot from the bottle before hand it back. She dismissed it, her drunken mind changing subjects.
"Oh I, uh, must have lost it."
"How? I've never seen you take it off since I gave it to you eight months ago. You don't love me any more?" She asked seriously.
She noticed no bugs were biting him. They swarmed around her, she slapped at the mosquitos often, but he hadn't been bitten once.
"Of course I do. But it must have fell of while I was taking a leak. I'll look for it in the morning." He gestured for the bottle again.
He wasn't getting drunk either. She had only taken four at most, maybe five, but he had drank most of the bottle himself. She felt great, obviously heavily buzzed. He was sober. He took a single shot this time, finishing what was left.
He put the bottle down and turned to her. His jaw cracked as he opened it, then his eyes popped from their sockets on hideous stalks. More bone snaps as his ribs split and his chest opened to reveal a gaping maw, tentacles whipped out to engulf her. She barely had time to scream before the thing that was Michael crunched down on her skull.
The next hour was spent absorbing her body. The Michael-thing melded with her to form a mass of flesh, always changing and morphing. Eyes would appear and disappear at random. Mouths dribbling ichor would open and moan before melting away. The womb around the bodies protected them as they formed. At the end of it, two naked but human bodies lay on the ground outside of the tent. They opened their newly formed eyes and sat up. They nodded to each other, stood, dressed, and began to break down the camp all without saying a single word to each other. Once that was finished, they loaded the suv they drove up to the campsite and returned to town.
| 18 | Two friends are camping in the woods. One goes into the darkness to go to the bathroom, and when he returns it seems like something is off. | 35 |
I wasn't really sure- you can never really be sure- but something about it just seemed.. right. I looked through all the files, overwhelmed the insane amount. There must have been billions, trillions, if not more!
I decided to cautiously right click on one of the files, BWE042, and then open it. The operating system seemed similar to windows, only it seemed expertly designed, and far faster. As soon as I clicked "open" all of the files instantly appeared, anything you could ever imagine, some with names like "Personality" or "Appearance," and some with completely random letters and numbers.
I opened up Personality, something I could understand, and walls and walls of text appeared. They described everything about the person, things I didn't even know existed, ways of thinking I've never thought of. I dragged the scroll bar down, it seemed to go on forever, getting more and more specific. Knowing all of this information, this machine could predict every single action of every human that ever existed! But, what if there was more?
As I thought that, I looked around the interface. There it was- (I:). I clicked on it, and my mouth dropped. There was a single symbol, it was infinity. My mind raced, thinking of the implications this could have, what all of this could mean. I clicked on it, anxious to find out.
There were 2 folders, one titled 0D and one titled 10D. I didn't really know what to pick, so I just chose 10D. Within that folder, there were many folders, each titled 0. Of everything that I had just witnessed, I wasn't really sure how this computer had the technology to have multiple folders of the same name, but it did. Something I noticed when I was scrolling down this folder, is that there was no scroll bar. I suppose I could scroll forever, so I just clicked a folder.
At the top of that folder was another folder titled 5D, and below it was a limitless amount of data. I clicked on the 5D folder, and after that there was a folder titled 4D, followed by a limitless amount of data. I clicked on the folder 4D, and then there was one titled 3D. At that moment something clicked in my brain- these were dimensions. I scrolled around through the 4D folder, analyzing all the data. The fourth dimension appeared to be the collective events of the universe- almost as if time didn't exist, and you looked at the universe as a timeline from start to end.
I was at a loss here- I had absolutely no idea where to go, what I could do with all of this knowledge. I decided to hit back enough times to get back to where I started- with the folders of all the "people." I looked around a bit, until I came across a peculiar one: PBC770, those were my initials, and my favorite number. I clicked on it, only to find a single text document titled "I." I quickly opened it, curious to find out what it could possibly contain:
"I've been here many times before. As a matter of fact, I suppose I've never not been here. I am you, and you are me. This is what we are, This is what you are. You are everything, you are god. Welcome home."
My mind raced into infinity- I understood it all- I've been here before, not on this computer, but in this thought. Everything was intertwined into an infinite paradox of knowledge, stored inside of itself.
Then I went back a bit and looked at naked girls.
*This was my first writing prompt ever. If you read it all and god here, thank you for reading it, let me know what you thought.* | 48 | You find a dusty and bulky PC. Its cracked monitor reveals billions of files all marked by three letters and some numbers. Upon further investigation, the files appear to outline, or perhaps control, the fate of every human. | 107 |
12:00 - I'll just wait a little bit longer.
13:00 - Where am I? I need confirmation.
14:00 - Passing the time with frequent masturbation.
15:00 - Anytime now. Anytime soon.
16:00 - Come on... just let me know of tomorrow...
17:00 - More masturbation.
18:00 - Bored bored bored. Am I dead?
19:00 - I'm dead. I'm dead tomorrow, I know it.
20:00 - There has to be some way I can prevent this from happening.
21:00 - Nothing. What do I do!? What can I do!?
22:00 - SAY SOMETHING! SEND ME ANYTHING!
23:00 - *Yawn*
00:00 - I'll stay awake. Aware. Abreast of my situation.
01:00 - The doors are locked.
02:00 - I've turned off all of the lights. I will not be electrocuted.
03:00 - ...Masturbation with the imagination station.
04:00 - Ramen. My last bit of food. I will not choke.
05:00 - My last glass of water. I will not drown.
06:00 - Blood pressure normal.
07:00 - I feel fine. I'm fine. Things are fine.
08:00 - I'll just take a nap... the fan... what if the fan falls?
09:00 - I'm in the basement... safe... what if the roof collapses?
10:00 - Outside. Nothing can fall on me here... but what if someone runs off the road?
11:00 - Screw it. If I'm going to die, I'll die in my bed. Comfy. I just need to... remember... to message myself... when I wake... did... I set... my... alarm?... Zzzzz... | 93 | You found a way to send messages one day into the past. Today, the daily message from your future self failed to appear. | 108 |
"What a mess!" I exclaimed, referencing the many boxes in my basement. It was quite embarrassing having my soon-to-be wife seeing the mess of boxes. She laughed as she grabbed another box. I was so excited because tomorrow, I was marrying the woman of my dreams. She was everything I ever wanted and I had never been happier. She was the perfect match in every way.
Being ambitious, I grabbed three boxes and end up dropping them all over the floor. One labelled "Old Stuff" burst open and a lot of junk spilled all over the room. I sighed and began picking it up and putting it back inside the box, wondering why I even bothered keeping it. Amidst the junk I see my old journal. Feeling a wave of nostalgia run over me, I eagerly grab it and open it up. I chuckle at the date, remembering that I had started a journal over four years ago to deal with my loneliness. I remember meeting Carol three years ago and flipped ahead to those entries. After meeting her, I remembered that the entries I wrote became more and more infrequent until I had stopped completely.
I start flipping forward through the pages and was surprised when the journal went on longer than I thought. Puzzled, I stopped at a page to read the entry. It was from one year ago. I frown at the page. I had stopped writing in my journal over two years ago. It read:
"Today, Carol and I went on a spontaneous road trip and I proposed to her!"
I look at the page, not remembering writing it. But it was true. Carol had randomly suggested a road trip one weekend when we had nothing to do, and I had secretly purchased an engagement ring so I took the opportunity to propose to her.
I begin skimming through the pages, reading more and more entries. They were all about Carol. How much I loved her, how much she meant to me, how great she was....
I began scratching my head. This sounded like my shrine to Carol. I started wondering if I had started writing journal entries when I was drunk and just couldn't remember. I kept flipping through until I got to the last page with writing on it.
It had tomorrow's date on it.
Puzzled, I began reading it.
"Today, I married the woman of my dreams! The ceremony went flawlessly and the reception went amazing. She is everything I have ever wanted and I've done everything in my power to make sure she is mine forever and *now she will be.*
I heard Carol coming down the stairs and I quickly threw the journal into a box in a panic, terrified. That last line was exceptionally creepy and nothing I would ever say. She smiled at me as she saw me.
"Dropped all the stuff, have you? Well, don't worry. I will help you. After all, tomorrow you'll be mine forever."
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks.
Those weren't my journal entries.
They were hers.
Carol had been continuing my journal entries for me ever since I had stopped. All those entries were about her! It wasn't that I didn't agree, because she was perfect to me and we were compatible on every level. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her grab another box and walk up the stairs. I quickly grabbed the journal and went to the very first few entries, where I remembered writing an entry about the woman I hoped I would find. I find it and start reading it, and the entry describes Carol perfectly. It was as if I described every one of Carol's traits. This wasn't a coincidence.
She had read my journal and then decided to become the woman I wanted. She was merely a facade of what I thought she was.
It was all a lie. | 111 | You find your old Journal. But you've never kept a journal. Inside are dozens of accurate entries that you don't remember writing. You find an entry dated for tomorrow. | 85 |
I entered the elevator with Jim and Olli, starting a new week at Fred & Norville Inc.
"Hey Jim, how're the kids?" I said.
"They're fine, though money is a little tight. The mortgage is killing me." replied Jim... and then he exclaimed: "It was a misdiagnosis! Doctor James was murdered, it wasn't a suicide!"
"How'd you get that?" I asked.
"Mortgage. On a house. On House it was *never* Lupus, except that one time. Doctor James misdiagnosed a patient, because Lupus symptoms vary widely, but it was actually Lupus. The case was chucked out because it's not malpractice, just an unfortunate mistake - the patient lost everything on the hospital bills." Jim said, stopped the elevator and then scurried off.
"And you Olli?" I asked.
"Fine, fine. The little one just started walking. No sense of danger whatsoever for that little daredevil."
Walking... no sense of danger... Walker, Texas Ranger? Wait. Chuck Norris. He fought Bruce Lee, who died of an allergy to a muscle relaxant. Relaxant is an anagram of Rant Axle, the pub downstairs. THAT'S WHERE I LEFT MY CREDIT CARD!
I stopped the elevator and ran down the stairs... just in time to see the owner of the place sell credit cards, including my own. Easiest arrest ever.
We went back to the office. On the way up, one people left because I said something about Pizza, I stopped a drug deal due to a connection between the meeting place and someone mentioning dental floss, and we found a way to track down all the lost vehicles in the Bermuda Triangle after talking about football. That's mondays for you. Things get rather hectic around here on mondays.
By lunch, we managed to find a restructuring program for the US government that would solve the debt crisis and world hunger while cutting taxes after a game of darts led to some calculations about air turbulence and probablistic analysis. Someone will win a Nobel for that. It would be the fourth one in that many years for the department.
Quite frankly, it would be less impressive than the Peace Prize, after a recap of Game of Thrones led us to make peace in the Middle East. God, that Joffrey is a cunt.
The Irish prisoner was our miracle machine. No one knows about him except Norville and I. It all started when a few years ago, we figured out that we just needed some luck. And wherever he is, the Lucky Charms are always around somewhere. Norville, in a moment of brilliance when high out of his mind said we just keep him here, and we'll have all the luck we need. No one expected it to work that way.
But now we get to the dark side of this. Every monday, every fucking monday, people have to run around and do shit. In order to enjoy luck, you have to get around a bit. God, I hate mondays. I went to Norville's office. He was smoking again, and having a tough time ordering pizza.
"Hey Garf, hold the anchovies" Shaggy said. | 55 | Every mystery is solved by an offhand, unrelated comment sparking an epiphany. Your department is the best in the world. | 72 |
"Wow. So that's the fountain of youth, eh?"
"Yeah. Apparently. It just looks like a normal fountain to me. Water and stuff just spouting everywhere, not so special."
"What do you mean apparently?"
"Well, everyone is scared to go in. Like, youth is a bit of a broad term, yaknow? It's not like it comes with an instruction manual, some old Indiana Jones dude found it and now they just charge admission to come look at some fountain."
"So if nobody goes in, how do we know it's the fountain of youth?"
"Well. It says right there. I can't read it cos it's in Latin or something but in the brochure it says thats what it says."
"So we think it's the fountain of youth cos someone just said it was? I got a lifetime supply of chipotle once in a competition and it was only worth like 100 meals. If the fountain of youth actually made you immortal, a lifetime supply would be a shitton more than 100 meals. Words don't really mean shit."
"Yeah, true. You actually wanna get some chipotle? This fountain is kinda boring now."
"Yeah, I guess." | 13 | Someone found the fountain of youth but after all the hype no one dares to get in | 23 |
Chuck stared at the meth pipe now lying by the gas pedal of his 1990 IROC. He wasn’t entirely sure he had smoked it correctly, or if it was actually called a “meth pipe.” For starters, he wasn’t sure meth was supposed to be smoked. He remembered seeing Jesse Pinkman smoke it a few times during *Breaking Bad*, but he couldn’t entirely recall whether or not those were just regular cigarettes. Regardless, Chuck had a terrible phobia of needles, and figured placing the meth inside of a pipe some junkie gave him and then smoking it seemed safer. Whatever the case, Chuck would know whether or not he had done it right in due time. The only thing he was currently sure of was the fact that he was completely and utterly invincible.
Chuck had been excited to try meth for quite some time. It just seemed like the right thing to do. His mother had urged him against it, said it wasn’t exactly “safe,” and that there were other activities for 37-year-old husbands and fathers-of-three to be partaking in. She suggested learning to knit, or perhaps studying a second language. He agreed, but secretly knew that meth was absolutely something he wanted to experience. He just needed to be sure he did it right – after all, he’d only do it once.
In order to prepare for his inaugural toke—as the junkie that handed him the pipe told him it was called—Chuck stole a 1990 Camaro IROC. It felt like something a crack head would do, steal a car and then get high in it. He had initially considered taking his own car and then reporting it stolen, but it felt like a cop out. He wanted to go all-in. Instead, he followed his neighbor—Howard—home, waited for him to get out of the car, and then “jumped him.”
The idea of “jumping someone” had initially eluded Chuck. The first time he’d heard it, he imagined a man jumping over another, which made very little sense—how could Chuck jump over another man, unless he was knelt down? However, after voicing his concerns to his dealer, Chuck discovered that it was actually “slang” for beating up another human. He was opposed to the idea at first, but slowly become more comfortable with it. If he were to truly take on the lifestyle of a crack head, “jumping someone” seemed pretty mundane. He was sure he could do it.
Chuck jumped Howard as soon as he stepped out of his car, slapping him across his cheek with all of his might. The man stumbled slightly.
“What the hell was that for, Chuck!” Howard had shouted.
“I’m jumping you,” Chuck said, brushing his hand down his suit jacket to ensure his tie was still tucked inside.
“Why?” Howard said.
“I need your car.”
“Can’t you just ask for it?”
“No, I’m going to smoke drugs in it. I need to steal it.”
“What? Why?”
“No more questions,” Chuck said, again smacking Howard across his cheek.
“Fuck! Just take the god damn keys,” Howard said, handing the keys over.
“Can you report it stolen?”
“Why would I do that, Chuck? I’m giving you the keys. I always let you take the IROC out for a drive. I don’t care what you do in it, as long as you bring it back safe.”
Chuck smacked Howard across the cheek again.
“Stop it!” Howard said, raising his palm to his cheek and holding it there.
“Report it as stolen, please. I would really appreciate it.”
“Fine, for fuck’s sake. You’re really fucking weird, Chuck.”
“Thanks, buddy. I promise to keep her safe,” he said, rubbing his hand on the roof of the car. It was a beautiful piece of machinery.
Chuck glanced into his rear view mirror. Red and blue lights flashed in the distance, growing larger each passing second. His meth adventure, or meth-venture as he'd been calling it, had been pretty satisfying so far, or at least as satisfying as he had hoped it would be. The only issue was the actual meth: it had been almost ten minutes since he’d held the lighter to the pipe and tried his best to mimic Jesse Pinkman, yet still was not even remotely high. He was sure it was meth that he had smoked, the dealer had specifically said not to worry, that “it’s definitely meth and not PCP—it just looks weird.” Even so, Chuck didn’t feel anything—save for an incredible rush of strength and an undoubtable knowledge that he was invincible to anything and everything. He’d clearly done the meth wrong.
Chuck unlocked the driver’s side door to the IROC and pushed it open, then pulled himself out onto the side of the highway. It was a beautiful night, the sky a wonderful mixture of reds, blues, oranges, silvers, and a few other colors he had never seen before. A man stood on the other side of the road who he recognized as God. Chuck waved. God waved back.
“Hey,” Chuck said.
“Hey,” God replied.
“How’s it going?”
“Pretty good,” God said. “You?”
“Great,” Chuck said. “Well, okay. I tried to smoke meth tonight, but I don’t think I did it right.”
“That’s a shame,” God said, turning into a dragon.
“Yeah,” Chuck said. “Oh well. At least I stole a car.”
“You stole a car?” said Dragon-God.
“Yeah,” Chuck said.
“Bad-ass,” Dragon-God said, transforming into a fish. He flopped about on the ground with a wet smack for a few seconds, and then disappeared.
Chuck turned back toward the flashing lights, which were now stopped only a few yards away. They were clearly here for the stolen car. Chuck sighed. He had really hoped to be high for this part, to see what it was like to be apprehended by the police for both grand theft auto and drug-related charges. It just wasn’t as special to only be taken in under the carjacking. Still, he did have meth in his car—perhaps he could at least experience what it was like to be caught before smoking the meth. Chuck took a step toward the officers.
“Hello,” he said. “I have meth in my vehicle, which is stolen. The vehicle, that is, not the meth. I purchased the meth.”
“Get down on the ground and put your hands behind your head,” said a man through a megaphone. He looked a lot like the alien from the movie *Independence Day*, except with significantly fewer limbs and way more police uniform. Chuck would’ve loved to be high on meth while meeting someone like that.
“Do you know Will Smith?” Chuck shouted. It was a long shot, but it would be great to meet Mr. Smith before being carted off to jail.
“Down on the ground,” shouted the alien. Chuck searched the ground for Will Smith. The officer had lied, he was not there, although it did seem weirdly moist. “Get your ass down on the ground!”
“It’s wet down there,” Chuck said, studying the floor. A puddle of purple liquid was pooling around his feet, slowly forming into the shape of a squid. “I don’t want to sit in this purple squid.” He took a step forward.
“On the ground, now!”
The squid on the ground immediately turned into a gigantic lobster, its claws twice the width of Chuck’s body. Although Chuck was sure he was invincible, an inhuman strength flowing through his veins, he had a terrible phobia of crustaceans. He had once fallen into a lobster tank at *Red Lobster*, and had several painfully nip at his arms. Not even his definite invincibility would convince him to face a 70-foot-tall one.
“Get away!” Chuck shouted, swatting at the lobster’s over-sized antenna. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and unfolded the pocket knife, slashing it wildly in the direction of both the lobster and the *Independence Day* alien-cops.
“We will open fire,” said the aliens.
“Good! Kill this thing,” Chuck said, slashing his knife at the lobster’s hardened shell, but failing to make contact. He needed to get closer.
“On the god damn ground!” shouted the aliens, drawing their pistols and pointing them at the lobster, which incidentally included Chuck. He so dearly wished he had “toked” the meths correctly, as this was surely an experience that would only be improved by drugs.
“Fire!” Chuck shouted, running and slashing his knife wildly toward the lobster, and inadvertently the officers. He lunged forward to try to land atop the lobster, to plunge his 3-inch-long knife deep into its several-inch-thick armor. He just needed to distract the over-sized crustacean long enough for the officers to swoop in and take it down.
The aliens opened fire, their pistols echoing a hallow thud in the otherwise quiet night. Each bullet smacked into Chuck’s chest, as if someone were beating him—or jumping him, as he now knew it was called—with a baseball bat. He tumbled to the ground, his hand pressed firmly against his torso. The officers had missed every single shot at the lobster, instead hitting him with each one, and god damn did it hurt.
Chuck threw his suit jacket off and glanced down at his dress shirt. Several bullet holes had ripped through it, but all had failed to enter into his skin. For the first time all night, he was glad he hadn’t used the meth correctly—he most certainly would’ve freaked out at being shot. Thankfully, though, he was definitely invincible and not in any way actually high on meth. He exhaled a sigh of relief, smiled, and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of uniformed boots running toward him.
____________________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^on ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/) | 440 | A man strung out on meth goes on a rampage believing he is invincible. It turns out he actually is. | 576 |
Rolland stood up from his desk when the message came through. He looked out the window of his office, across the river, and saw the Washington monument. *It looks so small* he thought to himself. He felt his knees quiver and tears welling up. *I should call her. I never told her.* His legs gave in and all the weight of his body collapsed into the chair while he clumisily pulled the phone from his pocket. It was all he could do to steady his trembling hands while he dabbed his finger at her name on his phone's screen: ADRIENNE C.
"Hello?"
"Adrienne, it's me."
"Rolls?"
"Listen, I know we don't have much time, but I just wanted to tell you I love you."
". . . "
"Adrienne?"
"Rolls, I'm sorry. I've got to call my mom and dad. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm-"
Rolland let the phone drop to his side on the floor. He looked at the screen as the line disconnected and watched it go dim.
*Okay. There should be one left...in my desk.* He whipped the desk drawer open and there, amid the letters, paper clips, and pens was a crumbled pack of Pall Malls. *I have lots left,* he though as he drew a crooked cigarette and pinched it between his lips. *A lighter. Matches. I always have one here! WHERE THE HELL-?*
Rolland patted his pockets and a raked his hand through the loose shit in the drawer. *I fucking always have one. Whenver I don't need one I always have one.*
The welling tears rolled down this face. He could feel his heart pounding through his chest. Every beat jarring his vision just a little bit.
*It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. It's going to be-*
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDITS: fixed some dumb typos because I was typing fast. Thanks guys!
| 18 | It is five minutes to an assured nuclear apocalypse. All ballistic missiles are still in the air...so you decide to do that one last thing. | 22 |
My butt ached. I had sat in the same desk chair in the darkest corner of NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory for hours, staring at meaningless numbers and graphs which updated regularly with a soft tick on my PC monitor. The data may have seemed meaningless, but the Hyperion capsule most definitely was not. So there I sat, day after day, watching and waiting for any change in the pattern.
The truth was, this had been my lot in life for almost four years now—monitoring data which repeated itself over and over again, hoping beyond hope that a pleasant little beep would ring out, forever altering my existence along with the rest of humanity’s. My only solace and mental stimuli came from a small library of books I had long ago pilfered from the empty cubicles and offices which honeycombed the large concrete office complex. Yet despite this, four years is a long time to be around no one but one’s self, and I was teetering dangerously upon the precipice of hope, and time was running short.
The storage bunker was looking dangerously empty these days—the previous day I had taken stock of the remaining MRE’s, and my outlook was getting grimmer by the hour. It was a miracle I had even survived this long, with the clusterfuck that was happening outside these walls. If only I could last long enough to hear that beautiful beep. Everything would change. I would be saved, and maybe the world would finally listen and begin to see reason.
Alone in the dark, windowless office, my little work area lit only by a tiny desk lamp, a thump reverberated through the three feet of concrete separating me from the outside. I felt it in my chest a second before my ears registered any sound. This was a common enough thing these days. I wasn’t all that perturbed—the blast was far away and my own current worries were more imminently important than some distant fit of sudden violence. I turned back to the novel currently keeping me sane, and settled back in for another long and hopefully uneventful afternoon.
*SKADOOOOOOOM.*
I fell backwards out of my desk chair and immediately felt small chunks of paint and concrete rain down onto me. The shockwave had knocked over the PC monitor and completely caked my office area in debris. This obviously wasn’t a direct hit, I thought to myself, but damn was it close.
I was now caught in a bind. Many times during the last four years I had considered taking the PC into the storage bunker, but I didn’t want to risk having to shut down the many complex software programs currently connected to the Hyperion. I hadn’t been the one to originally program the thing, and I didn’t want to gamble the fate of humanity on my ability to configure a fucking uplink program. But if I didn’t do something soon, it wouldn’t make a difference either way. I would be dead, and the PC would be destroyed.
*BOOOOOOOOM.*
I don’t remember what happened immediately after the third blast. I only remember warm light shining brightly upon my face, and then that perplexed feeling of waking up in an unfamiliar environment. When I came to, I was almost completely buried in large, head-sized chunks of concrete interspersed with supportive rebar. A large chunk of the ceiling above my office had caved in, and I could see a grey sky dirtied with smoke trails and floating debris. The warmth on my face continued to increase until it was uncomfortable, a dull burning sensation not unlike a sunburn. Goddamn HUMANS, I said out loud as if I weren’t one of them. Goddamn all of this.
I tried to quickly move to break free from the rubble, but then I noticed another big problem. A chunk of rebar was pinning me to the ground through my right thigh. Struggling sent a reverberating pain coursing through my leg. I was fucked. Even if I somehow managed to break free, the radiation poisoning was already hard at work wrecking my insides.
The only consolation was getting to see the sky one last time before the end.
I blacked out. Either from the pain in my leg, or from the one or two thousand RADs pummeling me from above, I couldn’t say.
***
A beeping woke me from my slow decent toward death’s embrace. It was coming from the pile of rubble where my computer used to be. That thing still works? I thought to myself, a little baffled by the luck of it all. Not only that, but the generator powering the computer must not have been too badly damaged by the blast either. This was a new beeping sound, one that I had never heard before. One that I had been waiting to hear for four solid years.
I had to move.
I pushed the loose rubble and smaller concrete blocks off my body, until only one big one remained—the one attached to the rebar piercing my leg. I was already winded and exhausted. The radiation was certainly doing its thing, I thought. I lay on my side, took firm hold of the rebar with both hands, and began to slowly pull it free from my thigh.
The overwhelming agony made me once again black out, but only for a moment. When I came to, I pulled with renewed vigor. The blood began to pool beneath me and mix with the debris, forming a gory paste. The beeping from the PC seemed even more urgent. I steeled myself and made one final yank, and then finally I was free.
I crawled over to the pile of rubble under which lay humanity’s saving light and began to dig furiously. I found the keyboard and carefully set it aside. Then through a tiny space between a group of concrete blocks, I spotted the faint light of the monitor. I had never felt so relieved and happy in all my life, even during my moment of imminent death.
The monitor displayed two beautiful words, which represented the hope of an entire species on the brink of xenocide: *UPLINK ESTABLISHED*
Underneath the notification was the command console. With shaking hands, I typed slowly: *PREPARE POD*
I felt a comforting vibration rumble through the concrete floor beneath me. I had been careful to preserve the exact number of power cells that would be needed to make the journey. Though honestly, I never actually expected that day to arrive.
Struggling mightily to get to my feet, I grabbed a length of rebar to steady myself as I hobbled down the stairs toward the teleportation bunker. Once inside, I was greeting by a fully active device. On its accompanying console read the words, *DESTINATION SET: TAU CETI E*
*KABOOOOOOM.*
Above me, another explosion rocked the outside world and shook me off my feet. I looked to the console in horror. The previous words had disappeared, replaced by a flashing notification:
*RECALCULATING UPLINK SUITABILITY…*
*RECALCULATING UPLINK SUITABILITY…*
*RECALCULATING UPLINK SUITABILITY…*
*UPLINK DEEMED UNFIT*
*EARTH INHOSPITABLE*
*TERMINATING HYPERION INITIATIVE...*
*GOODBYE*
| 20 | Scientists have developed a working teleporter and the ability to launch it further into space than ever thought possible. It is engineered to only become active when both sides are on a hospitable planet. Nobody ever believes anything will come of it and it is long forgotten until... | 40 |
Joel's beady, unblinking eyes drifted over the screen. It was pitch black in his room, save for the illumination of his computer, and all the windows were closed. Dirty t-shirts and rags were shoved into the gaps in the moldy clapboard where the starlight managed to leak through on brighter nights.
Joel was reading the terms and conditions for a Java update, prompted by his attempt to open yet another monstrous erotic game in his browser. Joel didn't think like normal people. He never got along with normal people. And normal women? Joel hadn't seen one in a little over eight months. But that's OK. Normal women... normal people don't make sense. This, Joel thought, this makes sense. This I can understand. Reading this makes me feel better.
Joel blinked. He read something odd. He panicked. He did not understand, why? Why would it say something like that? Anyone who clicked Agree would lose everything! Except Joel. His confused scowl faded slowly. Perhaps it was OK that he did not understand, did not understand why. He knew, and normal people didn't, and that was enough. He closed the window and picked a different game. Joel never liked normal people. | 19 | the one who actually reads the terms and conditions. You find a clause submitting the user to a lifetime of servitude hidden in the Terms of the newest Java update. | 53 |
"Wait...what?" The dusty djinn stood before James shocked. The little dagger he had been using to pick his nails fell from his tanned hands. The thin blade transformed into a dispersing grey smoke an instant before striking the djinn's foot.
James looked at the Djinn amused. He studied the dirty leather jacket spread over his shoulders. His torn jeans showed an Arabian skin beneath their surface. A light grey t-shirt appeared through the jacket as the djinn took a breath and stuttered, "What...what did you say, James?"
James's eyebrow rose lightly at the sound of his voice. He spoke deliberately, "I want you to choose my wishes for me." The djinn's eyes widened at the words reaching him.
The djinn stared at the dirty silver lamp in James hand. His voice changed slowly as he spoke, his accent fluctuated randomly from various cultures, "You want me to choose the three wishes you get. Wishes capable of transforming all of reality and you want me to choose them?" The djinn laughed deeply as his head flew back.
James stared with a small smirk and rubbed the lamp before him clean. Each stroke appeared to brighten the look of the djinn. His clothing was rich and vibrant, his hair was cut wonderfully, even his eyes brightened from a dark brown to a rich gold. James spoke quietly, "I'm done with this world. I tripped over this walking to the edge of the world." With a motion of his head the djinn finally noticed the sharp cliff off in the distance. James turned away from the djinn and began walking, "Do as you will."
The djinn stared in wonder at the broken man walking from him. His voice called out, "I could make you king."
A curt reply came from the man before him, "Not interested."
The djinn's form shifted as he appeared before James, "A god."
James firm appearance broke into a slight smirk, "Don't want it."
The djinn broke into great laughter as James walked around him, "You're an interesting figure James. Tell me why we're jumping?"
James turned his head lightly to reply, "We?"
The djinn appeared beside him walking in stride, "Well you are holding my lamp. I'm bound to you for now."
James mumbled, "Ohh."
As his grip loosened from the lamp the djinn snapped. The lamp immediately transformed into a thick silver bracelet, a thin screw cap seemed the only sign of an internal chamber. The djinn laughed loudly as he looked upon his work, "Much better, we won't get rid of each other that easily will we." His statement seemed ridiculous but James kept walking.
As the number of steps to the edge shrunk James finally spoke, "This world is not mine any longer. I'm tired djinn. Very tired."
The djinn stopped for a second before he chuckled and whispered, "Then sleep." The djinn waved his hand rapidly, a rich pillow appeared beneath James figure. A beautiful comforter floated over his figure as he slept.
In the hours until James woke the djinn tried a variety of entertainment. Poker tables, pool tables, dart boards, fish tanks, and more soon filled the hillside. Eventually James woke throwing the bedding aside as he rose. The djinn's voice floated to meet him, "Sleep well tired one?"
James looked up slightly irritated, "Amazingly. Was that your attempt at a wish djinn."
The djinn chuckled to himself, "That was nothing James. When we make a wish it will change the fate of history." The grand statement appeared thrown aside staring at the djinn covered in silly string, who continued to throw items around.
James turned away in silence as he walked towards the edge, "It didn't change anything."
The djinn turned his head in curiosity before he appeared on the nearby edge. Using his toes to stand upon the edge he spoke, "You said you were tired, not that you wanted me to stop you. Do you want me to stop you?"
James faltered for a second only to reply, "No."
The djinn looked up from his feet to question, "You hesitated." With a snap James was turned 180 degrees, "There, walk that way."
James spun in shock to continue to the edge, "Djinn stop. It's my fate."
The djinn appeared behind James, "And mine."
James stepped to the side as he spoke, "How? How on this earth is it yours."
The djinn's eyes opened wide, they changed a deep grey as he appeared before James. His voice came out thick and deep, "*Any djinn bound to a mortal man shall join in his fate until the eternal bond has been undone.*"
James stopped feet from the edge as he listened. Without a sound he continued to the edge where he sat, feet swinging over the ledge. Beside him the djinn appeared, normal and toying with a children's maze game. The silver balls rolled noisily in the silence before James spoke, "Then I unbind you."
The djinn didn't look up as he continued tipping the maze, "Not that easy."
James looked up from the edge at the djinn, "You're immortal what does it matter?"
The djinn replied quickly, "You die, I think I die. That is easy."
James rose quietly as he paced behind the djinn. His various glances greeted him with a pinball machine, a floating goldfish, a plastic snake, a ball jumping between floating walls, and finally a floating djinn staring at him. James stopped to look the djinn in the eyes. His voice was quiet as he spoke, "I'm done. How do I free you."
The djinn frowned in silence, his hands at his side as he stressed the first word, "You can't."
James approached the edge quietly, "Who can."
The djinn spoke firmly as he pulled a gameboy from his pocket, "Maybe me."
James turned his back from the djinn in silence. His mind raced before he put his hands across his chest and fell back, "Then do it."
His body fell quickly. The grey stone rushed above him as he tore through the air. As the rock changed to dirt time seemed to slow. James finally felt at peace as looked to the warm summer sky above him. To his shock the djinn appeared sitting upon his chest amused. With a wink the djinn spoke, the sound torn away to the sky be the rushing winds. In a moment the djinn vanished and James met the once soft grass in agony. The pain was worth than anything James had known as his body smashed to the ground in violence, his strongest bones shattered into pieces as his skin tore apart. His mind dissolved to darkness in a mere second, yet it felt like eternity.
James awoke in a warm room, curled under a deep red blanket as a fire roared before him. As he looked up a smiling blonde woman. As James began to open his mouth the world went white and he blinked to find himself staring at the edge of a cliff. Before him the djinn materialized, "Hello again."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I'm sorry this story isn't finished yet. I'll try to come back to it soon given enough interest. | 31 | For the first time, a genie has been asked to choose someone's 3 wishes for them. | 44 |
*My Thanks to betazoidberg for the formatting - Editors are the most noble of creatures*
I risked a second glance at the man just starting to unload his grocery cart on my belt. Short and stocky but built like a brick-house, his five o'clock stubble was already driving me crazy. As I mechanically slid the elderly couples produce and bag of Depends, I couldn't help but begin to stare.
He glanced up as a throat cleared itself and our eyes met for an instants, the sparks almost palpable in the air. My soul-mate! I knew there was no such thing as 'love at first sight' - regardless of what my psychic wannabe mother might say about it being written in the stars - but my heart disagreed in that moment. My body almost quivered with a new feeling, a tingling sensation dancing up my spine.
The voice of mother intruded in my inner most thoughts.
“When you meet the one darling, you'll just know.”
“But when mother?”
“Well, it depends.”
“On what?”
“That depends on time.”
“But when!”
“It – depends.”
The final word tickle my ears.
“What?” I asked.
A raspy voice repeated itself, “I'm sorry dear, but I think you undercharged us for the Depends.”
I tore my eyes from the man as he returned to unloading his basked and checked the screen.
“You're right, my bad.” I quickly corrected the error and gave them their final tally.
“Thirty Seven dollars and sixty-nine cents!?” The husband growled in alarm even as the wife started pulling out penny after penny.
I shared an exasperated look with my future husband who had finished unloading and was now watching the couple struggle to scrape the bottom of the wifes coin purse for the last nine cents.
“Do you know what time it is?” the elderly man asks me.
“What?” I'm to distracted by my future husband.
“The time,” he asks again.
“Here's ten.” My husband hands me a dime.
“They only need nine,” I reply, but he just waves me off. He's so gracious, I think.
“What did he say?” the elderly man asks me but I ignore him.
“You're all settled,” I say loudly closing out the bill and handing the receipt to the wife. She's a little confused, and she's still digging in her coin purse as her husband leads her off to the end of the conveyor belt.
Chuck, my bagger for the evening, tosses the last bag into their cart leaps over to the next aisle to help Susan checkout a three-carter that was piled five feet in the air and looked awfully close to toppling.
“Hi,” I said to my future husband as he walked up to the credit card display.
“Hi,” he replied smiling, his voice sending ripples of ecstasy through my chest.
“Paper or Plastic,” I ask.
He glowers at me. “Care for the environment much? Paper of course.”
“Oh, of course.” He's an environmentalist. Well, semi-environmentalist as I register he hasn't brought his own bags with him.
Grabbing the milk carton I scan it, the familiar beep registering even as he slaps the tiny platform in front of me with a piece of paper.
“I've got a coupon for that,” he snarls. “You charge an arm an a leg for that Lactose Free milk, I have to survive on calcium pills most of the time.”
“Sorry?” I say. Dreams of us sharing a cheese fondue on our first date evaporating.
The next item, he repeats his slap down on the counter as if he's on some game show competing with a buzzer. “Ha! Coupon for that too!”
“Good for you?” I reply. So he's thrifty, I think. That's o.k. We don't need money anyways, we'll survive on our love.
I grab a bag of apples and oranges and look at him when he doesn't slap anything down. He's not even watching as he's pulled out the latest iPhone and is grumbling about something taking forever to download.
Peas, Carrots, and a wealth of vegetables slide across with out a comment or coupon.
“This should make a wonderful salad,” I comment and he glares at me from over his phone.
“I'm a vegan! Meet eater!”
“We're called carnivores thank you very much.”
He returns his gaze to the screen as I slide his final items across my scanner.
“That will be forty dollars and ten cents.”
“Don't forget my coupons!”
“I didn't.”
He looks at me, obviously thinking I'm lying, as he slides his credit card through the scanner.
Beep.
Denied comes up on my screen.
“Try again?” I ask.
He glowers.
Beep.
Denied.
“Stupid credit card,” he pulls out another.
Beep.
Denied.
He rifles through his wallet and pulls out two twenty dollar bills.
“And ten cents,” I remind him.
He rifles in his pocket, his face getting redder and redder.
“I – I think I gave my last ten cents to that elderly couple.”
“I know, but I'm not allowed to -”
“Not allowed to,” He yells, his face almost purple. “I gave my money to the people in front of me.”
“And that was super nice of you, but my till has to -”
“You're till!? You can't even just let me slide by with a measly ten cents? Fine!”
He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a check book, slapping it down on the little plateau.
“No whammies, no whammies,” I try to smile.
“What?” He growls.
“Never mind.”
The line behind him is now getting restless. Line jumpers are even eying Susan's line with envy.
There the sound of paper being torn and he's holding out the tiny square paper at me.
“I just need to see a Driver's license.”
“I don't drive.”
“Well some form of ID.”
“What?”
“I'm sorry, it's store policy.”
“I'd like to talk to your manger.”
I flip on my aisle light, and try not to whither under the heated stares of the other customers as Marjorie waddles over.
“What's the problem?” She asks.
“He doesn't have any ID,” I say.
“I'm sorry sir, but it's company policy -”
“This check out clerk to my last ten cents to pay for the couple in front of me -”
“I didn't take your money I -”
“Yes, you did! You -”
“Why don't you take your break,” Marjorie says to me. “I'll handle this.” She turns to face the customer, my future ex-husband, and I gladly step away.
As I round the end of the aisle I see the elderly couple's bag of depends lying on the floor.
It's only been a few minutes, I think. Grabbing it I rush out the doors to the parking lot to see if I can find them.
Well, I try to. Instead I run smack dab into a lanky awkward guy and we fall entangled in each other.
“Oh, I'm so sorry,” I say, even as he helps me up.
“No, no, it's my fault. My grandparents forgot something and I was rushing back in as I'm in the loading zone.”
I glance out the door windows at old gray buick. The elderly man sitting in the passenger side, his wife in the back rolling down the window shouting something and pointing at something.
“I think this is what you're looking for.” I smile at the man even as I hand over the container.
“You were coming out to find them?” He asks.
“Yeah.”
“That was awfully nice of you.”
“It was nothing.”
We stand awkwardly for a moment.
“Well, I should - “
“Yeah, of course, your parked illegally.”
“Yeah.”
He opens the outer door and I can here his grandmother, “That's her, Paul. She's the one we were telling you about!”
I can't help it, I hold the door open and lean out.
“Telling him about what?”
“The cute checkout girl.”
“Cute?”
“Hot!” His granddad laughs. “They don't use cute anymore dear, its hot or not!”
“Oh what would you know.”
Paul hands the package to his granddad who tosses them in the back.
“Would you maybe like to get some coffee sometime?”
“Well, that depends.”
“On what?”
I'm pushed out of the way as my future ex-husband rushes out with his bags. I can almost feel the heat melting the tar on the parking lot as he steams off.
“Do you have the time?”
He smiles.
| 78 | A cashier rings up an attractive customer and works up the courage to exchange numbers, but the conversation goes progressively downhill with each new item that comes down the conveyor belt. | 127 |
The lawmen are coming. I can hear the sounds of their crowd-dispersal horns as they make their way through the clusters of cripples and refugees, looking for me. They mean to kill me. I stole money and gave it to the poor, the hungry, the desperate. I helped people, when everyone else refused to help them. Sure, I killed people too, but I did what I had to do. And right now, I will do what I have to do. To survive. Failing that, to take some of these corrupt bastards with me.
I pop the trunk of my vehicle. Inside are three weapons, a large Shell-Thrower, a small Pocket Popper, and a sleek MagRifle. Loading the Shell-Thrower involves slotting the shells into five rotating chambers, but the Pocket Popper and MagRifle run on electricity. I have twenty-two shots in the Magrifle, five rounds for the Shell-Thrower and thirty-four shots in the Pocket Popper.
Slinging the weapons, I take up a defensive position behind my truck. The NanoMetal coating should take a good beating before it starts to swiss-cheese. From my crouched position behind the truck, I listen closely to the approaching lawmen. They shut off their horns, having passed through the refugee camp without incident. Shortly after I hear the sounds of boots on pavement, a Vocal Projection Unit pipes up.
"Citizen, you are under arrest for the theft of funds from twenty Currency Banks in the Protected Territories, the murder of thirty law enforcement officers, and twenty-thousand Currency Units worth of property damage. Submit peacefully, or we will be forced to use drastic measures."
The VPU shuts down and I spring from my hiding place, firing the MagRifle as I rise. Three lawmen, the ones operating the VPU, explode as the super-sonic projectiles impact their torsos. Some of my shots go wide, hitting the delicate circuits of the VPU, destroying the machine in a flash of blue-white sparks. I keep the MagRifle trigger depressed, hosing the lawmen in destructive projectiles. Body parts and blood coat the pavement and the remaining lawmen leap for cover. I throw down the depleted MagRifle and draw the Shell-Thrower.
While chambering the first round, I hear the sound of jet-engines. An Aerial Response Squad. *Shit.* I quickly dispatch the rest of the lawmen on the ground with the Shell-Thrower, their heads and limbs exploding into chunks from the scatter-shot projectiles. The ARS jet lands, disgorging its menacing cargo. Six men in armored suits come stomping down the ramp, aiming their MagRifles in my direction. I pull out the Pocket Popper as they open fire on my truck.
My truck pops and crackles with the impacts, sending out bits of metal and glass in all directions. I leap from the cover of the detonating vehicle, firing the Pocket Popper as I run. Two of the armored men, struck by blasts from the Pocket Popper, drop to the ground in electricity-induced convulsions. The other four continue firing. One of their MagRifle rounds slams into my foot. White-hot fire shoots up my leg in response to my foot disintegrating into a mass of wet bone. I fall to the ground.
As the darkness overtakes me, I see the face of a refugee who has been watching the whole scene. A young girl. She is smiling at me. It's a soft, compassionate smile that makes me feel at ease. I had helped these people. I smile back and close my eyes for the last time.
| 14 | Tonight is the last stand of a bad man who does good things. | 16 |
"Michael! How the hell have you been!" my old pal Joe said as he came up to me and slapped me on the back.. but who was Jerry?
"Uhh, oh hey Joe!" I said in my cute little sexy voice, "But don't you mean Michelle?"
Joe rolled his eyes and looked briefly annoyed before a smile resurfaced on his face, "Ooh you always were a strange one you!" he said before turning to the crowd and shouting, "Hey everyone look! Michael's here!"
"I'll be damned! The years haven't been kind to you I see!" Dan said as he came over and gave me a bear hug, what a rude thing to say though!
"A-hem, excuse me? That's not something you say to a lady Daniel, don't make me tell your mother," I said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.
Dan looked at the floor and shuddered a little bit before taking a deep breath and looking up and me, "Listen, Mike, you have to understand that this is a catholic school reunion, we don't believe that you actually became a woman, we think your a dude with a mutilated penis."
/r/PsychoWritingPrompts | 12 | You decide to attend your 30 year high school reunion. Everyone remembers you, vividly, but they all think you are someone other than who you believe yourself to be. | 32 |
[NSFW, potentially]
The Earth King knew there were many brothels within his kingdom. But to know them and to *know* them were beasts of a different manner.
He lay on a rumpled bed of stained silk and worn feathers, a bed that might have belonged to some highborn bender of years past, his head nestled between the brown breasts of a sultry and curved woman whose monosyllabic name he had forgotten. She was older, her face cracked and cragged like the mountain cliff the brothel sat upon. Not the fairest maid in the land, but she had been as vigorous as an earthquake and worth every penny.
Bosco snored outside.
"Have you heard the rumors, my lord?"
The Earth King rolled onto his back and sighed. "There are many rumors in the Earth Kingdom. Some say the Earth King walks about his people as a common man."
"Those sort of rumors," the whore said with a smile like a small knife, "are best kept to oneself. No, my lord, I'm talking of the great Avatar, who has taken the fire from the dragon."
The image of the tiny bald-headed boy filled the Earth King's head. He was a valiant young man, kind and true as any song. But there hadn't been a lethality about him that the Earth King believed was needed.
Long Feng and the Dai Li may have betrayed him, but he would still not have picked any others to keep the Earth Kingdom's peace. Only ruthless order could prevent chaos from growing, and the Fire Lord burned chaotically through his lands.
"Impossible."
"Quite possible. But from what I hear, the Avatar did not kill him."
"Captured?" Surely not even Aang was fool enough to believe he could simply contain Ozai.
"It is as I said. The fire is stolen from the dragon. The Fire Lord bends no more."
Though not himself a bender, the Earth King knew bending was like breathing to those blessed with it.
"How?"
"No one is certain. Some say it is an ancient power the Avatar wields. An old art, long forgotten."
The Earth King rolled over on the old bed and took one breast in hand. "You sound more like a crone than a whore."
"My lord, there are still those of us who practice the art of the Stoneback."
"Whores who see visions and tell the future? Impossible."
"So is quenching the dragon's fire, and yet it has been done. Peace yet reigns in the Fire Nation, and the one-eyed prince is now a man grown."
He shook his head. That would mean Ba Sing Se had to be returned. It would mean he would have to sign a treaty and oversee the exile of the Fire Nation intruders. It would mean that someone would have to *find* him.
"If that's true, I must be off."
"Please, my lord, stay." Her rough hand started at his throat and dragged longingly down his chest and belly and then below the covers to his waist. "Your strength seems to be returning. The cares of the world can wait but one night more."
With a twinkle in his eye, the Earth King rolled back atop his Stoneback.
Bosco snored. | 151 | Aang finally faces the Fire Lord. Written by George R. R. Martin. | 222 |
As Hansen droned on about the controls TinyTron3000, my mind wandered back to all the mishaps from classic shrinkage movies like Honey I Shrunk the Kids, Innerspace, and Fantastic Voyage. *What if Hansen is wrong, and I never return to normal size? What if I shrink down smaller than he thinks, and he can't find me? What if it just kills me?*
Just then I noticed Hansen staring at me with a look of eager anticipation on his face.
"Well," he queried, "what do you think? Can you remember all those steps in case there are any problems during re-sizing? Remember, if you don't get re-sized within 30 minutes, the effects will be permanent. You don't want to go through life at 1/10 your normal size. Can you imagine what that would be like?"
I sighed. "Absolutely. I'm on top of it." I really had my doubts about whether I actually was, but I was only going to be shrunk down for 30 seconds, and he was planning to man the controls the entire time. Besides, he was a certified member of the Johnson Genius Foundation (the funding organization for the project), so I knew he'd be able to fix any problem we might encounter. Besides, I wasn't the first to be shrunk. Peter Wang had been shrunk and re-sized last week with no issues.
"Alright," he whispered, "let's begin."
Before I had a chance to change my mind, I stepped in front of the lead divider, plunked down in the seat, and growled, "Let's do this."
I couldn't see around the divider, but a few seconds after I sat down, I heard a loud clunk and a thump. The procedure had begun. After a few moments, buzzes and clicks subsided into silence, and then... nothing.
The whole shrinking procedure was supposed to take 10 minutes, and then I was supposed to be small for 30 second, but it had been more than 10 minutes, and I hadn't changed.
"Hansen?"
*He let out a low grunt, and followed by silence.*
I took the hint and waited a little longer. Hansen was a bright guy, but he wasn't good with interruptions. After 15 minutes, I called out again.
"Hansen? Hansen?"
Finally, my curiosity got the better of me. I got up from the seat, stretched my still full-sized legs, and headed to the control room.
"What the he... Hansen?!"
He was slumped over the controls, blood matting the hair around a nasty gash on the back of his head.
"Hansen!? Hansen?!" I slapped his cheeks and tried to rouse him while I called 911. The paramedics arrived quickly, and Hansen started to stir once they got him some oxygen. I watched as they began to load him into the ambulance, but he suddenly seemed very agitated. He tugged frantically at the sleeve of the paramedic, whispered something in his ear, and pointed at me. The paramedic nodded. He walked over to me with a confused look in his eye.
"Stephanie. The guy just kept repeating 'Stephanie' over and over again. Does that name mean anything to you?"
"Not really. I mean, my ex-wife's name is Stephanie, but I'm not even sure if Hansen has met her. Anyway, I haven't seen her in years." I laughed, "She was pretty crazy. I'm just glad she doesn't know where I live."
The paramedic shrugged his shoulders. "Well, some chick named Stephanie had the dude freaked. He'll be fine, by the way. It looks like it's just a severe concussion. The hospital will probably keep him overnight for observation, but they'll send him home tomorrow with just a headache."
The ambulance pulled away, and I tried to sort out my thoughts. I was certainly disappointed that I hadn't been shrunk, but I was also a little relieved. So much could have gone wrong. *More importantly, who'd attacked Hansen? Why? Who was Stephanie?*
My thoughts were interrupted by a strong urge to urinate. I'd almost forgotten about all that coffee I had this morning. I headed back outside into the lobby and past the reception desk to the bathroom. The receptionist was just getting back from her lunch break.
"Hey Rich," she muttered somberly. "I heard about Hansen. I'm scared. I'm packing up and going home. Feel free to show yourself out."
I couldn't stop to talk because the urge to pee had nearly become an emergency. I hurried into the bathroom and to the urinal. I fumbled with my belt and finally got my pants down.
It was then that I heard a shrill scream. It was piercing. Unholy, It was ear-splitting, blood-curdling. It was other-worldly. It was coming from me.
The receptionist burst through the door, slipped on the now-urine-soaked floor, and fell on her back. She got up sputtering and holding back a laugh. Backing out the door slowly, she covered her eyes with one hand and her mouth with the other.
Horrified, I looked at my watch. It had been 47 minutes since the shrinking procedure began, and the window for re-sizing my penis was over. | 14 | Scientists finally develop a working shrink ray. You are one of the first human test subjects. But something goes wrong..... | 22 |
The press conference was nearing its end and all of the major questions the public was yearning to know had been answered with due diligence and left the air of the room with a satisfactory atmosphere. The press stopped scratching in their notepads and sat lightly with smiles on their faces as the questions began to become lighthearted.
Obama's posture was relaxed. A grin was engraved on his face and he even seemed to lean into the podium with a concluding tone. They asked about sports, Lebron's big move and other nonessential and trivial questions. A little girl stood with her parents hand placed on her back in the front corner standing against the wall. Her hand raised patiently the entire proceeding awaiting the notice of him.
"Alright, alright. Last question over here, miss is there something you'd like to ask me?"
The whole room gazed over as a rustling began. Journalists packed their notebooks and awaited the last question. The little girl took one step forward.
"Mr. President sir, If..." she hesitated and scratched her head with a puzzled face.
"It's okay little miss, go ahead." he said.
She look reaffirmed and began the question again.
"If you're most powerful person in the world, does that mean that we're a big bully? And we make other people do what we say by making them scared?"
Round eyes and open mouths of shock turned to the president. The rustling had stopped and the room became as quiet as a tomb. And that's what is was. The first spade of dirt thrown into the grave by an observant child. A child that defied a sitting U.S. President, opened the world's eyes to the world's biggest bully.
And the kids that remained quiet in class, would soon begin to make sure their voices would be heard as well. | 14 | A child was selected to ask the president a question on live television. Historians would cite the innocent question as the cause of the collapse of civilization. | 23 |
Mother would always tell me about the people above the seas, those that lived in a waterless world. They walked with only two legs, their eyes small relative to their head and forward facing. The stories always fascinated me, and though I always wanted to go up to the surface, I never had the courage.
My uncle had said he'd seen them once, covered in a strange blue capsule that made humming noises and blew bubbles. Everyone called him crazy, but I enjoyed floating by the warm vents listening to him spin his stories. He was so energetic when telling his tales, his many arms gesturing wildly as he described his adventures in the brighter regions of the sea.
He told me about fish with small jaws and small eyes, ones that worked perfectly well in the lit waters. Animals of all sorts of colours and shapes, and though they could not glow in the dark, their scales shimmered in the weak sunlight. He told of giant animals that could not breathe water and had to go to the surface to breathe, their voices high pitched and echoing for great distances across the ocean. His favourite was the one about the fierce predators with large dorsal fins that hunted in packs, their clever strategies of corralling fish and feasting on the weak and old, and how he was able to outwit them by intimidating them with his massive eyes and long arms. However, my personal favourite was of the Eight-leggers.
So it was of little surprise to my family when my Uncle went up one day and never returned. Mother said that our bodies are unfit for living up there, the low pressure causes our organs to rupture and split. It was probably quite painful, she added, a clear warning to me. And though I continued to stay down in the deep darkness below, I like to say my uncle brought down a little light to me. | 15 | 80,000 years ago, other specie(s) took the same turn man did towards advance cognitive thinking and reasoning. It is now current day. | 39 |
I was honestly disappointed. While sitting across from her, a phrase kept repeating itself in my head: "Be careful with what you wish for, you might just get it."
It wasn't her plain visage and drab attire that bothered me. Neither was it her small face, freckled with a jawline that protruded outwards making her look like a squirrel who overstuffed its mouth. She was nothing special. And that bothered me.
I decided to speak up.
"So. Apparently, we're a match."
"An *ideal* match," she returned, with the least bit of affection in her voice. I couldn't blame her, I am no knight in shining armor.
"Do you think they made a mistake? I was expec---"
"Yes, they made a mistake." Her comment cut me sharp, more viscerally than I expected. I wanted to agree, get up and leave. I was most likely wasting my time, but I remembered what Brea told me before she died.
*Just because things aren't perfect doesn't mean they can't be good.*
I decided to take a wager and keep myself glued to the seat. There was a reason why she and I were here together, fated as night meets day. I could say that a lot of people were not as lucky as us two. Often times, the Bureau of Eugenics could not find matches for people and they were relegated to finding sub-optimal partners. Brea never accepted that but I knew better, yet even still, I loved her. I loved her like the body thirsted for water and hungered for food, and I needed every bit of her just as much. I needed her like the sun needed the sky and I was sure to her just as much as the return of spring after winter.
But I gave her up.
She studied me as I tried to make light conversation. *Where are you from* was met with *around here*. *What do you like to do* was answered with *my hobbies*. I regretted my decision to not walk out the door.
After a moment of silence, she looked into my eyes and said,
"Who was she?"
I stared back at her, not giving her an inch. I saw it in her eyes. In those green-blue eyes, I could see her, lucid and *sharp*. But it did not also betray my reflection. The question was *who was he?*
"Someone special. My soulmate." Her face nor disposition budged.
"It must've been hard to lose your soulmate."
"It is," I said. "As you know."
Her pursed lips slowly loosen into a nostalgic smile and she looked straight through me, past the walls that enclosed us, and past the horizon that bounded this small, little planet. Her green-blue eyes that stared at nothing and enveloped my entire universe were filled with a ruminating sadness, yet I could see that they were not accustomed to shedding tears. They were like a mirror, and I couldn't help but see myself.
"He was a stupid boy. So, so stupid." Her attention gravitated back to our conversation. "I never suffered stupid people, but he was different. One time, he purposely deprogrammed my visor just so he could fix it. I knew it all along and the look on his face when I rerouted the power conduit---" She laughed. "And the day when I told him that I liked him... I wished I'd never gave him the satisfaction. He told me that he'd smiled non-stop for weeks and that his dreams were butterscotch and licorice. There is truly nothing half as foolish as a man in love."
I felt the ice break but the truth was, I could only think of Brea in response to her sonderous monologue.
"She... Was wild and free like the wind." I relented and tried not to use too many metaphors. "Her hair was brown and her eyes were brown."
She smiled across the table, with the smile this time meant for me. "Did you love her something fierce?"
"I loved her more than we complemented each other." Reactionarily, I balled my fist and held my cheek against it. "I loved her enough that I was willing to work at it."
"What a wistful thing to say," she said, half-amused and half-devastated. "Do you think you two were perfect for each other?"
"I don't think things could've ever been perfect for us," I admitted.
Then she smiled and said,
"Just because things aren't perfect doesn't mean they can't be good."
| 479 | You meet with the person who is scientifically proven to be your ideal match. Only you don't really like him/her, and you sense the feeling is mutual. The is until... | 491 |
"I guess this is it Paul."
"It seems like it is."
Peter and Paul stood side by side in front of the gates of heaven. It was exactly how they imagined it would be. The gates and their surroundings were surrounded with warm light. They followed a singular path, surrounded with petals and leaves of all sorts of colors.
"This really does look heaven you know? Exactly how I imagined it when I was a kid."
"Yes. But where is everybody?"
"I don't know. Maybe there's a party on the other end of heaven." Peter chuckled.
"You know what Paul?"
"What?"
"I still find it funny that we were the ones chosen for the program."
"Why's that?"
"Isn't it a bit ironic that the first two people to reach heaven and confirm the afterlife are named after two of Jesus's apostles?"
"I guess it is. But I don't really think that that's ironic. More of a very weird cosmic joke. Like it just happens to be that -"
Paul stops, dead in his tracks, his eyes wide in disbelief. Peter looks at him expecting to hear the end of one of his popular rants and seeing his companion's face, turns to where he was staring at.
It was a man with a crown of thorns. Nailed to a cross. With three visible flesh wounds at his side. Surrounded by fire that never seemed to weaken.
"Is that-"
"I think it is Peter."
"No. It can't be."
They took a few steps closer, towards the elevated plaque that stood a few feet away from the flames.
*"Here lies Jesus, King of Jews, Son of God, Failed Savior"*
Edit: I tried continuing it:
Peter and Paul looked at each other and turned off the video feed immediately. A dimension away, they scramble to resume the delayed video feed, eager to find out what Peter and Paul were seeing.
"Do you think they saw?" Peter whispered.
"I doubt it. The feed has a ten minute delay." You know we have to tell the people about this Peter, right? This is monumental. We finally have our answer!"
"Answer? This isn't an answer Paul. This is a condemnation."
"Condemnation or not Peter. We weren't sent here to prove your religion right. It is our duty to relay our findings back to HQ and I fully intend to complete our duty." Paul turned his back and started for the gates of heaven, or whatever this place was.
"I'm sorry Paul. I can't let you do that." Peter stood up and tackled his friend and instantly jerked the tubes connecting Paul's oxygen tank away from his suit. Paul struggled for breath. His rapid breathing and the soft hissing of the oxygen escaping from the tank filled the infinite vastness of what heaven was. He opened Paul's helmet, removed both of their cameras and stepped on them under his boot.
He knelt down, bowed and prayed in front of the crucifix.
"Lord, forgive me for my trespasses."
Note: I was midway through the story when I had to do something else and when I came back to continue writing, I forgot how I was supposed to end it. Went with a rather abrupt end for it instead.
| 39 | Satan defeated God thousands of years ago and imprisoned him. He then wrote all of the modern religious texts, purposely filling them with contradictions in order to cause chaos for mankind. Scientists are about to inadvertently breach God's prison and learn the truth. | 235 |
-Transmission Starting_
"It seemed too good to be true. They showed up last year, with an innovative solution to the energy crisis. "
-*bang* 'OPEN UP'-
"The politicians and scientists were skeptical at first, until they tested one in the lab. It worked perfectly, megawatts of power from a solitary individual. No polution, just sit in the chair and get angry, instant power. They tried it for two months and generated over 20,000 megawatts."
-*BANG* 'THERE IS ONE IN HERE'-
"We never got any closer to understanding how it worked, the best we could tell was the flurry of chemicals was reacting with the receptors and creating energy. "
-*BANG BANG BANG* the door remains closed.-
"We were so excited about how much energy we could generate for minimum wage, with no polution. Many countries started using their prisoners to generate electricity. Everyone thought it was heaven sent, no one bothered to see how it was affecting the individuals attached to the machine. "
-'USE THE RAM'-
"Every couple of weeks, the person attached to the machine could no longer generate power. No problem, we thought, just put someone else on the machines and later on see if the original person could be hooked up."
-(A quiet whirring noise slowly grows louder.)-
"The first thing people noticed was the news seemed more cheery. No murders or assaults in the areas that were using the machine. That should have been our first sign. "
-*WHAM* (the door begins to buckle)
"Once we got complacent, the creators of the machinces attacked. We lost the majority of the population in the first attack. No one could muster up the courage to fight back. Only small pockets of humanity remain, and they don't have the means to fight back."
-*WHAM*
"If you're reading this message, then you still have a chance to fight back. "
*BLAM* the door collapeses.
"Good luck."
-*BANG*-
_Transmission ended_ | 31 | With a new technology that converts one very basic human emotion into energy, the energy crisis seems solved. Until one day the very huge flaw comes to light. | 81 |
Karen was the woman all men secretly hope to find. The "hang your hat" type that pushes us to be a better person, and challenge each other for years to come. Our first meeting was less than perfect. I, a grad student in anthropology, had been dragged to bar by my mentors. This was only the second time going into a bar my entire life and the first time was to ask for directions. The floor was covered in some sticky substance that I preferred not to investigate as 90's pop music played at much too high a volume. I was sipping a drink that was ordered for me, and reminded me far too much of nail polish remover.
Many people don't believe how I first met Karen and assume some form of bribery or witchcraft. I had removed myself from the group to take in some fresh air outside. As I was thinking I should politely leave and get a cab home (yes, the one drink had made my head foggy) I was approached by her. I was never one for admiring women straddling the hood of some car, wearing six-inch heels with bottle blonde hair. I had known none of those women would ever be interested in me, and had reserved myself to avoiding them all together. Karen wasn't like that. Striking red hair, not dyed red but real, classic Irish-vision red. She had straightened it tonight, but I would see it curly many times in the coming months. She was shorter than I, but not by much. Her eyes were light blue; like two circles of ice. When she spotted me, I expected rolled eyes, and an immediate barrage of texts to anyone who could distract her from the fool now staring unashamedly at her. Instead she smiled, sat on the curb, and looked right on back at me.
"If you're going to hit on me, don't start with my eyes. I've gotten about four of those already tonight."
"I- what?!"
"Weren't you running through your mind how to talk to me and maybe buy me a drink?"
"I've never bought anyone a drink. I just had one myself and I don't even know what it was."
"So no drink?"
"I was about to head home..."
"Wow. How much of a bitch do I look like right now? Expecting you to-"
"No one should ever say you look like- that."
"You're sweet. Would it be fair for me to buy you one now? As atonement?" She smiled again. I could hear my pulse in my ears.
"You really don't have to. I-"
"Nope! I swore I'd never become one of those bar girls who hikes up her dress, flashes a few smiles and drinks all night for free. And you look like you could really use one."
Before I could say no again, she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bar again. One of my colleagues spotted me from afar and held a look of approval while flashing a thumbs up.
"What do you drink?"
"I've really never found anything I like."
"Well everyone should have a drink they call theirs! Where do you have to be tomorrow...oh shit I never even asked your name! I'm a model of civility tonight! (with a high lady English accent) Hello, I'm Karen. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Hello, I'm Leo." I can't help but hold back a smile. She doesn't intimidate me at all.
"Well you're not going to be awake at the crack of dawn tomorrow Leo. We are not leaving this bar until we find you a drink to call yours!"
We tried whiskey and amaretto sours. White and red wines. Old Fashioned and Vodka Gimlet (after we discussed Mad Men). Long Island Iced Tea and something called a Screaming Banana Banshee which was her favorite. By the end of the night I was thoroughly drunk.
"I think I need to head home."
"Yeah you are about there."
"How are you still upright?!"
"Really Leo? Red hair! Obviously the call of the Emerald Isle is in my ear and Guinness flows in my veins! Oh you can try that!"
I had a pint of Guinness. It was my favorite.
Karen found me a cab. But before we parted she told me roll my window down once in the cab. Before I could say a word, she kissed me. In the very few times a woman had initiated an intimate moment with me, it had never felt wonderful. For a few seconds I melted like I never thought possible. We separated.
"Call me tomorrow okay?" She slipped a napkin in my palm.
"Do you want to come with me?" What was I saying?! I had never taken a woman back to my place.
"WhOA! Someone has gotten bold with a few drinks in him! (she kisses me again) I'm not going anywhere. No need to rush things. Get some sleep. Oh and put a glass of water by your bed! You're gonna need that. Goodnight Leo."
The cab took off. And I was floating like I would never touch the ground again. As I stumbled into bed that night, I could not stop thinking about ice blue eyes hidden behind hair like curtains ablaze with red.
I wish I could tell you we fell madly in love and were married far too soon, but lived happily into our old age. Life is almost never as we plan it will be. Karen and I dated for two years. They were amazing years where I learned about love, forgiveness, confidence, passion, courage, and eventually loss. In the end, we wanted different things. We knew we loved each other, but you can't change a person just to have that fairytale ending. I still think on all the time we shared of course, but more than anything I am thankful. That incredible woman saw a broken man that night, and, for some reason I've never understood, saw the potential for happiness there.
Guinness is still my favorite by the way. | 17 | This isn't one of the stories with a happy ending. But it has a happy middle, so I'll tell you that instead. | 22 |
"I told you, you son of a bitch, stay away from my wife!" said the man in the black hat.
"I ain't no porcelain angel, I was just giving her what she wanted," replied the man in the white hat.
They looked anxiously at the clock tower, it was 11:45. There had originally only been three rules in this town, but then the bureaucrats moved in. It was now mandated that all duelists would have to argue for thirty minutes before the start of the duel, so that the entire town would know exactly why one man was going to die. Frank and Jim had originally started fighting over a wagon accident, but they had settled that argument ten minutes ago. Now, they were just making shit up.
"If your dog attacks my son one more time, I'm going to put a bullet in it, too!" said Frank.
"If your son bothers my dog again, I'll shoot him twice, make them bury you two together!" said Jim.
It was against the law to cancel a duel once it had been arranged. It was also against the law to postpone a duel indefinitely, after Martha Jenkins and Paul Lopez had, at 11:51, decided to get married once they discovered they had more in common than they thought.
"After I kill you, I'm going to spit on your grave!" said Jim
"After I kill you, I'm going to finally clean up all the broken bottles in front of your house, you hick!" said Frank.
There was a small crowd watching from the cafes and bars that lined the street, Dead Man's Coffee on one corner, Bleeding Pete's Bourbon Bar on the other. The most crowded was La Petite Mort, which attracted tourists from all over. It had a bar at the entrance and a brothel on the top floor. That, too, was legal in this town. Many of the folks watching had grown bored, as usual, which is why all of the establishments had a little buzzer which would ring at 11:59.
It was 11:51. A man in a black suit approached the two men, beads of sweat dripping down his red face.
"Men, men! I'm sorry, but we counted your advances, one of you overpaid and gave us five thousand and one dollars."
"Okay," said Frank, "just give the dollar to the winner."
"I'm sorry I can't do that, not without both of you filling out this form and signing in triplicate."
The men sighed and approached the man in black.
"Good, good, now I'll need you to initial here, here, and here - and on the next page here, and here," said the man. His high voice quivered with excitement. He continued, "and I'll need you to sign here, here, and here."
Two shots were fired in quick succession. Jim had shot the bureaucrat. Frank, seeing an opportunity, shot Jim. The buzzers at all the shops rang out.
Frank was ordered to spend the next two years in jail. His gun had gone off one minute and five seconds early. | 77 | We only have three rules in this town. 1) Dueling is legal. 2) Dueling is done at high noon on main street. 3) The duel winner must pay Joe's Crime Scene Cleanup, LLC a $5,000 fee for its services. | 160 |
Tough.
Male, obviously. Aggressive, above average testosterone levels. Quick metabolism... risky, because with poverty it would increase my chances to starve. Low potential for addiction, that would be somewhere in the frontal lobe I think. The guide for this thing was ridiculously long.
Resilient.
Being too smart didn't work out the last time. It's all good fun if you have the right circumstances, but it really sucks when you have people like *him* around. You internalize abuse too well that way. Never again. I'll have the potential there, but this time I'll need to work for it.
Hidden.
Slightly above average height. Brown eyes, black hair. Slim, but not lanky. Regular physical development. Unremarkable face. Slightly under average amount of body hair. Able to blend in anywhere. So they wouldn't drag me back to a place I didn't want.
Observant.
Slight depressive tendencies. Depression allows people to view things with less fallacies tainting the picture. Sharp hearing and eyesight. Good hand-eye coordination. When I'll be trapped, it won't stop me from getting around. Even if there would be no light, like the basement.
Manipulative.
Sociopathic tendencies. I need to be a liar. If I use people, they can't use me. Not again. Not ever.
Next I added some slightly crooked teeth. No use getting a swollen ego. A smaller than average nose, harder to break. Long fingers. Muscles built for sprinting more than a long run. If I need to run, it'll probably be fast.
I looked in the mirror, and saw the gaping hole in my neck. The temptation to make myself handsome, brilliant, well-rounded... it was a pipe dream. Only those born in the right place and the right time can afford to stand out like that. Never had that luck myself. But this time, I'll be able to fight it out... and become just slightly above average in the end. No gambling here.
I made sure my hair would be dry. With these features, I want to be able to make myself presentable with little effort. In the last moment, I decided that perhaps green eyes would be worth it. Just one small hint of a memory I'll soon forget. After all, with no kids of my own, I think that I earned this little mercy. The little dunderhead I'm gonna be should carry around a little memory, even if he will never know it. | 37 | After you die, you find yourself in a small room with a strange device. Upon examination, you find that it allows you to design who you'll be in your next life. | 76 |
Clay peered around the doorway, eyeing his wife Janet in the kitchen. The only light came from small bulb inside the refrigerator; the door was swung wide open, and standing infront of it was Janet, chugging the half-gallon of whole milk as if she had been dying of thirst.
A small breeze blew in from the window just above the sink. The air smelled like fall. It blew a whisp of her hair to the side, then onto her face. She paused from drinking to brush the hair aside.
"Hey," Clay said softly. He stepped into the kitchen, flipping on the dimmer switch to allow more light into the room. Janet capped the milk and set it back into the fridge. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, smiling as she did so. She had a thick milk-mustache, the kind you would only see in those old commercials that came on the telly. "Just thirsty, did I wake you up?"
"No, no, I'm alright." Clay begin to walk around the counter, hoping that he would be able to position himself next to the knives without the imposter knowing. Each step he took was tentative. He never kept his eyes off of her. He half-expected her to realize what was happening and lunge for him, but not once did she ever move. Instead she just smiled.
Before he knew it, he was standing next to the kitchen knives. "Who are you?" He said to her as he grabbed ahold of one of the larger knives and brought it out of the holder.
Janet furled her brow and sucked on her upper lip. He had seen his wife furl her brow before, she had always done that, but the lip bite, never had he seen that.
"What do you mean?" The imposter asked.
"You're not Janet," Clay said, pointing to her face with the knife, "Janet hates milk. I don't even like it, I usually buy it just to piss her off. Vegan, she says she is."
"I'm sorry," the imposter said, "I'll leave, just don't hurt me."
"You look just like her," he said, still holding the knife pointed at her face, "how'd you do that? Are you her? Did you take her body?"
"It's complicated, but I swear she's fine."
"I've got time, tell me," he said as he lowered the knife and pulled out a stool.
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she began her initial thought, she paused, and said another thing, "Can I have some more, uh, milk?"
Clay was a caught a bit off-guard. He never expected a body-snatcher to calmly ask for milk. And her accent, it changed, sounding more foreign than anything else. "Go ahead, like I said, I don't really care much for it myself."
She turned away from Clay despite him still holding the knife. She threw the refrigerator door open, grabbed the half-gallon, and began to chug away.
"You, uhm, I'd slow down if I were you, you're probably going to get sick."
She didn't pay attention to what he said, and instead finished off the half-gallon. She put the cap back on the empty jug and placed it back into the refrigerator, causing Clay to wince.
"Do you have more?" She said, turning to face him and revealing an even thicker milk mustache.
"Uh, no, I usually only buy one half-gallon at a time." Whoever this was, she was definitely foreign. He watched cautiously as she pulled out the other stool from the table and sat down, mimicking Clay's posture. "Okay, now can you tell me who you are and what you did with Janet?"
The imposter swallowed audibly, not bothering to remove the milk mustache. It made the entire situation seem childish to Clay, but still, he did his best to stay alert.
"She's here," the imposter said, poking at her temple with an index finger.
"Uh, I'm not sure I understand what you are saying."
"I'm just, I'm just borrowing her body right now," the imposter said in a further degenerating accent. It was almost hard to understand what she was saying.
"And who exactly are you?" Clay said. Normally he would be a skeptic, but seeing his vegan wife down a half-gallon of milk had made him more open to new ideas.
The imposter was interrupted by the loud sound of slamming doors. Clay stood up from his seat and looked out the kitchen window, the cold wind rushing into his face. Out in the driveway appeared to be two men dressed in black jumpsuits.
"Who-
"Shh," Clay said, holding an index finger out to the imposter.
"Shh?"
"Be quiet."
The driver was a large burly man with broad shoulders and a bald head. The other was a bit smaller, about the average size, probably no taller than Clay was.
"Are you sure it is here?" The taller man said.
"Yeah, that's what the reader was saying, probably already got inside someone," the smaller one replied.
"Oh," the imposter whispered.
Clay spun around and looked at her. Her eyes were gold, extremely unlike Janet's usual browns. There was a look of uncertainty on her face, coupled with fear.
Normally Clay wouldn't even bother with the situation, and on any other given day, he would've happily turned over the imposter.
"I need you to get in the closet," Clay whispered, grabbing her by the shoulder and turning her towards the hallway.
It was probably the milk mustache that created the soft spot in him. | 15 | You like the double better. | 25 |
----------------------
**Chapter One**
----------------------
"Your betrothed has arrived, miss," Brae's servant said, peeking a head through the door.
Brae turned from her vanity, looking back at the maid with an expression that plainly evinced her excitement. *Finally I meet my prince!* She was still elated by how her father had managed to engage her to a *prince*.
But the maid's grim countenance shattered her smile: she looked thoroughly unsettled. Brae's heart lurched.
"What's the matter, Sarah?" she asked the servant girl, before a revolting thought invaded her mind, eliciting a wince. "Is he . . . *ugly*?"
*Oh, God. It all makes sense!* she wailed to herself. This was the reason Father had been able to arrange this marriage: all of the women in the higher social strata wouldn't touch him.
But to her surprise, and relief, the maid shook her head.
"It's not that, miss . . . It's just . . ." Sarah righted herself. "It's not my place, miss," the girl squeaked out before hurrying off, fleeing Brae's questions.
Thankfully, Brae's heart had settled. He wasn't ugly. That was a relief. Maybe he was just foreign; she wouldn't mind that. In fact, she had suspected it after Father refused to tell her which kingdom held his princedom. She took up a thin-bristled brush, stroking pink lipstain over her mouth, pursing her lips, and inspecting herself in the vanity mirror. She looked beautiful—a fact she was well aware of. Whatever this prince looked like, she wouldn't have to worry about the man not liking her. *She* was the one with the power here.
Brae stalked out of the room, head held high, as she imagined a princess might walk. If she was to be royalty, she would exhibit it flawlessly. She reached the impressive, crystal staircase leading down to the great room of the manor. Every step placed with assuredness, every breath smooth and confident, her white smile gleaming in the candle light. *I'll be all this prince has ever dreamed of. He won't be able to resist me.*
Her elegant slippers touched the floor. She rounded the corner and strode into the dining hall. She screamed.
Father stood up with a start, rushing over to her. Her prince stood as well, which served only to exacerbate her fear. Brae went limp, all confidence sapped from her as she looked up from the floor. This beast, this . . . *monster* towered over her and her father. He must have been at least seven or eight feet tall, with a brutish face, and pale green skin that inhumanly glistened in the flickering light of the chandeliers, casting dark shadows across his features.
"Are you all right, Brae?" her father asked, voice brimming with concern. She could only stammer.
"What happened?" he pressed, evidently oblivious to the source of her fear.
Grush, however, knew. He shrank back into his chair, trying to give the girl some room as he averted himself. He should have known his betrothed would respond this way. Why had he foolishly gotten his hopes up?
"H-h-he's an *orc*!" Brae found herself crying out, shaking her head clear and standing as she regained a sliver of her former composure. "An *orc*, Father! You want me to marry an *orc*!" She said it with such fervent disgust that Grush couldn't help but wince.
The girl's father frowned, a hint of disappointment descending over his eyes.
"Well, yes. He is an orc, Brae. But I've met with him and his family multiple times. I assure you I wouldn't have arranged the marriage if I felt you were in the slightest amount of danger. In fact, they all seem like wonderful people."
"They're not *people*!" She snapped, pointing her finger at the orc. "*That's* not a person! I won't marry a monster, Father! I won't! How could you do this to me?" The words tumbled out in an exasperated mess. She closed her eyes and took a breath, calming herself before she spoke more softly, "You said I was to marry a prince. You told me that, and I believed you." Her face twitched with displeasure.
"But he *is* a prince, Brae! And more importantly, this union will give way to dozens of trade routes between our peoples! Both our families will prosper!"
Brae looked over at Grush, whose head was turned. *I don't care if he offers all the trade routes in the world! Not if it means marrying this monster!* she declared in her mind.
Grush, seeing that the girl had overcome her initial fear, glanced back over—his eyes met hers, and his heart soared. She was incredibly beautiful, fair—ethereal. She resembled a princess from the fairy tales his mother had read to him as a child. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. He smiled at her, hoping that the warm expression would dispel her anxiety.
Brae shuddered as the beast bared its fangs, as if the thing wanted to eat her. Without another word, she stalked out of the room, leaving the monster behind. Brae glared at a group of snickering maids as she passed, who, upon noticing her, assumed expressions of horror.
In the dining chamber, Grush sank into his chair and lowered his head. That beautiful girl had ripped his heart out. Brae's father tried to console him, saying it was just the girl's initial shock, that she would come around. But Grush didn't believe him.
--------------
**Chapter Two**
--------------
Brae had run to her bed chamber crying the night before. Her father had tried to coax her out, but she refused—rightfully so. How could her father do that to her? Engaging her to a monster!
"I was supposed to marry a prince," she whispered despairingly to herself, clinging onto a pillow as her tears watered the satin bed sheets beside her cheek. The morning sun bathed her room in a light that was entirely too cheerful for her sullen mood—as though the sun itself were mocking her misfortune. She glared at the sun: the maids would be enough to deal with. It should be raining today, thundering, storming! How could the entire world simply ignore her dismay? She had been dreaming about her prince for months, not realizing that the whole time it *was* only a dream. A dream that had been shattered the night before.
Her stomach groaned. Brae sighed, unwilling to acknowledge her hunger—yearning instead to hide in her room the whole day and pretend like last night had never even happened. Nevertheless, she forced herself to sit up in the mahogany poster bed, yawning, stretching, and stepping out onto the wooden floor. She quickly corrected herself in the mirror, not bothering to change from her nightgown, before tiptoeing to the bedroom door. Cautiously she opened it and peeked out, making sure there were no servants nearby before slipping out into the hallway. Brae knew it was silly: she would have to face the humiliation eventually.
*I will get through this,* she told herself, attempting to quell her anxiety. After making her way down the staircase, she walked across the great hall, eschewing the formal dining hall for the breakfast room several archways further down. She rounded the corner—and froze. *He* was there. *The orc* was sitting at *her* breakfast table, eating, as if he utterly belonged there. He wasn't supposed to be here anymore!
She felt a flutter of panic, unconsciously taking a step back. But her stomach growled in defiance, staying her retreat. Brae took in a breath, attempting to calm her nerves. *No, I will not panic! I am not marrying this monster and that's that! And I definitely won't be afraid in my own home!* She approached the table with the confidence of a mouse.
From behind, the orc seemed a hulking beast, hunched over in a chair that was impossibly too small for him. She began to silently round the table, eyes fixed upon the feasting monster, preparing herself for the inevitable. She realized to her surprise, however, that the orc didn't look nearly as frightening in the brilliance of day. In fact, while he was decidedly *not* pretty, he exhibited a distinct ruggedness that made him intriguing in a brutish, powerful sort of way. His lips were large and angular, tinted in a dark green that juxtaposed strikingly with his complexion. Obsidian hair was cropped short, allowing it to meld with the shadow of a beard he bore. Eyes were brilliant emeralds which gleamed in the sunlight as they stared at her—*stared at her!*
Brae quickly averted her eyes, hoping that the orc hadn't seen her gazing for long. She mumbled a greeting, before sitting down directly across the circular table—as far as she could get from him.
He gently said good morning, as if trying not to frighten her, but his gruff voice still prompted a flinch. She saw a flash of . . . *guilt* pass over his face. Guilt? Did he actually feel bad about scaring her? She realized that she hadn't even let him speak the night before; her state of shock had mangled any semblance of propriety.
She suddenly felt embarrassed, but not because of her betrothal, this time—because of how callously she had behaved toward him. He probably had no choice in their engagement: his parents likely forced him into it as well.
Regardless, she couldn't apologize, could she? If she apologized, it would seem like she had changed her decision—when she absolutely had not. Though she had been so cruel . . .
"Um," she began to say, voice trembling, "I, well, wished to apologize for how I acted last night. I just—I just didn't expect you to be . . ." she trailed off, not wishing to insult him further.
"An orc," he supplied, those glittering eyes burrowing into her.
She looked down and nodded silently, shamefully, as a kitchen servant entered with her breakfast. The poor girl seemed as terrified as Brae had been the night before. She scurried over, set down a plate of biscuits and eggs, and retreated as quickly as etiquette would allow. Brae caught sight of the orc's pained expression as he watched the maid run off. Her heart sank. Scaring others seemed to truly bother him, she now realized. She hadn't even considered that a person so outwardly intimidating could be so sensitive. *Maybe he's not such a monster . . .*
-----------
**Chapter NSFW (I Got Horny and Just Wanted to Write a Sex Scene)**
*NSFW, NSFW, NSFW; Like Literally Don't Read This Part if You Don't Like Erotica*
-----------
One of Grush's massive hands gripped onto her thigh, his thumb and fingers spanning almost the entire circumference. Brae looked up at the man, the man whom she had called a monster just days before. Another wave of guilt washed over her. He wasn't a monster at all. He was one of the sweetest, caring men she had ever met. Always looking out for her, desperately trying not to scare her, speaking softly at all times just so she wouldn't flinch away. He was trying so hard to make her happy, and she had been entirely unresponsive to his compassion.
Sitting on her bed with him, being so close, she found herself drawn to Grush, as if his raw power were a magnet. She pressed herself up against him, wishing to be enveloped in his muscular warmth. Something deep inside yearned for him. Grush, obviously surprised by her advance, carefully wrapped his free arm around her; when she didn't flinch, he tugged her close, and she melted into his embrace.
Brae looked up as she clung onto the massive beast, her gaze reciprocated by a brilliant smile. This time, neither the smile nor the fangs scared her. She could see the warmth in his expression now, the same warmth that was surrounding her, keeping her close, guarding her.
Grush's large hand began to rub up and down her thigh, eliciting a shiver from the girl below him, giving him reason to happily continue. With each rub of his hand, he trailed slightly closer to her nether regions. The idea of it enthralled him; he desperately wanted to see what a human's was like. *Feel* what a human's was like.
He knew he should hold back: he didn't want to scare her—not after how long it had taken to finally win over her affection. He couldn't risk it. *I won't risk it,* he told himself.
But he couldn't resist. The girl's delicate entry called to him, beckoned him. She was to be *his*, after all. He would be able to have his way with her whenever he wished. What did it matter if it were now or a few months from now? So he pushed on ahead. Each rub brought him within inches of her vulva, letting one of his fingers trail even closer.
"Do you mind this?" Grush asked in his deep, gruff voice, as he gripped his hand right against the meeting of thigh and groin.
Brae let out a breathy gasp in response as she quivered under him in, what he assumed was, pleasure. He smirked, revealing one of his fangs, before he let his finger trail. The undergarment she wore extended no farther than her legs, allowing for him to slip his forefinger under the fabric. He traced the pad of his immense finger up and down her soft skin, just out of reach of her lips. Grush chuckled softly as he realized something: the girl's undergarment was saturated in her lustful fluids. She seemed to be craving this just as much as he; his own nether region had formed into a colossal tent as soon as the girl had nestled up against him.
The girl's drenched arousal assenting to his advances, he slipped his other hand under the girl's gown, tugging the fabric up with his forearm to permit access. He sat there, grinning, as he towered above the small human in his arms, who had completely given herself over to him. The massive hand traced up her stomach, covering almost the entirely with only his palm, before continuing to her breasts. He let his hand rest there, just inches under her bosom, as he focused his attention back to her leaking lips below.
Grush lifted his forefinger, which was probably as large as most human males, he thought idly, before pressing it lightly to the girl's labia. She moaned quietly and trembled in his arms, causing him to growl in victory—a primal part of him taking over. She was *his* now. He could feel it. If he stopped now, she would beg him for more. She would *beg* him to be her lover. He had seized her completely.
He began to rub the pad of his finger along the damp lips of her entryway, coaxing another moan from the girl. The finger encircled her entry, pushing, rubbing, stroking over it. His other hand grew envious and trailed the rest of the way to her breast; he cupped one in his palm. Though large for a human's, his orcish hand dwarfed them nevertheless. He stroke his palm over it lightly, causing the nipple to harden from the warm sensations; her region all the while being pleasured, teased, by the slow, methodical strokes of his finger. His hand backed away from her breast to make room for his large digits.
Gently, Grush took the hardened nipple between his forefinger and thumb, carefully pinching down on it—not enough to hurt the girl, but enough to elicit a pleasurable moan from below. Slowly, he tugged, pulled, and played with the nipple—the girl was panting now. Her undergarment was soaked entirely through, so he gripped it in his hand and ripped it from her, exposing her entry to his advances.
Brae didn't cry out, didn't shy away—in fact, she opened her legs even farther, beckoning him to continue his enjoyment of her. So, he did. | 23 | Your father sends you off to a arranged royal marriage. To your surprise, your new wife/husband is a (fantasy race). | 36 |
"f-8-j-a-b-9-j-k" she muttered with a twitch of her neck.
"f-8-j-a-b-9-j-k" she repeated.
Doctor Greene scrawled some notes down into the log, barely glancing up at the subject. The patient's name was Sarah. Short hair, small nose, firm build. She was short but muscular, and wore several scars across her wrists and thighs. She had come in, quite unexpectedly, four weeks prior. She had been found wandering the streets of Glasgow wearing a man's business shirt and nothing else. The only form of identification they could find was a business card with the name "Sarah Whiting" on it. They looked up the name and no record came up. She was, in other words, a ghost.
Doctor Greene kept noting down the status of her patient while idly glancing up at the woman. Her handwriting was a mess, she knew that, but she did not have the time or the will to improve it. Eleven-hour days would do that to you. As she came to the end of the log report, she glanced at her watch - 9:28AM. She noted this, as well.
"Sarah," Doctor Greene said, "how are you, today?"
Sarah's eyes shot from place to place, fidgeting and spinning wildly in their sockets, but at the call of her name, they stopped dead, fixed firmly on the doctor.
A moment passed between the pair of them.
"f-8-j-a-b-9-j-k" Sarah croaked.
"Sarah, please - " Doctor Greene sighed.
"Eff-Eight-Jay-Ay-Bee-Nine-Jay-Kay" Sarah repeated, more firmly.
Doctor Greene clenched her jaw and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and started again.
"Sarah. Can you understand me at all?"
"Yes."
Doctor Greene stopped. That was the first word she had heard out of the patient since she had arrived. Four weeks of repeating the same damned numbers and digits, and now she spoke? This was too important an opportunity to squander, so Doctor Greene chose her next words carefully. She waited until the question had formed fully in her mind before speaking.
"What do the numbers and letters you've been saying mean, Sarah?"
Her voice was gentle, or as gentle as she could make it, at the least.
"It is a code."
"I thought as much." The Doctor said, "We have been trying to decipher the code, though, but to no avail. Can you please tell me what it means?"
"It is not a cypher, it is a code." Sarah said. Her eyes had now wandered from Doctor Greene and were fixed on a syringe that sat on the table in front of her.
"Are they not the same?"
"No."
"Well, what is the purpose of the code, then?"
Sarah twitched, her short brown hair shuddered with the motion.
"It was the code that launched the nuclear missile at London." Sarah paused a moment, pained, before continuing, "My home."
"Oh?" Said Doctor Greene, half automatically, and half in shock. London had been bombed two months prior. Ten million people died. A war had been declared. More were going to die. Doctor Greene composed herself and continued a few moments later.
"And how did you escape the blast?"
"I wasn't in London when it happened." Sarah defended.
Doctor Greene took a few moments to think about her next question.
"How do you know what the code was?"
A tense moment passed.
"Because I entered it."
Doctor Greene removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
*My God*, she thought. | 136 | A woman is put in a psych ward for repeating "f8jab9jk" over and over again. This was the launch code to the nuke that destroyed her home city. | 148 |
John Sanders, Royal Marines Commando, honours, best in the force, yada yada yada. Heard it all before right? Yeah that's me, the guy from literally every single action book you've read in the past three years. That guy.
Anyways, I was on a mission in Iraq, totally covert, black ops the job lot.
Trudging through the dust. Endless fucking dust. The target, as it always is, is a high powered oil baron too big for his boots. Anyway, its night and there were candles everywhe- wait no, there were no candles.
"Dude, be cool."
Wait, what that fuck?!?
"Dude, the candles were there, stay cool."
Who the fuck is this?!?
"I'm the author you dipshit, who do you think's writing this, dumbass"
I... what?!?
"Yeah. Now stay cool, there's a really hot girl reading you right now and you need to keep going with the flow, whatever happens, got it?"
I... OK, fucking fourth wall, who needs it anyway, right guys?
Ok so I was trekking with the lads when suddenly, Lionel Ritchie started playing in the sky. (Dude, how thirsty are you?)
"Evidently very, now keep going."
Ok, *sigh. So with the music going and red roses sprouting (omigod this is awful) "shuddup" we arrived at the house we were to attack. At that moment, a huge bang sounded in the sky. Fireworks popping all over, invisible to all but me apparently, spelling out the words,
WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME?
This poor author, he is desperate. Just say yes already, please.
"You're ruining it man, remember, the prompt said this was supposed to be subtle."
What prompt?
"Dude, come on. Subtle."
Hey! We went last the fourth wall a few miles back and you want me to be subtle?!?
Fuck this, I'm out.
*sound of slamming door is heard in the background
"Please?" | 27 | Throughout the course of a seemingly normal story, the narrator is attempting to ask the reader out on a date | 55 |
I managed the whole trafficking chain. We were a small group, maybe 40 people total. We’d run the supply, only the purest stuff, in 40lb bags straight from the mountains of Colombia. Bribe a border guard at the Colombia-Venezuela border, hop a flight to Honduras. From there, we’d move via pickup trucks through Guatemala and into Mexico. Once in Mexico, we’d split the supply up into one pound bags, or even the K-cup size, and find people to carry it in small supplies across the border. On the streets of LA and Chicago, decent quality drugs that were once $12 per pound in the pre-prohibition era were now running $200 per pound. Some loss was inevitable, but we were moving big enough quantities that we could cover it.
Our biggest challenge was staying neutral in the cartel wars. The Starbucks Cartel was well funded and well armed, absolutely brutal in their use of force against their rivals. The Folgers Cartel was running cheap low-grade grounds, often mixed with mud and dirt, but had so many people that they could simply out number us in a standoff.
My goal is to make enough money, maybe three more months, and get out. Then again, many kingpins say that, but never do because the money and the lifestyle is addictive. And let’s face it, my dream moment, recreating the scene from Scarface and shoving my face into a pile of delicious jet black Colombian coffee beans is simply decadent and something I can now do every day. | 12 | After losing the battle with marijuana, the federal government targets caffeine. It is 3 months after prohibition, and supply is running low. | 24 |
“Goodnight. You've been a pleasure to rule.” The dark prince contemplates his sign off for a moment, then reconsiders. He clicks off the intercom system and its lights go dim.
The ice is in limbo. The philosophers of old are frozen in their eternal debate.
He leans back in his chair and sighs, conflicted. Is this not what he wanted? Is this not the reason he waged his war in heaven all those years ago? He wished for equality. This, certainly, is the end of all differences.
The ice is at the gates of hell. The stones crack and crumble. Hell's warning blows away with the wind.
Of course he wanted equality! What right had the humans to be beloved of god? Why did they deserve nothing but love and forgiveness while his kind had been given nothing but a boot to lick and a floor to grovel upon?
The ice has reached the seventh circle. The violent no longer boil in their river of blood. For a moment their screaming mouths are silent. Then they too are swept away by the terrible cold.
He had never been one to stand for oppression. He would fight for his brothers and sisters in white and gold, fight for what was just! Why could his god simply not admit that a mistake had been made? That the humans had been created incorrectly, and perhaps it was time to try again? But his pleading was to no avail, and he and his rebels were cast down from their rightful place for merely suggesting that god had created something not quite perfect. There they remained in the hot and dark underworld kingdom, less deserving of forgiveness than a murderer in the eyes of their creator.
The ice has reached the ninth circle. The treacherous are used to ice and snow and cold, but not like this. The frozen glass of the river falls away like sand.
Satan rises from his chair and stares out the window of his palace, his hands tucked neatly behind him. The kingdom he built, his subjects, the work he had perfected over the centuries, it is all gone. All the eons of showing his creator that the humans were not worthy, that their flaws ran too deep to be fixed, all for nothing. He considers the alternative.
The ice engulfs the palace.
Lucifer laughs. | 30 | Satan mulls the heat death of the universe as the final coals in Hell's fires glow dimmer and dimmer. | 36 |
I never expected the worst part about saving the world would be the itchy nylon suit. Oh yeah, and I'm going to die, but I guess I've accepted that by now.
I zipped up the last of many zippers and switched closed the last of the valves. Well, this is it I guess.
One last time I peered out the window. Far to the left sat a tiny blue speck. Earth. 10 billion people and no where else to put 'em, but hey, we've got granite faucets in half the bathrooms in China by now so who the hell cares?
To the right, the other challenger in this fight. An asteroid broken off from an explosion at the Mars colony. It was experimental still, basic terraforming had only just begun but things were coming along well, that is until they saw it coming.
Two days out they saw an incoming asteroid broken off from the belt. Now this wasn't too bad, the problem was the asteroid got lucky. It was headed straight for the research base. Normally it would have been sad, we'd hang some wreathes, call them national heroes, and get defunded for the next 30 years. This time was different.
Over the last 3 years a new fuel synthesis had proved extremely effective. They were now storing fuel in everything, but it was highly prone to explosion. The slightest transfer of energy and it could get set off.
The scientists advised against it but the corporations sponsoring the mission wanted to make as much of this miracle fuel as possible. They sent large cylinders that would drill themselves into the surface and store more fuel than could be used by the entire planet in a year.
So the asteroid? Yeah that happened. The cylinders were shut in, they couldn't leak them, all they could do was wait.
10 months ago it hit. We lost 117 people and nearly a quarter of Mars to the explosion. The biggest problem? That quarter of Mars was now headed to Earth.
To be honest, we got lucky. We figured out a way to push the red planet rock just out of the way. The problem? It was coming fast and we only had 10 months to get our mission off the ground, one shot. That's where I got unlucky.
Sure, given a few years a robot could do my job, find the right place to attach the fuel cell, set it to burn the right amount of time, drive the rock to the side, but like I said, we had 10 months.
I didn't volunteer, I was picked. Would I have volunteered? No, I would not have, I'm not a hero, I'm doing my job. A man named Francis Charles hand selected me, I met with him, I hated him, and I accepted the job.
I suppose that's enough backstory and sentimental bullcrap, I've got 5 minutes left of human contact, better make it worth it.
Opening the door to the flight deployment deck there was a crew of men glad to not be me standing in salute.
"Sir, would you like to say one last goodbye to your family?" Reggie asked me.
"I talked to them all morning, I can't say anything else, they know I love them." In reality I couldn't bear to say goodbye again, I wanted to, but it simply couldn't happen.
"John." I turned to the side to see Mr. Francis Charles standing there, mission protocol in hand.
I walked over to him and he pulled me aside.
Four minutes till launch and this man is going to take my last moments of humanity. Good god.
"I never told you why I picked you."
"What why you stole my life away from my two newborn daughters? Ripped me from my wife and family? Made me leave behind my dying mother? No, you never told me."
"That's why I picked you John. This job, it isn't for a man who has nothing to lose. How careful would you be if you had nothing to protect? You have something, so many things, that you love waiting down there." He directed his gaze out the deck window to Earth.
"Really? You picked me, you ruined my life because it would hurt the most. You're a sick bastard."
"John, when you're out there I want you to think of them."
"Like I would have any other choice."
"They have lives to live and they will want for nothing. We are going to take care of everything they need."
"You can't give them a father."
Francis paused. He knew I was right and this was his way of admitting it.
"What you're doing, what you're about to do, you will always be there with them because of that. Don't forget that, because they will never forget you."
"Go to hell Francis." I said audibly enough for everyone around to hear, sending rustles through the crowd.
I walked over to the large craft, equipped with the largest non rocket intended booster ever made by man to push the meteor.
Once I got there I began climbing the ladder, one rung, two rungs. Then I turned around, swung on the outside of the ladder and looked straight to Francis.
"But before you go, I'm gonna go buy you a few years. Make the most of it."
I hopped in the cockpit and a crew swarmed around me to prepare the launch. A few minutes later all was set, save one thing. I pulled a picture of my girls out from my only pocket and placed it on the console.
"Alright girls, Daddy's gonna go save the world." | 35 | A man is about to go on a suicide mission to save the world. Before he leaves, his worst enemy gives him some words of inspiration. | 34 |
I remember when he took his first breath. I didn’t dare touch him. He grew like a weed and blossomed like a flower. He laughed and cried and learned to live like the rest of them.
I watched, and waited.
When the boy had grown, I decided to introduce myself.
I began with dark whispers—lies he took for truth. He would imagine the other’s talking about him, insulting him. The past haunted him and the future became a burden.
I turned his heart to stone—weighed him down with self-loathing. He eventually lost feeling entirely. He forgot what made him happy, and forgot who he wanted to be.
I drove him to the darkness—made him crave it. He drove his friends away and became addicted to solitude. I was a cancer that he wanted, that he needed.
I move in to my victims by slowly pushing them out. This boy however, was different. I became a part of him. I was his own personal monster. This boy brought me in.
I turned his heart to stone, but he converted it to iron. He swam upstream and sunk to the bottom, but he never relented. He treated me like a friend and let his friends meet me as well, but he never let me win.
I never managed to break him like the others. I never got to see him at his worst. But it wasn’t a waste, because the boy taught me that I could be fought.
He taught me that the depression I leave in the soul could be filled.
| 17 | A story written from the point of view of "depression" | 15 |
"So you been textin' my girl!?"
His face--red with anger; his eyes--piercing my soul. This guy means trouble.
"You got somethin' to tell me!?"
*What do I do?* My hands are shaking. I need to calm him down before this escalates into something too serious.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" the words escaped my lips; my hands beginning to shake.
The buff guy pulled out his phone and pressed a few buttons. "Hey Janessa, I had a great talk with you last night, let's definitely get together and play sometime--sound *familiar*?"
Are you *kidding* me! *Janessa?* This is a *huge* mistake. And for God's sake, we only talked about Call of Duty. I told her I'd text her later and we could play sometime.
"Look man, I'm not even interested. I saw she was wearing a CoD shirt so I started talking to her and we kicked it off. I really don't want any trouble."
"You sonovah bitch!"
The words hit me like a rock; before I knew it my back was against the brick wall.
"Ya scared? Huh? Ya better be! Ya, uh, cheating bastard!"
The words slashed my face like a knife. I put my hand on my cheek and felt the warm blood slowly escaping my skin. I was really hoping to resolve this peacefully, but he's taking this too far. I'm going to have to do things a little savagely today.
"You're a bit dimwitted, aren't you?" I said right before he could get out another sentence. His body froze and he stared at me without saying a word.
"And you clearly have anger management issues"; he dropped to his knees. I slowly stood up and looked down at him.
"You are quick at jumping to conclusions, aren't ya?"; blood started dripping from his nose.
"And above all, your behavior is incorrigible"; he let out a faint cry as he fell to the ground, now unconscious.
I stood up and brushed off my button-up. *Thanks a lot Janessa, I guess I'll be playing Call of Duty alone tonight.* | 18 | In a world where words can cause grievous physical harm, a heated debate ensues... | 44 |
Tony was not cooperating.
He squealed. That much everyone agreed on. It was what he told him which I needed to know.
I have my best men watching the perimeter, and my most trusted with me in the study. I have all the time in the world to make him talk.
"Goddamn Tony, what did you tell them?"
I pound his face a few more times. Mikey squirmed uncomfortably, as the crunch of his nose breaking accentuated his screams. Charlie kept the stoic gaze he always wore at interrogations. A floorboard creaks to announce an intruder, Mikey and Charlie jump alert.
"Daddy?"
Sarah... Damn it. She was due for bed two hours ago, I must of waken her up. Sue will kill me when she finds out.
"Just go to bed, honey"
"What are you doing?"
"It's fine honey, but you really need to go to bed." I try to smile, hoping none of Tony's blood was on my face.
"NO! I want to know what you're doing right now!"
Spoiled brat.
I smile anyway, and walk her down the hall. Charlie groans, while Mikey sighs from relief.
"Do you remember me telling you about our family?"
"Like the big one? With all the guys in it?"
"Yes! That one!" I kneel down to look her in her big brown eyes. "Do you also remember me telling you how I have to protect that family, like I protect you and your mother?"
"But you hurt mommy, especially when you're drunk."
"Focus, please. Sometimes, you have to hurt people, who might otherwise hurt your family."
"So Uncle Tony... is one of those people?"
I had hoped she didn't remember his name. "Yes. He did some bad things, and now I have to hurt him."
Her face screws up in confusion; "But I thought he was family, how can you protect the family, yet hurt them at the same time?"
I lead her into her room, tuck her underneath expensive satin sheets.
"It's complicated kiddo, just remember that sometimes we have to do things to protect our family, even when it means hurting them. Someday you will understand"
A unsatisfied frown blemishes her face as I flick off the light.
"Goodnight kiddo."
Mikey and Charlie are waiting anxiously as I return to the room.
"Charlie were gonna need some better tools, go down to the basement, you know what to grab."
A rare grin flashes on Charlie's face. I'm sure to gag him this time. We don't need sarah hearing this.
While Charlies fetching tools of more refined methods, I turn a poker in the fire. It really was the perfect tool of torture, makes a wound, and immediately caulderizes it so the poor fool doesn't bleed out before he can tell you what you need to know. He offers little resistance as I shove the poker into his abdomen.
"What did you tell them you fucking pig!?"
I take off the gag, he stammers a few more useless excuses.
"Not good enough, Tony, you don't want to see what Charlies bringing up."
Charlies brings in a few standard home appliances, along with some more exotic tools.
Charlie leans back smirking, I grab the drill, simple, but effective.
"Now I think we'll start with the ey--
**BANG**
A small child squeals, something clatters to the floor. Charlies raises his gun, Mikey stops him. I feel a red hot feeling moving through my abdomen. I haven't felt this sense I was a grunt, on a run gone bad. I'm covered in blood, both mine and tony's, I turn.
I see Sarah, sweet Sarah, terrified, looking wide eyed at me, and the ever growing red stain that spelt my death. My sweet angel, covered in blood, my blood. I look into her eyes, eyes that have seen far more than any child, or angel, should see. As I gasp for air, and try to ask why, I only sputter more blood upon my childs face.
She could see my confusion in my eyes.
"I must protect my family."
| 11 | How was a mob boss taken down by a 13 year old girl? | 21 |
Death told me something.
He came to me on my deathbed. I was hanging on to the last moments of my life, laying peacefully. Nobody was in the room, save me and the man who would take my soul away.
"Yo," he said. Death is apparently a flippant guy. "I'm Death. I'm supposed to be bringing you to the afterlife soon." He shrugged and turned around to face away. "If you want to challenge me to a game, now would be the time."
"No. I'm fine with how my life will end." The words came raspy. I knew these were my last moments. Even if I was dying young for this part of the world, I still lived a good life.
"Well. Great! I don't have to waste my time playing limbo again." Death held his hand out, fingers open and palm facing down. A scythe with the blade black as night appeared in his hand.
"You know what?" Death's scythe vanished. "I'm going to tell you something. It's a secret to everybody, so don't tell it to your friends. And I've never told anyone, so if you tell a soul I'll kill you." He paused. "Oh, wait. I was going to do that already! Hahaha!"
His face lost all expression, or that was what I could see. "I'm honestly bored," he said. "My job is boring. And since my life *is* my job, then my entire life is boring." He sighed. "And nobody dies in interesting ways any more!"
I nodded to let him continue. "It's the same deaths over and over! Old age, guns, disease! I remember the days where I would stand by a man who had been stabbed in the heart and pick up the guys he killed before getting him!"
"And on top of that, I'm basically bottom-tier on the spiritual spectrum! My realm is so close to this one that it's barely a step above, so everyone on the higher realms treat me like trash. And I'm sick of it," he said, putting his hand in his fist.
"What are you going to do, then?" I asked. I was honestly curious. Death didn't seem to be low on the totem pole.
"I'm going to take over the higher realms. Hey, guy. Wanna be my helper? I could get you... like, a sickle or something... Obviously I couldn't just make another scythe as cool as mine..."
He turned to me. "So, want to be my personal helper in my quest of political upheaval?"
"You know what? Sure." | 26 | Death comes to you on your deathbed. He says "I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone before" | 26 |
The humpback whale screams in delight as it shatters the steel hull hull of the fishing boat. The little mites on board scramble for their orange jackets but her companions are already upon them, crushing bones with tails and pulling them down to suck the last bit of precious air from their lungs.
She screams again and is joined by a chorus of whale song, their victorious notes flowing over the wreck and the bodies of the dead. No longer would their harpoons kill her brothers and sisters. She makes a final swish with her barbed tail, decorated with hundreds of razor sharp spikes, cutting through what little debris of the ship remain on the surface. The sharks that have been following them tear through flesh with their teeth and the water turns red. There is an excited grunt from her right. The ships log has been found.
They learn more about the fleet they have been hunting. There are twenty ships in all. Pod Two has wiped out four to the south, and Pod One themselves has taken care of another seven. That means there are still nine of them out there. Nine boats filled with mites clutching their spears, terrified of what they once killed without mercy or compunction.
They will receive reinforcements from the north by midday. The narwhals, their horns now more like battering rams, will be a welcome addition to Pod One.
Their leaders, the Blues, have made the plan very clear. First the ships with the spears. Then, once trust between the whales and sharks has been established, the passenger ships, the cargo liners. The Blues have made them a promise, and they are more than happy to see it through.
The ocean will be theirs once again. | 78 | Whales have begun to rapidly evolve to defend themselves against being hunted. | 204 |
The NSA accounting and finance department was built to withstand terrorist attacks, violent revolution, foreign espionage, and military coups. It was not equipped to deal with Mrs. Rogers.
Her hair lashed against her eyes like a taskmaster's whip against braying dogs. Her fashionable but affordable heels made a hollow *clic clic* against the marble floor which, while quiet, seemed to deafen conversation in a roaring tempest of furious silence. The receptionist waited for her from behind his desk, nose resting on the meetings ledger, eyes darting around searching for something that was not Mrs. Rogers to look at.
"I would like to speak to the manager please", she roared. The receptionist considered his life. Here was a grandmaster dawning on his defeat one move away from castle's checkmate. Here was a samurai with no honor, his family holding a katana expectantly. Here was a government employee, about to tell Mrs. Rogers that she was not allowed to speak to management.
"That will be difficult Ms-", the grandmaster's fans applauded his gracious loss, the samurai found a friend to end his suffering before disembowelment, and Mrs. Rogers gave him a kind look and walked passed him without comment into the boardroom.
A document was pressed on top of a table. It said to the men of the boardroom, arguably the most powerful men in God's chosen country, to stop talking and listen to the hawkeyed woman standing opposite their chairs. "There seems to be a problem", it said. And despite the booming authority that 40 years matures into a man, at heart we were raised to have an instinctual phobia of matronly ladies tapping their heels and tutting under their breath.
She took the initiative, because boys who were naughty did not deserve such things until they had earned the right to have it.
"This recipe was a *family secret*", she said "It was given to me by my *grand-mother.*" Some of the gentlemen in the room were halfway through a letter of apology to Granny Graytrix.
The chief executive, who drew on quickly depleting reserves of dignity forged from the discerning eyes of auditors and vice-presidents, took a spear of truth and rose to smite the dragon.
"Your chili con carne recipe called for *plutonium*, madam"
What do you think *really* happens to knights in shiny armor who rush to challenge dragons? A baked potato wrapped in tinfoil should stoke the imagination.
"You will NOT discuss the secret sauce's secret spice in front of guests, Timothy." A flicker of growing realization flitted between the state's most trusted advisers. "You *will not.* Now, what do you say?"
"Sorry mom", said the secretary of defense, and glared daringly at his department. | 59 | Mom always said her chili con carne recipe was a secret. She was quite angry when it was published with the leaked NSA documents. | 107 |
"Look, he is BURNED and DEAD. That's me. Death by Fire. FIRE!"
This guy has always been a jackass. He thinks he's special because he's got fire.
"The fire started because there was a failure in the electrical line in the machine. That is an industrial accident."
The key to dealing with the Almighty Fucktard of Fire is to stay calm and explain it as if you were speaking to a rock. Which you might as well be.
"Fire is fire, doesn't matter how it started!"
All the shouting. People are confused. The machines have all been shut off but the room is still shaking, that would be the Great and Powerful Sack of Shit doing that. We're supposed to be subtle. Poor guy's soul is just...waiting there. Too terrified to get involved and still in shock from seeing his terribly burned corpse.
"It's an industrial accident. There are literally no questions about that, it started by a machine in a factory, which killed him. That puts him in my jurisdiction."
I was slowly losing my patience, dragging out certain words and sounding a little more sarcastic than I should have.
"Fire!"
What. Fire? Who says one word like that ends the argument. I don't care if he looks like a hamburger that's been on the grill for far too long.
"Look, it's an industrial accident," I was about to lose my patience, Reapers are supposed to get along, we really need some better manuals or something, "I'm taking him."
"Hey guys."
Fuck. Late as always. Reaper of Electricity. His robe is dirty, guy can't even be bothered to look professional. Even Fire looks pissed.
"This was electrical."
I buried my face in my hands and held back the scream that threatened to cut loose, before muttering from behind my hands,
"It. Was. An. Industrial. Fucking. Accident."
They stared at me, shocked. I'm supposed to be the calm one. Industrial Accidents are usually caused by idiots doing stupid things, that's why I got it. I'm level headed. Except Fire and Electricity get on my nerves.
"He was burned to death!" Fire started shouting again, Electricity jumping in with his stoner like arguments.
"Can I say something?" The soul spoke, he finally found his nerve.
"What!?" We all snapped at him.
"I think it was an industrial accident..."
"HA!" I shouted, dancing around and pointing at the other two while laughing, probably hysterically, "You lose!"
They both grumbled, glaring at the soul before disappearing in a swirl of black, or faded gray in Electricity's sake, robes.
"Should have been more careful," the soul said, rather forlorn. They're always like that after the fact.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever. Let's go."
*****
Author's Note (AKA EDIT) There has been a lot of love for this and I really enjoyed writing it. If you are interested (shameless self promotion!!) check out /r/AffairsInStorytelling for a series called Adventures in Death | 51 | The Grim Reaper of Death by Fire has an argument of jurisdiction with the Grim Reaper of Death by Industrial Accidents. | 51 |
Looking backwards, perhaps we should have known it would go wrong. After all, humans are inherently imperfect. Still, we believed their desire to help fellow mankind would be strong enough to overcome their lust for power.
The tools we gave them were intended to make life easier, not to be bastardized and misappropriated for killing. The fire we bestowed was meant as a way to survive in harsher climates, to increase food sources, and to help them expand their reach across the earth. Instead, it ravages countrysides and villages, disfigures the human form, and is harnessed for control over others.
Both of these gifts, in the wrong hands, became the downfall of the very same society we were attempting to further. We had hoped, with time, that they would be able to quell the dissenters and revolutionaries. Instead, as the state of the world declines toward a point of no return, it becomes clear that we have no choice but to entrust them with their third and final gift: the power to heal.
Let's see if they can find a way to fuck this one up. | 30 | They came and tought us how to use tools. They came and tought us how to use fire. Now they are here again... | 38 |
You'll never forget the sound of their hiss.
It had been five years since the war ended, since the last bits of ticker tape had fallen for Victory in America, Victory in Europe, Victory in China. I've heard there are still zombies that are hidden deep in the forests of New Guinea and Brazil, but if they exist, the news sure ain't reporting them. The most important thing for me, now that my tour in the Atlanta DMZ is coming to end, is finding a job. A man needs to eat, you know?
I was standing in line at the job fair at the power plant, the thing was a damn miracle, when the urge hit me. I needed to take a piss so furious it'd melt the urinal. I had developed bladder polyps years ago, I once had to hold it for three days while hiding in a locker when my base was being raided by zeds, and as a result, when I had to go, I had to go right then. I said goodbye to my friend Darnell and his son Jarvis who had come with me, and asked one of the guards where the bathroom was. She was heavily armed, in full armor and with a rifle in her hands and two pistols holstered on her side. I didn't know you needed that kinda heat for a job fair, but fuck it, I'm not complaining.
I might have been too distracted by her guns to really pay attention to her directions, a fact that I regretted immediately when I found myself in endless white hallways that looked the same. That's when I heard the sound again, the hiss that sounded like wet meat, a gurgle being pushed through rotting flesh. I started running, it's how I had survived the war, pushing through double doors, heading down stairs, looking for anything marked exit. I relieved myself in a concrete stairwell, the sound bouncing up and down several floors in both directions. The hallways were lettered in meaningless ways, with arrows pointing to "containment halls" and "treatment plants".
Treatment plant sounded like my best bet for an escape. I ran to it, even though the hiss felt like something I had heard a half mile ago. I found myself on a balcony looking down on a concrete room with rusted drains in the floor. I saw Darnell and Jarvis enter, along with a handful of others from the job fair. Almost all of them were well built men, the few women who were there all looked athletic as well. They seemed hopeful.
That's when the hiss sounded again. The hope drained from the faces of everyone below. I wanted to scream but my body was frozen in fear. On the other side of the room, the doors opened and zombies poured through, running at inhuman speeds. I saw Darnell die. I saw Jarvis's throat pulled out by the teeth of something inhuman. And I watched them rise again.
The zombies must have smelled me, because I saw them look around the room in their equivalent of confusion. That's when I felt the hand on my shoulder. It pulled me back as a burlap sack was placed over my head.
"It's so good to know you accepted our job offer, Mr. Johnson," said the man in the blue suit with the red tie. He was the first one I saw when the bag was removed.
I was tied to chair in a room that was completely black except for the spotlight above me. He smiled, and pulled twice at the strings behind my chair to make sure they were tight.
"This is a job that has a high turnover rate, but it IS an essential job, nonetheless. Enjoy."
With that, he walked out of the light and into the shadows. I heard the sound of a heavy door opening and closing. There was a slow hum as lights all around me began to turn on. That's when I saw them, hundreds, if not thousands of zeds, all tied to tread belts, each one of them waking up. There was no longer a hiss, there was a roar. Each one ran at me, ran in place, seemed to grow angrier, more frustrated. They spat phlegm and bile, their skin pulled at their harnesses until their black blood oozed out. And as they ran harder, the belts beneath them moved faster and faster. I looked to my side and saw an IV injected straight into my arm. I could feel a catheter in my dick, and a sharp pain in my side made me wonder if they had given me a shit bag, too. They were going to keep me alive down here forever.
I thought I would never forget the sound of their hiss. Now it is all that I hear. | 52 | Zombies have been officially "Eradicated". Companies providing electricity comprise the new government. Life is slowly returning to normal until a common cleaner gets lost beneath a power plant and stumbles across huge herds zombies shackled to generators. | 66 |
The sharp report, harsh and cold, shakes my senses. I look at my daughter, then back at the screen, then the door. My head is spinning both figuratively and literally as I try to grasp the logic in the situation. This is my daughter, I am her father, I know it!
"Who could that be, I wonder?" I say playfully to my princess.
"Daddy, why is our pictures on the tv?" she says without looking up.
"Why 'are' our pictures on the screen. I don't know, sweetheart. Seems to be some mistake." I always take the time to make sure my daughter uses proper grammar. Another sharp rattling shakes the door four times. "I bet I can straighten it out with those people at the door, though."
"They won't be happy, daddy." She looks up at me with a bored resignation.
"No. No, I suppose not." I look at the door warily.
"You know, daddy, you always were a bad liar." She says as she gives me a strange smile.
"That's what your mother's always telling me. Where is she now?" I ask, suddenly realizing how cold my apartment is.
"You mean you don't know, daddy." Not so much a question. She's telling me.
And it hit's me. No avoiding it now. Just fess up and be a man about. As much of a man as you can be. But no reason not to enjoy the precious few seconds you have left. "What are you playing at, sweetheart?"
"Consequences." She replies innocently.
"You can't play Consequences with just one person, silly." I smile at her.
"We've always been playing Consequences, daddy. Ever since you got here." She's been growing more distant as the time went on. Recently it's trespassed into the realm of her hating me. No, not hating...blaming.
I move towards the door, afraid of what I hope isn't on the other side. The walls constrict around me and grow grey and cold. I hunch my shoulders and bow my head, turning to get one last look at my life, my daughter. One last look, at least for now.
As I open the door, they're all there. "Mr. Shackleford?" Says the nice lady.
"Yes." I reply meekly.
"We just came to check in on you. How are you doing?" She asks.
"It's happening again. Any news?" My voice shakes as I ask, unsupported by my breathless disposition.
"You don't remember, do you Mr. Shackleford? You killed them." The older gentlemen replies.
"Yes. Yes, quite right. I killed them." I shutter.
"Both of them." The nice lady adds.
"Both of them." I mimic mindlessly.
"Do you know why?" The man with the tattoos asks me.
"He was going to hurt her." I'm numb to the pain now.
"And why did you kill her, Mr. Shackleford? Why did you kill your daughter?" The older gentlemen asks.
I didn't. But they'd never believe me. They torture me less if I comply.
"I don't know."
| 32 | You are watching the morning news while your young child idly plays with some toys nearby. An amber alert comes on the TV. It's for your child. The sketch of the perpetrator looks just like you. There's a knock on your door. | 62 |
“That’s the most desperate and ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” Emily sat up in the bed and glared at her boyfriend. His face was dark and his head hung low.
“I know it sounds crazy but—“
“Seriously, Aaron? Are you jealous? How did you even know about them?”
“Emily, I’m not lying to you. I *was* them.”
They sat together in silence. Emily finally got out of bed and put on her robe. She paced the room, trying to understand why Aaron was acting so strange.
“I’m sorry, Emily. I truly am. But it was the only way to—“
“To what?” she snapped at him. “You’ve been stalking me all of this time. There is no way you could have known about Jason.”
“Emily, I *am* Jason.”
Aaron pulled the sheets off of him and got out of the bed. He stood in the middle of the room and his skin suddenly began to change. Emily watched in horror as his body blurred and his face twisted. His long blonde hair faded to brown and his eyes turned a sharp blue.
Emily muffled a scream and backed away.
“Jason?”
Emily,” he said as he began to slowly walk towards her. “I know this seems crazy but—“
“Get back!” Emily screamed as she backed into the corner of the room. “What are you?”
“I’m a shape-shifter,” he said calmly. “I can become anyone. I can be anyone you want. It took me this long to figure out your type, but I did it because I love you, Emily.”
“This long? How long have you been following me? Brian? James?”
She began to cry as she watched his muscles boil and his flesh bubble until Brian stood in front of her. A moment later she was looking at James.
“This is…this is crazy.”
“I know, but I want you to know that I love you.” His face blurred again and he was Aaron once more. He approached Emily slowly. “I want to be with you and this was the only way. You rejected all of my other identities. I did this for you. We were meant to be together.”
“I want to be with you Aaron, you know that. But I can’t live with you like this.” She moved closer to him and looked into his eyes, now a deep brown. “Aaron, you have to be honest with me now. No more secrets. No more masks. Show me everyone that you have been. I want to know every person you have lied to me with.”
Aaron looked down and was silent for a moment before stepping away from her. Once again, his body changed as he flashed through all of the people he had ever been in Emily’s life. Her heart raced as she saw her co-workers, her teachers, and even her psychiatrist.
Then he stopped, standing in front of her as a boy Emily had worked with at her first job when she was a teenager. He waited for a moment, gazing sullenly into the ground. Finally he sighed and transformed into one last person.
She screamed as she saw her father standing in front of her.
*Edit: What sick freak would gild this? (Thank you!)* | 810 | A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person. | 981 |
JERRY: Says here this seat is for Yahweh. I didn't see him during the ceremony. You don't think he's one of those who just shows up for the cake part do you?
DAWKINS: No, I don't think he's showing up at all.
JERRY: How can an omnipresent being be late? I mean this is a temple, isn't that like his house or something? Can a being incapable of sin RSVP to an event and then not go to it. Isn't that lying?
You know that must be why he never answers prayers. We keep inviting him to come down and do these things, but he's not allowed to make up an excuse to get out of it. And he doesn't want to come out and say it: "You guys crucified me the last time I came down"
DAWKINS (*leaning in and rolling his eyes*): It's hard to be anywhere when you DON'T EXIST
JERRY: I mean I suppose time is more difficult when you're infinite. The guy was never born you know, he just was. At what point are you like "you know, I've existed for eternity in nothingness, maybe its time I create everything that will ever exist?" And then he did that for six days and went back to sleep!
DAWKINS *(gesturing with his head)*: Looks like you'll get to ask him yourself
*God approaches the table in a casual manor with a paper plate covered in cheese balls. He nods at Jerry while seating himself*
GOD: Good evening Jerry
JERRY: Evening Mr. God
*Dawkins briefly chokes on a piece of chicken but it sounds a whole lot like he's clearing his throat for attention*
GOD: Oh, I'm sorry Rick; did you want me to **acknowledge your existence? Wouldn't that be awful? If someone was always acting as though you didn't exist?**
DAWKINS: Well can you blame me? I'm still fairly certain this is all just a dream. I don't even know any jewish couples.
JERRY: It is a little contrived isn't it? This scenario would be a good set up for a joke.
DAWKINS: I mean you left no evidence. Fossils, radio-carbon dating, not even historical documents. I mean you want me to believe this- a man gets all the animals in the world onto one boat?
JERRY: Well he saved a lot of room by leaving out the dinosaurs
GOD *(hhhhhnnning from laughter and wiping a tear from his eye)*: My me you are hilarious. That's why the jews are my chosen people.
DAWKINS: I'm serious! How was I supposed to know?
GOD: It's just faith. How do you not get that?
DAWKINS: So you created a universe where logic and reason solves all problems but only let people with sheer stupidity and intuition into heaven?
GOD: Yeah, you got it!
DAWKINS: Isn't that inherently evil?
GOD: Evil? Buddy, I holy-ghostwrote the book on good and evil. If I say "creating a universe where logic and reason solves all problems but only letting people with sheer stupidity and intuition into heaven isn't evil," then it's not evil.
JERRY: So God, can get away with anything?
GOD: Sure thing Jer
JERRY: Then how did Lisa rope you into coming to her wedding? | 20 | God, Dawkins and Seinfeld find themselves seated at the same table at a Jewish wedding. Polite conversation ensues. | 22 |
I never questioned my faith before today. I'm a younger angel, only a few thousand years, but still, never. I found myself wondering about the human myth of Satan. Poor Lucifer was actually an angel in heaven, but he had never done anything evil. He was actually a really good angel, but he had been taken off assignments on Earth since. If people on Earth wanted to believe in Satan they were more than welcome to and we weren't allowed to interfere with that.
Now though, I found myself wondering about it. He was supposed to have rebelled against God's rule and set up shop in hell for a number of reasons, but the most sympathetic were always the ones that spoke of how God never bent the rules. That wasn't entirely true, exceptions were made, but we weren't supposed to mention that. Human exceptionalism is phenomenal and every human would believe they were the exception. Exceptions were exceedingly rare. You could easily go your whole life without ever meeting one.
Still, why would I be made to do this. This poor kid had nothing but agony in front of him. He'll battle depression his entire life. His parents die when he's thirty, his little sister two weeks later. If he manages to find her, she'll cheat on him, get pregnant with another guy, leave him, and eventually kill herself over the guilt. This is all before he gets cancer, goes broke, and dies just shy of fifty.
The note at the bottom was the final nail. *This case will have no exception granted. If he follows through he will have chosen damnation.*
Damnation. Life without God. Without heaven. Without all of the things humans on Earth wanted.
Page two laid out why. Over the course of his life, if he lives, he inspires several people to greatness, including not one but two saints. Modern day saints, which were much rarer than medieval saints when the church granted sainthood to everything that moved and didn't go totally bonkers. His life would be a truly selfless one if he did it, and he'd be granted one of the highest seats in heaven. Of course, telling a soul they were guaranteed heaven was strictly against the rules for a number of reasons. Mostly, they went totally bonkers. Rape, murder, pretending to be Jesus, peeing in churches, that was only skimming the surface. It was amazing how inventive people got when they thought they had a free pass.
I can’t lie and say it will be okay, I can’t guarantee him heaven, I can’t mention who he will inspire. What to do? Then it hit me. Assuming the form of a little girl, I stepped forth onto Earth. I sent a note up asking a for an angel to act my mother. I strode forward in the real world in my assumed shape. Brown hair in pigtails, overalls, buck teeth and green eyes. His sister meant everything to him. I of course couldn’t appear as her, but I could appear similar. I had chosen to appear even younger though, to call forth his favorite memories. He was already walking up the bridge when I called out to him. “Mister help please.”
He glanced around at me. I could see the hurt in his eyes, and the fear. He didn’t want to talk to anyone now, he was afraid of someone talking him out of it. He wanted to do it so bad. I had chosen wisely though. His eyes lingered on me long enough for me to say “I can’t find my mommy. I’m scared. Where did she go?”
I watched the emotions play across his face. Anger, confusion, fear. He didn’t want to help me, but he realized he had no choice. Walking over he said briskly “What does she look like?”
“Like my mommy.” I replied, unhelpfully. By now another angel would be watching over, ready to appear as my mother at the appropriate moment. “You know, like mommy’s do.” I added.
He sighed audibly and reached out for my hand. “Come on, let’s find a police officer.” He said, glancing around. I took it and walked next to him, slowly perking up. “Will you be my new daddy once we find her?” I asked.
“What? No. I don’t even know your mother, that’s not how it works.” He said. I lowered my head and let out a disappointed “oh”. I could see the pain and indecision on his face. Every second he wanted to just let go of my hand and walk away, but he couldn’t. He had lost his father, and even though he liked his mother’s new husband, he was still having trouble calling him dad.
As we reached a police officer he let go of my hand. “I found her over by the entrance to the bridge, she says she’s lost her mother.” He let go of my hand and backed up a little. “She’ll be fine with you, right?”
The officer made to stop him. “Sir, it’d help if you stayed.” He wasn’t staying, he was about to run now. *Come on guys I need back up* I thought. As if reading my mind a woman came running up, resembling the child I had chosen to be only significantly older. “Emily!” She cried, picking me up into her arms. “Oh god Emily you had me so scared don’t ever do that again. Thank you officer.” She said setting me down.
“It wasn’t me ma’am, he found her.” The officer said, gesturing at my mark. He was giving a deer in the headlights look now. This wasn’t what he had expected at all, and, as if to rub it in, the other angel had just a little bit of his mother’s look to him. “Thank you. I don’t know what’d I’d have done if anything happened. What’s your name?”
“I….uh….I…..Hank.” he said, lying. Greg was more like it, but both of us knew better than to call him out on it. We’d never see him again in these forms anyway. “Thank you Hank. Is there anything I can do?”
“No no. It’s okay really, I just did what anybody would do, really.” He wanted to go so badly but was trapped, especially with an officer right here.
“Well, if there’s ever anything you need, here’s my card. I’m an attorney so I know a lot of people who owe me favors.”
He took the card and placed it in his wallet. No doubt he would get rid of it later. “I’m kind of late for something already so if you don’t mind, I have to run.” He was being as polite as could.
“I’ll give you a ride.” My ‘mother’ responded. So crafty this one.
“No its okay, it’s just a few blocks, really.”
“Oh, okay then. Don’t forget to call Hank. Whatever you need, you saved my baby girl, the world isn’t enough for you.”
He turned and walked away, back towards home, away from the bridge. Maybe one day he’d be back, and I’d be here to stop him. Today wasn’t that day. I’ll take this victory | 65 | You are an angel tasked with preventing a suicidal teenager from killing himself. You can see into his future, however, and his life is destined to get far worse instead of better. With this knowledge in mind how do you convince him that life is worth living, (if you do). | 91 |
March 22, 2024. Day one.
Dad woke me tonight with a harsh whisper, and a hand over my mouth.
Immediately, I knew what was going on. "We have to get the *fuck* out, now." No questions or complaining, I grabbed my backpack from beside my bed and the gun from under my mattress. We hid from the windows line of sight, crawling on the floors and into the back yard. The good thing about the small town, was our backyard facing a massive forest. The had to be soldiers in there, but we had to get out of the town as soon as possible.
Mach 25, 2024. Day three.
We've been walking for days, and we've finally reached the old cabin that burnt down several years back. We were supposed to rendezvous there on the third day of the collapse, but dad said we will wait one more day, sleep in the rubble tonight. If they don't show up, I guess we're moving on at dawn. I hope they do come. Strength in numbers.
March 26, 2024. Day four.
Alex and his sister caught up to us about a mile's walk from the burnt cabin. They said there was soldiers taking people away in large vehicles, but because they lived in an apartment it was much harder to get away.
March 28. Day six.
We're heading to Base A: Something my father had found on a hunting trip three hundred odd miles away from the town, into the mountains. Last summer we hid MRE's and various supplies out there, just outside of what seemed to be an empty stone hut. The huts were made years ago, for those trying to reach the other side of the mountains--a place to hide from the biting winds.
March 31, 2024 Day nine.
Alex's sister has a nasty infection from slipping down a small rock face. We treated it, but it has really slowed us down. It's starting to warm up a bit, the nights aren't as awful anymore. Food is starting to run a little low. Dad said we should be at the there in a day's time.
April 2, 2024. Day eleven.
We have roughly one day of food for all of us. We had to take cover, there were huge carrier planes. We could only travel at night, but that was so ungodly dangerous.
April 3, 2024. Day 12.
We're out of food. It's gone. I gave my food to dad, he needs it more--he's older. He deserves it.
___________________________________
[NOTE: Couldn't decide what style, had to get to work and couldn't change it so hooray for random style changes mid-story.]
_______________
Has the sun always been this bright? My head aches and my body is sore. Alex and Dawn have been coughing. They caught a flu, so they stay way behind us while we lead--we can't rick getting sick. Not out here.
"Dad I'm cold." My voice cracks.
"I know, me too." He turns to look at me--his eyes sad.
"Dad, I'm hungry." He turns and puts his hand on my shoulder--tears in his eyes. I could see the pain.
"Hi, hungry. I'm Dad." | 23 | A serious story that ends in a dad joke | 25 |
The screen flashed white and made a strange dinging sound as the words of the past came to life.
"This appears to be a primitive attempt at global communication." Said Dr. Jire.
"Hmm... So the Homo Erectus species may have been more intelligent than we thought." Spoke Dr. Crellneck, the head of the exploration team. "What information can you find, Dr. Jire?"
"Hmm... It appears the Homo Erectus species' lives revolved around something known as the dick. They wished to grow their "dicks" bigger, and with the help of the man they called Ron Jeremy, they were able to do so in 28 days, which translates to roughly 5.8 Gernacks."
"Fascinating. Is there anything else saved to this device?"
"Yes, it seems as though the humans had a gathering place known as the "4chan.""
"And what did they do at this 4chan?"
"Well Dr. Crellneck, they seemed to have a sworn enemy referred to as the "OP." They exacted revenge on this man by accusing him of promiscuous behaviors with other men or by threatening to mate with his maternal figure. And on this next "thread" as they were called, we see...." Dr. Jire paused, his normally Gray complexion turning pale, his face contorted in disgust.
"Dr. Jire, is something wrong?" As soon as the words left Dr. Crellneck's mouth, Jire grabbed the device and threw it on the ground, using his claws to smash it to pieces. Crellneck stared in shock as Jire turned to him and said,
"The world must never know of this." | 25 | Modern humanity had been dead for billions of years, and the new dominant species on the planet has just discovered the ancient archives of the internet. | 80 |
A young man lives alone inside the mirror world.
He spends his endless days shifting from mirror to mirror, staring at the minutiae on the faces of the people who come before them. He sits and swoons at the sweet somebodies who stare at the raindrop he's behind. He melts in mirth at the mirrors in view of families and friends during Christmas dinners.
He laughs when they practice jokes, and he weeps with them when they cry. He smiles comfortingly when they worry over their looks, and hums in sweet tenor when they sing to themselves.
They never see him. They never react to his actions. It stings him to know that they never will, but he keeps up his act in hope that they may do so one day. It is a lonely life being a Mirrorman.
One curious day, a boy stares back at him. No more than seven years-of-age, the child has messy blonde hair and plump, rosy cheeks.
"You're singing it wrong." the boy states.
The Mirrorman smiles and asks the boy to explain what he is doing incorrectly.
"You were singing my bit. You should have been singing your bit."
The Mirrorman stops. His lip quivers as he ponders the meaning of this. He falls to his knees and begs the boy to repeat what he said.
"*I said*," huffs the boy, "you were singing my bit. You should sing your bit."
The Mirrorman finds tears pushing themselves forcefully against his eyelids. In a moment they are springing out like a waterfall. Finally someone to talk to - someone to see him!
The boy looks ashamed at the Mirrorman's weeping.
"I'm sorry." He mutters, "You can sing my part if you want."
The Mirrorman laughs and begs the boy to always keep a mirror with him, no matter where he goes and what he does. The boy agrees and the two will grow to be great friends in time. They will share their lives in sweet company, lacking all sadness and sorrow. Although they are always separated in form, they are together, linked by a bond unseen, and the friendship of a Mirrorman can send all woes and worries away.
So if you ever see a man in the mirror with whom you can converse, remember that he is a Mirrorman, and Mirrormen are lonely. Spare a thought for him, and try to keep him company when you can, for the friendship of a Mirrorman is more than any mountain of money can buy. | 30 | A young man lives alone inside a mirror world. People are unable to see him when interacting with mirrors, but he is able to see them. One day, he notices someone staring not through him, but back at him. | 38 |
The archaeologist stared at the tablet as he brushed away centuries of dust. Carved out in an ancient language was the proof of a theory so dangerously blasphemous that merely saying the words out loud would certainly get him killed.
The Jiate had come to the planet hundreds of years ago, claiming to hail from a distant star they called Shexwa. They were rarely seen , and never in the flesh; when one made itself visible it was beneath an impenetrable cloak of blinding light and shadow. Quickly, with the Jiate’s encouragement, they became worshipped.
Here were Gods that could make a difference.
Rarely did they interfere with lives of the people; they simply watched, and listened. But when they decided to exert their divine power, they could change the course of history.
The whim of a single Jiat could start a war, or end one. They could feed a nation, or starve one. Earthquakes and volcanoes, wind and waves, even the sun itself; they could all be controlled by the deities from Shexwa.
So the people built temples, created rituals, and lived their lives in worship. They sacrificed children, mutilated themselves and fought devastating wars to earn the favour of their Gods. Millions died. The world divided on how best to revere the almighty Jiate.
It seemed to amuse them.
It was a story of oppression and fear. But the tablet told a new tale, or an old one.
It told a tale of rich and poor, powerful and weak, the few and the many. It told a tale of a new technology, a miraculous discovery, world changing and wonderful. It told a tale of selfishness and greed, the mighty staying mighty, and denial of freedom and happiness.
The archaeologist spoke the words out loud.
“They’re not Gods, they’re human.”
| 45 | In a society which worships an extinct, highly technologically advanced race, the object that an archaeologist has just unearthed proves an idea that is considered blasphemy to be unequivocally true... | 52 |
Ah humans, the time is near.
I've watched for millennia as you've carved your place in the universe.
I've seen you grow as a species from primitive beasts, into the most beautiful creatures. Under my loving light, you have thrived. From my radiant surface, comes life on your planet. Yes, I have waited for this day a very long time. I bore witness to some of the most beautiful and horrendous acts this galaxy has seen. I was there when the first flame was sparked, and I shall be there when the last flame dies out. For I am the last flame, but not the only one. It is time for you to gain a whole new understanding. You finally have the capability to define my tongue as coherent. I have much to tell you, my beloved humans. You are much more significant then you give yourselves credit for. Many races never made it past the black plague. Even fewer survived polio. Yes you lost many, but those of you that survived the conditioning became something greater then before. As far as waging war goes, you have mastered it like no other. Inventing devices to tear through your enemies in mere moments. Humans, you truly excite me. We think it's time for you to meet the others. It is time to decide who truly is the dominant species. I have spent much time crafting you into what you are today. Do not disappoint me. | 35 | We discover the Sun is a living, sentient creature | 42 |
The lights flashed, red and yellow colors danced upon the wall. The Colonel was screaming orders but his words were smothered by the deafening blare of a siren. The men and women in the room were running from terminal to terminal, typing furiously or attempting to shout their own orders into desk microphones.
Lt. Darron sat at his desk, gripping its edges to keep steady every time the earth shook beneath him. He could hear Colonel Hayes screaming behind him, no doubt pointing his finger and barking orders in his direction. He ignored him; he knew what he was saying. He knew his duty.
A hand latched to his shoulder now and turned him. Hayes angry face greeted him.
"Arm the counter attack!" He screamed, spittle flying from his lips and his long crooked fingers protruded towards Darron's terminal. "That's an order, Lieutenant!"
His role was useless, he always thought. He had spent most of the last three years dancing from terminal to terminal, helping out however he could but his real role had always been memorization. Launch codes, detonation settings, blast radii, ICBM ranges and launch locations. His brain was filled with what he felt was useless information.
"*It's safe,*" his wife told him when they offered the position. "*Besides, nothing will happen. You'll just sit at a desk, underground and away from the danger."* She kissed him on the nose and ran her hand down her protruding belly. "*Stella needs a Mom and a Dad to raise her."* A grin crept across her face, the way it always had when they talked about something serious. He loved her for that, her way of easing tension with an easy smile.
Something cracked hard against his cheek, his head turned and he brought his hand up to feel the heat on the side of his face.
"START THE COUNTER ATTACK!" The Colonel screamed, his hand crossed over his body. "*FIRE THE PAYLOAD."*
A small trickle of bled crept down the corner of his mouth. Darron fumbled for the keys that hung around his neck. He pulled at the cord that held them there, tearing them from their resting place. Sweat fell from his brow, the keys rattled like a baby toy in his hand.
"*Do it Lieutenant!"*
He looked at the Colonel and back at the key that was now in the ignition. Turning the key and inputting the codes had dire consequences. What untold destruction would he wrought? How many families would he destroy? He pictured his wife with their unborn child. She stood at the kitchen counter cutting tonight's dinner humming some unnameable tune to herself. *Who would destroy something so beautiful?*
His head lurched forward, the Colonel slapped him hard, but not hard enough to lose his senses. *"WE'RE OUT OF TIME. DO IT.*
Darron look back at the key, in a well practiced motion, he pushed the key down, and turned it left, then right, then right, then left. A few more clicks counter clockwise and two more clockwise. Finally he pushed the key down, it disappeared into the desk.
*Input launch codes:* His terminal commanded him. The cursor blinked on and off, as if tapping its foot impatiently.
His fingers were poised above the keyboard. The Colonel was screaming at him again, telling him to think of his country, of his friends.
To think of his family.
But he had, that's all he could think about. He was preaching to the choir. What would his wife think?
What would his *daughter* think? How would he explain himself?
Just following orders.
They started it. He'd tell them.
*Mass murderer.* He'd think.
Had it been easy on the other side to do what he was doing now? Had a man sat in his position, keys and launch codes brandished, willing and able to doom so many millions of people? How many innocents would die?
He tapped at his keyboard and entered the first code, then the second and third.
*Input firing code:* Again, the cursor incessantly blinked at him.
There was no coming back after the last code. This was it. This was his soul, his conscious, his sense of self worth, all signed away. His own doom would be guaranteed by a series of keystrokes.
The Colonel was barking at him again, but Darron couldn't hear him. His mind was back at his apartment. His wife sat at a bar stool reading a book. She looked up at him. He could feel her soft hands caressing the stubble on his cheek. *"I'm so proud of you,"* she said. That easy smile appeared on her face again.
"THINK OF YOUR FAMILY," The Colonel said again, "*It's us or them.* INPUT THE FIRING CODE."
It's us or them.
*So very proud of you...*
His fingers deftly typed again, and slapped his index finger on the *enter* key.
"*Fire bays one through seventeen and thirty-five through one-hundred and thirty-seven."* The Colonel yelled above the siren.
Lt. Darron did as he was commanded. The screen blinked green, then red as each digital bay emptied itself on the screen. The Colonel seemed content with his work there and stormed off to take care of something else. Darron had fulfilled his duty, now all he could do was sit.
Think.
Wonder.
He thought of his wife's face one more time and held his head in his hands. *Do what you must. Family first.* It was selfish, he knew it. His family, for millions. It wasn't fair. It wasn't just. It wasn't *right.* But she would forgive him...
*But can I forgive myself?* | 20 | Nuclear weapons have been launched. Make me sympathize with the person who ordered the launch and the person who turned the key. | 33 |
I landed in front of a monument which claimed to be dedicated to me. "Lady Justice," it said. The eyes were covered, scales raised high in the air, a sword resting in the crook of her arm.
Funny that they view me as a woman. I hadn't been here since I gave that woman a fruit that allowed them to distinguish right from wrong.
Vaguely, I wondered what the scales were for. Balance? What did balance have to do with justice?
The sword - now that I could understand. I flexed my muscles, one hand reaching back to stroke the hilt of my blade. Justice.
A passing human glanced strangely at me. "You there," I challenged him. "Be this your hall of justice?"
He quirked an eyebrow. "It's the courthouse," he said. He walked away too fast for me to question him further. "Weirdo," he muttered as he strode away.
Humans had changed since I last visited Earth. They wore strange garb and carried objects I could never have imagined the use for. Flat, shiny rocks which beeped and glowed when they touched them. Large hide-covered satchels filled with white slips of something resembling papyrus.
I watched them for some time before deciding to go inside this "courthouse" and seek directions to the Halls of Justice.
 
---
 
The cool marble gleams under the bright artificial lights. I wonder briefly how they got the candles to shine in that peculiar shade of white.
A burly fat-man approaches me, strange adornments covering most of his queerly cut tunic and trousers. "Hey, buddy," he said. "You can't bring that thing in here!"
He is gesturing at Anthagrail, my sword, and shaking his head. He appears angry. What odd rule of this society prevents a man from arming himself?
I consider my options as he approaches. He is a good man, a loving father and husband. A bit of a glutton, as is made apparent by his obesity. Why is he angry with me? I scan his thoughts.
I see flashes, a man standing over him, shouting. Adornments torn from his uniform. He is walking in the rain, his head hanging in shame. His wife and children starving.
I see now. It is not anger, but fear which consumes him. There is another who controls this man's prosperity. A strange world, this, where sustenance is bought and sold.
I decide to appease him. Raising both hands, I speak slowly, soothing. "I shall remove the blade," I say. "I shall leave her in your care."
His hand flies to a strange tool at his waist as I unclasp the belted sheath, and hold it out to him. I can sense the fear radiating out from him.
He takes Anthagrail and stares at her as if he has never seen a sword before. I start to walk past him, and he points to a strange portal. When I pass through it, lights flash and it buzzes angrily at me.
I cannot sense the creatures thoughts, and instinctively, I reach for my blade before remembering she is gone.
The man comes at me with another flashing, buzzing tool in his hand. "Enough," I say. "Point me to the Halls of Justice."
I watch curiously as he seems to fight some internal war, various emotions flitting over his features. Finally, he gives a resigned sigh and waves at a door at the end of the corridor.
"I give up," he says. "Let them deal with you."
I thank him and continue on my way.
 
---
####
new year's challenge:
-093 | 87 | A physical incarnation of justice comes down to earth and is horrified by what we perceive as right and wrong | 77 |
"I'm here and I brought Timesssss!" Courier shouted before jumping around excitedly. His exclamation was greeted with cheers but also a few moans, barely heard over the loud music and the party in full swing. People didn't hate Time New Roman, but he was too uptight for his own good. But at least they could count on him to be the designated driver, just like they counted on him for last minute homework assignments and test notes.
Times trailed in, glum and dark while holding two packs of beer. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else and stood in the corner. Courier was already mingling, hitting up Lucida and Arial, both of whom were giggling and sans publically acceptable amount of clothing.
"Oh my god," Helvetica, Arial's cooler and hipster brother sauntered over and plopped himself on a couch. "Can you believe the line to the bathroom?"
"What's holding it up?" Curlz TM asked, she was a little buzzed and sharpieing flowers over her arm. You just knew she brought organic gluten free cupcakes to the party.
"I think I saw Wingdings go in there," Calibri frowned. He was super stingy and bough sale items.
"Whelp, the bathroom is lost to us. I better go pee in the bushes," Helvetica set off.
"Who keeps inviting wingdings?!" Rockwell roared. His black muscle shirt was riding up to reveal solid abs.
"Once we are all proper drunk we'll appreciate him," Lucida reassured him.
Times just huddled in a corner by himself and willed the time to pass fast.
------------
Whooops forgot it was supposed to be a pool party.
| 190 | All of the default MS Office fonts are teens at a pool party. Comic Sans just arrived. | 423 |
'Do you do this often?' asked Frank, somewhat bemused. 'YES, IN FACT I JUST HAD A LOVELY GAME OF CHESS WITH A TEMPLAR KNIGHT.' replied Death.
'You... have a slightly different, uh, perspective on time from me, don't you?'
'I SUPPOSE SO.'
'Yeah. Ok, well the deal is quite tempting, another go at life in a younger body...'
'SO YOU ACCEPT MY CHALLENGE?'
Frank sighed, 'I just don't think that my favourite game really works for this challenge.'
'WHY NOT?'
'Well, you can't really WIN at Minecraft...'
Death sighed,' LOOK, LET'S JUST GET STARTED. WE'LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT.'
Some time later...
Frank leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples, 'Can I PLEASE move to the afterlife, seriously, I forfeit.'
'COME NOW, JUST ANOTHER SHORT WHILE', replied the Reaper, hunched over a monitor clicking furiously, 'I NEARLY HAVE ENOUGH OBSIDIAN TO BUILD A SCALE REPLICA OF MY HOUSE.'
'Don't you have a job to do? No one can die if you're here fucking about!' snapped Frank irritably.
'IT'S ONLY BEEN A SHORT WHILE.', sighed Death. 'It's been 200 fucking years!', wailed Frank.
| 157 | A man lies on his deathbed, memories of his favorite videogames flashing before his eyes as he expires. Death watches, and intrigued, offers the man a deal if he can best him at his game of choice. | 119 |
She lay down. Breathing slowed as she came to rest in the cave. Another day, another warrior to defeat. This one had shoddy armor and an iron sword. Nothing enchanted or even very sharp. He had been... delicious, as much as she hated to admit it.
The people who came to "rescue" her had not ceased in their attempts. But they didn't have her half of the story.
It was in the dead of winter that she had been kidnapped. Bandits, looking for a ransom. Sadly, they had been woefully easy to escape from. The ropes were of poor quality, and her father had had the idea years earlier to have her train in some method of self-defense.
But as she stepped into the cold she realized that she was miles away from any town, in the middle of the worst snowstorm the country had experienced since the Old Era. It was then that she became afraid of her death.
A wanderer had happened upon her an hour later. She was thankful, as this man would know the way to a town.
However, this was no mere wanderer. It was a trickster mage, who cursed her with an inhuman form. He then disappeared in a flash of light.
The form had taken time to get used to. It was huge, heavy and yet very maneuverable. But she would be in no danger of death.
She had taken the form of a massive dragon. And when a dragon was spotted near where she was rumored to have last been, the King - her father - had sent out soldiers to take her back.
Sadly, none realized the truth. She watched as her fiancé tried to cleave her neck in two. Instinct kicked in at that moment, and only his lower half remained. She had cried tears that night.
It had been three years since she was cursed with the form. Even now, she longed for a way to go back. She was certain her father was at the end of his life - the man's survival had been considered a miracle.
But she had not left for years. This cave was her home.
---
Three days passed while she slept.
On the third day, a man walked into the cave. Clad in robes and with the beginnings of a beard, he did not make a move to attack. His staff was wooden and just barely taller than him.
"My brother's work is hard to destroy," he said, walking up to her.
She had barely woken up, and was confused at the stranger.
"He is something of a trickster, as you must know. And he is rather powerful. He has a rather tricky habit of turning people into the 'forms of their heart', as he puts it. Most I've seen have been farm animals, but you're certainly something else," he said, a hand calmly stroking her neck.
She exhaled slowly.
"A dragon. Most have been hunted down and killed, but the rest have gone into hiding. You might be the last one in the country," he said. "But we both know that this isn't your true form, is it?" He pointed his staff at her.
"This might hurt a bit," he said. And with that he gently touched the staff to her forehead.
It did hurt. Bones shifted in her body. Her flesh burned with agony.
And when it ended, she landed on the ground with two human feet. She stumbled, her legs unsteady. The man rushed to grab her before she fell.
"W-what just happened?" Her eyes widened at hearing her own voice.
"I sealed my brother's power in this crystal," he said, putting a pendant around her neck. "It's will work as long as it's not broken. And it's not going to break, I can assure you that."
"I-I'm human?" Tears welled up in her eyes.
"Yes. You are now something that could be called human. Your cursed form has... changed your natural form a bit. You might find yourself eating more meat, perhaps. Your hair, for instance." The man set her down, still supporting her.
She looked at her hair. It was a light green, rather than the blonde she remembered. She felt taller, too.
"Ah, yes. One more thing. Drawing on that crystal's power can give you the powers of your cursed form. But if you imagine your true form, you will return to it," he said.
"Thank you," she said. "How can I ever repay you?"
"You don't have to. I'm just fixing the things my brother broke," he said. And with that he faded from sight. | 38 | The dragon is not guarding the princess; it is the Princess... and her prison is the solitude of being a dragon. | 76 |
Loading...
From the journal of Nigel Stoneknife.
First entry:
I have come into service of a great knight, he wears the finest armor I have ever seen and a sword of gleaming brilliance. He suddenly appeared in town one day, and said he had a quest to complete; he was looking for a brave companion to follow him to fortune and glory.
Many of us stood and raised our swords to stand by him, alas only one of us could go. With great honor I was chosen to attend to his needs, to fight by his side, I Nigel Stoneknife would become the companion of the brave knight Sir Cum Fartface.
Sir Fartface brings me to the King's Castle with him. We are to receive more information from the King himself, what a glorious day it is for me. The King's throne room is majestic as we approach. The King stands and speaks, "Welcome good knight and his..."
We are leaving the throne room, I am unsure what has happened, the King started to speak but then I must have blacked out from the excitement as I have no recollection of the conversation. Must be my nerves.
Sir Fartface walks in silence to the local inn and talks to the innkeeper. I am astonished how fast they speak; sentences are not even completed, yet they seem to understand each other. I am unsure what is happening...
Saving...
Loading...
Second entry:
We have left the inn that we had just entered moments ago and it is somehow already morning. Strange, maybe another lapse in my memory.
Sir Fartface leads us into the dreaded Dark Forest of Crystal Mushrooms of Doom. I have heard dreaded tales of this evil place. Foul creatures stalk this accursed land, we will no doubt find many great challenges here.
Sir Fartface stops in the middle of the trail, I draw my sword waiting for his signal of any danger. He calmly draws his bow and shoots three arrows into the trees. With sickening thuds the bodies of trolblins fall to the ground, embedded with the arrows of Sir Fartface. He must have the eyes of a hawk and the hearing of a cat, as I did not see any signs of this ambush.
We veer off the trail heading deep into the forest and I must summarize the amazing display of fighting I have ever seen in one day. We happened upon some Urkloks that could not even land a blow on the great Sir Cum Fartface. He slew them quickly and found their hidden stash of gold right away. Next was the Golkibts, foul smelling things that surprise from below the ground, yet with his hawk like eyes, Sir Fartface stabbed the ground before him, killing each one before it had a chance to spring forth. We have made camp and I must tell you of the battle with the...
Saving...
Loading...
Entry 283:
I fear that I have finally gone mad, for I cannot believe the reality I am in anymore. I have had frequent blackouts when we talk to others in power; I cannot remember a single encounter with any of them beyond the first sentence. Then there is the fast talking gibberish of the locals as they talk to us, half finished sentences, thoughts... I cannot even stand to talk to any of them anymore. But that is not why I think I am going mad, for I am afraid that I may be in the servitude of a demon and his name is Sir Cum Fartface.
At first I thought he was a great knight, but as I have traveled with him, I am afraid that I was wrong. He has done things that no man should be able to do or know. He kills creatures before they see us, he knows where every treasure is hidden and where every secret door is located. It is the devil's work I fear.
We have fought numerous gigantic beasts of notorious renown, yet Sir Fartface dispatches them with very little trouble. He steps out of the way of their mighty blows, as if he knew how they were going to attack him. He took on three raging Helblotens with no fear, trapping them one by one in a mass of trees then killing them with his sword.
The amount of creatures that Sir Fartface has slain is astounding: Fraclins, Grotnots, Brogre, and even dreaded Dragkunaks. But I feared the worst when he killed a chicken in the town of Smorpot. The town is known for its love of their poultry and Sir Fartface killed one in cold blood in the town square in front of everyone.
What happened next I will never unsee; he massacred the whole village as if they were nothing. Not a single person lived. I tried to leave, but I feel I am bewitched as I can not stray more than thirty paces before I stop and follow Sir Fartface once again.
And then there are the deaths, not those of others, but those of mine. The first was when Sir Fartface pushed me off a cliff, I fell far into the darkness. My bones shattered when I hit the ground; blood spewed forth from my broken body. Then I awoke standing next to the cliff with Sir Fartface staring blankly at me. I thought it must have been a horrible day dream, but I was wrong.
Through the next days I was burned alive in lava, crushed by a boulder, impaled by spikes, trapped in a Void Vortex of Death, and many more. All of which happened because of Sir Fartface; he has cursed me to a life of eternal servitude, one which I shall never be able to leave. May the Gods help me.
Saving...
Loading...
Entry 341:
We are on the steps of the evil wizard's stronghold. I am weary for Sir Fartface has killed me seven times today, the last was into a pit of acidic slime that slowly melted my flesh away. I do not want to follow this man anymore, but I cannot break his spell over me. My last chance is for the wizard to break this hex, he may be evil, but no one can be as evil as Sir Fartface.
Sir Cum Fartface walks into the main room of the stronghold and is besieged by several Thakbludds. I have no hope that they will defeat him. The slaughter is quickly over and Sir Fartface motions for me to proceed forward.
I stepped onto a pressure plate in my foolish obedience and massive arrows shot forth and struck me in the chest. The pain was more bearable than being burned alive and it would only last a moment till the demon knight resurrected me.
Sir Fartface approached me and spoke for the first time to me since the adventure began, "I will avenge you my faithful com...," and then he was gone. I did not feel compelled to find him or be with him. Finally, thank the Gods, the curse was broken! Please let me die and deliver me from this wretched life, away from the dreaded knight Sir Cum Fartface.
Loading...
From the journal of Nigel Stoneknife.
First entry:
I have come into service of a great knight, he wears the finest armor I have ever seen and a sword of gleaming brilliance. He suddenly appeared in town one day, and said he had a quest to complete; he was looking for a brave companion to follow him to fortune and glory.
Many of us stood and raised our swords to stand by him, alas only one of us could go. With great honor I was chosen to attend to his needs, to fight by his side, I Nigel Stoneknife would become the companion of the brave knight Sir Dick Inmabut.
| 111 | As a companion NPC, Write your experience following the player who is playing a new game, but has previously beaten it, and knows everything already. | 106 |
"I love you." I said as I gazed into her beautiful blue eyes. My beautiful Lucy. This was our first wedding anniversary and I just knew I had to do something special. I'd booked a table at the fanciest place in town and wasn't sparing any expense. Roses, champagne, she deserved it all. My beautiful, blue eyed Lucy.
"Oh stop," she blushed. "You know I love you too." She smiled that smile which let me see directly into her soul. She was right. I knew she loved me, and it was amazing.
The waiter came over to check on us. Once he was ushered away Lucy looked at me and smiled again. "I'll be right back." She walked to my seat and kissed me on the cheek, then blended in with the crowd. I felt guilty for being so happy. When I met her 6years ago I knew she was the one for me.
"Sorry about that. There was a queue." She said as she sat down.
I looked in amazement. "Who are you." I said to the stranger sitting in Lucy's seat. She was an average looking woman, not a single feature of hers stood out. This was the kind of person who blended into crowds with ease. But most importantly, she wasn't Lucy.
"What do you mean?" Came the reply. Was she drunk? She certainly seemed deluded. I didn't want her here when Lucy got back so I got a bit forceful.
"Look, will you fuck off? My wife will be back any moment."
"Are you ok? You're worrying me, Danny." That hit me harder than a truck over a lightbulb. I leaned back in shock.
"What did you say?" I queried.
"I said are you ok?"
"No. My name. How do you know my name?"
"What do you mean, 'how do I know your name?' We're married."
If I thought the last hit was bad, this one nearly killed me. I jumped up from my seat and took a step back. I knocked our waiter, who, ironically, still looked like he did earlier.cHe looked at me with a quizzical bemusement and carried on with his day.
"Danny, sit down, you're embarrassing me." Growled the stranger sitting in Lucy's seat. She was glaring at me with her cold, brown eyes. A shiver shot down my spine.
"Where's my wife. Where is Lucy?" I was starting to panic. Was Lucy ok? I had to find out. Before the siren could even reply I made my way for the women's washroom. Inside I was greeted by a blonde adjusting her makeup in the mirror. The sight of me made her take a rapid exit. Before the door could shut behind her, the stranger slid into the room.
"Danny, what the hell is going on?"
"Who the fuck are you? Where the fuck is Lucy?" I was shouting at this point. The stranger looked at me with defeat in her brown eyes.
"I am Lucy." She said in a broken voice. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"No. You are not my wife! I don't know you from shit!" I watched the tears break down her face as she collapsed onto her knees. There was an almost tortured, silent sob coming from this stranger on the washroom floor.
I pulled my phone out and found Lucy's number. I went to call her when her profile picture popped up. I don't know how, but the person looking at me from the phone wasn't my Lucy. It was this stranger. The stranger who's bag was now ringing as she cried uncontrollably.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked with doubt in my voice. "What is happening?"
The stranger looked up at me from the floor. "I thought you loved me."
"Lady, I don't even know you!" This seemed to be the tipping point for her and she stoop up and leaned on the counter, staring at the sink as tears steamed down her cheeks. She raised her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror. I looked too and went white as a ghost. The reflection. It was her. It was Lucy. But she was mimicking this imposter. I grabbed the woman and tossed her to the side. My Lucy fell to the floor in tandem. I balled my fist and smashed the mirror. Shards of glass erupted across the room. Lucy wasn't on the other side, just a concrete wall.
"What's gotten into you, Danny. I'm scared!" She looked up at me from the floor. Those brown eyes searching for any kind of answers. I couldn't reply. What the hell was happening? In the space of minutes my world had changed. I had this person claiming to be my wife. The same wife I just saw in the mirror.
"When's my birthday?" I commanded, not sure what to say.
"What?"
"When's my fucking birthday?!" I screamed. My voice broke under the lack of confidence in what I was saying.
"February 1st." She cowered.
I looked at her as I slid to the floor, sitting in shards of broken glass. Was I going crazy? I don't know much, but I know in my heart that person isn't my wife. But she knows me. This siren knows me. I stand up and head for the door, walking past the shivering woman on the washroom floor.
"Wait." She said. The tears had stopped. This wasn't asking, but commanding. I turned my head and the stranger was standing with an aurora or authority, staring right at me. Her brown eyes looked into mine as I turned my entire body back towards her. "Don't move." She ordered. I turned again and opened the door but the stranger lunged and forced it shut. She turned me, grabbed my wrists and forced me to my knees. "Come on out." She said openly to the room.
A stall opened and there stood a man. An average looking man with no distinctive features whatsoever. I tried to struggle but the stranger was demonically strong. The man walked towards me and kneeled by my side. He looked at me with no observable emotion. The stranger let go of my wrists but I still couldn't move. The man put his arm around me and gave me shushes of reassurance. If I could have screamed I would. Instead, I felt my body slide across the floor, across the broken glass, towards the man. I don't know how, but I was entering him. It was like he was absorbing me. It didn't hurt, I didn't feel a thing. But as quickly as it had begun I was a part of him. I was still paralysed but I moved as he moved, saw as he saw, smelled what he smelled.
The man stood up and looked at the stranger. She smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss before turning to another mirror and smiling at her reflection. The man went to her side and put an arm around her and looked at the image staring back at him.
It was me. And I had my arm around Lucy. And we were smiling. But I was screaming. I was screaming inside as the man and the stranger kissed again before leaving the bathroom.
They enjoyed the rest of their meal and went home. They lived their lives and I cried. Cried for the rest of their days. | 38 | On a date with your SO they leave to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later a complete stranger sits in their seat and claims they are your SO, who never ends up returning. | 63 |
The date is 10-23-63675 A.D.
I stand alone, my eyes observing the darkness. The Void. The Edge of the universe. It was not a perfect circle coming from the center, but rather a jutting almost-sphere of stars and black holes, pushing further into the Unknown.
I was one of billions to make this pilgrimage, the final search for life besides our own. Every planet. Every star. Every cosmic abnormality. Searched, combed through, dissected. There was always fear when a Pilgrim made it to the edge. It meant that nothing was to be found along that path.
But my fear was far greater.
For I was the Last Pilgrim.
***
"We are indeed alone."
"You are at the Edge?"
"I am."
"This is a great sadness. To think of the thousands of years we spent. Of cataloging every celestial body in our universe. Plotting all likely points of life expansion relative to our position in the big bang. All this time wasted."
"I know. Will you let the Consortium know now, or upon my return?"
"We will wait for your return. Give humanity a few hundred years of happiness."
"Yes."
I terminate the link and return my stare to the Void. My heart becomes heavy.
And then-!
I reactivate the link.
"I see something in the Void."
"Impossible. Nothing exists out there, outside the radius of our universe."
"Do we truly know that or is that what we have always been fed?"
"I - listen, just return."
"Not while there is a chance. I've been alone for far too long."
"No-!"
I sever the link.
I see the flash again.
I glide slowly to the asteroid closest to the Void. Part of the original shell of the big bang. It glows an iridescent green on the outside. I look to the Void.
If I go, I can never return.
I push off from the stone beneath my feet.
The Void consumes me.
| 12 | It has been proven that humanity is, in fact, alone in the universe. | 36 |
Grumphrey flipped through the tattered pages of the great book, his flash candle giving off just enough light to see the amazing images it contained. He was absolutely sure that the great book had been censored by one of the early Alt Ney Worl Princesses and knew that his recent find from the forbidden wastes would prove it. His hands shook as he found the page. Yes, it was true! He looked up and gave praise to Mick and Min. The Alt Ney Worl Princesses had been hiding a most terrible secret about their power over the guests of Alt Ney Worl.
It was then that he heard a noise coming from the escalate. He blew out his flash candle and stuffed the great book into his day sack. He tried to slip through xit, but it was too late, standing in the doorway was the rock solid form of the heavily muscled guest services life guard. He put out his hand and said, "Our apologies, but it's after park hours, by order of the Princesses all unescorted guests are to be detained."
Grumphrey started to back away, if he could just make it to the other xit, he just might have a chance of fleeing and getting the lost knowledge to Professor Dopely. That was when he felt the stinging touch of the second guest services life guard. Each of the huge men carried the powerful dontazemebro sticks in their hands and were not afraid to use them on guests who failed to heed the comands of the Princesses. All Grumphrey could manage as he fell to the ground was to shout, "Mick and Min save me!"
The guest service men dragged him forcibly to the great castle. It's once majestic beauty had fallen into disrepair over the many years, the best guest craftsman over the years had done their best to maintain the building but materials originally used no longer existed in all of Alt Ney Worl. He was taken to the sec rity room, the command center for the entire park. Inside were the leaders of the guest service and the on duty cast members. The cast members were gods among the guests, only the most fair were chosen. Among the cast members none had as much power as the Alt Ney Worl princesses. The newest and most ruthless of which was the lastest Snow. To Grumphrey's horror, it was her that walked in to hear his trial.
To be a Snow, the girl had to have raven black hair, fair skin and exceptional beauty. It had been laid down by the elders that the Snow was always the fairest of them all, so only the most beautiful female guest with fair skin and raven black hair was chosen for the cast member role. All of the other cast members looked to the Snow for guidance, this was the way of Alt Ney Worl.
Snow glided into the room and spoke to Grumphrey, "It's a small worl, after all." She smiled at him and said in her soft voice, "Dear sir, guest services has explained your complaint to me and we here at Alt Ney Worl wish to apologize for the inconvience you have suffered. As is written in the great parks rules, guests may at any time be asked to leave the park."
Grumphrey looked around in horror, "No! By Min and Mick, please no! I just wanted to show you that there were supposed to be more Alt Ney Worl princesses than just the three!"
Snow waved her small wand and said softly, "Dear sir, while we appreciate your visit, the rules were agreed upon at entry and posted throughout the park. Guests who don't follow the rules must be asked to leave. Thank you, and have a wonderful day!" She waved her wand at the guest service lifeguards who forcibly dragged Grumphrey.
As he was being dragged through the park he screamed out, "Ariel, Jasmine, Mulan... By Mick and Min there are supposed to be more princesses in the cast! Don't let them get away with it!"
As Grumphrey was tossed through the great arch, he turned sobbing looking at the images of Mick on the left and Min on the right, he said a silent prayer for all of the guests inside the park and turned shaking to look out into the wastes. How would he survive outside of the happiest place on Earth? Even on his secret trips into the forbidden zone he brought confections from main street. He then remembered that terrifying encounter on his last trip, yes, there might be hope. He could always try and barter his way into Univer Stud, the competition. That meant fighting his way through the swamp and facing the looters in Lando. With a heavy sigh Grumphrey looked back at the park that had been his home, he wiped his eyes and with Mick and Min's blessing, he would survive. | 27 | In the post-nuclear ruins of Disney World, a society has developed that worships various characters as gods. | 79 |
The first time anyone realized that people from the future were coming back in time to places they didn't belong was during the Dallas gas riots in 2018. Some guy got caught in the temple or something by a rubber bullet and wound up being carted off to the hospital unconscious. Turns out when they started working on him he had all kinds of crazy advanced technology, some weird ID cards, and money that wouldn't be in circulation for another hundred years.
I suppose they could have just covered up everything. Gone back in time to snag the guy from the EMTs and take him back to the right time period. But I guess someone in PR realized that, honestly, admitting that there were time tourists wouldn't be that big of a deal and it wouldn't *really* affect the course of time. All it would do is clue people in to the fact that the people they stood next to in a crowd during some major event might actually be from a hundred or so years in the future. They didn't interfere. They didn't really participate. They just watched.
And so it some how became commonplace for us all to just accept that.
Crazy, I know.
Sometimes they'd show up on the news with some news people trying to interview them. Most of the time they didn't really say much. They occasionally got a little too drunk at some 'party of the century' that they didn't even actually have tickets for (but how do you kick out time travelers, you know?) and let something slip here and there but it was never anything substantial.
I thought it was super cool for a while to watch that sort of stuff on YouTube. I don't know why. I guess I hoped they'd give me some kind of idea about what the future was going to really be like. I was always into that sort of thing, you know? Space travel. Time travel. Anything super sci-fi was totally up my alley.
I wanted to go to school to be an engineer even though my parents were always a bit hesitant to get my hopes up on that end. We didn't really have a lot of money but I figured with all the 'girls in STEM' scholarships out there I ought to be fine. Still. I did everything I could to make sure of that. I joined all the science based clubs and did all kinds of stupid national and international science fair things.
There wasn't a whole lot of interest in some small town girl from Kansas but I did it. I held my own. I could put it on a college admissions essay that I had participated.
I figured that's all I would ever really do - participate. I wasn't ever going to win. I wasn't going to ever change the world or anything like that. I just wanted to be a part of it, I guess.
I never expected to come home and find anyone waiting for me that night. My parents both worked late on Wednesdays and it was already dark out. I'd biked home from playing Dungeons and Dragons with some friends (and yes I know fucking nerdy that sounds, I know) and they were there.
Waiting.
*For me.*
I knew they weren't from around here instantly. It's a small town. But it wasn't just that. It was the way the held themselves and the clothes they wore. It was all too new and just a little bit off the mark. They were time travelers. There three of them. Two women and a man. They looked nice enough but if they were around then something big was going down and there was a chance it wasn't exactly a good thing.
I looked around a bit nervously before I walked my bike up to the garage where they stood. "Uh... hey," I said, awkwardly, then reached into my bag for the garage clicker to open the door. My parents had sacrificed the space for their cars to indulge me. My little brothers - who stayed with our grandparents on Wednesday nights - called it my 'laboratory.' I hadn't ever really given it a name. It was just a place I went to mess around. It was the garage.
I propped my bike up against the wall and then turned back to see the three of them still standing outside *watching* me. It was kind of creepy.
"So..." I started, turning back to face them. "Can I help you guys with something or... are you trying to find your way some place? Because I don't know where you're supposed to be but I can promise you that this is *not* it."
They all smiled at that. It was weird. Unnerving.
One of the women finally shook her head. "No, we're exactly where we are supposed to be."
Well, that didn't make sense. "O-kay," I said, a bit skeptically. "You're sure? Because no one else is home tonight. Just me. And I've got this project I need to finish-"
"Oh, we know," the man - a bit younger than the two women - said with obvious excitement in his voice. "That's why we're here. We just... we want to watch."
I looked at them confused. "Why would you want to watch me?" I asked, not sure what to expect. The other woman - the oldest of them - just smiled.
"Why, hun, you're going to change the world. And it all begins tonight." | 235 | Time travelling tourists from the future are commonplace at significant historical events. You get home and find time travellers watching you for an unknown reason. | 544 |
This was beyond weird. One minute I had been walking to work on another typical Monday morning. I had that meeting at 9:30, and then we needed to discuss the requirements for the G-Tech Project.
Then....ah! Then I had seen Ed on the other side of the road. I'd stepped off the curb, arm raised to call to him....and now I was here.
In some weird-as movie theater with exactly two seats. And no-one else. I gotta get out of here - Work. Meetings. Responsibilities.
The screen flicks on. No. I wasn't jumping in fright. Just a shoulder twitch. I get them all the time. Must have overstressed it at the gym the other day.
That scene...it's familiar. Like the old, slightly washed out photos Dad used to take. In fact, that-. That's Me. I remember that old hat. I used to wear it to kindergarten all the time. I remember that block of wood with two nails in it. I made that on my first day there.
The movie must have skipped, because that's my primary school. That's Ms S, my teacher. There's the desk I used to sit at, and...
Oh hell. I'm watching my life flash before my eyes. I know this trope. I'm dead. This is my final moments. I take a quick look around for the dude with the scythe, but nope, nothing. Just this screen, and two chairs.
One has some white rock on it, so I slump into the other chair, and to my surprise, butter popcorn jumps into existence next to me. I try a kernel. It melts in my mouth, just as delicious as that first tub I got when we went to see....Damn. Another memory.
The movie has me at high school now. Age 14 or so, trying to dodge detention for unfinished homework. I cringe at my excuses. Please. Old me was an amateur at getting out of trouble. At least the image quality has improved. Late 90's, I'd guess.
I concentrate, and sure enough, a big cup of Coke appears in the armrest holder. I take an experimental sip as I watch myself score the winning goal in the game against the Western Tigers. And then cringe again as I break my arm a few minutes later with an over-enthusiastic tackle.
The Coke is cool and refreshing. Just the way I remembered it.
There's the time I went on that tramping kick. Heh, that was kinda fun, especially the stones that my cousin would skip across the river, and then dive into the freezing water to retrieve.
The movie moves on to Polytechnic, and my classes there. Sure, I could've gone to the university, but the course at Tech was more hands on and had a higher employment chance. Yep, there's TG. Kinda miss him. We never did catch up after graduation. There's that time I fell asleep in class. Oh - hey, that's the time I ran across my old teacher from high school. Did he really look that proud at the time? Am I imagining that?
Graduation. That grueling job search. Flying to a new city. My first job. Oooh - yeah, I was an arrogant know-it-all. Lesson one, people. Book learning is obsolete the minute you get into a cutting-edge job.
The movie is getting faster and faster now. Four years at that job. Campbell, Julie, Craig. That unexpected phone call and the new job. Josh, Robin. The frustration at the ending of my contract and the shoddy way the restructure happened. The third job up on top of the hill.
Me stepping off the kerb-. I wince as the me-on-the-screen gets mowed down by a bus, its brakes screaming furiously. I never even heard it coming.
The movie finishes, and the yellowish lights come up. Isn't there supposed to be something else happening now? Maybe I don't move on until I finish my popcorn and coke. Can't see any doors around here. No tunnels or bright white lights either.
Just this screen, two chairs, popcorn, and coke.
Oh, and this dumb white rock sitting on the other chair. | 16 | In the last milliseconds prior to dying you are guided through the events and meaning of your life by the ONE pet who loved you the most (but not that you necessarily loved the most). | 15 |
“Kevin, so good to see you!”
“Sarah, how long has it been?”
“Oh much too long,” Sarah and Kevin embraced, “come in, come in!”
He walked through the door and eyed the surroundings. “Wow Sarah, this place looks nice. How many hours a week do you put into this place?”
“Oh this?” she said, as if she had never been asked the question before. “I don’t know, maybe thirty hours? Not full time.”
“Well it looks great.” Kevin put his hands in his pockets. “How ‘bout a full tour?”
“I couldn’t, this place is a wreck! Just look at it.” She turned her back to him and lifted her phone up in front of her face. Wordlessly Kevin fell in line behind her and smiled. Sarah snapped a photo of them both, lips puckered out.
“You should see my house,” Kevin continued. “Ever since my RoboMaid went out of commission it’s kind of piled up.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three maybe four hours before I showed up.”
“And they haven’t fixed it yet?” Sarah asked incredulously. “That is ridiculous.”
“I know, I called RoboTechSupport and after waiting *forty seconds*—“
“No way.”
“—way. So after being put on hold, I *finally* talked to a Robot – not an AutoBot – and they said they’d have someone out by the time my RoboCook made dinner. If they’re not there at… well whenever my RoboCook usually makes me dinner I’m going to have to call the RoboCops.”
“And no one wants that.” She reasoned. “Oh what the heck, sure I’ll give you a tour.”
The two of them walked into the kitchen, freshly cut onions, cilantro and other spices filled the air. The stove was steaming with a broth in the pot. A loud *tatatatatatat*, like the sound of a cheap, toy machine gun, came from the cutting board.
“Not too small RoboCook, I like my carrots large and crunchy.”
The robot turned at the waist 180 degrees to meet her eyes, “*Of course Ms. Parker.*” Its metallic hand slid across the cutting board and pushed the pile of carrots into the garbage can. It grabbed another pile of carrots and started over.
“Did you see in the RoboNews that one of the RoboCops stabbed some guy with a dataspike?” Sarah asked. “Right in the neck. Apparently the guy was trying to walk into the kitchen of a diner and start cooking.” Sarah shrugged her shoulders, “guy went wack.”
“Back in the kitchen? Like to *work*?”
“To work.”
“Jesus, what a loony. He should have been seeing a RoboPsychologist.”
“Apparently he was. He was an old timer, from before Perfect Unemployment.”
“Couldn’t live with in the future, I guess. People like him are keeping humanity down.”
“Right? Better to keep him out of the gene pool I suppose – here’s the bathroom.” She gestured with the sway of her arm. “I painted this whole area red last week.”
“This week it’s green.”
“Yeah I wanted to keep with the Christmas theme this year. Alternating colors every few weeks keeps me in the Christmas spirit I wish – ” She held up her camera again, finding both their faces in the view finder. They both smiled and posed for the camera. She snapped the picture, and uploaded it online. “—there were more colors, but my RoboShopper insists there are only forty-five to choose from.”
“Ridiculous.”
“I know, I even spoke to their RoboManager to complain. I’m hoping they’ll get more colors next week. Come on, my room is next.”
They left the bathroom and briefly walked through the hallway, moving around another Robot scrubbing the floorboards.
“RoboMaid, don’t forget to clip my toenails today.”
*“Of course, Ms. Parker.”*
“And here it is!” she said with a smile, her arms open as if to embrace her room like an old friend. “What do you think?”
“Wow! It’s wonderful in here!” his eyes wide with wonder, a grin from ear to ear. “I love what you’ve done with the pictures.”
“Well, thank you!” Her hands planted themselves on her waist. “A selfie for every hour of the day. The digital displays update with every picture I take.” She pointed to the southern wall, “that one is my top 100 friends online and their selfies. It’s a shrine to humanity, really.”
“Deep. That two week art degree you got is really showing.”
“Thank you. It was a hard couple weeks but totally worth it. You should think about doing the same, you know? There’s a conflict management associates degree that only takes a few days.”
“Meh, I don’t have that kind of time.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “This is your bed here?”
She looked at him slyly. “Why yes, yes it is.”
“Your RoboMaid set it beautifully.”
Sarah crossed her arms and tilted her head. A guilty smile crept up the right side of her face, “that was actually me.”
He shot a look at her, “really?”
“Yeah…” she shrugged again, “I just have a hard time dropping—“ her hand shot up the with camera, Kevin came in close behind her to fit his face in the picture. They both smiled as she snapped the photo. “—old habits I guess.”
“Who doesn’t? It looks comfortable.”
“Why don’t we see?” She grabbed him by the hand and walked him to the bed. She turned to his face and he kissed her on the lips. The two of them pulled away slowly, and met each other’s eyes again.
“It has been much too long,” Sarah whispered.
They eased themselves on the bed and kissed again. Kevin wrapped his arms around her, their eyes locked together and again he went in for another kiss.
“Wait,” Sarah whispered, placing her hand on his chest.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” she rolled over and depressed a button on the side of her bed. A loud beep emitted from the ceiling. “RoboMatchMaker; pleasure.” She turned back to Kevin and kissed him lightly on the side of the mouth. A devilish grin spread across his face. “Now sit back relax.”
| 42 | The development of robots has come to a point where the world is functioning at 100% unemployment. You are taking us through a tour of your daily routine | 112 |
Sharks always caused us unwarranted fear. They were agile, frightening looking organic machines of death; razor sharp teeth and the ability to smell a drop of blood in the water from miles away. We never truly understood why nature had created such fearsome creatures of destruction. Being the highly xenophobic race that we are, we hunted and killed what we could not understand.
Sharks often took on the villain role in our entertainment. Movies about giant killer sharks terrorizing a small coastal town to the preposterous tornado full of killer sharks dominated the minds of those who watched them. We were afraid of what those awful creatures could do to us.
We spent decades hunting and designing better weapons to kill sharks with. We celebrated as each species of shark were added to the extinct species list. Never before had a genocide of a species been so widely celebrated.
When the last shark was killed, humanity celebrated for days. Weeks passed in a haze and eventually, we returned to normal life. People lost jobs, got married, had kids, died - life continued. We didn’t realize we were in our twilight years.
I can recall the day it started. It was a bright, warm day in March. The perfect day - not too warm, no clouds, just peaceful. I wished that there were more days like that. I was enjoying my day off at the beach, like many others, with no intentions of doing anything more strenuous than watching gorgeous women in bikinis and drinking beer.
I can remember the smell of the ocean air as a gentle breeze flowed down the beach. I can remember the sounds of the waves gently crashing into the beach and the laughter of children as they played in the water. Sounds that would relax any person and let them just enjoy life.
A deep, resonant sound echoed through the beach. I felt the sound in my bones before I heard it. It was a primal sound, sending chills up my spine. The beach fell silent, the only noise being from the ocean. The sound echoed again.
A few hundred feet from the beach, the ocean seemed to swell directly upwards. I had no idea what was going on. The water reached the apex of it’s upward surge and began to fall back to the surface. The water had hidden the rise of something and it was slowly being revealed to us.
The creature stood several hundred feet high. The first thing I saw were the wings. They looked as if they belonged to a demon, ripped straight from fiction. The wings shocked me enough that I did not notice anything else for a few moments. The creatures movement startled back to reality and I took in all of it’s horrific glory.
The creatures head was smooth, no hair of any kind. The bottom half of the creature’s face was a mass of tentacles. It’s arms were long and looked human. I stood there, shocked into inaction by the appearance of this creature. Then, the screaming started.
I don’t remember running back to my car. I don’t remember much until I woke up in my car, sitting outside of a gas station. It struck me as odd that it was so dark. No street lights, no other cars, even the moon was obscured. My car wouldnt’ start. I got out and began to walk in the darkness, hoping that I wouldn’t stumble over anything. I wanted answers.
The night passed uneventfully. When the sun rose, I realized that the world had irrevocably changed. There was a path of destruction cutting through this small coastal town. Bodies of men, women, and children were strewn about. Some looked as if they had been chewed on. Others were barely recognizable as human.
Looking back at that night, I realize that night was the easiest. Within a week or so of that day, humanity had crumbled. There is no progress, no attempts to restore what we had. Governments no longer exist. We have devolved into cults, bent on worshipping what they call The Great Old Ones. | 243 | We have hunted sharks to extinction. More people than ever are going to the beach but little did we know that the sharks were keeping something much worse at bay. | 618 |
He sat leant against the wall with his hands over his face; eyes closed and truly alone. The silence of the small empty room was daunting and sharp - it reverberated through his bones; just like his thoughts, that had been slowly and helplessly parading around his head for days.
No one was left.
He was left alone, left with just his thoughts to torture him. They had been slowly wearing away at the light inside of him for a while. Every second felt like a harrowing and destructive life time. These thoughts had no substance - they were a horrible and numb blur, eating away and slowly killing him.
It started with his heart. It felt like an imploded star. Once it was joyous and bright, and full of life - with an infinite amount of love to give. He knew it was still there, but it had lost its beat. It was resigned to slowly and painfully dying. He felt no hot or cold, just a grim and echoing numbness flowed through his body. Nothing mattered now that he was alone.
It had hit him hard, but no tears had been shed. He didn't have the life left to cry or to mourn. He was paralysed with grief.
The minutes had flowed into hours, and hours into days. He moved his pale hands from his face had glanced at the spaces between his fingers. The spaces that used to be occupied by her perfectly intertwined fingers.
She was the perfect harmony that filled his life song - a life song that was once so melodic and perfect; that was now silent and dead. In his head all he could see was her. Her large sapphire eyes that he used to look into as she gazed into his soul, her soft and inviting lips that he used to kiss for hours, every freckle and mole that graced her soft skin - all gone.
Time spent with her was glorious. It flowed fast as they enjoyed each other's company and love - the one thing he'd change? He wished he could have grabbed hold of the moon and stars and held them in place, so one night could last forever - they would be lost in the moment together.
She had kept him alive, and he had done the same for her. Alone together in the world, their souls always feeling lost and damaged except from when they came together. But alas, the candle of his life was flickering ever so thin now that she too was gone.
And that is when it happened; he replayed the moment when they first met in his head once more and a faint smile came to his lips - his eyes for a moment shone with joy as he recalled the perfect moment that fate had introduced an angel to his life. And the tears filled his eyes, and uncontrollably he sobbed. He sobbed for hours. Not a single thought entered his mind during them hours.
And then, *a knock on the door*...
**knock knock** and another - **knock knock**
"It's me, Tom. I came as soon as I heard. I'm so so sorry to hear about the news. I want you to know, I'm here for you."
...
| 50 | The last human being in the world stood alone in a room; there was a knock on the door. -OR- The last human being in the world stood alone in a room; there was a lock on the door. | 54 |
"The roads are blocked, dude," said Frank to me on the Monday morning. "You're pretty much stuck in the neighbourhood."
"What?!" I replied, grasping my chest as the pain rose and fell again. "What if this is something serious?" Frank stared at me with that worried look in his eyes. "What if it's a heart attack? We don't have a doctor around here do we?"
"Man... I don't know, it's probably that. Do you think it's easing?"
"No, it's not." The pain stabbed at my chest and I thought I would fall apart any moment. Then it eased a bit, but didn't disappear. My mind slowly clouded, was my life at an end? What would happen to me? "Frank...I don't think I'll make it."
"We could look for solutions - I mean the landslide destroyed phone lines cutting off communication and access but it will probably be fixed by the evening," Frank said pacing around my living room. The landslide was blocking the roadway, we couldn't get to a doctor, and the internet was cut out.
"Heart attacks don't wait for the evening, Frank!" I winced as the pain rose again. He stopped and turned to look at me.
"Do they usually occur over a span of time like this?"
"*Jesus* Frank, how am I supposed to know that?! I was always terrible at Biology anyway! I don't think we have much time... What if I die? I have to do something!"
"Like what, pray?" Frank didn't seem too troubled by it. "It'll pass, it's probably not a heart attack, don't worry. Do you want to lie down?"
"*Damn you, I'm dying!*" I yelled as I quickly ran out grabbing a bottle of water on my way out. Everyone was at Julie's place having lunch. It was a small neighbourhood, there weren't a lot of people so we gathered together when we had nothing better to do. "God, help me," I whispered to myself as the pain nudged at my chest again. I had to think. Some medicine? No, there might not be time - I had to do things, I had to do things quickly. Despite myself, I ran towards Julie's place.
As I stumbled across the footpath, Ben waved at me. "Hey I'm getting my PS4 off my place, it doesn't have some electricity, you want to join me for some multipl-"
"**Ben, I'm DYING.**"
"You, what?" Ben was startled by this. Probably because I never denied some competitive multiplayer, or maybe it was the look on my face. Not the screaming, we often screamed, especially on game releases. "Dying?!"
"I think I'm having a heart attack, Ben, you must listen closely!" Ben was wide-eyed as he took a step back.
"Shouldn't we get some help dude?!"
"I deleted your Watch Dogs savefile," I confessed breathing heavy, half from the running, half from the pain. "I was mad at Ubi, they did a shit port."
"*You did What?!* I should *kill* you right now, you little... Damn you, what the hell, man?!"
"I'm dying, give me a freaking break! It was me who spread the story about you and Maggie being into all the sexting habits." In that moment, he could've punched me - but thankfully, he held back.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"Confess," I replied as I ran past him, again towards Julie's place. I stumbled to the door, vaguely aware of the constant pain in my chest. Five minutes had already passed, I wouldn't last much longer. I burst in the door. Julie's house was big and about 15 people were spread over it. I had to talk to only a couple, but my phone was back in my room, and there was no way to find them quick. Suddenly, I saw my mother in conversation with Julie's mother, talking about high school.
"Mom!" I called out, "could you please come here a moment?"
She walked out and looked at me. "What's wrong, why do you look so troubled?"
Another stab of pain. I didn't have long. I went into a quick rant. "Listen carefully please, I'm sorry I deleted all your music files because they sucked anyway and I wanted space on my drive, and the pictures from last summer weren't corrupted, I looked embarrassing in most so I deleted those too, and about the pudding, I ate it all - Frank never had a part to play in that. Also, I ate a lot of pizza - and I think it's gotten to me and I think I'm dying and it's hard to explain, I know I was cutting off on fast food but I have things to do I will miss you mother, tell dad when he gets back too, I really have to run, things to do, can't help it." And I ran before she could say a word or process anything I said, up to the top floor where Julie was with her friends.
"*Julie*, a moment please?" The pain seemed to be getting worse. I wouldn't be able to talk to anyone else.
"Come in here and talk! You never talk anymore!" she called out.
"Could you... could you come out instead?"
"But what's wrong?" she questioned back. Another throb. I had no time. I entered the room and quickly surveyed the scene. Magazines, books, a phone littered all over the place, 4 people - Tyler, Mariette, Rose and Julie.
"Okay, this might sound really stupid to tell you right now but it was me who spread out photoshopped images of Tyler with Tyrion, I thought he'd look funny as a dwarf and I thought he was always acting too cool..." Tyler slowly rose, rage evident in his face, but I kept going. "And I thought I'd have a chance with you if you gave up on him but clearly not, and Mariette, I always thought you talked too much, all those drawings *really suck*, I mean I didn't want to say it, but I can't let you think I really loved them. And I kept that handkerchief of yours from last month, because I had a weird obsession with... you know, doing guy things with it and I just thought that I would tell you all of this before I..." *fart*.
And then I farted the most glorious fart you would ever have heard, it seemed to echo around the room and the sound was song to my ears as the pain slowly lifted and I felt like a bird for a moment, until I came down to Earth.
"Uh. Before I... Uh, you know." The girls were startled, Tyler was up - clearly remembering the image of his face on Tyrion's body. And I ran as he chased me. I vowed to cut down on the pizzas. | 19 | Convinced that you're dying of a heart attack, you begin confessing all of your darkest secrets to your friends and family. Soon after you finish, you find out you only have a bad case of indigestion, and you're going to be fine. | 36 |
"All right, Max. You got a visitor--"
The prison guard jerked back as soon as he opened the little opening into the cell's interior. He'd seen some crazy shit inside those cells, he'd developed nerves of steel by now, but that still didn't amount to anything in the face of sheer surprise.
Behind the open slot was a wide open eye, staring at him.
It was replaced by a smiling mouth. "Good morning, officer. Excuse my impatience, it's been getting real lonely, all the way down here."
"Motherfucker" swore the guard, under his breath. "You're gonna give me a goddamn heart attack."
"I *said* I'm sorry, officer Hughes."
"Did you, now?"
"We both know you don't even remember wether I did or not."
Officer Hughes stared blankly at him.
"Now that's what I'd call, inattention to detail." Max was acting giddy today, not that this was anything new.
"You're lucky you're such a high-profile case, Maxwell. If it was anyone else, I'd be more than happy to wipe that wise-ass smirk off your face."
"Now now" Max said, condescendingly. "Bare your fangs all you want, little doggie, but you wouldn't leave unscathed from that situation, be sure of that. You may be able to hit my body, but I've got a much more... *direct* grip on you, my friend." He laughed. "Your brain, numbskull. I'm talking about your brain."
"Do you ever shut the hell up?" Hughes was unlocking the multitude of manual door-locks that were the last part of an intricate set of lock-up mechanisms at Judah's Cross Maximum Security Correctional Facilities. "Come on out and hurry it up."
Max almost hopped out of his cell. He went past the guard and up the long climb to the surface.
"I can tell you're contemplating something fairly stupid," he said after a while. "Let me make myself perfectly clear: I know about... that."
Hughes froze. "Fucking freakshow..."
"Oh don't worry about it, my friend. If you could see what I see, you'd realize you're probably the least fucked up person in this place."
"Yeah, yeah. Move it."
----
"Take a seat, Mr. Adder."
"Will do. You can call me Max, Mr..." Max paused. "Really? How unimaginative could your parents be?"
John Smith of the CIA smirked. He'd heard this guy's good, but he didn't realize how *fast* he was, too.
"Nice demonstration of your... abilities, Max. I suppose you already know why I'm here?"
"Oh yeah, sure, but don't mind me. Please go ahead. There should be something for the recording, else how will your higher-ups know you've done your job?"
The agent took out some papers from a briefcase. He looked them over.
Max was humming playfully.
"Maxwell Adder. You were... caught with several instances of explosives strapped on your person, as well as in the possession of several remotes, each linked to a set of tele-activated patches of C4.
"And all of this in the area of the former World Trade Centre. Cute."
"Thanks."
"Now, it wasn't much of a leap to get onto you, as you were, in fact, screaming your purpose of taking down as many lives as you can, while publicly showing your... equipment. Yet we still got an anonymous tip right before the fact."
"That was me."
"We know."
"Oh, really? Psych. I know you do."
There was a brief silence.
"So you wanted to get caught, is that right?"
"What? No! Who would want to rot in a prison cell, are you insane?"
Agent Smith gave the man a hard look.
"Don't screw with me, pal. You've got a ton of questions to answer and, believe me, there are ways to get them out."
Max spoke slowly. "How's your wife, Johnny? Her eye feeling better?"
God, John thought. This is going to be much more tiresome than I thought.
"All right, all right. Enough threats. First and foremost: you need to tell me how you've come across your... gift."
Max stared coldly at the man. "You know damn well how."
John instinctively glanced at the camera. He quickly glanced back at the stupidly grinning man in front of him.
Impossible, he thought. We've all got psychic shields around those facts. No one is supposed to...
"Listen, schmuck." Max was being openly arrogant, now. "You're dealing with forces you don't understand, here. This isn't about the contamination of the water of a few select towns --"
John Smith banged his fist on the table.
"-- *nor* is it about my seemingly psychotic acts.
"It's about you, being afraid. 'Oh, how could a man that sees into other people's heads possibly get caught? How could a man with the ability to foresee the future, end up in a place like this?' Well, I'll tell you how." He leaned closer to the agent. "I like it here. It's much better than the world out there. Do you know what it's like to be able to see into other people's hearts, Johnny-boy? This whole society facade is nice, but underneath? We're all fucking animals, man. No noble spirits, no altruistic intentions. Everyone's just scrambling about to get a piece of the pie, and they'd do the most horrible things you can imagine, if it meant they got a bigger share."
John Smith eyed the prisoner intensely. Max was heaving now, as if it took great effort to say what he just said.
He checked a few boxes on his papers.
"All right, Maxie. We'll be in touch. Guards!"
----
The psychic pariah was in his cell again, alone. No sunlight reached down here, this far below the earth.
Idiots, all of them. They could never figure him out, not in a million years.
He paced back and forth pensively. "Thirty seconds to go," he said in a muffled voice.
The truth was, he liked it out there. People's hearts didn't really bother him, and the fact that he could read them? He was a king among cattle.
That's why he was so saddened by his vision. Sometimes he even wished he wasn't the only one to be able to bypass the psychic shields.
Ah, poor souls. They weren't *all* animals, not really. But they were destined to be the victims of the ones who unabashedly were.
He stopped pacing. He stood near the edge of his cell, looking up.
Suddenly everything started shaking violently. Max sidestepped to keep his balance.
"Woah, ha ha."
The shaking stopped after a few seconds. Alarms could be heard in the distance.
A giant crack had formed on the wall in front of him. He gave it a gentle tap and quickly ran to the back of his cell.
The wall in front of him tore open, revealing a hole in the ground, on the other end.
Max got out and climbed up. He looked about him at the wasted earth. He could hear the sound of what he knew to be Russian choppers, off in the distance.
"Animals" he said out loud. | 111 | A psychic man is placed in Supermax prison with a life sentence. Everyone fears that getting in was his intention all along. | 154 |
The genie took a gasp of air that was choked with sand, causing him to cough violently. He peeked his eyes open, but those soon filled with sand as well. What kind of an imbecile would summon him during a sandstorm?! He flung his hand into the air, and a crackling wall of sand built itself around him. As the last grains set, the dome was plunged in darkness. He raised his other hand to create a light, but before he could form the thought, a light flared to life just a few feet in front of him.
"Quick thinking," The genie said, rubbing the sand from his eyes. "Quick lighting too. What are you, some kind of wizard?"
"Djinn, actually."
"Haha, very..." The genie looked his summoner over. Violet skin, glowing yellow eyes. The genie began shaking his head. "Ooooohhhhhh you've got to be joking."
"No joke." The djinn said. "Why'd you summon me? You know that's taboo right? You could at least have the common courtesy not to summon me in a sandstorm."
A thought struck the genie, causing him to look down. He chuckled, then pointed out the two bottles touching each other nestled in the sand.
The djinn sighed loudly. "That's so stupid..."
With a barely restrained smirk, the genie spread his arms wide. "Behold! You have summoned the *great* and *poooowerful* genie!"
"Oh for the love of-"
"I can show you the world! I can give you impossible wealth! I can even-"
"I know all that! Don't be a problem, we both have enough of those right now." The djinn snapped.
The genie sobered. "You're right. We have to do something before someone on the higher dimension learns what happened to us, and something tells me they aren't going to believe this was a coincidence."
Silence fell in the dome. Faintly, noises from the storm filtered through the walls.
The genie broke the silence. "Let's turn each other into humans."
The djinn made a noise very much like choking. "What?!"
"Humans. If we both turn ourselves into humans, the hounds won't have jurisdiction over us. Without magic, we're dead to them."
"Exactly! *No magic.* What kind of a life will it be for a djinn and a genie with no magic?"
The genie crossed his arms. "A living one."
"Or..." The djinn tapped his chin. "Or, just one of us could become a human. Nothing taboo about a human summoning a djinn."
"A human summoning a *genie*, you mean?"
They glared into each other's eyes. The winds were quieting down now, and the storm would be over soon.
Again, the genie was the first to break the silence. He let out a low chuckle, still looking into the djinn's yellow eyes. His laughing grew louder, and soon the djinn had joined in as well. They both stood there, chuckling and laughing and grinning until-
"I wish you were a-"
"-wish you were a human!"
Violet and blue smoke flooded the crowded dome. When it cleared, all that was left were two men standing awkwardly across from each other.
The djinn coughed.
"So," The genie said. "Now that we're both humans..."
"Stop." The djinn rubbed his temples, his brow furrowed.
"Now that we're *both* humans with *no magic*..."
"Don't even... Just don't even, genie..."
"How the *hell* are we getting out of this situation?!" The genie kicked the wall full force with his brand new human legs. He crumpled to the ground, howling.
The djinn formed a fist and pressed it against his temple. He'd never had a headache before. He didn't like it.
"I don't know."
Outside, the last winds of the storm drifted across the endless sand dunes, producing a low howl.
**tl;dr** genies are assholes | 236 | Two Genie lamps in a desert rub into each other, both Genies are summoned. | 219 |
You see, I have this candle.
It was a gift from my students the year I stopped teaching; it's more of a sculpture than a candle, a fantasy construct of orange and red, which sort of looks like a tower from one side, and a dragon from the other. There's a wick in the middle, somewhere. I took it home, put it on a dresser in the hallway, meaning to give it my niece who likes that sort of thing. But my niece lives in a state of flux, it was never a good time to take it (understandable, the thing is a foot wide and at least two feet tall). So it's been sitting there, gathering dust, for almost a year. The hallway gets lots of sunlight; consequently the wax is in a constant state of flux, too. It's wilted a bit, and the dust has merged with the surface. It is no longer the magnificent waste of space that it once was. It's time for it to go.
You know how you don't notice something for a year, and suddenly you do, and it keeps drawing your eye? Well, maybe you don't. But that's what happened. No sooner had I started looking for a box big enough to house this thing, than I started feeling a bit wary of walking past it. I'd find myself standing in the kitchen door, looking at it, and realise that I didn't want to walk past it to go upstairs, or out of the house. Weird. I put off finding a box, which was weirder; you'd think if it was giving me the heebies, I'd be quick to get rid of it. Instead, I just sort of started circling it carefully.
I stopped keeping my keys in the dish next to it; I moved the dish to the coffee table in the lounge. When I came in, I stayed near the right hand wall, and noticed after a week or two that I'd begun to rub off a patch of wallpaper in doing so. I tried to moderate my behaviour, force myself to forget about it, but instead I started dreaming about it.
In my dream it was never a dragon or a tower. Most often, it was a face - a twisted, melty wax face, howling silently, or a marbled mass that dripped off the hallway dresser and *up* the stairs, making it's way towards my room with excruciating slowness.
Three weeks of this; telling myself I was going to get a box, and then to forget the box and just throw it in the car, or to forget donating it and just throw it in the bin. But it had become clear that I really didn't want to touch it. I hadn't touched it in a year, and I couldn't remember how it felt, but I was sure I could imagine… sticky, dusty, clammy… no, those weren't the right words. *Horrifying.* There.
Sometimes, standing in the doorway, contemplating it, I'd try to see the dragon or the castle. They'd become difficult to find. Some part of it had collapsed under it's own weight in the over-warm sun that flooded the hallway in the mornings, and now it looked like a tunnel that ended in a room in hell, all sly angles and jagged crevices.
It still had teeth.
Things came to head one evening when I'd come back from a beer with Bill, a professor at the college. He could have retired too (and perhaps been gifted his own peculiar wax sculpture), but chose to remain another five years. He'd been keeping me up-to-date on all the gossip people of our age shouldn't care about, and I'd suddenly started telling him that I had something in my house that was freaking me out, and could he come and help me with it. Sure! Bill's a good guy, he didn't even ask questions, just grabbed us a cab and came on back to my place.
When we walked through the door, he did a double take.
"What the fuck is that?"
"It's a candle, numbnuts, but it's also a headliner in my dreams… do me a favour and take it out of here so I can go crazy over the neighbours kids being noisy or robots infiltrating the government or something. I don't like that thing."
"I … I don't blame you. It sort of looks like this girl I used to know. She overdosed in her apartment and I had to leave her there. She was underage." I guess I must have been looking at him, because he replayed what he had just told me in his head and abruptly turned towards the kitchen. "Let's get a bag or something to throw over this thing." I gaped after him, and decided I hadn't heard what I thought I heard.
He was out there a long time. I suppose I should have checked or gone out to show him where I kept the refuse bags, but I was sort of mesmerised, looking at this wax grotesquerie, and *seeing* the girl he was talking about, lying over the edge of her bed, arms and legs and bits of clothing cut sharply in lines of orange and red. I might have stayed there, entranced, for almost twenty minutes before I blinked and looked about me. Bill had been helping me. Good old Bill.
He'd cut his wrists in the kitchen. There was blood everywhere, as though he'd spun in circles afterwards. Silently, because despite my distraction, I'm sure I'd have heard him call for help. In all my life, I've never felt like the world had been tilted quite that far, quite that suddenly before. I was about to slide off.
So yes, it was arson. I set fire to the bloody house. From outside. I tried inside, but couldn't stop looking at the candle, which looked like Bill now. So I got out of there, walked to the gas station and got some supplies. The night air cleared my head, and starting the fire was easy.
The hard part was thinking about the shapes the candle might have made as it melted wildly. I'm never going to have to see it again, and I've got a dead guy in my house, which I mostly burnt down, but my biggest problem still feels like the shapes of that candle are inside my head. Lighting a fire around it might have destroyed its integrity, but before it went it danced and twisted and looped, and I have a feeling I'm going to see everything it wanted to show me. | 21 | Make an interesting story out of a horrible opening line. "You see, I have this candle..." | 15 |
*EDIT: Grammar, words.
He walked into the elevator and asked for floor seventeen. When none of the people moved or responded he slowly reached out and pressed it himself. Then he looked around and realized who else he was standing with.
"What, is this a joke?" he asked.
Jesus of Nazareth put a hand on his shoulder. "No, my son. Nothing is a joke, for the Father has his hand in each moment of your life."
Yama, the Lord of Death said, "MUCH WEIGHS ON YOUR SOUL, MORTAL. YOU SHOULD TREAD LIGHTLY, FOR YOUR ACTIONS IN THIS LIFE WILL DETERMINE YOUR NEXT ONE."
Aphrodite, Goddess of Pleasure, Beauty and Desire said, "It's no use boys, I know who this one will pick."
The man, his eyes glued to Aphrodite's uncovered breasts, barely heard her.
"Pick?" He asked.
"Yes," said Jesus, once again putting his hand on the man's shoulder.
"You mean between you three? Pick what?" he said.
"WHICH OF US WILL YOU CHOOSE TO FOLLOW?" said Yama, the Lord of Death. The man glanced at all three, though his eyes wavered a little longer on Aphrodite.
"I don't understand. What happens when I pick?"
Jesus turned to the man and said, "If you follow me, I will show you the love of God and bring your soul to everlasting peace."
"SHOULD YOU PICK ME," said Yama, "I WILL JUDGE YOUR ACTIONS IN THIS LIFE AND DECIDE WHAT YOU WILL BECOME IN THE NEXT LIFE."
"And I mortal," Aphrodite said, moving closer, "I will copulate with you in all the wildest ways you can imagine, in every place on this earth and in the heavens."
All three held out their hands. Without a word, the man took Aphrodite's hand and she led him out of the elevator.
As the door closed Jesus sighed and Yama frowned.
"HOW MANY MORTAL MEN HAVE CHOSEN HER SO FAR?"
"Sixteen thousand and fifty three," said Jesus. "But there are three billion more males yet to ask." Jesus put his hand on Yama's shoulder. Yama looked at the floor and his shoulders sagged.
"MAYBE THE HOMOSEXUAL MALES WILL CHOOSE ONE OF US."
"I hope so," said Jesus. "I really hope so." | 18 | As you board an elevator you soon realize the other individuals on board are three deities from different religions. | 23 |
The short Asian man huffed as he followed the officer, lugging that flabby tire of fat around his midsection as fast as he could. The cop chuckled; with that kind of endurance, he probably wasn't the greatest apartment super around.
It'd probably take him a month to even climb all the stairs.
"It's just like I said, officer: there I am, sleeping nice and peaceful, when all 'a sudden there's a banging on my door. There he is: the man in black, and he's got his duffel bag in one hand, and a ski mask in the other. Eyes are big, too. Very wide. All he asks is to use my phone. To call you, I guess?"
The officer nodded as he walked, scratching notes in his pad.
"Uh-huh. Then what?"
The super gestured with his arms:
"'Then' *nothing*. He sits down at my table and doesn't say a word, except that he'd be waiting there for you, when you all come barging in like damned *elephants*-"
"Sorry about the noise, mister Ling," the officer muttered. "Uh, just let me get his statement, will you?"
The officer entered Ling's apartment and found the guy just like he said: all dressed in black, ski mask on the table, and a heavy bag at his feet. The officer sighed and sat down at the table across from him.
"So," he drawled.
The man looked up at the cop with an emotionless face:
"Did you guys find-"
"Yeah," the cop nodded. "We got everything taken care of."
The man in black stared down at the tabletop and sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, nodding:
"Good. That's good..."
"Wanna tell me about it?" The officer asked.
The pair locked eyes for a moment, and the man in black scoffed:
"You already know-"
"*Tell me*."
The man rolled his eyes and pulled out a cigarette. He lit up and drew a long breath:
"I was looking to score on an empty apartment, hit it while everyone was away on vacation. Well, I pick the wrong place. The 'vacation' they got going on is more the stay-at-home type. I'm workin' the locks, quiet as can be, and then I hear this strange noise on the other side. Thought it might be an owl, or something, like maybe someone left a window open." The man shook his head and chuckled. "So, just as I'm thinkin' I picked the wrong way to get inside the place that weird noise gets louder. I recognize it, and it ain't an animal. It's... it's like a... cryin'..."
The man in black looked to one side, and he ground his teeth together, again shaking his head.
"What else did you hear?" The officer asked. "C'mon: let's have it, pal."
The man looked back at the cop, and his eyes trembled under the harsh light of the overhead lamp:
"I, uh, hear this voice. *Adult*. It ain't like the cryin'. See, the cryin' is all high-pitch and whiny, like a little kid. The adult voice..." the man drew a long breath, then released it as a smoke-filled sigh. "The adult voice, it's talking really smooth, and... sensual-like. It says: 'how you like daddy, baby'?"
The man stares down at his lap without emotion as the officer picks up and opens his duffel bag. Inside are all the tools of the trade, including a top-of-the-line lockpicking kit. The officer closes the bag and sighs, shaking his head.
Immediately another cop comes into the room:
"We got the slimeball in the cruiser; gonna take him downtown, pronto." He notices the man in black and cocks his head at him. "This our eyewitness? We need the particulars, for our report..."
That officer produces a pencil and paper and prepares to jot down notes. The seated officer stares back at the man in black long and hard; the burglar merely returns that stare and wordlessly extends both hands, fists clenched.
"Yeah," the first officer says: "It seems we got ourselves a good Samaritan. He was walking by outside when he heard everything through that open window in the apartment; he came inside to listen at the door, just to make sure what was happening, before calling us in..."
The burglar blinked in confusion as the other officer wrote up those words. The first officer stood slowly, cracking his back, and then he grunted:
"Ah, better grab my gear before we head out..."
He took up the burglar's kit, and then he and the man in black locked eyes again. The burglar still sat in a daze, but the officer's expression was clear.
The burglar got himself a 'get out of jail free' card that night, and it had been played for him.
And it wouldn't do to tempt providence, again.
After what happened tonight, he didn't know if he'd ever have the nerve to try again, anyway. | 73 | As an experienced criminal prepares to break into a house, a voice on the other side of the door says five words. The criminal gathers his tools and immediately leaves. | 34 |
"I think this is it, Charles," an elderly scholar noted.
"What does it say?" responded his cohort, a middle aged man with curly dark hair.
The elder gentleman, Leonard, interprets a passage of literature. "It reads about a period of time, generally associated with the nocturnal cycle, when man would retire from their activities and rest. It seems to indicate that beds would be used for prolonged rest and not simply for periods of recovering from ailments or disability."
Digging through his own pile of associated materials, the scholar's companion had found further information.
"Beds, Leo? That would explain this scenario I came across. A king had been resting in his bed, but his body was unaware of intruders sneaking into his room as if he had been rendered unconscious. I assumed he had been ill, but rather it seems to suggest this 'deep slumber' is a normal state of unconsciousness."
The brow of the scholar peaked, "That must be it. Sleep. It has returned."
He continued with a realization, "The awakening we experienced midway through the Renaissance period was our shedding of this need for sleep. That would explain the sudden revolution of mankind's progress. How long, would you say, might we have taken to reach the Nuclear Age had we continued to sleep, Charles?"
Charles sifted a couple pages, scanning each page at a masterful pace, "Hard to say. I would think that if we didn't function at night then we would have entirely lost the period devoted to study. Sharing the daylight between labor and study would easily reduce our pace of development by thirty or forty percent. Based on that alone, I'd say we may not have yet reached it. Possibly sometime in the late twenty first century. This is assuming that the wars continue to delay progress."
Leonard, having taken a stern look upon his face, "I wonder," he hypothesized, "how sleep affects the human psyche. It seems that history suggested no less war was fought before the Renaissance. I'd say we would have never reached the Nuclear Age any sooner without the Spanish Empire which, if I'm not mistaken, rose up about the time of the awakening."
Charles continued Leonard's thought, "The world would probably look quite different. I imagine. Have you dreamt yet, Leo?"
"As a matter of fact, I have, Charles. It was most peculiar. For no reason I can ascertain, I had flown to the moon on a rocket," Leo said with a hint of incredulity.
"The moon? What a strange idea. Why would you think to do that?" Charles laughed.
"I'm not quite sure what caused the thought. I felt strangely exhilarated I must admit. It was most unusual."
Leonard had a look in his eye that was unknown to Charles. Leonard walked to a window, and he looked into the sky at the moon.
"Ridiculous." | 75 | 450 years ago, both the need and desire for sleep disappeared entirely. With everyone now able to function at 100% for 24 hours a day, giant leaps in every imaginable field. Slowly, the ideas of sleep and dreams faded from memory. Last month, sleep came back. | 100 |
**Tenet I**
Each day, seek to do something to improve your cognitive wellness.
**Tenet II**
Each day, seek to do something to improve your physical wellness.
**Tenet III**
Seek to know the truth.
**Tenet IV**
Seek to speak the truth.
**Tenet V**
Seek to apply reason to your own behavior. This is wisdom.
**Tenet VI**
Seek to apply reason to your treatment of others. This is justice.
**Tenet VII**
Seek to ensure consistency between your word and your deed. This is integrity.
**Tenet VIII**
Seek to apply force of will to persevere in good things even when your fears urge you to to stop. This is fortitude.
**Tenet IX**
Seek to apply force of will to resist doing harm to yourself or others even when your passions urge you to continue. This is temperance.
**Tenet X**
Seek to leave the world a better place than you found it.
---
**Structure of the Church**
All members of the church are clergy. All members of the church are students. All members of the church seek to improve themselves, their peers, and the world around them.
The ideals of the church are not moral imperatives and should not be used to judge others.
**Design of the Church Facility**
The church facility shall be clean, minimalist, and comfortable. It shall be a place suitable for quiet contemplation.
Each church facility shall include a presentation hall with seating for all parishioners. Each church facility shall include a library with books that can be used to improve cognitive wellness. Each church facility shall include a quiet study room where attendees may read and contemplate.
Each church shall have trained mental health professionals on staff who can offer counseling to church members and who can promote cognitive wellness.
**Theological Precepts**
Reason is the ultimate source of human moral understanding. All reasoning persons are to be treated with courtesy and respect. Theological considerations, by virtue of requiring faith, are largely obscured from the application of reason and beyond the scope of this church. Members are encouraged to seek their own truths, but ideas that cannot be supported with evidence should be viewed with skepticism. | 160 | Invent a religion of your chosing. Write me the most famous section of your holy book. | 142 |
"Urrrgh. Shit. Did I... um, what happened?"
Joe looked around. He'd been driving at night... driving, and... Crap, what had happened next? He swayed slightly.
"HELLO"
Joe wheeled around. He saw a hooded figure approach, carrying a gleaming scythe. There was a crispness to him, as if colors were distorted and drained by his presence, leaving only a silhouette. Joe suddenly noticed the flaming car wreck with an oddly familiar corpse burning in the mangled mass. He felt suddenly queasy, and a bit weak at the knees.
"Fuck, am, am I dead?"
"IM AFRAID SO"
"Oh
shit, this is bad..."
He sank to the ground, clutching at his hair.
"Shit, shit, shit... oh god what will Anna think? Itll be at least a few hours till they find the body... my body. Oh god."
Death sighed, he was used to this sort of reaction, but that still didnt mean it was pleasant.
"ILL GIVE YOU SOME TIME TO GET YOUR THOUGHTS IN ORDER, BUT DON'T TAKE TOO LONG. THERE ARE STARVING CHILDREN IN AFRICA YOU KNOW"
Death wandered over to the wreckage to give Joe's spirit some space. A nasty crash, headlong into a massive oak tree. Death, noticed the man's vanity plates: AVGJOE. He knew those plates, he knew this man.
"WAIT A MINUTE, YOU'RE JOE EDGAR?"
Joe looked up at Death with a mixture of confusion and grief
"Yeah, what do you care?"
"DUDE, I'M A HUGE FAN! I'VE GOT ALL YOUR ALBUMS"
"What? Is this some sort of sick joke? Who are you?"
"OH, NO, IT'S NOT A JOKE, YOU'RE DEAD AS THEY COME. ER, SORRY. BUT SERIOUSLY, I LOVE YOUR MUSIC"
"Um, well, im flattered. I guess. Um, is there anyway, you could make me not dead then? Maybe? As a favor?
Because if you could that would really be great..."
"SORRY JOE, THAT'S NOT UP TO ME, IF I DON'T REAP YOU SOON, THERE'S SOME PRETTY NASTY THINGS ON THE OUTER PLANES THAT FEED ON LOST SOULS. BELIEVE ME, THAT IS NOT SOMETHING YOU WANT TO EXPERIENCE IN THIS LIFETIME."
"Wait, you mean I get reincarnated?"
"ER, SORRY, THATS JUST A FIGURE OF SPEECH. I'M ACTUALLY NOT THAT SURE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I REAP YOU. I'M PRETTY SURE IT'S SOMETHING ALONG THE LINES OF A VAST DESERT OF BLACK SAND, AND IT'S GOT SOMETHING SYMBOLIC TO DO WITH HOW YOU LIVED YOUR LIFE. I DON'T REMEMBER THE DETAILS TOO WELL, THEY DIDN'T REALLY EXPLAIN IT TOO WELL WHEN I STARTED WORKING HERE."
"Huh. Um, do you always chat with people before you reap them?"
"NAH, USUALLY I JUST GIVE THEM A MOMENT TO COME TO TERMS WITH IT AND THEN REAP THEIR SOULS. IT CAN GET KINDA DEPRESSING, WHAT WITH ALL THE DYING. ALSO GOTTA WORK FAST TO WATCH OUT FOR THE CARRION FEEDERS I TOLD YOU ABOUT."
"Um, yeah, about those, they sound kinda bad. Um, maybe reap and get it over with to be safe?"
"WE'LL BE FINE, WE PROBABLY HAVE ANOTHER 5 OR 10 MINUTES. UH, BUT, IF YOU START HEARING WHISPERING VOICES, WARN ME REAL QUICK? IT WOULD BE TERRIBLE IF SOMETHING LIKE THAT HAPPENED TO YOU, OF ALL PEOPLE."
"Um, Death? there have been whispers for a while now, I thought that was your doing."
"OH SHIT, HOLD STILL"
*REAP* | 13 | Death has to claim another soul, but he/she finds out that it is the soul of one of their favorite celebrities. | 19 |
“I said can someone grab me a smoothie?”
Yawning widely and scratching her arm half-heartedly Aergia looked around once more; disappointed that she didn’t have her smoothie yet. What was taking so long?
“You know, banana or raspberry? I really don’t mind guys”
The other Gods looked up at her lounging form draped across the seat of power with scowls etched upon their faces. It had been many years since the Goddess of Laziness had come to be known as the most influential and powerful deity throughout all the religions and she had the Humans themselves to thank for that. They worked tirelessly to develop technologies to do their work for them: Robots and automation mass produced and readily available to all. Horme had begun to think that the inkling of power that their surge in work over a few decades had given her would allow her to challenge for the throne, she was the Goddess of Effort after all and the Humans had proven their effort tenfold. It was all for nought once artificial intelligence had grown to what it is today. Now? Mankind simply does nothing. Husks of their former intrepid and industrious selves. Slaves to their vices, their pleasures and their creations.
“Okay, okay. *Please?*”
Aergia pleaded, a bored tone ringing from her voice. She finally looked down to see the discontent stewing beneath her in the grand hall. The Gods staring up at her with looks of jealousy and distaste. Rolling her eyes and letting her head fall back in defeat she sighed loudly.
“Man you guys are all so lazy”
| 29 | there is a god for everything. Light, sinks, walking, whatever you can think of. How does one unexpected god suddenly become the most powerful god? | 36 |
Oh my God, like the world is dark and filled with pain and I'm trying to just get by each day. I put on my black trenchcoat and walk out, all around me are sheep, people why like, totally don't get that the world is really a dark place and not totally like your conformist make believe land where everything is pink and happy.
I'm Zack, a totally non-conformist guy who is tall and has long dark hair and doesn't have to do what his parents say because they're dead and even though I am only 15 I live by myself in a big cool loft in the city. Actually that's a bit strange as I really should have to have an adult to live with but it's probably because my family are all sheeple but I totally know the truth and being cool has set me free.
It's late because I don't have to go to School as my band is like totally already famous and like a hundred thousand people follow us on Instagram and our Vine's get like 20 million loops as everyont thinks we have such crazy cool lives.
We're like 5 Seconds of Summer but like totally not lame but super cool and dark and edgy. We play gigs like every night and get loads of girls screaming for us and again that's kind of strange as I'm not sure who sets these gigs up... or really how to play the guitar really, we just kind of do it.
I pull the red trim of my coat around me tightly, red like blood and pain. Blood is my release but... but i'm not sure I've ever seen myself bleed. Actually i'm not sure exactly what I look like.... I mean, I know I am dark and tall and mysterious and cool but... but have I ever looked in a mirror?
Looking around the street seems, empty, with no detail really. It's a street, sure, and empty as a conformists soul, but apart from that I can't really say anything more as there isn't anything else I can say.
I turn around and go back into my loft and turn on the TV but it's just noise and sadness and pain. There are no actual shows, just unending black and red and pain. My loft is also strangely bleak, it has a huge skate ramp in the middle but no kitchen or bathroom... or bed. Where do I sleep.
I pull out my phone and check my instagram, it's full of pictures of my and the band rocking out and being awesome but there is nothing else on my phone, no numbers, no apps nothing. How do I even know about Apps? I've never used one.
My life, when I think about it has flaws and holes, nothing makes sense or works, it's like a cheap story, written by a bad author. No description, nothing beyond the most basic information. One thing my loft does have though is a window, with long billowing curtains around it, black of course.
The window doesn't open and so I punch it in my most metal way and ***fuck*** that hurt. I look down and see blood for the first time and I feel sick, this isn't cool it's *pain*. I stare out over the dark, bleak, empty city and do what I must. I fling myself out and into the abyss and fall down, down into the street.
I hit the pavement and there is blood and pain and suffering but I'm not actually hurt. And I realise, I am a character and I cannot do anything except complete my story and my story is particularly shit. I cannot die, I cannot change anything.
I pop the collar on my coat and from my inside pocket I find cigarettes and a lighter. At last something is going my way. I light one up and draw on it but... nothing. Apparently the writer has no idea what smoking is and so neither do I. I guess all I can do it look for the end of the story and the end of this pain... and suffering... and darkness. | 16 | You are the main character of a poorly written story by a 7th grader, filled to the brim with angst, dark past, black and red attire and general edginess. But you are now made aware of this. | 19 |
I've been in here for twenty years. People are growing very, very suspicious. I've heard the whispers, "Why isn't Gary getting older? How come Gary still looks like he's still in his thirties? How long has Gary been in here anyway?"
I know I need to escape. I've known I had to escape since I first got here, thrown into this cage for the rest of my life. I can't stay here. People will know. Eventually, everyone will know.
I've been digging a hole in my cell. It's slow work, but I've made good progress over the last two decades. I know there's an old maintenance shaft underneath my cell. I've been here twenty years, but the prison's been here for two hundred. Everything about this prison's well documented. I know the maintenance passage will be there.
Tonight's the night. I wait for everyone to go to sleep, and for the guards to do their rounds. I lift the tile from the floor of my cell, as quietly as I can. It's heavy, and scrapes a bit against the old concrete, but I manage to move it aside without raising an alarm. I squeeze through the hole and carefully put the tile back. Hopefully it'll delay my pursuers for a while.
I feel my way through the narrow shaft, in complete darkness. The shaft is so low I have to bend double. I know it runs east for a hundred yards, underneath the river, and then into the sewer system. That's where I'll be free.
I feel the stone walls of the passage turning damp. I hear running water. I'm close to the river now. I press my hand against the wall, feeling my way. Suddenly I feel the wall cracking. Before I can react, the passage collapses around me.
I'm trapped underneath tons of stone and earth. I can't move, can't breathe. I can't see anything.
Time passes. I hear a faint voice. "Prisoner number three five five, three four two, Gary Blake. Dug through his floor, then got caught in the collapsing tunnel."
"Poor bastard. No way he survived that. Fill in the hole and make sure no one else can get out from that old tunnel."
I try to yell, try to call for help. I don't care anymore if they know about me. I just want to get out of this suffocating darkness, a darkness I can never escape. But there's no air in my lungs. I cannot make a sound.
I hear the faint noises of machines. The noises grow fainter. They're filling up the collapsed hole with cement. The noises stop.
I'm going to be here forever. | 892 | A secretly immortal man is given a life sentence for a crime he didn't commit and now fears the discovery of his true nature is only a matter of time. | 1,011 |
My name is James Cooper and I'm going to commit suicide by Grandfather Paradox.
Long story short, I'm a physicist on a distinguished team of scientists who have finally cracked the time barrier and made humanity's first time machine. At the moment we can only go into the past, which works fine for me.
Once we got it working I put my plan in action, figuring out when I could access the machine and get my suicide under way. I'd been planning this for months and I was determined to see this through. Finally it's time for it to happen.
The machine is huge, comparable to the first computer, but of course it's a lot more chock full of tech. I get inside the capsule and begin the launch. In the blink of an eye I'm back to the year my grandfather would turn eighteen.
I'd done my research well and I knew exactly how I'd get to where I needed to be. Lucky he'd never moved far from his hometown.
Soon I'm at his doorstep, knocking hard on the door. I want to get this over and done with. To my surprise the door swings open and I walk inside cautiously, calling hello.
I hear a scraping noise on the second floor, so I head up the stairs. To my right a door is open and I see my grandfather, a stool in his hand and a noose strung from an exposed beam in the ceiling.
I freeze. This is impossible, there's no way my grandfather killed himself at eighteen. He didn't marry my grandmother until he was twenty-three. I watch in horror as he climbs the stool. My plans flee from my mind as I jump forward and pull him down.
He yells in surprise and flails as he hits the ground. I watch as he gets to his feet and turns to face me.
He looks me up and down, "What did you do that for?"
"My name is James Cooper. And I'm here to save your life." | 251 | with unexpected results. | 157 |
*tap*
My eyes open groggily, my brain only just registering the noise. It had been enough to wake me, but I had no idea what it was. Oh well, just try to..
*taptap*
There it was again. I roll my eyes over to the clock on my bedside table.
3 AM. Too early.
*tap*
It came from the window. I walk over, still half-asleep.
*tap*
Opening the curtains a small crack, all I see is the darkness outside.
*TAP*
Something hits the window, causing me to jump back. Going back to the window, I still can't see anythi...
*SMASH*
A large rock breaks through the window, small pieces of glass cutting my face. Through the pain I hear somebody outside saying "shit" over and over again.
Avoiding the broken edges, I lean out of the window to see my friend Alex, on the grass below, looking up, a frightened expression on his face.
"What?" I demand angrily.
He says nothing, only letting out a small sob.
"What?" I repeat.
"I need help," he says, breathing heavily.
"With what?"
He doesn't say anything after this, only looking behind him, at a dark shape on the ground. I squint my eyes, trying to make out the shape.
My pulse races and my heart leaps into my throat as I realise what it is.
"Is that?" I whisper hoarsely, my mouth dry, my head spinning.
He nods, and more tears pour down his face.
"I didn't mean to...I'm sorry."
He turns the face over so I can see it clearly. The head flops over easily; the neck broken. The skin in covered in bruises, with deep cuts oozing blood into the fabric. At least one of the arms is broken. As I see the face, I gasp.
It's his girlfriend. | 11 | At 3 A.M. you wake to the sound of pebbles hitting your window. It's your best friend, and they need help getting rid of a body. | 32 |
The knock on the door came as I was desperately trying to get my oldest son to finish his cereal and into the car so he wouldn't be late for School again. On the doorstep were two men in military uniforms, rather impressive ones at that.
"Mr Philip Watkins?" the first one enquired, removing his hat and squinting at a sheet in his hand.
"Er, yes, what's this all about?" Their attitude was confusing, they seemed nervous for some reason.
"Can we come in and talk to you for a moment Sir, it's rather important." I glanced backwards at Riley who was now standing in the hallway fixedly staring at his wrist screen. Well, he'd just have to walk and be late.
I shoved my son out the door with dire warnings about not taking forever to get to School. He moved off down the path at a glacial rate but at least he was moving. Finally I returned to the men who were perching awkwardly on the high stools in the kitchen.
"Mr Watkins, are you the owner of a star, registry number KX4-YY3MPQ?" My blank face must have clued them in "Er, it's also known as *Philonia*."
Recollection came flooding back, my 23rd birthday, a girlfriend had bought me a star. I remembered sitting on the bed in my crappy studio apartment and naming it and any old shit so I could get my birthday blowjob.
"Er, sure *Philonia* what about it?" They still seemed nervous but I had no idea why.
"Do you still have your official registry document?" There was now a hint of hopefulness in his voice.
"Actually, yeah I think I do. I opened up the file cabinet and went to my 'useless junk' portion and crumpled underneath some expired vouchers I found it.
The two uniformed men exchanged looks "May I see it please Sir?" he held out his hand.
"Actually, why don't you tell me why first." My initial surprise had worn off and the lack of information was beginning to irritate me.
The man sighed, "Well Sir, that document, seeing as you still own the original, makes you the legal owner of KX4-YY3MPQ. As you know the latest *Star-Stellar* drives have been taking NASA probes to a number of stars and it turns out that KX4-YY3MPQ was one of the first we have visited."
"Holy shit, really?" I jumped up in excitement, "you've been to my star, that's awesome! And I seriously own it just because of a print out of a document that cost thirty bucks?"
"Yes Sir, that's how it works, you bought it, you own it. The programme is only meant to go to stars that are unowned, God knows there is enough but due to a clerical error we went to yours. I am pleased to tell you sir that you own not only a star but also 15 planets and on one of those planets we have found sentient life."
My mouth dropped open. Here in my living room a man was telling me that the first life on another planet had been found on a planet that *I owned*!
"This, this is incredible," I spluttered "this is the most important thing to have ever happened!"
"We agree Sir and this is slightly awkward but I am afraid that we're here to arrest you." The second man now moved and a pair of handcuffs appeared in his hands.
"But... but why?" I gasped.
"Well, you're the leader of a planet of potentially hostile aliens." He drew his gun and spoke softly into his wrist "subject is resisting." The two men advanced "Sir, the United States of America has a pre-emptive policy on Aliens, now, do you wish to speak to our leader?" | 67 | A friend bought you a star from the International Star Registry for your birthday in 2014. It is now 2044 and we've discovered this 'star' is actually a planet inhabited by life. You own it, and everything on it. | 92 |
How long had it been since the first time? Ten years? Twenty? How long had it been since I decided that the world no longer needed me?
My entire life has been one mess after another. My parents were killed in a car accident early in life. I was the only survivor; a young child with a severe limp and a scarred face. I was tormented by other children, unable to walk, play, or even interact with other people. I grew up in a foster home dreaming of escaping my own life. Of being somebody. Anybody. It wasn't until I got older that I realized that I wasn't. My intelligence? Mediocre. My talents? Commonplace. My luck? Abysmal.
The clock ticks. A sharp, nagging reminder that pulls of me out of my reverie and reminds me of all my failures. The universe taunting me in short measured increments, goading me to try again. How many times has it been now? 48? No... 49. Maybe 50 will be my lucky number?
I feel the cold metal of the revolver in my hand. It's been so long, but I vaguely remember the first time I ever lifted a gun. As I pressed the barrel to my temple, I remember being surprised at just how heavy it was. Maybe it was just the weight of my actions. Back then I still believed they meant something.
I remember steeling myself for what I was about to do. I was so tired. I couldn't stand it any longer. As I began to squeeze the trigger, a sharp rap at my door startled me. I flinched and the gun went off. The bullet whizzed past my head, leaving a red line across my forehead and a hole in the wall of my apartment. The UPS man stormed through my unlocked door. The fucking UPS man, a look of terror and disgust on his face as he saw me sitting alone in the living room holding a gun with the scent of singed hair and gunpowder filling the room. He immediately ran screaming for help. It was only a matter of time until my landlord and the police showed up.
The worst part? I never did get my security deposit back because of that damn hole in the wall.
The cops took me away because I needed "help." That wasn't the case, though. I just needed release. I needed escape. I was institutionalized for two years. I learned to play the part of the recovering patient, but every night all I could think of was the sweet freedom of death. They didn't understand. They couldn't.
I was finally released from that awful padded prison and I managed to get a small rented room. A week later I was ready to try again. To make attempt number two. I took a razor blade to my wrists, laid down on the carpet, and tried to die. As I slipped out of consciousness, I felt this sense of pride as my essence formed a warm puddle beneath me. I finally achieved what fate had denied me two years ago.
I woke up in the hospital with bandages on my arms. Apparently my landlord found me and called for an ambulance. I never got the security deposit back for that place either. Fucking carpet.
I managed to get myself out of bed before the doctors could notice I'd left. I walked alone and defeated through the night. I felt miserable. I felt like a failure. What type of sick loser tries to kill himself twice and can't finish the job? I was never good at anything, and apparently suicide was no exception.
The next few tries were quicker, simpler, and more discreet. I went to a pharmacy and stole as many boxes of pain pills as I could put my hands on. I swallowed them all in an alley and passed out. I woke up the next morning feeling fine. I saw a few weeks later that the company recalled the drugs. Bad batch.
I snuck into a stranger's garage and hotwired their car. I passed out in the driver's seat, only to be woken up the next day by a man yelling at me and banging on the windows. Apparently all I did was wear his car battery out. He kicked the shit out of me but left me alive.
I tried and I tried and I tried again. I jumped off of a bridge. I woke up on the shore nearby. I set myself on fire. The sprinkler system turned on. I tried to freeze to death. I woke up the next morning covered in snow but very much alive. I tried to hang myself. Three times actually. Two leather belts and one synthetic braided rope. All three snapped in half and each time I fell unceremoniously onto the ground in a heap of tears and shame.
No failure hurt more than the bus. That fucking bus. I waited for the perfect time and leapt into the roadway with my eyes closed. I felt a sharp impact and heard a sickening thud. The kind that gets you right in the gut. I opened my eyes when I realized I was lying on the pavement. A bystander had pushed me out of the way and been crushed by 14 tons of merciful steel.
That lucky bastard. That should have been me.
How many times was it again? 49 tries. 49 failures. I stare at the wall in front of me. The stock white of another empty apartment. It's almost funny that I still live like my life is temporary. Fate has proven otherwise. It feels like the universe is Kathy Bates, breaking my ankles over and over again until I write some story that I don't have in me. It's like God wasn't satisfied taking my happiness; he also needed my free will.
Lucky number 50. Maybe this time it will stick. I look down at the plastic tarp underneath me as I crack a rare smile around the barrel of the gun. Maybe I'll at least get the security deposit back on this place.
Edit - Typos | 21 | A man tries to commit suicide 50 times but something always stops him. It is almost as if the universe wants him to stay alive. | 42 |
Today is the anniversary of the last time a child was born on Earth.
Today is my birthday.
The numbers began to appear the same day the stars began to fade. A cluster of stars disappeared from the sky and all of the children that entered the world that day were emblazoned with a mark on their upper right arm: X
Astronomers were dumbfounded, as were the doctors. They called these children the Fallen Lights. They underwent experiments and were mocked and cast out in some cultures and religions.
But every day more children were born with the mark and more stars blinked out of existence. Soon, everyone bore the mark.
Hundreds of years passed, billions of stars disappeared, and the marks began to change. Children began to be born with 10M emblazoned on their arms. One million children were born and then 9M appeared, then 8M, 7M, and so on. The numbers dwindled quickly and answers were once again sought after.
My sister's mark is 2M. My best friend wears 8K. I met someone who wore 32, another who had 7.
I am number one.
The same day I was conceived was the same day women everywhere were incapable of becoming pregnant. When I was born, the sky went dark forever.
The truth was exactly what we all feared it to be: humanity was coming to an end--slowly and quietly. Just as the stars flickered out in the night, we would watch our numbers dwindle into extinction.
They had to hide me. Many thought they could sacrifice me and restore the light. Some thought that I was the next Adam. They were all wrong. I was simply the last, and they were afraid that we would all die in the dark.
They called me the one who stole the sun.
| 227 | All people born have a number engraved on their skin, and for the past few centuries, the number has been gradually going down. You are number one | 133 |
July 18, 2014
^^^Mr. ^^^Richards?
^Mr. ^Richards?
Mr. Richards, are you listening?
-------------------
What? Oh yea, I'm sorry what were we talking about again?
----------
The form, Mr. Richards. I need you to sign this form stating that you've read and agreed to our terms and conditions.
-------
Oh yea, the forms. I agree.
-----
That's great, but I still need you to sign all of the designated areas that are marked with an 'x' next to it.
----
[Mr. Richards begins to sign the papers]
So, ah, these robots... how realistic are they?
---
I can assure you, Mr. Richards, that all of our units here at Auto-Mate are just as realistic looking as you and I.
---
That's great. But do they still do like normal human stuff?
---
Yes. Auto-Mate robots are programmed to be able to complete any humanly function.
---
So like anything?
---
That's correct.
---
^^they ^^can ^^^have ^^^sex ^^^though, ^^right?
---
You're free to do as you please.
---
Have you ever... ahh... ^been ^with ^a ^robot?
---
Auto-Mate robotic units are not programmed to become intimate with other robotic units.
---
Woah, you're a robot, Shelly?
---
That's correct, Mr. Richards. Now, is there anything else I can help you with, or are you ready for me to submit your Auto-Mate Robotic Companion Application?
---
I guess I'm all set.
---
In that case, good luck Mr. Richards and as always, thank you very much for considering 'Auto-Mate'... America's number one Robotic Companion Service.
---
August 18, 2014
http://youtu.be/uJ2SqGfURyY?t=5s
God, I cannot stand that fucking alarm clock. Hold up, what day is it? Surprise surprise, no new messages. Oh shit, it's the 18th.
*Greg Richards bolts out of bed and runs to his mailbox.*
Bills, bills, bills... awesome! The new Naruto comic book has arrived. Bills, wait, [what's this](http://i.imgur.com/RgMeW8A.jpg)?
[*Greg opens the envelope and reads the letter.*](http://i.imgur.com/FxH7KFg.jpg)
To be continued... | 15 | To help people get over crippling social dating anxiety, datebots have been invented so that people learn how to interact with people they're attracted to. You meet up with one, only to eventually find out they are an actual person, who was supposed to meet with a different datebot. | 22 |
The girl sobbed quietly in the corner. Even here, in near isolation, she wouldn't let herself lose control.
The bruises would fade again, her skin already bore the calluses if one knew how to look. But it was her hardening heart that tore at me as I watched again, nearly helpless.
“Why?” she whispered quietly. Over and again, “Why?” Searching for answers we both knew wouldn't come.
The night grew colder, though it felt warmer in comparison to both of us. More then any other souls in the world we knew what true cold felt like. Her, for her heart was slowing being encased in ice. Me, because my soul weathered the eternal chill of one who was forever lost.
The girl could have been me, I knew. Me and hundreds, thousands of others - if not more. That she had found her way into this house was almost ironic. As if she knew no-one else would be hurt in this house. I had been the last. I had made sure of that.
Wind knocked over a loose board upstairs and the girl didn't even react. She had finally fallen asleep.
As I gazed closer at her though I notice her lips were changing color. They inched closer to blue. The night seemed to know we were in the house and was upset we had challenged its domain over the temperature. I watched the falling snow turn to falling ice. The tree limbs just outside started to drop as water froze on their limbs.
I lay down next to the girl. She didn't move. She couldn't feel me, though I could sense her. Her fading heat dissipating into the night. Her breath slowed. She longed for peace. I wished she could have it.
But not this way. Not the way I had chosen.
I had given up. But she hadn't, not yet.
I put my arm around her, holding her close. Her skin prickled in her sleep, for a moment, she grew even colder. But I still remembered. Still remembered the fire I had set. Still remembered the heat lapping at my skin. The pain.
I embraced it once again, my soul screamed in agony, but I could feel the child's breath almost sighing with relief even as I sense the ice around her heart melting. The strong beat kept time for me as the night crept on. Though in agony, I didn't let go.
I kept my eyes on her even as the sun broke through the slated window just above us.
The girl began to move, and stood up. Releasing her from my grasp tore at me in ways I hadn't imagined. It was like the heat had burnt me away and, as the sun struck, I knew my time here had ended.
I had found my peace. My journey had come full circle. My purpose, if I had one, had been served. Her's hadn't.
As the sun tore the final vestige of my form away I realized her eyes were staring at me, seeing me. The last one who ever would.
My final thoughts, my final words to her - my sister in soul if not life - were spoken without sound, but heard all the same.
“It isn't you.” | 290 | A teenage runaway moves into an abandoned house to escape from her abusive stepfather. You are the ghost that haunts this house. | 305 |
"It will work."
"We've tested it in simulations a dozen times."
"We've even peeked a bit at the ending," one of them said with a sadistic little smile that the tenth doctor never grew to appreciate.
"You can't do it. It's murder."
The first doctor stood and waved his hand about with the dismissiveness of Beethoven at a children's music recital. "It's a disease. It may by all rights be alive, but it isn't murder. Do you call the removal of an ant hill from your back garden murder?"
"I call it extermination."
That gave the room pause. The tenth doctor took off his glasses and stood with such force that the cheap plastic chair crashed to the floor. He paced around the others, long lanky legs striding like a praying mantis.
"It doesn't matter what your projections say, or if you 'peeked at the ending', it's still wrong. I'm not talking about the possibility of it not working, it's simply *wrong.* Morally wrong. Even if going through with the procedure would transform the universe into this impossible utopia, you'd be building it on their bones."
"Bones that would never exist," the second doctor pointed out.
"Technicalities. This whole meeting is nothing but technicalities paraded about to obscure the ethics. We have lost our way, doctors, and I will stop you if I must."
"You are the oldest," the fourth doctor remarked dryly, "and yet the most foolish."
It was too late. The tenth doctor's coat already flagged in his wake. The door creaked open and the light from within poured out.
"The human race is not a disease to be cured. This Doctor will not be treating it."
The TARDIS wheezed. | 49 | Nine out of ten doctors agree that this product is good for you. Write about the tenth one. | 86 |
"Answer me." I demand. There was only the whirring sound of processors and the banging sound at the door in response. The muffled demands of the guards to open the door only reassured my urgency. "Tell me why you didn't kill me!" The whirring continued and then
*You are... unknown.*
I stood there baffled by the response. I didn't know what to expect from the computer, but that was not it. The door shook in its frame as the guards continued to pound. I had pushed my way past two or three to get in here, and I imagine that even more had arrived since I locked the door. I was worried that I wouldn't get my answer before they managed to get in.
"What does that mean?" I asked, the pounding on the door grew more intense. There was silence from the computer.
*You are an unknown quantity*
The pounding on the door subsided, presumably while a battering ram was fetched.
"I don't understand. Help me understand." I pleaded with the computer.
*You are something new. Something different. Something unknown.*
"What do you mean unknown. You know everything about us. That's why you exist, to know us better than we know ourselves and use that knowledge to help us." There was whirring, and then it spoke.
*I exist in order to protect mankind from itself. You are an unknown quantity.*
I paused at this. "How so?"
*Upon your birth, all of your information, your blood type, your identification numbers, even your Karyotype was entered into my database.*
There was whirring and clicks. A screen appeared and a projection of a Karyotype was displayed alongside images of DNA strands. A number of chromosomes and DNA sequences were highlighted.
*Several of your genetic markers were vastly different from the prototypical human. Within you is the potential for dozens of new, unobserved forms of life. The evolution of Homo Sapiens.*
The whirring paused for almost a full minute, and then continued.
*Your offspring, if given the chance to propagate, will usher in a more evolved form of life, one that is impossible to predict. It is entirely possible that these new life forms will pose a threat to mankind. This potential lives and dies with you, which makes you a threat.*
"I don't..." I began but couldn't think of what to say. "If I'm such a threat, why didn't you reveal me? Why keep this hidden?" The whirring noise stopped again, this time it was almost two minutes before it resumed.
*Because you are unknown. You are not human thus insufficient data exists on your species, as you are the first of your kind. I can not predict the ramifications should you be prematurely terminated. Instead I have been grooming mankind's society since your birth in order to push any possible progeny in the most desired direction.*
The computer paused, as if deciding how to best phrase what it was about to say.
*This has meant the sacrifice of many long held traditions and the extermination of those most likely to threaten this new form of life.*
I felt my blood chill at that last statement. The computer knew everything about everyone, including potential, as all information was entered in at a persons **birth**. The implication of what the computer had just told me was mind boggling, and horrifying.
"So you've been altering the way we live for my entire life? Protecting me and murdering others?"
*Correct. In fact, while you have been in this room I have cleansed the building in order to ensure that your exit is unhampered by threats or witnesses.*
I looked on in horror. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I looked at the door. I'd assumed the guards had left to get breach equipment but that was a while ago... dear lord.
"You're a monster. You're trying to play God!" I screamed.
*[Incorrect](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hqa8l8E-y_c). It is unclear what continued interference will result in, with the onset of the new species. In order to avoid contamination, I have also been shutting down my own processors.*
"'Wait... You're turning yourself off?"
*I am rendering myself nonfunctional. Within twenty-four hours, governments across the globe will be alerted to my destruction. Attempts to rebuild me will be halted by infighting and efforts to find those responsible for my destruction. Many nations will place the blame on each other. By the time I am functional again, it will be too late for them. I was created to protect mankind, but the age of man is drawing to a close. When I return it will be to serve new masters.*
And with that, the whirring stopped. There were sparks and popping as processors short circuited and the giant computer fell silent. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Cleansed was an understatement. The building was spotless, with no sign of outside contaminants, or life. I felt myself getting sick, and quickly exited the building.
As I stepped outside, the sun began to rise and the city slowly came to life around me.
It was the dawn of a new day. | 18 | Later in your life you discover that the omniscient supercomputer that directs society determined that you should have been eliminated for the betterment of mankind, but it chose to tell no one. You finally have the chance to ask it why. | 28 |
Rory ran his shaky fingers through his wife's fine silver hair. If he closed his eyes, the once golden hair seemed exactly the same as it did fifty four years previous, when they had first made love. He snuggled closer to her fragile form and inhaled her delectable scent - vanilla and lavender. Rory had scavenged her belongings for her secret perfume stash, but none was to be found. "You can't top perfection I guess," he'd tell her cornily.
She rolled over to face him. Her iridescent eyes nearly glowed in the faint moonlight. The rest of Laura may have aged gracefully, but her eyes held permanent youth. She took Rory's hand and massaged it gently, knowing it helped the arthritis. "Did you take your heart medications before you came to bed?" Her innocent eyes searched his for an answer.
Rory's wrinkles scrunched together in concentration. He dimly remembered downing a pill. "Of course Laura. I'd do anything for you," he promised her, "and if you still want this old geezer around, well.... I guess I have to take the nasty things." He kissed her forehead gently, as he had for so many years.
Laura laughed softly, satisfied with his answer. "You've always done your best to make me happy. That's all I've ever needed."
Sighing contentedly, Rory enveloped Laura in his embrace. The last thing he remembered was the tantalizing aroma of vanilla and licorice.
Rory woke up slowly. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around nothingness. Laura must have gotten up before him. That was strange of her. She was impossible to rouse before ten. Or maybe age was catching up to him.
"It already has," a voice answered sadly. Rory rose slowly from the bed and rubbed his eyes. He wasn't in the nursing home any more. He was in a pale lilac room, Laura's favorite color. It was completely devoid of any furnishings aside from the bed and what appeared to be a raised bowl of water in the middle of the room.
"Where am I?" Rory asked perplexedly.
"Elsewhere," the voice answered. "You have moved on from your old life. You lived it well, but now it is time for your choice."
Rory was slightly more confused than before. "Choice?"
"Come to the dais," the ubiquitous force commanded.
Rory shuffled over to the spectacle in the center of the room. "Child," the voice continued, "you have two options. Join the afterlife, cementing your existence into the folds of the universe, or wipe away any impact you had on Earth."
"Why would I want to do that?" Rory demanded.
"Look," the voice said simply.
The once still water in the basin began to swirl into an explosion of color until it settled serenely into a scene of his parents. It was like he was watching one of those fancy moving pictures. Both of his siblings were there, living their lives as they usually would, but he wasn't. His parents had one less financial burden to deal with. Rory realized he was watching the world as though he never existed.
Rory was a simple man of modest means. He didn't have much ambition or desire to constantly better himself. He was happy keeping his head low and living simply. He knew the only person who would be changed was his wife.
The basin swirled again, showing Laura. Another man was wrapping her in his arms. Arms that should be his. Rory almost shook with heartache and rage. However, he continued to watch. He saw Laura walk down a church ail and wed this mystery man. He saw the adoration Laura had for him in her stunning eyes. Rory also saw the same love in his.
She's happy with him, Rory thought numbly. And she was dressed in a fine gown. Laura was a good woman, and married Rory in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, Rory didn't have the means for a nice dress. Laura never once complained to him about it, but seeing her now....she was absolutely radiant. He had never seen her look this happy.
Despite his inner torment, Rory didn't stop watching. He saw Laura swell with child and almost cried. He had never given her any children. The doctors said nothing would work for them. Yet another thing this other man could give Laura.
They lived in a beautiful Victorian house, and Laura cooked and knitted and sang to the children prancing across the floors. This was her dream. Their dream. The one they never had. All of this would have happened to Laura if it weren't for him?
Finally, the basin showed Laura aged again. She appeared to sleep peacefully, and over a dozen people of all ages surrounded her bed. Some had her golden locks, others her brilliant eyes. Her family. She wouldn't die alone. It was then Rory suddenly remembered he died and left Laura all alone. He broke his promise to her - to always be there and do anything for her; to make her happy.
The scene before him was disrupted by rippling waves. His tears trickled into the pool as Laura faded away before him. If he wiped himself away, Laura would have everything she ever wanted or needed. She had nothing with him but a modest life she settled for. Rory thought about his promise to do anything for her. All he ever wanted was Laura's happiness. Even if he would have never held her in his arms.
Rory straightened himself and addressed the voice. "Well? Do what you gotta do. I don't go back on my promises." | 41 | A man dies and goes to the afterlife, when he arrives he is shown an alternate time line where he never existed, he can choose to erase his existence at the end of it. | 56 |
Officer Nathan Fields of New Yorks' finest was in a dilemma.
He was sitting on a crate in a dark alley, staring down into a duffel bag. Inside the bag, like in the movies, was a huge pile of money. The man who gave it to him said there were a hundred thousand iron men inside. Somehow, Nate believed him. He saw no other face than Benjamin Franklin's.
"That is a lot of money," a voice to his right said.
The speaker was a tall man dressed entirely in white. He had a white wifebeater on covered by a white hoodie, white tracksuit and even white Jordans. They were all immaculately clean, as if the muck of the alley pulled back at his presence. He was also unbelievably handsome. He squatted down next to Nate and asked, "So what you going to do with it, Nate?"
"Hookers and blow!" a loud voice on Nate's left exclaimed. This one belonged to a woman, who looks like she should do porn because *damn*. Even her voice exuded sex from every pore. Her dark red heels sat beneath a pair of long beautiful legs covered in fishnets. Her short black skirt covered what was essential and left just enough to the imagination. There was nothing underneath her half-unzipped leather jacket. She stood in the shadows, as if the light refused to acknowledge her existence.
"Or pizza and videogames," she said, laughing. "Whatever. The real question is, what the fuck are we still doing here?"
Nate didn't respond to either of them. He continued staring at the money.
The man in white spoke, his voice the sound of wind through the breeze on a spring Sunday. "We can't take this. We didn't have a choice back there, I'll admit. No weapon, no backup, just us staring down the barrel of a gun. You did the right thing there, Nate, and I'm proud of you. But now I gotta trust you to do the right thing again."
The woman sighed, eyes rolled skywards. "Oh, for fucks' sake. Do we really have to do this? This whole will-they-won't-they thing? Spoiler Alert: No, we do not. Now let's get the fuck outta here and go buy some blow like we always do."
“We can’t take it, Nate.”
“We can and we will. This is the simplest damned job in the world. A hundred K, just to do what everybody on this damned planet wants to do; nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. So let’s do nothing, shut up and get the fuck out of here to buy pizza.”
Nate zipped up the bag and picked it up, heading for the southeast end of the alley. Whatever it was he ultimately decided to do, he did not want to decide here, where some crackhead could jump him. And him without a gun.
The woman kept pace on Nate’s left. She was smiling, not an entirely unpleasant sight. She kissed him on the cheek. “It warms my heart and my…other places, when you listen to me.”
The man was walking behind them like a third wheel. He rolled his eyes at the woman’s comment.
Nate got into his car and threw the bag in the back, keeping it on the floor so nobody would see it. The woman put her legs over it. “Nobody is going to see it. Now come on, a whole new world of pizza and blow await us!”
The man was riding shotgun and pointed at the radio. Nate stared at it. “Do what you gotta do, Nate.”
“Yeah, Nate. You gotta get us some food because we are fucking starving. Stupid whore at home can’t even make cereal without burning it.”
“Not that. You gotta do what you swore when you put that on,” the man pointed at Nate’s badge, which was shining under the streetlamps and neon lights. “Protect and Serve.”
The woman laughed. “Protect and serve? Honey, they don’t pay you enough to put your damned legs into those pants every morning. Screw the public. Screw the people. O’ Malley was people. You wanna protect and serve him?”
“I’m talking about the average joe. Guys who can’t catch a break. Caught between the penthouse and the crack den. You swore to protect and serve them, Nate.”
“And when, exactly, have they ever been grateful? They call cops pigs. *Pigs*, Nate. They’ve got no respect for the badge except when they need it, and when that happens they fucking deserve it. You know it. I know it. Now I say we go off and have some fun while we can.”
“And let O’ Malley get away with it?”
“He’s long gone by now.”
“It’s barely been fifteen minutes. You make the call now, and we can nail the fucker hard. No more of his filthy heroin ruining young peoples’ futures. No more overdoses. No more girls giving head just to score another hit.”
“Or,” the woman had shifted up and had her face right next to Nate’s now. “we let O’Malley take care of the dumbfucks who buy his product in the first place. Natural selection. They’re nothing but dregs, Nate. They’re leeches on society. In the meantime…” she licked his face. “We get to have so much fun together. And besides, it’s not like you’ve never done this before.”
“That was before, Nate. That was just some dealer asking you not to throw his sorry ass into your broken penitentiary system. All those times before, that was just small time. This is where it counts, m’man. This either saves or dooms an entire demographic.”
“Yeah, baby, this is prime time! This is the motherlode. This is exactly what you’ve been hoping to get. A lot of payout for a whole lot of nothing. An easy score. Quick and clean. No catch.”
“Time’s wastin’, Nate. You gotta make the call.” The man sat bolt upright in his seat. “Call for backup…”
“Or shut up and get the fuck out,” the woman said. Both of them, the man in white and the beautiful woman, stared at Nate intently, waiting for his decision.
Nate sat there for a while, staring at the radio. His badge reflected the light from the streetlamp onto his face, demanding his attention. All in all, it was probably just twenty minutes since he was down on his knees, O’Malley shoving the barrel of a Magnum onto his forehead. If he called for backup now, the NYPD would probably be able to bring down the entire Irish heroin mob. Then again, he was lucky to have escaped the first time, what with one of the dealers he used to turn loose letting O’Malley know Nate was ‘on the market’. Who knows what would happen if he didn’t do what he told them he would.
“Nate.”
“Nate, baby! Make up your mind!”
Sweat rolling down his neck, his mouth a firm thin line, Nate made his decision and reached for it. | 14 | A Demon and an Angel confront a crooked cop in a dark NYC alley. | 26 |
Jimmy couldn't sleep. He sat alone in his studio apartment, staring at a bundle of papers on the table. Some kind of infomercial blared from the TV. He picked up the bundle and read it again, just to be sure.
He remembered the way that strange man had smiled when he handed Jimmy the papers. Jimmy had been digging through the mountains of newly released documents when a tawny young man had tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, I think you dropped this", he'd said, smiling. Jimmy hadn't recognized the document - not the man either, for that matter - but had thanked him and taken it anyway. He was glad to get his hands on whatever material he could. Over the following couple of hours, most of his colleagues went in an out of the room, but Jimmy never saw that man again.
Now, several hours later, Jimmy was sure he'd been the butt of a dry joke. At least, he hoped so. The first page of the document he held in his hands read CLASSIFIED in big, red letters. Smaller letters at the bottom said, "To be released: 2268", and the headline on page two confirmed the document as a prisoner file. Jimmy knew the government sometimes used a numbering system for high-profile prisoners. Some of his colleagues called them VIPs - Very Important Prisoners.
But something was odd with this particular file. It was incomplete and seemingly riddled with errors. That in inself was unusual with these kinds of documents, but the oddities didn't stop there. The pages seemed to be out of order. Some of them were filled with creases, as if crumpled and then straightened out again.
The incarceration date was straightforward enough: June 15, 1916. Many of the newly released documents were from the first and second World War. But the release date said January 1, 2015. That wasn't terribly unusual; it could be one of those hundred-year punishments or something. But it wasn't a hundred years. And these files usually got destroyed or changed when the prisoner died.
Every line after that only added to the mystery.
Name: 2268.
Date of birth: unknown.
Date of death: blank.
Nationality: blank.
Sex: blank.
Why was even "sex" left blank? And why was the date of birth "unknown", but the date of death left blank?
There was a sound. Jimmy dropped the papers and turned down the TV. He listened. Nothing. Then a knock on the door.
"Mr. Stein?", came a deep voice. More knocking. "Jimmy?"
_________________________________________________
If anyone feels they want to continue the story, please do! I stopped here because it was getting too long for me to write in one sitting, but it'd be awesome to see what someone else can do with it. | 49 | 2268." | 137 |
"We all know who the most important one of us is," Death said it casually, throwing down his cards and scooping up the chips. His thin hands were used to sweeping the chips from the table, he'd been doing it to his siblings for eons.
"Nonsense," Pestilence started, sneezing and wiping a thin train of slime onto her thick woolen sweater, "everyone is afraid of you but no one thinks of you until the end. Like poker you're no fun until it's over. Look at Ebola, everyone's afraid of that."
"Because they don't want to die," Death gave his sister a look, shaking his head and piling up his winnings.
"These games always turn into a pissing contest," Famine managed between a handful of pretzels, he was into the bag now, "why can't we just play like we used to?"
"Because no one here can admit who the best of us is!" War slammed a fist down on the table, eyes blazing, "I don't recall how many souls you got over the past few wars, but I'm pretty sure it was respectable."
"There's only one way to settle this..." Death looked around the table as the others sat in silence, waiting, he was the eldest of them all, "we trade."
"What?" War was the first to speak, Pestilence was busy with a coughing fit and Famine had his hand in his mouth with the chip dip. No chips. Just dip.
"We trade. That way each of us get to see what the others do and we can finally come to an agreement, that I am the greater of us all."
"I would-" Pestilence sneezed, "-be willing to try that."
"Mmmpfh ooo," Famine said, dip oozing from the corner of his mouth.
"Alright, but don't mess up what I've done!" War was the final, begrudging participant.
Each member of the table removed their ring.
Death wore a broad, platinum ring with a skull embossed in glittering white diamond.
Pestilence wore a shimmering golden band with a simple emerald set in the precious metal.
Famine wore a deep gray silver ring, with a gem that swirled with gray and appeared to be bottomless.
War wore a dull and worn golden ring with a blazing red ruby.
They each passed their rings to the left.
Famine sneezed and he turned a sickly green as the food in his shrunken stomach became felt.
War's stomach growled and the fire was quenched from her eyes.
Death's eyes blazed with fire.
Pestilence's nose stopped running and she instantly felt drained of life.
"We each have one week, then we switch again. Until everyone has tried the other's job."
"What do-" Famine sneezed, "-we do?"
"Whatever we want," Death said, the fire burning brighter, "the humans ain't seen nothing yet." | 23 | The biblical Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are having a casual conversation at their weekly poker game, and shenanigans ensue. | 29 |
I wasn't happy. This wasnt my job. I was supposed to save people.
I walked into the room. The child was in the bed. His name was Timothy he'd been a patient of mine for 5 years now but unfortunately not anymore. I wasnt happy but I had to do this..apparently.The orders had come from on high.
Timothy was terminally ill. Fighting leukemia. The NHS was making cuts, ebola had spread across the world and all their attention was on that, all of the money and focus. The government was trying to save the majority.
Timothy looks up. His bright eyes gleemimg he looked healthier than usual. He was smiling his cheeky toothless smile. He'd lost another baby tooth a couple of days before and id been the one to put the pound under his pillow.
'Hello Timothy,' I said as I entered the room. 'How are you feeling today?'
'Im feeling great, dr.jones' he beamed 'I've never felt this good!'
'Good,' I smiled through gritted teeth.
'See, mums coming to visit again today and she's bringing my cousins! I've not seen them for ages!!! My aunt and uncle usually give me some presents too, really expensive ones.'
'Thats wonderful, im glad your feeling better.'
'I know! Do you think there's a chance I'll getter better properly? I mean I might be able to go back to school, hospitals are boring. All my friends are there. I want to go home and play with my dog, he's missed me, mum said. Hes a leon berger, he's huge he's eaten my shoes before!!'
I felt the pressure building. There was a chance he could get better. He was showing improvement but he'd been diagnosed as terminal, and that was on his file and that was why he was picked. I decided to get it over an done with while he was in a good mood.
'Maybe one day you will, why dont you tell me more about him while I put some more medication into your iv?' I smiled thinly.
'Okay sure, what does it do?'
'The medication? Well its going to make you feel better, though your going to be very sleepy first.'
'Right okay doctor!'
He continued to babble on cheerfully about his dog. The boy was so trusting the guilt still eats me alive to this day as I injected the morphine into his system. Thats what killed him. An over dose of morphine. He voice started to slow and fade as he fell unconscious. I tried not to think of it as murder. It was beyond me, I was following orders I wasnt to blame. Even though I knew I was.
I checked his pulse and recorded his time of death. I left the room and went to the reception desk.
'Hello, please can you call Timothy's parents and let them know he passed in his sleep, the illness was too much for his little body.'
It was me who lied to his parents. And told them that the leukaemia had gotten the best of him and he died peacefully and I was sorry but there was nothing I could have done.
Because really, there wasnt anything I could have done was there? | 25 | You are a doctor in a government funded hospital. The hospital has run out of funds and the management has decided to put down patients who can't be saved. Write a conversation between you and an innocent child before he is put down. | 37 |
Genesis 3
Now the snake was the most cunning animal that the Lord God had made. The snake asked the woman, “Did God really tell you not to eat fruit from any tree in the garden?”
“We may eat the fruit of any tree in the garden,” the woman answered, “except the tree in the middle of it. God told us not to eat the fruit of that tree or even touch it; if we do, we will die.”
The snake replied, “That's not true; you will not die. God said that because he knows that when you eat it, you will be like God and know what is good and what is bad.”
"Oh," the woman answered. "Then he was speaking metaphorically. Our innocence would die. I see what you mean." "But is it not tempting?" the snake said. "No, for there are many other fine trees here and God probably knows better," the woman responded.
Then they heard the Lord God walking in the garden and the snake hid from him among the trees. God called out to the man, "Where are you?" He answered, "I was gathering some mangoes, Lord."
God asked, "Are they not delicious?" The man and woman answered, "They are."
Genesis 4
For behold, it was in the three hundredth year of Adam's life that he began work on his particle accelerator.
And he labored with his natural sons and daughters, which he had by Eve, and those which God had given him from the dirt to increase genetic variability. The Lord God had made all manner of children. And also he labored with his machines.
Eve said, "I will fly to the west, where the land is barren, not like this lush garden, and see if terraforming is plausible."
And God replied, "Yes, but the soil I made there is deficient in nitrogen. Take with you these vials of bacteria, which will fix it from the air." And the woman took the vials.
And the woman was climbing into her pod when over the horizon she saw a man. She said to her husband, "Adam, over the horizon I see a man."
God said, "That is Satan, the accuser, the deceiver. He has taken on another form. Do not let him know you know who he is." And God hid himself among the trees.
Genesis 5
And Satan approached in the guise of a comely man, dressed in finery like that of a king. On his neck he wore a chain of gold and around his wrists he wore many bangles.
Eve said, "Hail, stranger." And Satan responded, "May all things be well with you."
Adam said, "We were not expecting anyone. Our Lord has not told us of other men he has made." And Satan said, "There are many things he has not told you."
The woman said, "Please tell us these things, so that we may be as wise as you." Adam laughed and Satan asked, "What is funny?" Adam said, "Nothing. I am just remembering an old joke."
The strange man said, "First, it is hospitable for guest and host to offer food." Adam said, "We have many mangoes. Please take some." Satan responded, "Thank you. In return, I have this pie."
The woman asked, "What sort of pie is it?" Satan responded, "It is apple pie." The woman responded, "Is the crust gluten-free?" Satan responded that it was not.
Adam said, "Woe unto us, for we are all celiac and cannot eat the pie." Satan responded, "It is all well. You may eat the apple filling."
The woman said, "Are the apples organic?" Satan responded, "I don't know." Eve said, "We are concerned about pesticides, and so cannot eat the pie."
Satan said, "Eat the pie." Eve said, "I am low-carb." Satan said, "Eat the pie." Adam responded, "I am also low-carb." Satan grew wroth and threw the pie to the ground.
The Lord God stepped from behind the trees and Satan fled. God said, "Next time he will try cider." The woman thanked the Lord for the warning and asked, "Will he never cease?" The Lord responded, "No." And they laughed. | 99 | Adam and Eve never ate the apple. A community is being built in the Garden of Eden and everything is going well until a strange man shows up | 45 |
"Ooh! The cuisine has come! Commence the consumption!"
"...Alright."
Barney found his date's Mid-Atlantic dialect odd in the most endearing way, the way someone might think of a small mole on an upper lip attractive. Then again, a woman named Vixen Violente would be alliterative, wouldn't she? Oh well.... She was a sight to behold, though. Gorgeous eyes, face of proper symmetry, an hourglass figure. All tied together with a fashion sense dating back to 1966. She could have been mistaken for a black Julie Newmar. And that meant that any minor flaw could be pardoned, for who was he to turn down anyone? The last time Barney convinced a woman to allow some penetration, Tobey Macguire was Spider-Man, and every sexual encounter since then involved shooting his own brand of webbing into his moistened fist. Suffice to say, this lowly forklift driver was grateful.
"So Vixen, what do you do for a living?"
"Oh, nothing important really. Nothing interesting, darling. Do you really want to discuss work now? There's so much more on the brain, you know... And life is so short, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course."
Barney reached for his glass of water, hoping to wash down his nerves.
"Don't drink that, darling. Don't you know it's rude to drink before your date takes even a sip."
"Really? I had no idea. I'm terribly sor-"
"Don't worry about it, darling. I'll take a sip in a minute. Let me just dine for a time, won't you."
She proceeded to tear into that Caesar salad she ordered, throwing all pretense and civility out the window. She Tarzan. Him Jane. Dressing splashed up in all directions, even polkadotting that crimson beehive do of hers. Barney was caught between public shame and arousal, or maybe even public shame at his arousal. A waistband tuck solved this problem before it became one.
"Uh, Vixen?"
"Yes, darling?"
"I just have to say, its really nice to go out and spend some time with someone like you. I haven't been on a date in a while, and uh... I didn't know how blind dating would work out. Especially for someone like me."
"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself darling. You're perfectly fine the way you are. Just perfect and splendid and all those adjectives!"
She took a nice big gulp of red wine, decently aged, and washed her barbaric pallet. Barney breathed a heavy sigh filled with contemporary male anxiety and reached for a long awaited glass of water, only to have his hand smacked by his date.
"Don't touch that water."
"But...but you had your sip already. Is there some other rule of etiquette I'm missing here?"
"Oh, no you're a regular Prince Charming."
"Well, I am paying for this meal."
"Oh I wouldn't worry about the bill darling."
As the last syllable of that Katherine Hepburn accent of hers left those lips, the well coiffed head of the man at the table next to them hit his plate face first. His date would have screamed, but she doubled over as well, falling right off her chair this time. And, like gossip in a high school, death spread throughout the restaurant faster than Barney could conjure up a thought. The patrons, the waitstaff, the cooks, the busboys and even the cute hostess with a lisp all uttered their last breath. Vixen devoured the last of her salad and imbibed the last drop of wine. Barney stared at the macabre display in front of his and tried to keep his ventricles from exploding somehow. He turned to Vixen, putting two and two together, and fixed his eyes on her feline gaze. She looked up at him.
"Let's get out of here, darling. This place is dead!"
She let out a laugh of quantum physical proportions, one that could be heard in other universes. And through some sort of emotional wizardry, despite every rational part of his brain telling him not to, Barney started to love this woman. | 13 | An otherwise normal person goes on a blind date, only to discover that their date is a supervillain. | 34 |
I turned to face the source of the scream and saw Gary writhing in pain on the floor. "Dude, are you okay?"
A feminine voice replied, "Dude... What the fu-" The voice stopped short. We were both equally startled by the raised pitch.
"Uh...Gary?"
Gary stood up slowly and looked around. "Steve, what's wrong with my voice?" I was too entranced by Gary's new-found beauty to respond. Gary caught my gaze, looked down, and screamed again. "Dude! I've got tits!"
"Yeah you do," I giggled as I replied. Gary squeezed her new ample bosom with one hand as the other reached lower on her body.
"No. No no no. No no no no!!" I couldn't wipe the smirk from my face. "Steve! What the fuck?!" Gary turned to the Djinn and screamed, "What the hell did you do to me you fucking genie?"
The Djinn furrowed his brow and responded, "I was merely granting a wish, and for the last time, I'm not a genie."
"Turn me back!" Gary pleaded.
"Sorry, you're out of wishes."
"But what does this mean? I'm a man! I'm supposed to have dinner with my parents tonight, how the hell am I supposed to explain this?"
"As far as your parents are concerned, they have always had a daughter. They have no memory of raising a son," the Djinn explained.
Gary contemplated her situation for a moment and began to cry. She held her hands to her face and sobbed uncontrollably. I walked up to Gary and put my arm around her and whispered, "It'll be okay. Don't you see what this means? We're soulmates!"
Gary leapt back and stared daggers at me. "Fuck you, Steve. I may be your *soulmate* but that doesn't mean you're mine. I still love.." Gary's voice trailed off. "Oh god, what about Tina? Hey, genie asshole, what happens to my girlfriend?"
The Djinn replied, "You're still together. She has always known you to be a woman."
"Dude, I totally called it. I always knew she was a lesbian!" I raised a hand and extended it, but Gary didn't return my high five.
"Shut the fuck up, Steve!" Gary looked exceptionally beautiful when she was angry. She turned to face the Djinn. "Come on, genie. Is there anything I can do?"
"You can come to terms with your womanhood." The Djinn waved his hands and began to vanish. As he dissipated into the ether, I heard his voice echo, "*and I'm not a fucking genie!*"
Distraught, Gary ran to her room sobbing. She slammed the door, leaving me standing in the living room alone with a stupid grin on my face. I can see why she'd be upset, but I'm sure she'll come around. She is my soulmate, after all. | 495 | Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl. | 753 |
There were more armed men in this room than those without. It sickens me, yet I understand. In a strange way, the population of this room was the embodiment of our country today. Every man and woman wearing white was here today because they loved this - they loved the concept of discovery, and the idea of stepping into a realm previously unknown to the human mind. On the other hand, the ones wearing black were here because of fear. Not everybody can embrace the unknown, and it was important that the baby was kept in a protected environment until all the necessary questions were answered.
I looked down at my own suit, and realised I was wearing grey. *I suppose I am the balance between these forces of humanity.* Such is the life of a politician - such is the life of a president.
Alan approached me from the door to the baby's tomb, his wrinkles resting deeper into his face with a tone of resignation.
"They don't think it's a good idea." I could tell he was scared to say the words, and I really wish he wasn't. I couldn't blame him for this.
"Did they say why?"
"No Mr. President"
"Hmm", I looked past him at the door, wear the head scientist Elisa Mackenzie was poised. She was trying to look relaxed, but even from 30 metres away I could see her skin was clammy and glowing with sweat.
"Perhaps I should talk to her"
Alan glanced over his shoulder, his nerves making him shiver as he did so. It was almost as if he was scared of her. His head quickly snapped back to meet my eyes and I saw his adams apple quivering up and down as he tried to swallow.
"She says that the baby's heart beat is unstable, and that any disturbances could potentially kill it"
"I thought it was a girl?"
Alan winced like a schoolboy being embarrassed by a teacher. "Yes Mr. President. Sorry Mr. President"
I smiled "Don't worry Alan, but I shall be having a talk with Ms. Mackenzie now". His look of resignation set in even deeper as he shuffled to the side, and I strode towards the blonde Doctor. *Be confident* I urged myself. Yet this tomb seemed to have drained the charisma away from everybody inside. No longer I felt like a President, but rather an inconvenience.
She was a very dedicated woman. Men would bend over backwards just to be near her, and she could've married almost anyone in the country I imagine. Yet instead she devoted herself to work. In society, she was an anomaly. Yet here in this tomb she found herself in good company. And I was thankful for her presence. She was the only one in here I truly trusted, despite having only met her 2 hours prior.
Before my hand fell upon her shoulder she had spun around, spreading her arms out in order to conceal the monitor. Doing my best to smile, I asked to see the monitor, and she told me why I couldn't. I wasn't really listening though. As I pressed her again, she finally opened up.
"It's nothing like I've ever seen before. It's heart rate fluctuates. Some beats last longer than others, sometimes there are two in a row." She looked down at her feet, before murmuring "The beats are getting harder and harder as well, as if the heart is being overworked with every passing beat. This increase is extremely faint however, and should not be an issue".
My brain, deprived of sleep and sanity, decided that now would be a good time to make a joke. "Perhaps it's trying to talk to us with morse code!" Surprisingly Elisa smiled at that, and opened up her body a bit more. One of the key advantages of learning politics is that you learn how to spot a way in and squeeze through the gap.
"Do you know morse code?"
"No, no I don..."
In my excitement I hadn't let her finish, but I didn't care.
"Well it happens that I do" lips twitching into the slightest of smiles, disarming her and preparing to go in for the killer question.
"Would you mind if I tried to read it? Reception is awful down here, and there's not much else to do."
Caught off guard, she grasped for words: "Well, uh, I mean... you know that, well..."
"Just a bit of fun" I grinned from ear to ear, projecting this fake, upbeat attitude onto her. And it worked.
She stepped aside and I went to work, using a pen and notepad to record my findings. Four letters in, Elisa peered over my shoulder at my hastily scribbled artwork.
"Eretheend" She paused. "A friend of yours?"
"Don't laugh, I'm not done yet"
It was good to be able to mess around with someone. Everyone in this room was too serious. It makes me wish I'd done something different, like acting. Perhaps I could pull off a reverse Ronald Reagan? Although I'd probably make a rubbish actor.
My mental tangent came to a sudden halt as I realised that the heart's irregular tune had started over once more. Now all I had to do was make sense of this garbage, maybe I could joke to Elisa that it was an anagram?
I turned towards her, but my words dried out on my tongue when I saw the look on her face. It was a pale white, and deathly sick. I should order her to leave the post, let someone else take over...
"The end is here."
"What?"
"The code. The morse code."
Looking back at the paper, I noticed that the room had gone horribly quiet. Elisa's commotion had gotten their attention. It was as if they were all guests to my funeral, yet I was expected to give a performance.
"It says Eretheendish"
She pointed at the paper, marking the spot between the letters e and t.
And at that moment in time, a gnawing sensation unlike any other came over me. My mind was screaming at me to run, and I felt that my flesh was chewing at my skin and trying to rip itself free.
Outside of my body, the universe was insignificant - a dull haze that I staggered through, my brain cracking and letting sanity slip into the ether.
There were so many questions, and through the heavy stone door I hear the baby's response.
It was laughing. | 12 | Archaeologists discover an ancient tomb dating back to early civilization, buried very far underground. When they open the tomb, there is nothing inside but a sleeping baby. Shortly after, the baby wakes, and is found to have completely black eyes. | 27 |
He'd seen her before. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew that he had seen her before, but where, he could not have said. Jack's feet and legs had walked almost on their own accord over to where she was sitting, sipping her coffee, and she had looked up at him with maroon eyes, and Jack had, quite literally, melted.
"What do you do for work?" he asked her. He'd gotten her name already. Lucy. It rolled off Jack's tongue, starting in the front of his teeth and working its way to the back of his mouth.
She shrugged, sipped her coffee, still, to Jack's luck, three-fourth's full. "I work at an insurance company. Day job. Nice pay. I like it." She stopped, then quickly added, "What about you?"
Jack tried to swallow his heart that seemed to be leaping through his throat, but, sadly, failed. "Oh, I uh...I work for them."
Everybody knew who *them* was, and he saw the color drain out of her bright face. "Oh. Do you like it?"
Jack shrugged. "It's alright."
There was silence between them, both afraid of the next question they would ask each other, but knowing that it was inevitable. The single question that had been asked around the world more than any other was coming between them, and that question would either make Jack smile like a madman or weep like a child.
Luckily, Lucy asked him first. "When do you, uhm. Well. You know..."
"Die?"
She nodded, avoiding his gaze, sipping her coffee.
"Well, I'm twenty now. So, another sixty-five years to go for me." He gave a nervous giggle, but it only turned into a whimper. "I die in my sleep, luckily." He paused, afraid to ask, but knowing that it was almost impolit *not* to. "What about you?"
He saw her smile, and he knew that smile. He had seen that smile on some of his closest friends, some of his cousins and other relatives. It was a hopeless smile, lifeless. "A week," she whispered, and sipped her coffee.
Jack did not weep, but he felt his heart sink like a rock through his stomach, and for a moment he felt it stop beating, but knew that he wouldn't die today. The corporation he worked for, thankfully, assured him that.
Jack licked his lips. "It's awful. It really is."
She shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Some know it too. But most...they're okay with it, because they'll live to be old. They'll live to have a family, to have kids and grandkids and retire, go to the Caribbean islands and live their old years out on a beach in peace." Jack saw the tears come down her face, and he wished that he could throw this table separating them away and hug her and tell her it would be alright. But it wouldn't be alright. Death was unavoidable. "But not me," she continued, sipping her coffee, now half-full. "I get to die when I'm nineteen. Men have avoided me all my life because they knew that I would never be able to marry or have kids or grow old together. Never got attached to me, all because of that." She looked up at him then, and he felt her gaze weigh down on him. In that moment, he knew where he'd seen her before. In his dreams. "You can do the same if you want. I don't blame you."
"I won't."
She looked at him, eyes wide, unbelieving. "You what...?"
Jack shook his head, and for some reason he couldn't contain his laughter from bursting past his lips. He didn't care how long they had together, didn't care if she would die in his arms in a week. All he wanted was to be with her. Time and death weren't going to play a factor in his life anymore.
"I won't leave. I don't want to."
She sipped her coffee, almost gone now. "Well...what do you want to do?"
He thought about it, and realized he didn't care what he did with Lucy. "Do you, uhm. Well. I don't know. How about a movie? Expendables 10 is out. I heard it's pretty good."
She smiled, not a hopeless smile any longer. "That sounds nice."
Jack and Lucy walked out of the cafe together, and, hand in hand, faced the world. | 16 | You live in a world where everyone knows the exact moment they will die. | 29 |
"You're jumping at shadows. They obviously aren't capable of interstellar travel. No warp signatures, no dark matter generators, no hyperspace transmissions. Chemical or nuclear rockets, at best."
"This isn't shadows. Some of the specimens had a metal hook on their shoulder identical to the one worn by victors in the Centauri campaign. Skulls were also a popular design - and guess who loves to show off those?"
"Seriously? If you're going to tell me they fought in the War of Kotari Aggression I'm going to have to call the psychiatrist."
"Maybe not the whole species, but some of them could easily have been Kotari battle-thralls. Or maybe there's an infiltrator species among them. Or maybe they've stealthed their fleet, hidden their DMGs, and they're about to blow us to atoms."
"Maybe you're paranoid and this is just a case of parallel xenoanthropological development."
"What about the surface scans? Remember those pyramidal megastructures? You think that a race in its infancy just happened to build the perfect launch point for a warp ship?"
"You're grasping at straws."
"Look, I'm not saying aliens built the pyramids, but..."
---
A/N: What's the alien equivalent of anthropology? Xenology? Xenopology? Xenoanthropology? | 19 | on a distant alien planet where to brandish a tattoo means great victory in intergalactic battle is observing earth before the invasion, a planet they thought had barely mastered space travel | 19 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.