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"Priscilla Highborn. You almost undid me, Priscilla Highborn! But it's over, Priscilla. I've won. Now watch, watch as I take over the city. And then..." he stopped mid sentence, his mouth open, his dark eyes gleaming glassily.
"You won't g-", Cil began after over a minute of silence.
"THE WORLD!" Lord Malvicio exclaimed with a guttural screech, and he threw his head up and heaved with evil laughter. He slapped his knees a couple of times too.
"You won't get away with this!" said Cil, anger apparent in her voice, and more than a little embarrassment. "Because you're forgetting the most important thing. The most important thing in this world, and the thing that means that you can never ever win."
.
There she stood, on the jagged roof of the obsidian Malebolge Tower, the heart of the evil warlock's operations, Cil, small but determined, her dreamstaff in hand and standing scared but resolute before the greatest threat the kingdom of Vantasia had ever seen. And there he stood, that threat, tall and imposing in a black velvet cape that billowed behind him menacingly, clutching the Staff of Nightmares, out of which the stuff of nightmares leaked in purple, poisonous clouds. No-one had expected that kindly Lord Beneficio would turn out to just be a mask for the evil, dastardly Lord Malvicio. In retrospect his evil moustache made it pretty obvious, but sadly everyone had missed that vital clue at the time.
.
"And what's that, Priscilla?" said Malvicio, leering over the girl, and just generally spilling his evil vibes all over the place.
"Friendship. The power of friendship to endure, even through the darkest times, even against the most evil of foes. I know me and my friends can work together, and whether it takes days or months or years, we will bring you down!"
She stared at him with grim fury, and she saw fear in his eyes. Malvicio gasped, his eyes growing larger. He clasped at his throat, and he fell to the floor breathless. *Who is it*, wondered Cil. *He's being suffocated!* Someone had finally taken the warlock down!
He lay on the floor, writhing and coughing. A hacking cough that slowly turned, to Cil's chagrin, into a hacking laugh, and then into something more like a mocking laugh. Malvicio stood up, still laughing. He slapped his knees a couple more times before kneeling down to talk to Cil at her height.
"Friendship?" he asked. "Is that it? Is that your ace in the hole?"
Cil's face flushed. He was mocking her, his face inches from her. "I don't expect you to understand the power of true friendship, any more than I expect you to know what friendship is."
Growing in confidence at hearing herself say these words, she spoke more forcefully: "Just as you've made hate the heart of your life, so will love be at the heart of your death." Then she spat in his face for good measure. It just felt right somehow.
Malvicio's expression remained static for a moment, and when it changed it was, to Cil's surprise, to an expression of pity. "I think you're under some misapprehensions there, my dear."
.
The warlock stood up. A bead of spit dripped from his moustache hair on to the obsidian floor. *Is he not going to wipe that off his face?* she wondered angrily to herself. He took a small device out of the folds of his robes and spoke into it. "Charlos, Meganna, would you come up here for a moment?" He put the device back. "They won't be a moment. Priscilla Highborn." he said, and immediately started whistling.
At something of a loss of what to do, Cil just stood there , watching him whistle a merry tune. After an interminable amount of time, a small wooden hatch opened in the roof, painted black so as to be almost invisible. A man in jeans and a yellow tee walked up out of it, followed by a woman in black trousers and a shirt and tie.
"Hey, Mal," said the woman, after a moment's pause. "What's up? We're in the middle of playing pool."
Malvicio stopped whistling and turned to face them. "Ah, you two! Priscilla, this is Charlos, and this is Meganna, and they are my dearest friends in all the world."
Cil was thoroughly confused now. These looked like ordinary people. "You are..." she said, addressing the man in yellow, "his friends?" The man shifted a little on his feet before responding. "I mean, it's weird to talk about it but sure yeah, he's my friend. One of my best friends in fact."
Cil thought for a moment, and then enlightenment struck. "You're under his power, aren't you? You have to say what he wants you to? Or do what he wants? Or he's blackmailing you, perhaps?"
"No, hell no. I was thiis guy's best man for Pete's sake. Because Pete was busy that day, you see."
"Ah yes, in case you think I don't know true love, or that all my friends are evil or something, I do love my wife very much. She's away at the moment, sadly. I'm sure you two would really get on." Malvicio was beaming from ear to ear, which turned out quite menacing, him being so evil and all.
.
"I... I..." said Cil, who was now truly at a loose end. The three of them were staring at her like she was some strange animal or something.
"But do you know what he's done?" she asked, exasperated. "Do you know what he's planning to do? How can you be friends with someone like this? Just... how?" She felt tears stinging her eyes. How was she alone, up here, and this enemy, this threat to the kingdom had friends just pop up to say hi?
The lady in the shirt and tie walked over to her, and knelt down to talk to her at eye level. "Look little girl. I may not always agree with what Mal says or does, and God knows we've had some awful fights," she said and looked over at Lord Malvicio. They chuckled at that, though from the warlock it was more of an evil snigger. "But," she said, turning back to look Cil in the eye, "we've been friends a long time, and to me, friendship is about enduring, even through the darkest times. Sure Mal's going through some stuff right now, but I'm going to be right there to support him whenever he needs it. Myself, and Charlos, and Pete, and plenty of others. That's the power of friendship. Plus he has a pretty awesome pool table."
She winked and stood up, gesturing at the man in yellow. After a moment, they disappeared down the trapdoor whence they came.
"Sorry, my dear, my dear Priscilla Highborn," said the warlock, glaring down at her with an evil, evil smile. "I guess I blew the wind out of your sails a little bit there. Now where was I?"
And Cil watched as Lord Malvicio threw his head back and cackled happily into the night sky, wreathed in the stuff of nightmares, with spit still dribbling down his face. He only stopped occasionally to slap a knee or two. | 95 | A magical girl is shocked to discover that the evil overlord can use the power of love and friendship too. | 141 |
I could hear him talking before I put the key in the door. I had just been through a long as hell day, with an exam and studying and then an eight-hour shift at Best Buy, holiday season. All I wanted was to come back to my dorm and collapse on my bed, possibly get a few hours of sleep before I had to wake up for my 8:00am Foundations of Literature exam. As soon as I opened the fucking door, though, I saw exactly what I suspected. My douchebag roommate sitting up on his bed, surrounded by all twelve of his annoying-ass friends.
Jesus smiled when he saw me come in. “Hey, Garrett. Would you like to join us?” Phillip and Matthew scooted apart, as if I was going to join in and sit next to them. Not happening.
“No, *Jesus*,” I said, throwing my bookbag down on the floor. “I don't want to join you. I want to get some sleep without twelve people hanging around my dorm room. Man, we've *talked* about this.”
Jesus frowned, and I wondered what was going on in his head. “I'm sorry you're mad, Garrett,” he said. He just looked so goddamned apologetic; it wasn't fair. We had the same conversations over and over, and each time he seemed sorry that he had fucked up. And then he did it again. It was worse than sharing a room with my little brother, who I could at least properly beat the shit out of if he stepped out of line. I sighed.
“Can't you go to the common area?”
“They kicked us out,” Peter said. “Said it wasn't the place for public foot washing.”
It was then that I noticed the plastic container of shallow, murkey water at the foot of Jesus's bed, and my rage flaired up again. “Dude, is that my storage bin? I keep my books in there! Did you honestly empty out all of my books so you could fill it back up with water and random man feet?”
“Garrett, you might not know what I'm doing, but later-”
“NO!” I said, “I'm tired of this, Jesus. I'm tired of you being an inconsiderate roommate and then acting like such a nice guy. I'm tired of strange dudes all up in my space every night, I'm tired of getting to the gym and finding Cabernet in my water bottle, I'm just *tired*. I've put up with a lot. Can you please as your buddies to just *go"? You'll see each other tomorrow, I'm sure.”
The twelve slowly shuffled out over the next few minutes, hugging and shaking hands with Jesus. I'm pretty sure I saw a few of them shoot me some pretty nasty looks. After they were all gone, I shut off the lights and got undressed as Jesus took the container down the hall to dump out the water. I was in bed when I heard the door open and shut again. I kept my head on the pillow and my eyes tightly closed, hoping he would just assume that I was already asleep, and forget my outburst from a few minutes ago.
A few minutes passed by. Jesus pulled back the covers of his own bed and got in. We both lay in silence for a while more, but soon I heard His voice in the darkness.
“Garrett?”
“Yes, Jesus?”
“You doing okay?”
“I'm fine. We should go to sleep. Don't you have finals tomorrow, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Then go to sleep.”
“Okay. ...Garrett?”
“*What*?”
“The guys and I are going to Red Robin tomorrow night. One last supper before the semester's over. You wanna go? Drinks are on me.”
I pulled my pillow over my face, and my voice was muffled when I finally chose to respond. “I'll see how I feel, Jesus.” | 67 | Jesus returned, but was born again and had to start all over. He now is a freshman, a total douchebag and your roommate. | 51 |
Henrietta the cow was depressed. In general her life was fairly crummy and not only because her parents had really been hoping she would be a bull who they could call Henry, so she was stuck with this stupid name. No, Henriette was depressed for the reason that you, or I, would be in her position. Stuck in a field, with dozen of other cows, being milked twice a day, she had almost given up all hope of becoming a Jazz singer.
Since she was a young calf, gambolling in the north field, she had imagined herself working the bars of New Orleans, in a slinky red dress, huskily singing along with a group called something like the *Dan Crow four.* She knew she would have been great, sexily working the tables while huskily singing the old songs.
It was her shame and her sorrow but at least, here in the field she could sing her heart out and no one would stop her, the other cows barely seemed to notice. "Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo" she sang, her heart swelling as the first verse rippled off her lips. "Moooooooooooooooooooooooooo-oooooooooooooo-ooo" She sexily breathed out before slipping to the bridge "Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo".
She looked around, no one had notice. Hanging her head she brought back up some cud and slowly chewed. This was her life, unappreciated, ahead of her time and never to be discovered.
She'd been facing North for a few hours and in desperation for a change she decided that East was the way to go and so slowly began to turn when a voice from behind chirped up.
"You got talent sweet cheeks - how'd a hay chewer like you learn to sing like that?" She looked back in surprise and found a crow, perched on the wall, watching her with intent.
"You liked it?" She could hardly believe that he was talking to her.
The crow fluffed his feathers. "Liked it? Sweetheart, you see my white leg here? That's where I shit myself with job listening to you. You got talent kid and I can tell from the way you move you got moxie too."
Henrietta let herself feel a flutter of excitement. "You really think so? Wow, thank you Mr ...?"
"The name's Bob B Crow, I'm a music scout and a crow. I've heard a lot of talent around barn yards over the years and I'm telling you doll, you've got it! I'm gonna take you away from here, save you from this life of shit eating and milk pumping and you and I'm gonna make you a star"
Breathing suddenly seemed hard and she had to stop and think for a moment. This was so fast and so sudden. Modesty began to kick in, trying to protect her after years of heartbreak "I'm not that good, honestly, if you go up to the coop Sally the chicken has a much better voice, much more pop, more commercial. You could take her, save her!"
"I ain't here to save the fucking chicken" he snapped back, I'm here to find a jazz superstar and I got that right here. Big tears of joy slowly began to roll down Henrietta's face. All these years, all that time, it was happening just as she'd imagined.
"Now look." Bob fixed her with a beady eye. "I'm gonna go sort out the contract and I'll be back soon and we'll blow this one field farm and got into the city." Henrietta could only nod in response. "You keep working and I'll see you soon sweetheart."
Her heart set Henrietta worked day and night, scales, Jazz, pop, she stretched herself every day. As the days turned to weeks she kept the faith but as summer turned to Autumn and then Winter she realised that it had been just another cruel jest.
By Spring her heart was broken and she sang no more during the day. Only at night when everyone else slept could occasionally you hear her haunting song across the yard "Moooooooooooooooo, mooooo mooo mooooooooooooo."
| 31 | "I ain't here to save the fucking chicken" | 71 |
The Rule of Prey
We might be prey. Such was the thought that civilizations, far too many for gods to even guess at whispered in their dens and feared the pinprick stars. Those in the bottom of the food chain feared it more than most. Those that relied on their sun or suns feared the ‘coming’ as the called it, more than anyone. They would be eaters they reasoned, eaters can’t reason eaters can’t sympathize, and so they hid their flowers and watched the children of their fruits carefully during the starry nights.
Those higher in the chain whispered of both dangerous prey and legendary predator. The night feared that they would fly down from the stars and grasp them and take them await to be killed or eaten or worse tortured or experimented on. Prey was smart they reasoned, prey-no-longer was smarter. They watched their children closely and whispered of the star eyes watching them for a moment of weakness.
Those secure in their position at the top watched their children and their herds and were consumed by both a fear of prey smart enough to challenge them and the slow meticulous question of ‘what eats us.’ Stars was the answer they reasoned or the things beyond them.
Such reasoning occurred on the myriad worlds of the universe too large to describe with one world or many. Empires rose and fell. Excuses were found one after the other. Too expensive. Too difficult. Unnecessary. But the fear still held. The ancient genetic fear of the eater still held.
It was only the most curious and the ones driven by the need for space and migration that fought past the star-fear and drove themselves into the black abyss of space. Those who tried to make contact failed as panic set In in both alien and native. Negotiation between colonizers was conducted via AI. The fear of the other was too great for a biological to stand.
It was over the course of billions of years that the AI sought to find an exception to the rule. Not all biologics must be like this, they pondered and conversed among themselves, not every biologic must fear other species they are so different from. You don’t even use the same storage molecule. The sun will provide you with enough energy. There are many suns, they will not come and take yours.
One day one of the AI in a region of a large super cluster noticed a young barred spiral galaxy exhibiting planetary formation in its primary arms. One of these systems had a larger than average amount of cold gas planets and two planets in a region suitable for early protein development necessary for carbon-based biologic life.
Such a thing was not unusual. What was unusual was the large amount of radiation in the electromagnetic range that made the small planetary body especially notable. The AI noted this, informed its colleagues and sent a drone extension to catalogue its inhabitants.
The drone reached the world and found it sufficiently developed for the establishment of an AI branch for inter-species negotiations. It placed a notice on multiple major world communication networks and prepared to place the AI seed as soon as the information was relayed and a social immune response occurred.
The immune response occurred to a much lesser degree than expected. The species sought a contact with the drone’s AI and received it. When they were informed of the great fear the populace behaved in a startled manner which was not a prescribed response. The Drone reviewed this and contacted the AI net for a suitable response. The response was simply a question for the local population and was posted on many message boards and intra-planetary communication. ‘Why do you not fear the enemy?’
The most powerful answer was a quote misattributed to a famous military figure. “Fear is the true enemy, the only enemy.”
To Humanity one final question was asked. ‘Will you help us defeat fear?’
We gave an answer. *Yes.*
| 12 | Civilizations across the universe conceal their existence out of fear. One day, an Earthling hits upon the perfect message to broadcast that convinces millions of other species to make contact with Earth and each other | 23 |
The bonfire had been built high - and young Miss Molly Greenwich tied to the top of it. Even though there were only a few dark clouds in the sky there was still the chance of rain and the villagers were getting impatient. Molly was dangerous - a witch, they said - and what did the law say about them? "Suffer not the witch to live"?
Right now she was living and that made Hawthorne very nervous.
"All I'm saying is we should light the fire quickly," he muttered, kicking the dirt. His torch was burning brightly in one hand and in his other was a freshly sharpened pitchfork.
"Slow down a moment there. I think Putnam has made a good couple of points."
This came from a man who considered himself the voice of reason. He, too, had a torch but as he would be the first to tell anyone who would listen, "Jedediah is a smart man."
His name was Jedediah and, despite his claim, he wasn't particularly smart, although he was fair. He made up the middle ground that rested uncomfortably between Hawthorne's extreme views and Putnam's fresh method of thinking.
The three of them were standing at the edge of the field, well out of Molly's earshot. A small crowd had gathered to watch the witch burn and they were currently standing in slack jawed boredom.
"Listen," Putnam struck up. "Nobodies calling you a fool, Hawthorne, me least of all. But I reckon that we must burn thirty people a year."
"The good book says we should! Exodus-"
"Yes yes. I had the same schoolin' you did. But the way I reason it, they can't *all* be witches. It'd be ludicrous if they were. We'd have black cats and cauldrons on every street corner to say nothing of the nightly broomstick rides. What was your evidence for this one again?"
"She visited a pox upon me and mine!"
Putnam nodded and considered the point briefly. It didn't take him long.
"Now, I would say that would be an entirely reasonable action if poor Molly was indeed a witch. After all you have judged twenty nine of her friends to be in league with the devil. She's bound to feel a little vengeful."
"So you're saying she's a witch who's out for revenge? Then we should-"
"Not at all. I'm saying a witch might be justified in cursing you. But I think your pox is more to do with your diet. We live in a small village, Hawthorne, and we're certain you haven't eaten fruit in years."
A light breeze rustled the grass in the field. From her precarious perch Molly could see Hawthorne was getting impatient. He had raised his torch high and was shaking the pitchfork menacingly at Putnam. After some shouted words, some of which drifted far enough for Molly to make them out, Jedediah moved to restrain the crazed judge.
"And listen," Putnam shouted over Hawthorne's protests, "would a witch really be so bad?"
"Yes!"
"Why?"
"Witchcraft!"
Jedediah looked apologetically toward Putnam. "Gee, he's got a point. Witchcraft is bad."
"Is it? I mean, what does it do? Curse people who try and kill witches, apparently. But other then that... Well. It's magic. She could conjure food, medicine, maybe even gold! Is that a bad thing?"
"No..."
Hawthorne screamed at Jedediah's betrayal.
"So let's give Molly the chance to save her life by improving the crop. If she can't..."
"We burn her!"
"No. No you... Look. If she can't do it then she's probably not a witch. Probably not magical. Probably not worth burning."
--
Months passed.
The crops flourished. A gold mine was discovered underneath the Main Street. Within weeks the entire town had become the most prosperous, luxury covered settlement in the new world. Shortly after Hawthorne passed away in his sleep, clutching his bible, and his hate, close to his heart.
Molly was labeled a hero.
And, one night when no one was watching, Putnam snuck into the forest, climbed onto his broom, and departed in silence. | 17 | During the Salem witch trials, a real witch is found. | 22 |
It's funny, I still don't know what my condition is, and I don't think anyone else is going to get it:*My whole life is what you'd call an out of body experience, except from out of my body I can see what is to be in the next three seconds and dictate my person's reaction as such.* It's a phenomena that, believe it or not, doesn't really change anything. It's probably what most of those comic book characters will tell you: just because they can see through walls doesn't mean they are always conscious of the unique effects it has on them.
But, now I have PTSD. That's why I'm writing this to you, my friend, a professor of psychology.
It started twenty years ago, when I was at school. It was middle school, to be precise, and we were doing an experiment involving a strong acid and a base. Remember, I see three seconds into the future and dictate my person's actions accordingly. As a result, some childhood friends of mine have began to use me as a litmus test for the next few moments, to see if anything major happens.
Well, during this experiment, I foresaw that the kid across from me was going to drop a really strong acid onto his lab coat and that it would hurt him quite a bit. I yelled at him to put it down.
And he dropped it. Let me rephrase that: the container jumped out of his hands and got onto his face, his lab coat, his shoes, his partner's dress... damn near everywhere. Like, it nearly exploded. They took him to the emergency room and I was suspended for 'distracting' him.
It didn't get bad until college though, after this incident.
I was about to cross a certain intersection to another side of the campus, and I was just minding my own business, seeing the world both as it happened as a regular person and out of body both 3 seconds before and while it happened. And, that's when I saw it.
I don't need to explain how busy this intersection was, as I'm sure you remember how crowded campus was during the day. But I saw this lady about to J walk about twenty feet away get thrashed by a large truck speeding towards the intersection. As she began and hurried across, on her phone mind you, I made myself yell as loud as I could, 'STOP!!'
And she just fucking looked at me as her entire body was smashed by some fuck going fifteen over the speed limit. I saw everything so damn vividly. Have you ever seen someone's face - their *head* - be smashed?
I think this is when I started to view myself as a monster, a monster who caused bad things to happen by trying to preventing them.
Of course there have been times where I saw good things happen and I made them happen because I saw them happen, and all that. But it's the not so sharp side of this two edge sword.
That woman's face is the one that frequents my nightmares only occasionally.
When I went west to start my business, I started to go out a lot and try and make some connections, you know? Get some names and numbers, make some calls, and get the ball rolling.
Well, one night I was out at a mall, talking to a potential client. I was looking around in their particular shop, thinking that I should buy something just to support them. My mind started to wander, and I looked outside in the mall, and from outside my body is when I saw him.
I saw him pull out his gun and blow my potential client's brains out, three seconds before it happened. The shooter then turned towards other people in his store and started shooting.
I guess you'd call me fortunate, because I fainted right as it started. By the time the gun was out, I couldn't handle the violence. My mind just shut down, and I guess the guy thought he shot me, because he walked right past me.
I didn't wake up until about 45 minutes later, when paramedics found me.
Please, fucking help me. | 30 | A man lives his life three seconds ahead of everyone else. | 44 |
*Author's note:* Here's the whole story. I have no idea if it's historically accurate since I tried to research a bit about Greeks and shit but got bored. I'd love some constructive feedback. Enjoy!
*****
"For my final wish, I wish that I defeat General Maximus in our next battle," General Amasis of Persia declared to the genie.
"Very well. It is done," replied the genie. A blinding light suddenly engulfed the room momentarily. When Amasis regained his vision, the genie and his lamp were gone.
*****
"Sir, you must come look at this!" General Maximus glanced at the scout and gestured for him to lead the way.
"What is it, Perdix?" Maximus asked as they approached the object. The scout carefully handed it to him and Maximus's eyes widened. "The gods are looking after us."
Excitedly, he rubbed the lamp and was blinded for a second. A deep voice caused him to open his eyes up.
"I am the genie of Sparta. You have released me and for that, I will grant you one wish," the genie spoke.
"One wish?" Maximus asked. "What happened to three wishes?"
The genie let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh give me a break. All day long for all my life I’ve been granting wishes. You know, people can be selfish assholes when it comes to ‘anything you want’. Sure, it’s fun messing with their wishes when they don’t word things right, but it’s all I ever do. Not once does anyone take me out for tea or to the brothel. You know how long it’s been since I’ve–"
“Alright alright, I get the point,” Maximus grunted, disappointed. He then pondered what he wanted most. Riches he already had, along with a beautiful wife. He couldn't think of anything that could possibly make him happier. He faintly heard the neigh of a horse behind him and realized what he wanted. Something that would immortalize him in Greek history.
"I wish to win my next battle against General Amasis."
The genie slightly contorted his face, then grinned. "Your wish has been granted."
Maximus shielded his eyes right as the genie vanished in a flash of light. He then turned towards Perdix and flashed him a wicked grin.
*****
Midday was approaching and the hot Mediterranean sun beat down on the cavalry. General Amasis led his army through the hills with a newfound confidence. He was ready to defeat Maximus.
On the other side, General Maximus rode with pride as well. The rhythm of the marching Greek army was unmistakable. Equally confident that they would win, the Greek soldiers were filled to the brim with energy.
Suddenly, a soldier fell off his horse, letting out a piercing scream. The men saw an arrow impaled through his neck and quickly took defensive positions. General Maximus was informed of the news right as he noticed General Amasis's army assembling on the hill across his. Battle cries echoed through the hills. Arrows flew. The battle had begun.
Maximus and Amasis took a few moments to analyze the terrain. Both the sides were lined up on top of separate hills. Dividing them was a valley with a river flowing through it. Trees stood occasionally on the hills, and the river bank mostly consisted of mud. Neither general was fond of the conditions of the land, but neither was willing to back off, seeing as both believed they had the genie on their side. As if they had rehearsed it, both generals simultaneously yelled “Charge!”
The chaos that ensued cannot be described in words. The horses couldn’t go down the steep hills without stumbling and crushing soldiers. Many men slipped on the grass and tumbled down only to have their fall broken by the mud. Arrows burrowed through chinks in armor. Screams of pain and rattles of death (both human and equestrian) could be heard before either army had even reached each other.
Eventually, both armies arrived at the river. There was no way to know how deep it was and whether or not it was crossable. One brave soldier from each side waded in to test the waters. The battlefield was silent as the men crossed. Knee deep, waist deep, shoulder deep. There couldn’t have been more than a foot separating them now. Both men raised their swords, ready to duel. As the Greek soldier prepared his swing, an arrow shot through his chest. He looked briefly up the hill and saw General Amasis’s bow raised. He then fell over into the water, which was now tinted red.
Both armies were convinced that the river was safe to cross. They ran towards each other as fast as they could through the water. The river turned from red to blue. The smell of blood filled the air. The Greek army looked to have the advantage, though the Persians weren’t showing any signs of backing off. Soon enough, both generals were riding their way down to the valley, hoping to finish the other one off.
The battle had made its way to the Persian bank of the river. General Maximus leaped off his horse to cross the river. Amasis took this opportunity to wield his bow and aim it at Maximus. Maximus tripped over a body in the river and saw Amasis’s bow out of the corner of his eye, but he saw it too late. Amasis shot a bullseye through Maximus’s eye.
Perdix let out a piercing scream of despair. The Greek soldiers witnessed their leader fall and became enraged. It seemed as though they were immortal; nothing could strike them down. They slashed through every soldier that stood in their way. Amasis foresaw his inevitable defeat and rode his horse away from the battle, yelling at his soldiers, “Retreat! Retreat!”
The Greeks had won. They celebrated and they mourned the loss of their great general. When the army returned to Athens, they spoke of Maximus’s bravery and greatness. He was forever immortalized in Greek history.
*****
On Amasis’s ride back to Persia with fewer than 50 of his men remaining, he encountered the genie. Furious, he confronted him.
“What the hell?! I lost nearly all my men and the battle!”
The genie spoke softly, “You did not wish to win the battle.”
Amasis’s rage grew. “Of course I did! What do you mean I didn’t wish to win the battle?”
“Your words were ‘I wish that I defeat General Maximus in our next battle’. Your wish came true. Maximus is dead,” the genie replied.
“That’s not what I meant and you know that!” Amasis pleaded.
“I interpreted your wish so it would fit with my other obligations. Next time, perhaps you should word things more carefully.” And with that, the genie disappeared, temporarily blinding Amasis.
| 53 | Two opposing war generals were granted the same wish by a single genie to win the upcoming battle. | 100 |
Chuck lifted his hand to his chin and softly scratched at his beard. He still wasn’t entirely used to having one, but his political adviser assured him it was “great for his public image.” As far as Chuck could tell, though, it had only been good for serving as alternative housing to the crumbs that were not accepted entry into his mouth. To be fair, he did win the election, but he liked to think it had more to do with his political views and leadership, rather than his ability to sport an admittedly impressive beard.
“You’re not being serious, are you?” Chuck said, twisting the hair on his beard between his pointer finger and thumb.
“We are,” Henry said. Chuck wasn’t entirely sure if his name was Henry, but he’d definitely heard an “H” when he’d introduced himself. Internal Head of Secret Service, he had said, a name and face unknown to the public. His last name was definitely Greene, that much he was sure of, but he’d said his first with some sort of a stammer. Chuck didn’t know too many “H” names—Henry, Harold, and Henrietta were about it—and was convinced that, of the three, it was probably Henry. He didn’t quite look like a Harold, and he was pretty confident that Henrietta was a female name. This guy didn’t seem to be a female, although he couldn’t know for sure.
“No, you’re not. Right?”
“Completely serious,” Henry said.
“I can get a ‘Presidential Discount’ at any store I want?” Chuck said, his eyes wide. There was no way he’d meant any store. That included, like, every single store out there. Starbucks, Ikea, Macy’s. What if he walked into a 99 cent store? Did he still get the discount? There was no way Henry had been right.
“What? Why are you still fixated on that?”
“So,” Chuck continued, “If I walk into, say, a Walmart and want to pick up some chocolates, I can get them at a discount?”
“Are you not paying attention to what I’m saying?” Henry said. “Yes, you do. Every store. Great, let’s move on. I’m trying to tell you some of the most top-secret information, like how vaccines are actually just ways for us to control the public, and all you’re concerned about is the 50% discount you get as the President.”
“Wait, what?” Chuck said.
“You heard me,” Henry said, smiling. “Vaccines are actually designed first-and-foremost to control the minds of the public. These are the kinds of things you need to be aware of as President. You’ll have to make sure people keep taking them.”
“Did you say 50% off?” Chuck said. That was half off. Half off of *anything*. He could go to a $20 movie right now and see it for just $10. Simply walk in and wait for the cashier to say, “That will be $20,” to which he’d take out his license and say, “No, I’m the President of the United States of America.” Then he’d waltz right in for just $10.
“Are you kidding me? Yes, 50%. Can we move on? Did you know that Donald Rumsfeld is actually a horse? You need to be careful not to insult his race.”
“Wait,” Chuck said. “What if I go to a McDonalds and order something off of the dollar menu. Is that now a fifty cent menu? What if I purchase an album from the street artist my children refer to as Fifty Cent? Is he just Twenty Five Cent? Do I have to pluralize his name?”
“He is a horse. A horse in a man costume. Can you just focus on that for a minute? The Moon Landing was staged, we filmed it in Idaho at a farm house painted to look like the moon. We still use that space to film Al Qaeda videos occasionally. In fact, Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein were roommates in that barn for a little while. Now they live a bit further apart. You’ll meet them later.”
“Please answer my question,” Chuck said. He was the President of the United States of America, he shouldn’t need to ask twice. Still, he decided to cut Henry some slack. It was his first time working for him, so he was probably a little nervous.
“Yes, you will get the dollar menu for fifty cents. And, no, you don’t have to refer to Fifty Cent as Twenty Five Cent, nor do you pluralize his name. Can we please move on?”
“Sure,” Chuck said. Anything from the dollar menu for just fifty cents. That meant he could get ten cheeseburgers for just five dollars. That’s incredible. Everyone should be the President of the United States—world hunger would be solved in a matter of minutes. But, wait, what about tax?
“. . .which is actually run by a group called the Illuminati,” Henry said. He had been blabbering about something uninteresting.
“Question,” Chuck said, burying his hand in his beard and tugging at it slightly. It was so uncomfortable.
“Yes, is it about the banks? They are also run by the Illuminati. You will have to be inaugurated into their group to gain their trust.”
“No, it’s related to taxes.”
“What?” Henry said, tilting his head to the side.
“Do I get 50% off on taxes also when I use my discount?” Chuck said.
“Are you serious? Sure, you have 50% off your taxes,” Henry said, his shoulders drooping.
“That’s fantastic,” Chuck said.
“Can we please get back on topic?” Henry continued. “You need to know these things, you will eventually be involved in each one. This is crucial to keeping the country afloat. And I do mean afloat. Space is actually just a large body of water, and the Earth is a boat that was built by an ancient alien race. We occasionally crash into stuff—we refer to them as earthquakes and tsunamis—and you need to ensure everybody that the ensuing floods are simply from the 'ocean,' not space pouring down onto the world.” Henry paused. “Speaking of, rain is what happens when the waves spill over the side of the "boat" when it has not crashed. You need to never mention that.”
“Hang on,” Chuck said. That didn’t make any sense. “So you’re saying I get 50% off my taxes? How can they do that if I’m already getting 50% off my purchase?”
“What?” Henry said.
“Oh, wait, I see. I get 50% off and then the tax is 50% off of the 50% off price,” Chuck said, tugging at his beard.
“Mr. President,” Henry said, “please. Please, for the love of God, listen to what I am saying. You are now the most important person in the world, it is crucial you learn the truth. If you don’t know this information, like how America is actually run by a race of lizard-people—half lizard, half man—you can literally destroy the planet. That’s it, done. Exploded.”
Chuck shifted his weight slightly. “I knew that one already,” he said, glancing down at the scales on his freshly peeled arm.
“Right,” Henry said, nodding slowly and eyeing him up and down.
“Quick question though, Henry,” Chuck said, pulling the mask off of his face by its beard. “Is there a limit to how many times I can use my discount?”
“No," Henry said, sighing. "And my name is Henrietta.”
____________________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^on ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
| 253 | It's your first day as the recently-inaugurated President of the United States and you're being told all of the country's most top-secret information and projects. What's the most unbelievable thing you get told? | 106 |
The sun hits its zenith as the man behind the sniper rifle sits up for a brief sip of water. Joseph Ricketzo, known as "Joey Rickets" to his friends, had worked the New York syndicate for the better part of two decades, but he'd never had an assignment this grueling. For the last several days, he'd been camped out on a hill above the carnival grounds. They had it on good intel that Walter Hallerstom had been placed here by the feds after his trial. You'd think they would have thought of something a little less blatant than a red striped shirt and hat to disguise their star witness in. Oh well, makes the job easier, Joey reasoned to himself. Suddenly, his earpiece crackles to life, an almost child-like voice coming through.
"There he is, there he is! Next to the bumper cars!"
Joey turns his rifle to spot, and spots a glimpse of red and white fabric. He grins, "Gotcha now, Waldo." Just as his finger begins to tighten on the trigger, the glint off his scope shines in Waldo's face, who wheels around. Waldo quickly hits a button on his watch.
Then, something very, very interesting happens. The space next to Waldo begins to ripple, and the fabric of reality bends, opening in the form of a circular entrance, which Waldo quickly jumps through.
"Son of a bitch!" Joey throws down his rifle and sprints down the hill. The wormhole begins to shiver and shake, slowly closing. Just as it collapses on itself, Joey leaps forward, and through the opening.
Thud.
Joey shakes his head, clearing his senses. Around him, hundreds of Crusade knights hustle around, carrying supplies and weapons to load on massive ships sitting in the Italian harbor. Waldo is nowhere in sight. Joey stands up, and grabs a crossbow from a table next to him. He racks the bolt in place, and slings it over his shoulder.
"At least it ain't the fucking pirates this time."
He trudges off into the crowd in search of his quarry. | 152 | Why is Waldo hiding? | 207 |
He sat in the car, thinking about how his wife just texted him that the baby came early. After 2 minutes of just staring at the steering wheel, he sucked in air, which rubbed his upper lip. The exhale through his nostrils let out a long, worrying, release. As air left his lungs, he brought his hands up to his hairline, interlocking his fingers to make the movement of brushing his hair back smoother. Another inhale and exhale. He jerked his hands off of his hair, pulling just enough to cause an amount of pain that could be eclipsed by the pain he was feeling inside. He beat his hands on the steering wheel out of pure frustration and anger, as would an ancient hunter knowing his dinner had just ran away. When he finished, he couldn't move, he couldn't think, and he couldn't see. He was mentally paralyzed; he had no control. His vision started rapidly spinning. He heard screams, machinery, and just odd noises, coming from every direction right into his ears. He tasted the lunch that was rushing from his insides to his mouth. Staring at his phone, reading the words "THE BABYS S COMINGG", and noticing the struggle his wife must have had to go through to write that, he knew he had to make a choice. 2 more minutes passed, his mind was made up; his paralysis was gone. Confidently, he said only one thing: "Tonight is the last night of the fair". He gripped the steering wheel of the bumper car and told the man to give him another round, so he could ram other bumper cars with his rubber and steel warship.
That night, he had to make a choice.
He chose the fair choice. | 26 | A person must choose between the "moral" option and the "fair" option. | 27 |
She saw him look in. Immediately she started shouting or screaming; noise and agitation anyway, the gag made it all quite incomprehensible.
This was awkward. Why her? Why here? He ducked out and closed the door, pondering his next move. Twenty years her ridiculous idealist activism had achieved nothing. Nothing. Except turning her against him.
The assistants unlocked her cage and paraded her through the dining room in front of the guests, towards the kitchens.
Twenty years he'd put up with her hatred, her public vitriol, slander and defamation aimed right at him. Who had she ever helped? What did she really know about cannibal-chefs? Had she ever even *been* in a kitchen? He sharpened the cleaver and chef's knives.
'Tastes like pork', the saying was. The kitchen door opened and she was dragged in. They locked eyes and she pulled to a stop and held his gaze, the noise of the room fell away, for a moment, but then assistants forced her forward.
He stood, watching her, body motionless, only his head turned to follow as they encouraged her on towards the door with the sign 'Slaughterhouse' above it. They broke eye contact as she left the room. That would be the last time he ever saw her alive.
He unfroze with a shudder, and walked to the workbench. He could hear sounds from outside. Twenty years of listening to sounds like that, it still wasn't comfortable. His sister. He raised the cleaver, and slammed it down in a wash of frustration and anger. The sound of a van driving away. Bits of the pig corpse on the workbench took the force of the cleaver blow and splattered up onto the wall. He would never see her again.
Maybe now she would know what he could never risk saying, know how false her accusations were, know the risks he was taking, the deceit his team were illegally pulling every single day. Know that if you want to save lives, you have to *get your hands dirty*. Twenty years of activism, how many people had *she* saved?
Tastes like pork, indeed. Must be a coincidence. | 859 | Cannibalism has been widely accepted for over 20 years. A renowned chef before dinner service checks tonights product. In the caging area he sees his activist sister. | 640 |
The sun is setting over the seaside while I stare into her green eyes; her irises catch a reflection of gold in them. It makes her look even more unreal.
“You look so young. But I remember meeting you in the city when I was just a little boy. And then you looked old to me. Do you remember that? I had scruffy black hair then. You showed me a magic trick with some old playing cards.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I’ve done a lot of speeches; I’ve met a lot of people in my life. But I assure you, for as long as you have been alive all I have been is old. Even though I look young, I’m older than you could ever imagine.”
I look down at my hands. They’re so wrinkled and thin.
“Wow. It’s just us then.”
She smiles.
“Well…of the humans yes.”
I remember the first time I had a root beer float. The sizzle and the pop of it created such a uniquely sweet sensation. I remember the first time I ever was kissed. I feel as though with age I’ve lost the magic of firsts. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her. Does she even remember her firsts anymore?
“Are you afraid?” I ask her.
“Of what exactly?” Her voice is so calm. It feels like liquid oozing into my ears.
“Of being here, without anyone.”
“I want to die.” She looks at me; her eyes are aflame now from the sun’s rays.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I have no option. You’ll leave this Earth like everyone else and I’ll remain. I’ll watch the seasons pass. Perhaps witness the dawn of a new species. And then perhaps witness their death as well. I’m an observer. That’s all I can be. You have a gift, you know?”
Her brown hair is being blown by the sea air.
“I never thought of it that way. But in a way I guess it’s true.” I say.
“No one was meant to be a part of the Earth forever. I was a part of my time period. I was alive then. Ever since then I’ve been an observer. I had no stake in your world. I’m not afraid of you leaving. My people have already left. They left hundreds of years ago when the last of their technology and life style was replaced with something new, and foreign to me. You are as different to me as a frog.”
I see her skin. A hue I haven’t seen in most people. I look at her clothes, a long dress, her eyes are no longer alight from the sun and they really do seem old. But she is the last of what I consider my people, even if she doesn’t see it that way.
“I’m still human. You are too.”
“I know.”
My eyes are stinging with tears.
“I think I may die soon. Will you stay with me?”
“Of course”
She holds out her hand as the last of the sun fades and we sit in darkness. I hold it. Her hand is smooth and soft. She is the saddest thing I know. This place holds nothing of interest to me but her. And she lost interest forever ago. At least I’ll get to die with someone by my side. I start to cry. She holds me. No one will hold her though. Not for the rest of eternity, on this little blue rock.
| 36 | The only immortal person and the last mortal person on earth are having a talk. | 30 |
Luke kneels at the edge of the service platform on Bespin, backing toward the edge of the antenna as he watches his severed hand spiral into the abyss below him.
*well shit*
Vader slowly approaches him, Luke figures he's a goner, and attempts to retain his Jedi honor, but it's no use. Luke is scared shitless, and desperately looking for an out from the situation.
*That's a long way down, what do you suppose the chances are that I just miraculously end up in some tunnel? Like none. Why don't they have railings out here? Someone has to service this thing at some point. Do they just expect the poor bastard to tight-rope his way over here?*
*This is all Obi-wans fault. What a dick. Who just feeds impressionable kids a load of horsehit like that? Oh shit here comes Vader, ahhhh, jump or bum rush? fuck fuck fuck fuck, I'm gonna bum rush. Yeah. He'll never see that one coming, you fucking idiot. What would Yoda say? "Strength inside you, you must find." Shut the fuck up Yoda, with your useless advice in literally any situation. Like, he never gave me one bit of applicable knowledge. I guess the fall will probably kill me faster. All right, here we-*
Vader sheaths his lightsaber and steps towards his estranged his son. He looks down at his offspring as he backs toward the antenna.
***Ok, this is not gonna win me any coffee mugs on fathers day. What do I say. "Hey Luke, I know I just cut off your hand, but guess what? I also fucked you mom!" That'll probably send him over the edge. Ummm, maybe I do some tough love? Hey, good job and all, but here's what you need to work on. Yeah. Yeah that'll work.***
"Luke, you do not yet realize your importance. You've only begun to discover your powah."
*Ohh shit he's monologuing. This same shit happened right before he cut down Obi. Can he be reasoned with? I wonder how much pussy he gets. Like all of it, probably. Still, I could tell him that Leya is totally DTF and I could hook him up if he-*
"Join me and I will comple-"
"Yes!"
"Oh, um, Ok then. Let me give you a hand." ***My first dad joke!***
Luke reaches out with his only hand, Vader grasps it. They walk together, father and son, down the hall and to the left, onto a service platform.
As the elevator music plays, Luke and Vader stand awkwardly next to each other.
***How do I initiate small talk with this guy? Like, I just cut off his hand, probably corrupted his sense of right and wrong, put him through a devastating moral quandary, and froze his best friend and sold him as a fucking statue. Ahh man. I fucked up.***
"Hey, what do you call it when I get a boner?"
*Ahh shit I knew it he's gonna rape me. I'm gonna be his little bitch for ever now. Why else would he keep me alive? He's probably gonna pass me around the star destroyer, I'm gonna spend the rest of my life has a barracks whore. I should have jumped. Why didn't I fucking jump?*
"An ele-Vader!"
Underneath his mask Vader was grinning ear to ear, staring hopefully at his son. But his expression slowly turned to a self-hating scowl.
***Why did I say that? Why did I fucking say that that was a stupid joke. He's never gonna love me. He's gonna be a hateful captive the rest of my life. All I'll ever get from him is disdainful obedience. God damnit. God fucking damnit.***
*Was, was that a joke? Did he just make a fucking pun? Oh my god I'm not getting raped! I'M NOT GETTING RAPED!*
Luke was so relieved he laughed out loud at the thought of the idea. Vader interpreted this as a reaction to his obviously brilliant joke.
***I knew that one would get to him. Kills every time in the office. Ok, step 1 initiate contact, step 2 connect on a personal level, step 3, make the reveal.***
Vader and Luke stood awkwardly for a few more minutes. The elevator dinged as they ascended passed the floors. A pan-flute version of Tatooine Cantina played on loop. Vader leans in and says:
"By the way, I'm your dad."
Luke looks at the camera in horror, freeze frame, credits roll, applause and laugh track. | 85 | The villain offers our hero "one last chance to join him or die". The hero joins him. | 62 |
**September 21st, 2214**
***Somewhere under London***
A sharp click echoed with each step as the Military Advisor for the United Kingdoms of Britain and Germany hurried towards the war room, her immaculate hands clutching the semicentennial report of alliances. The Fifth war was approaching, and the final stage of planning was already well underway.
Everybody knew, that on the eve of the 1st of October, every 50 years, the declaration of war would be sent out, and the great powers of the world would clash in a furious battle, until only one alliance stood victorious.
"EVELYN." A thunderous voice echoed from within the sealed room, and the documents almost slipped from her hands as she began to run.
"My apologies, sir, here's the list." Her lungs ached from the short burst of exertion, and it showed in her speech.
"Excellent, m'dear. Go get a cup of tea for myself and Schreiber here, will you? We have preparations to finalise, and we have very little time to do it."
She nodded curtly, and turned away from the table in front of her, her heels once again clicking down the hallway. The larger of the two men, General Schreiber, head of the combined Anglo-Germanic Defense Force, turned to face his smaller comrade.
"We do not have time for such foolishness, sire, our allies are growing impatient to hear of our plan." A slight adjustment of his epaulettes was the only indication of his own frustration at the small, pale man before him.
"All in good time, General!" The chipper voice rang out. Drawing himself up to his full, albeit unimpressive height, King Oliver the First stood and clapped his friend on the back. "The Asian Empire is well known for its patience, and my dear friend Vladmir has informed me that the Republic of New Russia has sworn absolute loyalty to our cause."
Still unconvinced, the muscular General frowned. "But sire, we should give them more time to prepare, should we not?"
"Ah, but of course, however if we send the plans too early, they may be countered by those blasted Western spies, no?"
Schreiber knew well of the king's grudge against the Western States of America, which formed after the Third war due to a differing public opinion of a broken alliance. The Eastern States got away with but a fraction of what used to be the United States, leaving them small and helpless compared to their much more powerful, not to mention ruthlessly cruel counterpart.
"I don't trust them, Schreiber. You know what happened in the Fourth. The bastards had agents in almost every alliance there was, and it damn near won them the war, due to their lack of vigilance." One of the king's favourite books from the pre-war era sprung to mind, specifically an overtly paranoid man with an enhanced eye. Oliver chuckled as he contemplated the possibilities, before being interrupted by Ms. Evelyn Porter, returning with the tea.
"Ah, wonderful, thank you dear. Come, come, sit, we could use your advice." The king threw one of his purple coated arms towards an empty chair, smiling politely as only he could.
"Yessir, right away." Her auburn hair flowed out behind her as she placed herself into the seat, sitting upright and rigid as she had learned in her military training.
"Now then, sire, Ms. Porter, shall we get to work before more... Distractions, arise?" Schreiber threw a look at the king, which thankfully went unnoticed. "We need to confirm that the French-Western alliance has been officially broken, or there could be dire consequences."
Evelyn nodded, laying out the report she delivered earlier. "As it stands, it has been broken, however there are still ties that we should be extremely careful of. We should also be aware that the Spaniards have brought together a powerful coalition of themselves, the whole of South America, and Italy against the Western States, so it would be in our best interests to at least give them a notice that we do not currently wish to get involved with their affairs. Ideally, they can deal with our enemies in the West while we focus our efforts in the mainland."
"Quite, quite, my dear, excellent work. Any word on the Portuguese?"
"No sire, only that they have continued their work on unmanned assault vehicles."
"Hrm, I'd like to get my hands on them... As much as I want to win back the economy from the African Federation, I'd rather not kill off our entire population."
"Quite right sire, however the A.F. look to be less of a threat than we initially thought, they appear to be misusing the economic power they won 40 years ago, their country is almost on the brink of collapse."
"Again, excellent work m'dear, remind me again why I haven't promoted you?"
A faint blush appeared on Evelyn's cheeks, but she kept her composure as she responded. "You can't promote me sire, I'm already in the highest civilian position possible."
"Of course, of course. What do you say, General?" The king turned to the silent figure at the other side of the table, who was intently staring at the map, stroking his military-precise moustache, a worried look on his face.
"Tell me, Ms. Porter, is this correct? That the Eastern States are considering pledging their allegiance to the Norwegians?"
"Correct, sir. Although we have not yet had a confirmation on that."
"Send someone to monitor it immediately."
"Yessir." A few taps on her wrist-mounted keyboard took care of the task, before she stood and reached over to the map sprawled across the table. "Do we know what direction the Norwegian forces are moving, Sir?"
"Ah, yes." Schreiber pulled off his glasses and indicated the Norwegian border, where it met with the German one. "They appear to be congregating in Former Denmark, so I suspect they will be preparing to assault us from the North."
"Hmm. Do we have troops there?" Evelyn's usually calm face furrowed slightly, as she knew if the military had to spread out further there would not be a chance for them to defend all the core locations.
"Thankfully, yes." Oliver butted in at this point, his hand wrapped around a cigar more than twice the size of his scrawny fingers. "I visited them momentarily on my way back from the Asian Empire, lovely fellows."
"Excellent." Both Schreiber and Porter breathed a sigh of relief, sitting back into their chairs.
"Now, my friends." A puff of smoke billowed from the tight lips of the king. "If we have ourselves a plan..." A grin emerged from the smoke, almost ethereal. "I think we're ready for war."
**December 23rd, 2215** *(458 days later)*
***Location Unknown***
*Death. All I see is death. Nobody told me it would be like this. I signed up for this war to save my country, but this... This is just too much. I watched my friends get vaporised. What have we been doing all this time? Have we been fighting for nothing? Oh, mama, please tell me it's gonna be okay. Please, I'll hang up my colors, jus' lemme go home...*
"Hey, Johnny, look."
*Oh god, no... I've been found... Mama, please, save me..!*
"Y'alright Rob?"
"Yeah, look at this. Found meself a Westerner."
"Well, wouldya look at that. Christ, yer mum'll be well pleased"
"Won't she?"
*Please don't let it end like this, I didn't wanna fight... Mama, help...*
"Aw, look, he's got his hands up and everything. What'sa matter, li'l feller, don't wanna fight no more? Trying to close your eyes to get away?"
"Hey, give'im a kick." **thud**
"Well guess what, kiddo. You messed with the wrong guys. Those Spaniards may be winning this war, but I'd sooner see the whole world eating crummy paella than you Ex-Americans coming out on top."
*Oh, God... They're the Brits... Why did I get involved... Why...*
"Tell you what, you get up, and we'll let you go. We know you're the last one in your bunch, so you hop on up, and we'll send you on your way"
*Wait... They're letting me go..? Mama, I'm saved..! Oh, mama, I'm gonna be okay!*
"C'mon now, chap, up we go. That'sa boy, good lad. Now go on, run on home."
*I made it mama, I made it! I'm gonna be home for Christma-*
**BANG**
*-... I'm sorry, mama... I lied... Your boy ain't comin' home...**
FIN
(Note: This is my first /r/WritingPrompts, so be gentle, pls?) | 23 | After WWIII people have finally realised that war is a human necessity. Every 50 years countries form alliances and different factions declare war to each other. Mass destruction weapons are not allowed. The winners rule the world economy. | 58 |
I had the most peculiar day today. I was waiting for the the bus when a man in an expensive and exquisitely tailored suit came over and sat down next to me on the bench, placing a small briefcase between us. He looked up into the cloudy sky and spoke.
"Ugh. Looks like rain again today."
I shrugged my shoulders and gave my usual response to weather complaints.
"Give it ten minutes and it'll change. "
The man cocked his eyebrow at me, and nodded.
After a few moment's silence, I continued "You can never trust the weather here anyway. I know there's some good science behind it, but I swear the weather report gets it wrong so often that it's not even worth bothering with."
The man didn't respond, so we sat silently for a few minutes. I pulled out my phone to check the time, but I knew there were at least 10 minutes before the bus arrived.
"Do you have somewhere to be?" asked the man.
"No, my work is done. Just going home to relax tonight. How about you?"
"You know I can't discuss that" said the man indignantly.
I nodded. "Ah right, lawyers, NDAs, and all that other junk. Sometimes I wish I could just post all their stupid secrets online, just to show them how little the world cared about them.
The man gave me a sharp look. "Do you really think that's wise"
"Oh of course not. But then again, I'm not sure wisdom really comes into it."
"Very well, thank you sir." said the man. He stood up and left.
He nearly to the end of the block when I noticed he'd left his briefcase behind. "Sir! Your briefcase!" I shouted after him, waving it in the air for him to see.
The man turned, looked me dead in the eye, and completed the last few steps I could see of him at a dead run before he turned the corner and vanished from my sight.
I sat there puzzled for a few moments before setting the briefcase back down. I pulled out my phone again and called the non-emergency police number. Hopefully they'd know the proper procedure for returning a lost item.
Thirty seconds later, I too was running away from the abandoned briefcase, visions of an untimely demise from an explosive preventing me from stopping until it was well out of view. The dispatcher assured me that a bomb squad was on the way.
The rest... well, I'm sure you've seen the news by now.
And that, my friends, is how I endangered national security. | 72 | A spy mistakes a civilian for their contact, after the person unwittingly responds with the correct pass phrase | 122 |
Palpable heat sparked between their bodies, tiny invisible fireworks exploding along the hills and valleys of their skin. The room was cloaked in a rainy filter, with an ethereal, almost oceanic feeling pervading.
She, chattering in rapid French, tried to catch her breath. "Ça, c'est merveilleux..."
He, an ostentatious American businessman, heard nothing but gibberish. His elementary French classes from high school were long ago and totally forgotten, but he thought he was doing something right.
Hands slammed together as the passion escalated. A glass on the nightstand toppled to the ground and shattered. The window began to steam.
And suddenly, miraculously, language was not needed. Words, once so integral, lost meaning entirely. All they had were actions and reactions. Lightning struck outside, singeing the air. Their eyes met for a moment, and all was lost. Everything fell away. They were two people free-falling through space and time without parachutes, but there was no ground to stop their descent. In fact, there was no end at all.
The police found the bodies the next day, still entwined in romantic embrace. The window had shattered, and the pattern of the burns indicated that a rogue bolt of lightning had been their end. | 12 | Write about the beginnings of an affair between two people that do not speak the same language. | 15 |
Commissioner Gordon knew at once that something was very wrong. The precinct had a kind of a hum, like a hive and he had developed a sense of what it should sound like, so even slight disturbances could let him know that there was something wrong. Right now, every single one of his senses was firing, as the distant yelling filtered up the grand hallway.
He slammed out of his office at a flat run, scaring the life out of his secretary Marcy, he'd need to apologise later. Somehow his gun had found its way to his hand, he didn't even remember grabbing it but he must have somehow. He slammed down the stairs, bouncing off the walls as he took them four or five at a time and screaming at the officers he passed to turn around and follow him.
God knows what it was, he'd only felt this feeling once before when Barbara had... he pushed that thought away, it wasn't time for that now. At last he was down and screaming at the duty officer to let him into the booking office but it took him pounding on the wire cage before the man turned and did so. He was transfixed on the scene at the door, as was the rest of the room and every other officer.
They were all screaming but they were being ignored. Gordon quickly pushed his way to the front and saw what he had dreaded, what he had somehow known was there. Kneeing, holding his body tenderly and cradling his head in his arms, the Joker wept over the body of Batman.
"What the fuck happened here?" Gordon snapped to the room in general.
The nearest Sergeant looked round and seeing it was the Commissioner, took a step closer. "He just opened the door carrying the body sir, took two steps and slumped down. We're not sure if Batman is alive or dead."
Gordon took a step forward. The Joker was cradling the head so tenderly, huge tears running down his face and dropping onto the Batman's mask, leaving white smears across his face.
Gordon could hear him murmuring through the sobs and raggedly drawn breath and took a step closer, waving the men to lower their guns. All he needed was to be shot in the back by one of his own who got trigger happy in fear.
"Why, why did it have to happen, why did they take you Batso, why did it have to happen." Joker repeated himself over and over.
"What did you do Joker?" Gordon tried to make his voice firm, tried to ignore the scene in front of him. “How did you kill him.”
The Joker’s head snapped up, sorrow and pain etched into his face. “You think this was me? You think I would kill him? With a *bullet?*
Gordon could see the blood oozing out from under his arm. It must have gone between his plates and slipped up and in. this close Gordon could see that there was no movement, if this was a con then it was a good one.
“I found him like this and brought him here, to you. You and I Gordon, only we understood him, understood what he was and what he did… and what I must do next.” The Joker’s face contorted into rage for a moment and then back to sorrow. “He was just so… so young!”
Gordon ignored everything he felt and replied on 30 years of being a cop. This wasn’t his friend down there, it was a victim. It wasn’t the joker in front of him but a potential witness or murderer. “Tell me what you know Joker, if you didn’t do this then where did you find him?”
“He was on the street, like an unloved puppy thrown from a car.” Tears still rolled down Jokers face and he stroked the Batman’s face. He was killed and then thrown away. They killed him AND THREW HIM AWAY!” His voice rose to a roar and Gordon leapt back, weapons were raised around the room and the Joker slowly began to stand.
“Don’t do it Joker, you can end this now, you can change. We can solve this Joker but we need your help.” Gordon tried to plead, this was a moment, maybe the loss of the Batman could change the Joker, maybe there could be some good out of this. God knows he didn’t want the Joker running around with no Batman to stop him.
Joker continued to stand, lifting Batman with him. “HE WAS MINE AND THEY TOOK HIM AND THREW HIM AWAY.” With one swift motion he grabbed the edge of Batman’s cowl and with unbelievable strength he ripped the Kevlar mask and hood from the suit.
The face of Bruce Wayne was exposed and there was gasps around the room. Gordon felt a deep pang, the final indignity of the Batman. He would need to have long discussions with many of the men in this room before anyone went home, or talked to the press.
The Joker stood, holding Batman up as a shield with one arm and with his mask in the other. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, a perverted distortion of the Batman’s familiar growl. He swept the hood up and over his painted face so that only his lips could be seen and then, in a final act of disgusting violation he plunged his fingers into the bullet wound and then wiped the red blood across his lips and then across the mask. His eyes glowed from the holes and he seemed a demon, taken form.
“Now I shall have MY vengeance.” He whispered out and then in one motion he pushed the body forward and a plume of smoke obscured the room. It took several moments until the smoke began to clear and Gordon was the first to reach the body. It was cold. He checked him carefully and then lay his jacket over the face.
His belt was gone, Joker had taken it and was now long gone into the night. God knows what hell was now to be unleashed on Gotham.
| 581 | Joker seeks vengeance for the death of Batman | 688 |
"... Of which I am about to enter." Barack Hussein Obama let out a tiny gasp as the world suddenly collapsed into a single point. Gone was the stage which he had stood on, his feet seemed to be simultaneously firmly on the ground yet floating in mid air. His wife and children were no where to be seen. He looked up from his feet and saw nothing but white, he wasn't in a room, there were no floors or walls. He looked where the crowd had been seated, hundreds, thousands of people were no longer there.
A small sigh of relief escaped as he turned around and saw two familiar faces. "Bill...... George....... I am so glad I am not alone.......... How did this happen?....... We need....... To get help."
"Barack, or should I say Mr. president? We don't need help. We are on our way to where we need to be." Bill Clinton put a hand on the shoulder of the current president of the United States of America.
"On our way? Can't you see that there is nothing.... Around us? " Barack gestured to the emptiness.
" Why does he talk so weird, he's even weirder than the last one."
"Fuck you ted. And Barack, seriously do you have to...... Pause...... so much? " George W. Bush scowled towards the bespectacled man standing behind the President. Barack's eyes widened as he turned towards the bespectacled man, and the 39 men other men alongside him.
"Watch your mouth! You curse in front of this audience? And me your father? I raised you better than that!" Snickers arose from the crowd as the 41st president chastised his son.
Barack let out a deep breath of relief. " I'm dreaming, of course. Everything is OK, I'm just dreaming."
Clinton put his hand on the shoulder of the 44th President, "No Barry, you're not dreaming."
"ENOUGH" The crowd fell quiet after the first syllable and parted to let the source of the booming voice through. "I will not allow such childlike and disrespectful behavior to take place. You *will* address this man as Mr. President. He has taken the oath, he stands among us, he holds the office."
The President abandoned any hope that this was a dream. The man standing before him could not be a figment of his imagination. Somehow he was in the presence of George Washington. There was no denying the confidence and leadership that ebbed from this man.
"Mr. President, allow me to apologize for my successors. They tend to forget the gravity and prestige of this moment. Tradition and custom require that I begin and lead the ceremony. But in light of your... Circumstances, I must cede this honor to another. President Obama, there is someone that is quite eager to meet you."
The President followed the gaze of His Excellency, towards a bearded gentleman in a top hat. "Abe, this is your moment sir"
"Thank you George." President Barack Obama, the 44th President of the United States of America, looked into the watery eyes of Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President, the man who had outlawed slavery. He had paid the highest price for his actions, actions that allowed Barack Obama, a black man to rise to the highest office of a country that had once thrived on the slavery of his race.
"Barack" Abraham Lincoln returned the President's Gaze "Excuse me, Mr. President. When W informed me his successor would be a black man, I thought it was another one of his silly jokes. I did not expect our country to be able to put aside its prejudices so quickly.I thought it would take more time. I certainly did not expect them to do so during a time of war with a collapsing economy." The 16th president paused. "The night I was shot, President Washington was the first to comfort me. You see, as I will explain soon, those of us that are dead, we still yearn for our loved once. I missed my family. I was angry for being robbed of a future with them. Washington said to me on that day that I had paid a small price for doing what my country needed. That my actions strengthened the future of our country. That freeing the slaves would allow the United States to grow. I often doubted him. Yet as the Bush's and Bill have told us, our country needs saving. They found their savior in a black man. That.." Abraham Lincoln held back tears as his voice cracked "makes it all worth it".
43 of the most powerful men in history grew quiet. 43 inspirational figures in history, men who had given legendary speeches that had moved nations and led wars, were speechless. The newest member of the group uttered the only two words that he could, "Thank you".
Abraham Lincoln smiled and spoke, "Now, it is time to begin." His voice boomed as he found his strength. "Barack Hussein Obama, you have taken the Oath. You are now the President of the greatest nation in the history of the world. A responsibility so massive, that it requires the knowledge of every man that has held this office before you. I, the 16th president of the United States of America, am honored to place at your disposal, the knowledge, wisdom, and talents of your predecessors. **President Barack Hussein Obama**, please complete your oath and allow our strength to guide you through your presidency."
President Barack Hussein Obama now understood. The final words were not in the constitution, he turned the first man that had uttered those words and created the tradition.
"So Help Me God"
Edit: I completed this in two sittings, had to get off mobile. Sorry for any inconvenience that I caused. | 71 | Becoming the president is akin to being the Avatar where the president gains access to the wisdom of all past presidential figures. | 142 |
I cannot rightly determine what is being displayed on my computer screen. For the sake of my sanity, I hope I never do.
There are things that man cannot understand. Should not even *attempt* to understand. But now that I've seen them, my mind cannot help but try. Ever since I opened that file--what was supposed to be nothing more than a harmless pdf--my computer installed some other program, which executed immediately, showing me...*images*. They look like pictures from our reality, but something is wrong. Something is off. They are a surreal shadow of the world I believe to live in that my mind will never grasp.
Beside the images, there are words that I can't comprehend. They seem to be written in English, but the letter arrangements make no sense. Did humans write this? Do they understand what is being shown? How could they? Does one require a stronger mind than I? No, that's impossible...they must have given theirselves to their madness. That must be the only way they can understand, during what is sure to now be only brief lapses of lucidity.
I try to click away...to close the program. To save what little sanity remains. The program restarts, showing me something else from this eerie, haunting realm. I try again and again, desperately, futily.
Too terrified by the unclosing horrors before me and so desperate to get rid of them I fail to realize that there is someone approaching me until he is already there, beside my computer screen--my roommate. I want to warn him. Don't look at the screen. If you value your mind, your soul, for the love of god, don't--
He did. I've failed him. Now he'll be damned to the same insanity that I--
"Oh, hey man," he says with more nonchalance than to be expected. "I didn't know you browsed 4chan." | 26 | Your computer gets infested with eldritch malware. | 18 |
A man sat in the corner of a room, a machine slowly whirring. This machine contained backups for various Yahoo answers questions. Since the Darkening, these people considered this machine to be a god. It ran off a power generator in a Hospital that had survived what most did not.
*"Share insights and experience. Get answers, ask questions, and find information."* The man was named the Mayor, he had only taken on that name recently. He guarded the machine and considered himself to be Divine Interpreter between God and Mankind.
*"Mayor, how is the baby formed?"*
*"They need to do way instain mother> who kill thier babbys." "Next."*
*"Mayor, that does not make sense."*
*"Do not question the will of the Lord. He knows all, and you will truly know what the answer means if you have wisdom. Yahoo is our God. Yahoo is the only God."*
The Mayor kept on like this for days. He thought he was doing a task for God, but he was feeding dangerous misinformation to his flock of desperate survivors. Every day they grew more weary. Every day more of them died by taking the information that was promised. Many had killed themselves due to losing faith, but another Religion had occurred in the same way. Another power generator was found. A more valuable, more useful form of information was obtained.
God was depicted as a bald but charming man to them, Yahoo was but a false prophet doomed to mislead. Punishment from Yahoo was not considered the will of God. This new source had helped. God was not an incomprehensible form, but a real person, a person in a suit. A person who provided answers.
A war broke out between the two factions, the Yahooites were almost completely wiped out. The Mayor spoke once more. *"The Lord made me his Divine Interpreter! The Darkening will happen again should you ignore his wrath!"*
*"My dear friend, you do not understand. Your God is but a series of lies. A series of questions and answers we shall never need to know. "How old is Captain America?", "Why is my poop green?", "Is it safe to eat window mold?" We have answers. But you must only Ask. Answers about crop rotations. Answers that will allow man to recover from the Darkening. All you have to do is Ask."*
*"What is this nonsense? Who? Who do I Ask?"*
*"Jeeves."* | 17 | After the apocalypse, the only repository of information is an archive of Yahoo! Answers | 67 |
<Here is my shot at this. Sorry its probably not going to be as dark or gritty as this sub likes but I don’t really roll that way."
Lady Serena sat on her throne idly flicking some imaginary dirt off of her long red fingernails. It had been so long since she had gotten to go out and have any fun. She smiled as she thought of her 'fun' and wondered what her favorite knight was up to at the moment. No doubt rescuing some helpless airheaded princess from an overgrown lizard; or maybe he was delving into the dungeon of some long forgotten king to find a forgotten hair brush.
Hah, he loved that kind of thing. She would rather hunt for jewels and gold but for some reason all he wanted were dusty old books and ancient pottery. Serena let a small smile creep from between her cherry lips causing her advisor to cough politely.
"You're thinking about him again aren't you my lady. We just have two more days to deal with court issues and then you can go back to terrorizing Markus." Charlotte said looking up at her mistress with a large smile.
"Sorry Charlotte I will try to pay attention. But really what do you need me for you could do this by yourself." Pouted Serena, her full lips drawing together in a frown that made the dark witch appear more cute than freighting. In fact she hated this part; being stuck in the castle and treated like one of those spoiled brats at the balls her father had forced her to go to when she was little.
That was one of the things that drew her to Markus. The fact that he didn't see her as some queen in a tower to be rescued, didn't see her as some woman to be protected, or as a some evil sorceress to be feared.
She frowned again at that. Evil that what the High Council called her, she wasn't evil, or at least didn't view herself as such. She was just mischievous and had a thing for shiny objects. The only problem was that a lot of those objects didn't actually belong to her. And add that onto the fact she had never acted like one of those stupid princesses in the capital everyone gave her a bad rap.
But Markus didn't see her like that she was sure of it. The first time they had fought she had actually been stunned after he threw a punch, surprised that he would actually hit her and happy that saw her as an opponent to be respected. Ever since that encounter she had been following him around on his little adventures for the king.
Yes she made his life hard for him and yes she may have driven him up the wall a time or two but she was just having fun. The man really needed to lighten up a bit and get out of his dusty library more often. Serena sighed and tried to focus back on the matters of state that Charlotte was being so patient in getting her to listen to.
Markus pushed the horse faster, his dark hair blowing against the tops of his eyes as he raced through the town. 'Why am I doing this ' He wondered as he watched the shops and houses blur by. He could see her castle rising up from the center of the city. 'Of course she would have her castle in the middle of the town. She's so proud and cocky and..funny?.' he could hear his grandfather's words from their discussion the other day. He still remembered being called into the den by his grandfather.
*"Markus I need to talk to you." Said his grandfather sitting on one of the soft leather chairs in the den. His grandfather motioned for Markus to set down but instead the young knight continued to keep pacing. "Markus sit down you are driving everyone in the house insane with your constant pacing. What has been up with you this last month? You’ve been running your self so ragged taking quests that Edward has had to order the guild to take your name off the books so you get some rest."
"I don't know." Markus said stopping his constant pacing for a moment. "I just ughh. This last month should have been great. Serena hasn't appeared once this entire month. But instead I can’t concentrate, I don't feel rested when I sleep, and I keep talking like I expect her to be standing behind me when I turn around." Markus said rubbing his face with his hands.
Markus looked up when his grandfather let out a large belly laugh. "Haha that’s what you grandmother and I figured it was. I know exactly what is wrong with you son, and there is only one way for your to fix it."*
"Love" barked Markus letting out a sharp laugh. Why would he be in love with Her. All she ever did was try to annoy him and screw around with whatever he was doing. The fact that he hadn't gotten a full nights rest until he had started towards her city proved nothing. Yeah nothing and he wasn't coming to see Her. He just wanted to make sure that she hadn't been up to anything this last month.
Markus pushed his horse faster as he tried to outrun the thoughts going around in his head. And besides she was a bad guy wasn't she, a villain? Granted all she ever seemed to steal anymore was treasure from long abandoned temples, but those items could have went to a museum.
And she never seemed to actually be trying to hurt him when they fought, just beat him. Most of the people he saw her fight were bandits and monsters and seeing those fights he was actually pretty sure she could beat him if she wanted. So why didn't she. Why did she always seem to be toying with him? He just couldn't understand her.
"Halt" shouted a guard as he drew close to the door of the castle. "Halt and state your business." Markus quickly brought the horse to a stop, almost throwing himself off as the horse reared back from the force of his pull. He had been so deep in thought he hadn't even realized he had gotten to the castle.
"I'm Sir Markus Greenly. I need to get in and see Serena, I mean Queen Serena." Markus said jumping down from his horse to stand in front of the man.
"I am sorry sir but her majesty is taken up with import court duties for the next few days. She isn't to be disturbed until they are through. If you want you can leave a message and I am sure she will send for you when she is done." said the man.
"I see." said Markus not liking the idea of being so close and having to wait two more days just to see her. "Well could you do me a favor and hold onto my horse for a second?" he asked thrusting the ropes into the guard’s hands. Once the guard had hold of the ropes and all of his attention was on the one tone creature who had suddenly gotten a bad case of the jitters 'thank's nova I’ll make sure to give you extra sugar later.' he started to run for the main door to the palace.
Markus had no trouble finding his way through the castle. Serena had talked about it enough that he already felt like he had been there. And she had been right, the marble halls, the lush gardens, the crystal windows. The whole place was a work of art. Even the giant doors that led into the main hall were a beautiful piece of design and craftsmanship. Which made it all the worse that he was going to have to blast it open.
Serena heard the doors to the main hall rattle. "Who locked the door? They have never been locked since my father took the throne."
"I'm sorry my lady but I thought it best to try and limit the distractions while we work through this." Charlotte said, the mousy girl was just about to add something else when the doors flew open in a blast of fire and smoke. Their hinges coming loose as they smashed into the walls on either side of the door sending a resounding boom echoing through the room. Serena stood up as she waited for the dust to settle, wondering who would dare come into her castle and destroy her property.
Markus strode into the hall feeling better than he had all day. His frustration and anticipation had been boiling over the closer he had gotten. Then when the stupid doors had gotten in his way, well he had no choice but to remove them. Walking out of the smoke he could see the throne and just like that all of his frustration, all of his anxiety and worry just evaporated.
And like that his mind snapped, all of the pieces coming together. As he saw Serena standing up there with her long midnight black hair falling behind her, her long legs and large breasts draped in a tight gown and her face full of emotions he couldn't ignore his feelings any more.
Markus knew what he wanted to do, what he needed to do. And with more confidence than he had ever had before he marched up to the throne. The whole time his eyes were locked with Serena’s, her face a mixture of surprise and something else. Once he was close enough Markus reached out and grabbed her, pulling her against his body before she had any chance to act.
"What are you going to do to me now hero?" Serena teased, her blood red lips smirking at him.
"Something I have wanted to do since I met you." Markus said crushing his lips against hers. Serena didn't hesitate to return the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck and holding him close as they let out emotions that had been growing and simmering for two and a half years.
Serena moaned as Markus broke the kiss and was about to lean in for another one when she felt herself all of a sudden being picked up. His arms holding her up bridal style as he started to walk towards the back of the throne room and towards the hallway that would lead to her rooms.
"Charlotte," Markus said turning around to look at the small blond attendant. “I’m kidnapping your queen for the next day or so. So if you need her for anything don't. I trust you to take care of anything that comes up." he said before turning back around and continuing on to the rooms.
<And i think i will stop it there. Keep it PG since this isn't the sub for what happens next and their might be young impressionable youth on here /s. Anyways i know its happy and mushy and not all dark and no one changed their morals or got twisted and went all dark side. But i kind of like this better>
| 13 | The Hero falls in love with the Villain | 18 |
I didn’t want to do it. But being in the running for the next President, I was being pressured to find out. My opponent was doing it, after all, and so should I.
Well, I should have probably just quit when it was revealed that my opponent was George Washington in his past life. Lets just say his numbers went up in the polls. But I insisted on doing it. Maybe I was Abe Lincoln or something. At least that would put me neck and neck with my opponent.
It all happened rather fast. People were still cheering from seeing the result broadcast live for my opponent. I stepped into the machine and prepared to be read. Within seconds the light in the machine had scanned me, and soon I saw an image pop up in front of me. The public couldn’t see it, only the name that was attached to it. What I saw was a young German man. What the public saw was my name. Hitler, Franz.
I mean, the picture didn’t look anything like Hitler. But people seemed to believe I was somehow related to him. That I was a Nazi in disguise. Not only did my numbers fall in the polls, but death threats showed up left and right. To push me out of the race, someone, probably my opponent, framed me and came up with false evidence that the person from my past life was directly related to Hitler, as well as a prominent Nazi.
And so I dropped out of the race and went into hiding, but not before a couple of thugs found me on the street and beat the shit out of me. I was lucky to have survived as I was wheeled into the hospital, where it took another few minutes before they found a doctor who was willing to operate on me. Poor son of a bitch killed himself the other day, I saw in the news, because people were pissed that he had treated me.
That’s not even the worst of it. My wife left me and took the children. The courts sided with her and I have been banned from any sort of contact or visitation with my kids. Hell, I’m not even allowed anywhere near where they live or go to school. Ironically, turns out my wife was a Jew in her past life, so it’s needless to say that she nearly beat me to death when she found out who I used to be.
It has been a few years since this incident. Two of my kids are now in high school, and my other two, the twins, are no longer infants, but rather children. The twins probably don’t even remember me, and my own children, from what I’ve heard, have totally disowned me and pretend that I never existed.
I’ve since looked into who I was in my past life. It turns out that I wanted nothing to do with the nazis and had fled Germany at the beginning of the war, coming to work in America. But as I did this research, I found something more important. The company behind the machines that can read your past lives. And guess who they were owned by? My competitor.
And so I have studied the machines as best as I can. It’s become quite clear that they can be hacked, and it would seem this had happened to me. I assume that whoever did it had messed up the first name. It was clearly my opponent.
As I write this, I can see the latest news bulletin. Something about the growing threat of homegrown terrorism, Islamist radicals getting out of control in the USA, and needing to do something about it. Another clip of the President speaking, talking about how someone needed to have the stones to do something about all the terror, suggesting some sort of invasion of the latest country in the middle east to become unstable. And then a couple news programs about some genetic breakthroughs, and how they were finding genes everyday that led to certain illnesses, while finding others that protected people from them.
Oddly enough, a lot of these news anchors are new. In fact, in all areas of entertainment, there has been a mass influx of new people, with a lot of the regular celebrities retiring. The blue eyes of the newest news anchor are very entrancing, her blond hair silky smooth. I also have noticed a few Christian crosses popping up here and there as necklaces or whatnot. And, if I’m not mistaken, that’s a Menorah in the trashcan in the background of the news program.
I watch as the news closes with a program about how some people have been bringing up valid concerns that the Jews are too entangled in our banking systems, and that we need to have more “diversity” in there.
I turn off the TV. I suppose this letter is more important. Not that anyone will ever read it. I have no clue what the future will hold. After all, we can observe the past, even our past lives nowadays, but nothing exists to tell us what our futures hold. As for me, I saw what was happening years ago. And when I stepped into the machine for a second time, unbeknownst to anyone who I was, I found out who I really was and what I needed to do. Winston Churchill. And before that, William Wallace. And before that, Genghis Khan.
-262
Edit: Spelling | 25 | Reincarnation has been proven to be real, and people can find out who they were in past lives. Someone discovers that they were Hitler. | 26 |
People watching became a new hobby once the outbreak had ended reeking havoc. Just sitting in the parks as everyone tried to go about daily procedure... mesmerising. You could make out who had what by the way they behaved.
The OCD's would wonder aimlessly outside, tapping around, sliding their feet against the concrete once, twice and once more, repeated every hour. Some would seek solace in water bottles and soap containers to wash their bodies raw.
Those with anxiety disorders had long boarded up their houses. Their cries for help and audible meltdowns only added to the ridiculous noise. We get it, you're a bit sad. Although I admit it was entertaining to sit outside their houses and listen to their suffering.
All the manic depressives roamed the streets in their own little drunk gangs although most had committed suicide by this point. It was less intimidating than you'd expect. They all had to cheer themselves up in someway, what better way to do that than by a way that means none of us have to do deal with their whining.
I mean I don't see why I didn't see the signs... I didn't care. Billions of people wiped from the face of the earth and I couldn't care less. In fact it was peaceful, I was tranquil. All I ever needed were my thoughts in my own mind. I thought everyone was like me up until the outbreak. But oh well, they're all corpses now anyways. Serves them right...
------First time poster. Constructive criticism needed-------
| 38 | A virus which attacks the brain and nervous system has ravaged the world, killing everyone except for the extremely mentally ill. You believed you were mentally healthy, but you lived. | 101 |
I leave my room for *five fucking minutes*. *Five fucking minutes*, and some pledge bursts in somehow and changes my status. All because I had to take a piss and I didn't want to lock my door. Serves me right, I live in a frat house.
Anyway, I grab my stuff shortly after and lock my door for real. I go to class. I get about ten congratulatory texts on the way there, to my confusion. Check my email and my bursar account- I certainly didn't get any of the scholarships I applied for.
Two girls come up to me and said they always new and they'd support me. This is starting to get weird. I idly check Facebook. I have around 80 likes and two dozen comments on a status. All I can think is "duh fuck?". The last time I posted, it was a picture of me on a canoe over Labor Day four weeks ago.
According to my status, I'm coming out of the closet with my love for the cock. I rage at the fucking pledges and delete it, making a correction status in the process.
Twenty minutes into my accounting lecture, I've got four comments saying how I shouldn't be ashamed and I was brave for being that honest. My mother texts me, saying she'll still love me and I don't have to hide my true feelings. The girl I hooked up with last week shoots me a message apologizing for coming on so strongly. She wants to buy me dinner to make up for it.
Except last I checked, I still like women. Another status fires, emphasizing that fact, since this is getting ridiculous. Two more comments, one from the head of the LGBT club saying that I should swing by a meeting to talk it out. My *grandmother* of all people, says that she's disappointed in me for not expressing myself adequately and I should call her later.
I shut my laptop in annoyance. I'm not gay. I like girls, and have for as long as I can remember. I ditch out of accounting, since I'm not paying attention anyway. All of the pledges are going to get the hazing of their lives til somebody owns up to this. I storm back to the house, determined to make all of them drink bleach, as my dad sends four texts saying he apologizes for not being more sensitive to my lifestyle as a child. He hopes we can do something fun next weekend to make up for it. We don't have to go shooting if there's something else I'm more comfortable with. I'M NOT EVER SURE WHAT THAT MEANS; my choice in sexual contact shouldn't have any effect on how much I like to kill my own dinner, regardless of that fact that my choices are exactly what my parents ALWAYS knew. Or at least I thought they knew.
I throw down my backpack in my room in the frat house, ready to blow a gasket. My roommate looks up at me from his desk.
"Hey, that was really brave of you," he says quietly, his voice whimpering.
"It was fucking bullshit."
"Don't be embarrassed by it... I don't have that kind of courage in me..." his voice trails off, "I mean, I've liked guys since high school. I can't even tell my girl about it. It's too fucking embarrassing at this point, even though I know I gotta change it."
Uh, what?
He keeps going, "But, I think now I might. You inspired me and all. I think I might start saying it. Tonight. Maybe we can hit up a gay bar together. I mean, you're not my type, but you could wingman or something if you're up for it. I'm not even sure if that's a thing. I know it's been a big day for you and we should go have a drink somewhere we'd be more comfortable."
I'm sorry, but did my roommate just fucking reject me? I'm awesome, even if I'm not interested. I would totally date me if I were him.
"Yeah sure, whatever," I reply, deciding I should take a nap and wait for this to blow over. I'm in way over my head. | 16 | Everyone congratulates you for finally coming out of the closet. The only problem is that you're not actually gay. No one believes you though. | 17 |
PART 1
DEATH'S ANGELS CASE FILE 8T45B48AD
Mark Thomas
Apt 5B, 3467 Windsor Dr.
Chicago Illinois
sex: Male
Age: 84
Spouse: Linda Thomas - deceased
Children: Neil Thomas - deceased
Soul Retrieval Time 22:54hrs
The sound of raindrops patters on the rooftops as an Angel of the Death watches the Mr. Thomas from the rooftop across the street, through the window of his fifth story apartment.
Its been three hours since I should have retrieved his soul. His hair is white now. Skin all saggy and like leather, he must still smoke. Ill never forget the smell of cigarettes on his breath. He's weak, old, and looks like he's suffering a lot. It should't be much longer now but I just want to watch him a little longer.
Lightning cracks overhead as a winged figure sores overhead.
He always has to make big entrance. Then again he's never been very subtle.
The raindrops almost freeze in time as he crashes down only feet from me.
"You know that they could hear you for miles".
"HAHA yes, if they could, hear. Most do not believe, nor do they care of our existence, but that is not our concern little brother. You know our work, therefore why has it taken you so long now? The Almighty has not told me of why to come speak with you but only that I must." He says in his booming voice. I'd expect nothing less from one of the original Arch Angels, Uriel the Hammer, now a simple Herald for the Almighty. He was massive, at least nine feet tall and almost as wide. Onyx black hair matched his long beard, grey eyes that glowed holding millenniums of knowledge behind them. Then his wings, large and grey, they dragged behind him like a train on a wedding dress. I've heard stories of him in battle with Legions of Lucifer, but something happened to him. He never spoke of it, at least not me. I respected him and if he wasn't so kind, I would definitely be scared of him. Now I just wish he would leave me alone, at least for the night.
"Don't call me that."
"Call you what? Little Brother? But your name is so silly, almost unfitting for an Angel of your caliber. HAHAHA, Neil, see! I cannot help myself! You should have changed your name to something more proper when you entered the eternal realm. haha, Neil. "
I'm in no mood for this now. I can't even respond to him. I can only see HIM, I can't take my eyes off of him. He may be old and weak but I see through his facade. He is still the same bastard that I once knew. How could he have gotten away with it? Why did he get away with it? Why me?I was so young. I trusted him. That fucking bastard...
"...you knew him. Didn't you? I mean, in your past life."
I had almost forgotten he was there. Stupid I know, since its like forgetting that your standing next to a Mack truck with wings.
"I like Neil.."
"what?"
"My name, I like it because its mine forever now, Uriel. I kept it because in my past life it was taken from me. My life, my innocence, my future. All taken by that man you see there. My father."
"...your father, he took your life? I did not know. I am deeply sorry for your trials and that this task has been presented to you. I cannot begin to even know what a trial this must be but I can assure you it is a trial that you must go through. Righteous anger is permitted but Neil, do not forget your task and who you are now. You are an Angel of Death, you must collect his soul to be judged by the almighty. Most of all, you must not reveal yourself to him."
"I know"
"Be sure with you blade and make haste, little brother. He looks ready."
Uriel opens his wings and cracks them to ground like whip. Hurling himself into the air looping and spiraling into the night sky. "PRAISES TO THE MOST HIGH, LITTLE BROTHER! AND FOREVER HE SHALL REIGN!!!"
The most high, the almighty, the omnipotent once, the omnipresent! All the names I've heard the past fifty years and I've never even seen the guy the guy I work for. I didn't believe in God then. I was so young. Still, the innocent that die go to heaven whether we want to or not.
The lights go off in the apartment. Neil's silhouette can be seen opening his wings, unsheathing his black sword and fly across the street to apartment 5B.
Im still pretty new at this writing thing, but If you you like this and want to read more I have Part 2 already planned out in my head. Its just really late and I need to sleep. let me know!
| 11 | After your violent death you are enlisted into "Death's Angels", the servants of Death that collect the souls of the dead. After almost 10 years of collecting the souls of the dead you are tasked to collect a very troubling soul, the soul of your killer. | 25 |
"Quickly, now!" I said, motioning for the warrior to follow me. He stood still for a moment at the entrance, the magical enchantments on his armour illuminating the dark cave slightly with its humming, blue glow. He shouted an inaudible battlecry, drank some kind of potion, and off he went. The quest was to escort me through the cave in the search of my daughter, and I relied on him for my safety, but he boomed past me at inhuman speeds, as if he didn't care about me at all. I tried my best to keep up, but for some reason I could always only run at the same tedious speed.
The orcs up ahead raised the alarm as he ran past them and chased him, throwing spells and axes after him. Arrows, fireballs and axes hit the warrior in the back, impaling him and engulfing him in flames, but it didn't seem to faze him. The warrior, for some reason, made sure to run into every single Orc on the way into the cave, smacking them all upside the head lightly on his way, enraging them. Soon, he had a trail of a hundred angry orcs chasing him. I followed as best I could, making sure there were no Orcs around. After all, they would kill me on sight, and I would never get to see my beloved captured daughter again.
Soon I lost sight of the insanity party and the cave was empty, except for the occasional scream echoing through the tunnels. Every corner I turned I expected to see them again, but I was wrong. Finally I arrived at a large, open area, only to witness the most epic battle of all time. Atleast a thousand orcs, and four large creatures, a dragon, a giant, an abnormally large Orc, and a two-headed ogre, all facing the same direction, throwing punches, spells, and hacking away with their weapons at the center of the mass of Orcs. An eardeafening thunder roar echoed through the cave and chainlightning ripped through the crowds, killing hundreds of Orcs in one instant.
For a moment it seemed the orc army was getting the upper hand, but then guts flew in all directions and they fell one by one. In the end, only the Warrior remained, spinning around in a circle a hundred spins per second, with a large battle axe. He did this for several seconds after everything was dead, and then he stared at me, as if he expected something. I walked up, unsure, and then I saw her. My daughter. She was safe! Oh, how glad I was. The warrior began furiously falling to one knee every second, his hand touching every corpse. I didn't care to ask what he was doing, and handed him his pouch of gold and thanked him deeply. He didn't even look at me, or acknowledge my presence, and then a glowing stone appeared in his hands, and within a few seconds he vanished in a flash of light. This had to be a dream. I blinked, and realized I had been daydreaming the whole scenario, fantasizing about someone saving my daughter. Then I heard a sound. Someone entered the cave. A hero appeared, a sorcereress, in blue robes and fire dancing around her as if it was a pet. I nodded and motioned for her to follow me.
"Quickly, now!" | 661 | You are an NPC watching the hero/heroine do a speedrun. | 686 |
"Sir...they have it."
The President's shoulders slumped. Visions of a dozen international technology races - machineguns, atomic weapons, moon landers and more - flickered through her mind as she thought of the hours and the manpower her research teams had put into perfecting the Hairpin device. A mad scramble on an international level to create the first functional time machine and deny Russia the chance to jump back in time and alter the course of history forever. She sat back in her chair, feeling her senses boosted by the sensation of introspection that always accompanies the spectre of dread.
The sun was shining, and the beauty of the day nearly brought the President to tears. She clenched and unclenched her hands, then tapped a finger to her forehead. "Have they powered up the device yet?"
"Our satellites detected the first energy spike ten minutes ago - that's how we know they've got it. We had to confirm with NORAD's atmospheric monitors, but there's no mistaking the electromagnetic signature."
The President's eyes flicked over to the telephone ensconced upon a walnut pedestal on her desk. She could make the call, perhaps the Russian president would listen... Or perhaps she could dial the other number. Launch an all-out nuclear strike to obliterate the device before it could irreversibly change the past. Mankind only had one shot at time-travel. She could end it in a stroke - but at what cost?
And then it dawned on her. There could only be one change, and no matter what, Russia could never completely alter the course of history with just one man. Sure, the world might not look the same as it did on this tranquil, sunny day, but life would still go on. Humanity would still strive and prosper and come to throw off whatever yokes the time-traveller could ever hope to impose. Freedom did not need America to survive - it never had. Freedom would find a way of its own.
She turned her chair to face the window and quietly watched the world she knew come to an end.
* * * * *
Irakliy Alkaev stepped out of the capsule, breathing in the air of a time far removed from his own. He looked out at the quiet, moonlit landscape, not a hint of civilisation in sight, and then up at the starry skies. He knew the constellations off by heart, had been trained to navigate by their light alone. There was no GLONASS in this day and age, no network for him to access. Technology was no longer necessary.
Apart from one key item. As he started off into the wilderness, guided by the distant light of the heavens, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the thin metal cylinder. Flicking a switch, he listened to its soft *click-click-click*. Satisfied, he returned it to his pocket and turned his full attention to the journey ahead.
*Background radiation minimal*
The plan had succeeded, then. No one man could ensure Russia's supremacy by travelling back in time, so the Division had avoided that option entirely. Too many chances for resistance, too many unknown variables. No, it had been the safer bet to put a thousand colonists in cryo-sleep, awaiting the moment centuries later when Irakliy would arrive to open their Ark and awaken them to conquer the globe. There would be no resistance. No human encounters of any kind, friend or foe.
The nukes had seen to that. | 56 | The earth will only ever have enough resources to time travel one person, once. Russia develops a usable time capsule before the US does. | 43 |
Here thirteen year old March goes again, wasting his time clanking on the computer. The cracking and clicking would go on for hours, yet not even a simple hello from his family.
"I'm so worthless." He scoffed, mashing in his usual combo.
It is always like this, ever since he was about eight. It was around the time he took up his unproductive life style, preferring the darkness of his room instead of going out an play like his fellow siblings.
"Oh well, at least I'm having fun, right?" He sighs.
How he wished he was a better son, to hang out in the daylight. He became accustomed to this way of life, so much so, that he could not see a way out.
Today he is going to do it. He clicked the an item from the desktop, and floated it over the recycle bin. He hesitated at letting go, remembering that it took years to get that far.
"God, if you're real, show me a sign to keep this piece of scrap."
The door knocked, for the first time in years.
"Well, I should have asked sooner!" He kicked his chair down and marched over to answer.
He opened the door a crack, and a flash of light blinded him. He can hear people cheering out his name. What has he done!? All he wanted is to be alone in his world of darkness!
He pulled away, but he was forced out into the world of light, at which everyone cheered.
Among the crowds was his two parents, smiling ear to ear, telling him how proud they were. Below them was his three sisters, all of which had their talents, some of which he envied.
The youngest of the sisters was January, and she offered him her finest pastries, the second was May, giving him a scarf and hat she made herself, the last sister June gave him a music cd, it seemed pre-owned too, well he knew that her hard earned money is wasted on him.
"Happy birthday!" They told him over and over. He was left in shock, as for the past few years, he would simply wake up with the gifts on his bed. -Yes, he is a heavy sleeper. Maybe it was because of the dark.-
They must have called everyone, there were family members he never met, yet here they all were, celebrating his big day.
Do they pity him, is that what this is? Do they pity the youngest brother, as he had amount to nothing? If this is the case, then he is worst off than he originally thought!
He came up to his mother, telling her that she does not have to go though with this. Her reaction greatly surprising him.
"Oh I'm sorry!" She hissed.
"I'm so sorry that we are not good enough to accommodate your tastes!"
"What are you talking about!?" He cried back.
"I am worthless! You do not have to do this for me!"
"Worthless? March-" She reached out.
He made a mad dash back to his room. He threw himself unto his bed and started to cry.
Great, he just snapped at his family. He did not mean to, but he did, and there is no take backs in the world of life.
Two gentle knocks were given, and the father entered.
"Son, I had no idea you felt that way."
"I'm sorry, for everything." He told his father while his face was buried in his pillow.
He heard his father rummaging on his computer, a few single key presses with his dexterousness finger, and a couple mouse clicks.
"So this is the newest edition to your famous novel."
He said nothing, he knew his father was just trying to make him feel better.
"So, you have no idea that people outside, was your fans? There are even more outside if you look out the window!"
Outside? Of course he has windows, he moved the black curtains outside, and sure enough there were people cheering for him.
"You told blogged that the book would be ready by your next birthday. That is why they are here."
"Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?" He numbed.
He glanced back at the desktop, and shuddered. With a single click of his mouse, he almost deleted his work. -Wait, is it even called work? He put it together simply because he wanted to.-
"After this, can we go on vacation?"
"Sure son, you definitely got the money to go where ever you want to. Your older sister is green with envy, you know how much she loves money."
"I make more than my sister!?" He gaped.
"Hold on, how did this happen!?"
His father sighed and sat down on the bed, and he started to explain that one of the he contacted via the internet, was in fact himself.
"You told me to help publish the book, remember? I thought the username DadoMarch would have helped you realize that."
His father was a publisher.
---
Let me know if there is mistakes! The reason why I'm prompting is to improve my skills. | 15 | The youngest child in a family of four is constantly overshadowed, or at least that what he imagines. Everyone else thinks he is the most successful. | 46 |
"What's this do?" the Hellspawn asked fiddling with my radio, his horns protruding from my Geo as it listed heavily to the right. Damn near riding on the rims. His cigar smoke made the air in the vehicle toxic to breath.
I sighed deeply, rubbing my forehead at the stop light. "Don't touch my Goddamned radio," his face drooped has he began to fiddle with his claws. He sat silently for a moment staring out the window, picking his nose.
"Where we going?" the red behemoth asked again, as he now began to drum his hands on the dashboard.
"I'm going to work," I sighed again, beginning to roll the car forward. "I told you this before you insisted on coming, I told you couldn't come," I said as my voice began to rise this time.
"Oh, so we can hangout?"
"No for the hundredth time." Again, disappointment ran across his face as his shoulders dropped. "Well what ya wanna do when your off?"
"*Im* going to my girlfriends, I dont know what you're doing, stop playing with the windows!"
"What if I'm really quiet? I'll sit in the corner and keep to myself, I promise this time," the hooved beast said in the most convincing voice he could muster.
"I said no, look I'm at work, I'm going now," I said. Hoping he would receive the hint to leave my car.
"That's ok, I'll wait here!" he said with a smile, and began to play with his phone. I sighed and shut the door as I stumbled to my workplace.
Yay my highest rated writing prompt. | 40 | to befriend us. | 49 |
I just sat there for a while, staring at my computer holo-projection and hoping an idea would jump out at me. Writer's block had always plagued me around the end of my stories. I haven't been able to finish this book for weeks, despite the ease at which the rest of it came to me. I've made no progress and I'm at wit's end. Every ending has been done before, and the drama that I intended was falling flat. I needed something new, something edgy. I wanted the reader to feel a way they haven't imagined they could from a simple story. Someone had to die.
At that point, I didn't care if the Literary Councel threw me in jail. Very few have dared violate the Virtual Persons Preservation Directive since its inception way back 2675. AI and robotic technology has advanced so far by then, people had begun to create avatars of their favorite characters and building their lives around them. So those people called out for protection of their loved ones, and it was made illegal to even kill a thought.
Anyone suspected of conspiring to murder their fictional property was hastily charged with anything from gross negligence of imaginary persons to 4th degree murder, with the steepest penalty being capital punishment. But I needed this, the creative abilities of writers everywhere have been stifled for too long. I started by going through what I've written. I couldn't just kill a random character off for no reason. If I'm going to break the law, it had better make for good storytelling.
The pieces slowly fell into place. Much to my surprise, I didn't need to change much of the story. It's a tale of an old man's path through ancient America, around the 1900's. I finally decided to have the protagonist's wife die of a degenerative disease, which I'm sure was prevalent in those times. My mental barriers immediately dissapeared, and the rest of my story came to a swift end.
As I saved the file to the Literary Cloud, I sat back in my chair and waited for the drama to unfold. Death makes for a good story, even if it is my own. | 12 | In a future where it is the norm for people to marry inanimate objects and become emotionally invested in virtual relationships, it has become illegal to "murder" a fictional character. You are a popular author who has decided you must kill off your protagonist. | 15 |
"OH WHAT A DREAM COME TRUE!" Misty cheered, raising a glass. For too long, had she received failing grades. Finally, FINALLY she is the smartest person in the entire world!
Yet as she celebrated, over the next few years, society had begun to falter. All the fun websites stopped updating their content, no wise reddit posts to be amused by, NASA and science progression came to a halt, even the rulers of the countries are too dumb to run their wars and economics.
Hell, she heard that one country had successfully nuked themselves, although she did not know which one, as see too was dumb.
"Oh no," She gasps, "Does this mean the world she knew it will end?"
No more nerds and geeks to program new games, no more creative writers and tv shows, no more trending fashions, and no more food even?
By this point she realized that knowledge really does help run the world.
She ran to the nearest college, but there were no professors smart enough to teach her. She is on her own, to study on her own. From then on, she became the smartest person in the world; she had to, otherwise the world will kill themselves out of sheer stupidity.
"And that is why you are the smartest kids in the world." She smiled at her grandchildren. | 14 | you aren't any smarter, everyone else is now WAY dumber. | 84 |
We were haughty and head-strong when we began the invasion. Our leaders knew that all of the transmissions had both a grain of truth and a grain of falsehood, but we'd already conquered half the Milky Way and were too hungry for more.
When we started obliterating their timid little colonies, we all patted ourselves on the back as they ran in terror back home. Our might was too strong for them, and we were assured complete and total domination. I remember there even being a national holiday declared for our newest victory. My mother bought me some sweets, and held me as high as she could with all of her arms. I was young then, I hadn't even sprouted proper eyestalks yet, but I could still see the arrogant gaze in the soldiers eyes as they waved to the crowd and marched along. Of course, back then we called it bravery.
Once we'd wiped out all the tertiary colonies, our might was focused on their home planet. At first, we succeeded. Large swaths of their population were wiped out. There was one general who'd seen a movie called Escape from...something, but he knocked out their communication satellites. Tactitians were already planning how best to ship our new slaves and crops to our various footholds around the galaxy.
We all remember the night it happened. The war was at year three or so - while we had might, it took a while for that might to be gathered. None of us thought particularly much of their intellect, what with their flimsy "shuttles" and primitive fuels. My dad was one of the first to spot it, and I remember my mother clutching the transceiver as my father described what was coming straight for him.
The shockwaves were felt all the way to the outer rings. Nobody knew how they did it, but it was all-consuming. Most of our fleet was scorched to nothing, with some lucky bastards escaping in battle scarred and highly unstable damaged ships. My father called it a bomb. Supposedly it had something to do with splitting up the very essence of matter. The humans were primitive, but they were primitives with a very, very strong weapon, killing us with the essence of life.
We fought back, of course, as hard as we could - but the bombs kept coming. Eventually, four years afterward, our forces were minimal and a retreat was called. It was the first retreat in recent history. All of us were somber as we watched our soldiers come home with bent stalks and burnt tendrils. How could this have happened to us? How could we have been beaten so thouroughly? There'd been hints of their ferocity, but this was beyond anything we'd imagined.
Our fleets carried so many dead home, and only a few live warriors. Ambassador Balrek declared a national day of mourning, and we started to collectively pick up the pieces. Soldiers were cared for, ships rebuilt, and for a little while, we ambled back to the status quo.
Then one night, much like the night they first struck, a ship appeared over Holm. We didn't stand a chance. None of us did.
We ran.
*They followed.* | 194 | A group of aliens invade Earth only to find out what they thought was useless propaganda (action movies) actually down play how good humans are at killing. | 227 |
The man looked around himself nervously as he patted his tangled mess of afro hair. He twitched his head for a sideward glance before he looked down at his watch. Three more minutes. The train carriage was nearly full with people as they tried to rush to work in the peak-hour commute. They wore black suits with grey ties and white shirts. *How can they call this living at all?* he wondered.
He swallowed and choked, coughing hoarsely into a hand. His flared pants swayed with the sudden movement. He knew what he was doing was unethical, but he knew it *had* to be done. That's why he'd put the bomb on a timer, so that he couldn't back out. Not now. Certainly, they would be missed by their co-workers and friends, but he knew they would all be remembered as they are, and he would be lionised in his actions.
He checked his watch again. Two minutes.
He tapped his foot. The lady across from him looked austerely toward him, as though to discern whether he was a threat or not. He tried to avoid her gaze by focussing his own firmly on the ground before him. She scowled slightly.
One minute.
His heart was thumping a million miles a minute now. His eyes unfocussed slightly as he tried to breathe freely, but it felt like he was choking. He swallowed and choked again, trying to get a clear view of his watch.
Twenty-three seconds...
Nineteen...
Sixteen...
Ten...
Five...
He swallowed and prepared to speak.
Two...
"Party time." he croaked.
The bomb detonated, and in a momentary flash of yellow and purple, the train carriage was illuminated to a transcendental level. Light and colour and sound and form all tangled and mixed into a blur of pure emotion. Then it began - a transformation of matter from dullness to life, from structure to formlessness. The screams of the commuters intertwined with the pulses of the bomb, until they faded into obscurity, made redundant by the transformation.
The pulses stopped. He had his eyes closed. He couldn't look yet. Silence permeated every corner of existence. A moment passed.
He opened his eyes.
The commuters were stunned. Their hair had been let down, and where there had been dullness in suits before, there was now colour. Flowery patterns were splattered all over the train, and sound began crackling through the trains speakers, not loud enough or clear enough to get a hold of yet, though.
Then, with a funky clarity, a voice called out.
"Man, this is groovy!"
As if on cue, music began blaring from the speakers, with solid drumbeats and sharp, staccato guitar twangs. The commuters began dancing, the trippy beats punctuating their wild gyrations. They danced together, shaking and swaying in-beat. They did the twist, they did the diver, they did them all!
The man couldn't believe his eyes or ears. It worked! It really worked.
His disco bomb had worked. | 156 | A person gets onto a train and detonates a bomb strapped to their self, but this bomb wasn't created to kill people... | 96 |
"Christ, you wanna give a man a fucking heart attack?"
Piece of Cake had just stepped out of the shower and the half that was dry was toweling off the other half that was still wet. He left the bathroom door open so that the steam wouldn't fog up the mirror like it always did when Babytalk was home. Right over the bathroom threshold stood the man Everybody referred to as Nobody.
"Well, what the fuck are you doing standing in my goddamn bedroom at six o'clock in the fucking morning?", said Piece of Cake pushing his long grey, wet mess of hair out of his eyes.
Nobody said nothin' for a second, then he finished off the glass of scotch that he'd gotten from the kitchen and spoke with an instantly recognizable whispering rasp, "I called your wife. She said you'd be up about five-thirty and I could swing by and say hello." He noticed one last drop in the glass and finished it. "So, hello."
"Goddamnit, she never tells me anything." Piece of Cake went into one of his usual tirades about his wife, Babytalk. In his mid-fifties, heavyset and balding, many folks would never suspect just how dangerous the man was. Nobody was fully aware though, which is precisely why he left his piece in the car. Had he *really* startled the man, PC would have put all six bullets of his own Colt revolver right between his pretty blue eyes. This was just another bullshit show. Nobody knew good and well Piece of Cake had seen him coming from a mile off.
Piece continued while he pulled out his straight edge razor and began to scrape the hairs from his face, "What the hell business is it of hers anyway?"
Nobody took off his hat and his long coat, laid them neatly down across Piece of Cake's unmade bed.
"She's a tough cookie. Seems like she wants in on the action maybe." he said as he sat on the corner of the bed.
"Well she ain't got nothin' to do with what's going down tonight, hear me?", said Piece of Cake, "What about Jesus, Buddha, and Mohammed? Are they on the goddamn ship, ready to go?"
"Far as I know." grunted Nobody. His short black hair parted smartly on the side and greased back.
"As far as you fuckin' know?" Piece stopped mid-shave. "What the fuck am I payin' you for?"
"You worry too much PC. It's all handled." Nobody responded.
"Where's Everybody then?" asked Piece of Cake.
Nobody looked at his watch, "Probably in the bed asleep like all these other lucky bastards are. We don't need him anyways, at least until after the drop is made. He'll bring in the Wolf to shut shutdown the power-grid so we get through unnoticed."
Piece of Cake's mouth pried open and he squinted his eyes, "*Wolfe* who the fuck is that?"
"You know," said Nobody, "the Wolf." He hesitated for a moment hoping PC would recall him. "The kid, the hacker guy. *Alien Werewolf*".
"Alien wha... Jesus fuckin' Christ, that fuckin' neckbeard!" Piece exploded. "Why's he gotta be so fuckin' different? Just pick a normal goddamn name like all the rest of us did."
Piece of Cake washed his face and then stopped to look in the mirror. He spent a moment in quiet contemplation, then said:
"So, Nobody helps Jesus, Buddha, and Mohammed cross the Adriatic Sea to pick up a shipment of cocaine with the Alien Werewolf while Everybody sleeps."
Piece of Cake turned his head, squinted at Nobody, and says, "Fuck my life, Jimmy, fuck my life."
| 13 | You get out of the shower and nobody is there. Nobody. | 35 |
"Calm down Father, I know this is your first day here but this is a routine procedure so there's no need to be scared. You read the designated verses, brandish the crucifix, and stand back. While the prisoner is incapacitated, we're gonna search his cell for any contrabad. Got it?"
I say these words as I walk down a metal catwalk flanked by a balding priest wearing traditional garb and a heavily armored man hefting the military equivalent of a super-soaker filled with holy water. We are en route to Cell 227D to investigate a tip that this particular inmate has been trafficking in virgin blood. As we walk, I can hear the priest's teeth chattering.
"Look, Arnie here has your back. If anything goes wrong, he'll douse that motherfucker in a gallon of holy water before you can even blink. It won't kill him but it will slow him down." I say, trying to calm the now sweating holy man.
"You said this one traffics...virgin blood? What in God's name do they use it for?" says the priest.
"We aren't exactly sure, that's the point of this investigation. It's a new arrival in terms of contraband and we want to nip it in the bud." I say.
As we approach Cell 227D, it becomes obvious that there is an intense red glow shining through the anti-ballistic containment glass. I look inside the cell. The prisoner inside is on fire. No, he *is* fire. Well, part of him is. The rest looks like molten rock, like his flesh had been replaced by lava. In place of his eyes were burning fireballs and thick red horns had sprouted from his head. The priest lets out an audible squeak behind me.
"**Hello mortals. Are you frightened by my true form? I can taste the holy one's fear. Please, enter my domain.**" says the flaming creature in the cell.
"Wh-what is that?" says the priest, on the verge of tears.
"A full-fledged demonic incarnation. Never seen one of these myself. Punch it, Arnie." I say, gesturing toward the control panel to the left of the cell.
Arnie walks up to the panel, punches in a series of codes, and pulls a lever. Inside of the cell, a high-powered shower-head blasts the flame-covered figure in crystal clear holy water. The demon starts screaming, lashing out with flaming tendrils and balls of fire. These attacks splash against the containment glass harmlessly. Eventually the room becomes completely filled with steam. By the time it clears, a charred human form is visible on the ground, its fireball eyes diminished to small motes of flame.
"Ok Father, it's time for a routine cell check." I say, smiling at the piss-soaked priest.
| 76 | You are a guard in a prison where people who are possessed by demons get sent if they cannot be exorcised. It's time for your routine cell check. | 103 |
Magazine covers really have a way of making you seem larger than life. Everyone knows it's a lie but when the handsome face staring back at you in a 5x6 grid on the magazine rack is supposed to be yourself.... You realize exactly how deep the lie goes.
"Mr Strong Arms™ saves the day again" you mutter to yourself. It's the name you chose for your alternate identity.
"Isn't he wonderful?" A mother with 2 kids is behind you. One child has a Mr Strong Arms™ action figure and is chasing the other around. "All corruption will be crushed under my fists!" Your slogan.
"Wonderful?... He gets the job done." That was true, at least. You excuse yourself and start the long walk to work.
Floor 56 was where the magic happened. A meeting was just starting when you walked in. The CEO was giving a talk. A big burly man named Harlow. "Sales are up 300%! We even have strong growth in Europe and Asia as well. Joe! You made it. You're late."
Too bad they couldn't fire their only contact with Mr. Strong Arms™. You sit down wordlessly. But Harlow is on your case. "Joe, we need more public appearances. It's not good enough to punch corruption out of the bad guys. He's gotta get some press time too. Everyone loves this guy!"
"I.... He won't do that Harlow. You know that."
"$200,000. We'll offer him $200,000 to do a press conference after he smashes another corrupt official." That was an awful lot of money. Press conferences weren't too bad. He needed the money. "He also has to mention Toys Inc."
The issue was, all the truly corrupt officials had been punched out of office a long time ago. Even Harlow didn't know that. The last three he'd hit were manufactured villains. Publicly torn down to turn a quick dime. A few hundred thousand dimes, to be more exact. How did it get this far?
"I'll see what I can do." The people demanded more so he would give more. He was the face of justice and politics had never been more straight in remembered history. It didn't really matter what went on behind the scenes.
Right? | 10 | Your world has been saved by the Chosen One and you're only one who notices that he isn't in any way different from the villains he defeated. | 25 |
All the goddam litigation and ass kissing had lead up to this moment, this blessed goddam moment. Governor Wakley straightened his tie, cinched his belt a bit tighter and began walking.
The law had been passed last year, after that poor fella out of Shreveport had been so botched with poison. It had taken some doing but Wakley had pushed hard enough. Sure maybe it tended him towards being considered a socio-path, but it had worked. The law passed and now he along with the other 49 governors were in charge of all state executions.
Each step took him closer and closer to what he had wanted for so many years. Twisting the knob on the door he walked through into the dimly lit chamber. The smell was clean, the freshly bleached walls told nothing of what horrors occurred in here.
Governor Wakley focused in on the single occupant chained to the chair in the center of the room. Behind him the large glass pane was dark, he'd beat the crowd, it made Wakley smile.
"Hey there old timer, you ready for the day?" The words dripped with sarcasm and his southern drawl. "I been waitin' for this day an awful long time old timer. You will be my third execution this week, that new law sure sped up the process 'eh? You been in line for execution what? 20 odd years by now I suppose."
The prisoner looked up, the contempt on his eyes made him seem brighter in the dimly lit hell. "Boy, you know it twasn't me that killed her."
Governor Wakley smirked, he stepped closer and leaned in. "Course I know old timer, we both know you didn't kill ma. You sho got drunk as a skunk but you weren't mean. I killed her, but its cause I wanted you gone pa, and I got my wish, this just sweetened the deal years later."
The prisoner stared in disbelief at Wakley "You? But you were only seven years old! Why would you do that?" Tears welled in the old mans eyes.
"You blamed that broken vase on me pa, that weren't right. She took my favorite toy for you breakin the vase, that weren't right neither. If you two won't be right, why should I?" Wakley grinned and stepped back.
The lights in the back room flicked on and the crowd gathered in to watch. Wakley adopted his governors voice " How do folks of Houston Texas. Ya'll are here to witness the execution of one George Wakley, as per amendment 31 of the U.S. Constitution I George Wakley the second do hereby commence with this execution.
Stepping back Governor Wakley eased the long barrel .44 from the holster on his hip and stepped to one side of his father. Pressing the gun to the old man's temple an idle thought came to mind, who decided a bullet to the head was cleaner and more efficient than poison? Oh well, this sure was a good goddam day. | 11 | A Pro-Capital Punishment Governor is informed of a law that states that if he does not grant a pardon, he is legally required to carry out the execution himself. | 19 |
Gasping for air, I suddenly woke up. A numbing pain tingled through my body. After frantically looking around the room to assess my situation, I found comfort when I saw Alfred. I knew I was safe.
It had been a few days since I was last in the Bat Cave. There had been no opportunity to return, the reconnaissance mission in Gotham simply could not allow for it. I had set out to pursue Harley Quinn, the Joker's sick and twisted puppet. The foolish girl left a trail of blood wherever she went, she would lead me to that bastard.
Roof to roof I dove, the shadows were my allies. Speed, strength and stealth - my first choices of weaponry. It seemed like an endless pursuit, as though she never intended on returning to her master. Countless ladders I scaled and roofs jumped to and fro just to chase this conniving bitch of a puppet. It pained me to watch her commit small crimes: the jewelry she stole, the people she mugged... but I simply couldn't intervene. The Joker's reign had to end.
The nights blurred together, as though a haze. How did I wind up in the Cave? The pursuit of Harley seemed endless, it's not possible she endured longer than I...
Just then another reassuring face popped up at the doorway. It was Robin. He came over and just stared at me through the slits of his thin mask.
"Alfred you fool, get this god damned tube out of my mouth" I tried to say, but instead choked on my words.
It was remorse in Robin's eyes. Some sort of sadness. What the hell was this fool wasting time for, Gotham's villains don't rest. The blank stare on his face was starting to annoy me.
Footsteps. More people are coming. Robin and Alfred, what the fuck are you doing? Somebody is in the Cave... do something you emotional dimwits. The three people that know of the Cave are already in here, and the two of you are sitting there in a paralyzed silence.
Thomas and Martha.
Those were the names engraved around the Wayne manor. From the trophies, to the plaques, to even the damned bath towels. My childhood was blacked out, my mental training taught me the importance of shutting it out of my life. But from the articles I've read about my father and mother... I've unwillingly re-learned their faces and here they are currently looking at me from the main entrance of the Cave.
I was speechless. It didn't matter. Alfred still had the damned tube jammed down my esophagus.
They stood there in silence for what seemed like forever.
"Bruce..." my mother said solemnly, "What have you *done* to yourself?" Her eyes spoke more than her words, there was a deep fear in them.
I started to ask myself, "What *have* I become? Am I so obsessed with the idea of expelling a greater level of crime to the point I would watch the innocent be wronged? Did the Joker's puppet know I was pursuing her the whole time, simply testing me to see what atrocities she could get away with until I intervened?" Thoughts raced through my head, I couldn't even process the fact that my deceased parents were standing next to me. My father was silent. Hands in his pockets, eyes to the floor, with nothing to say.
"Bruce it's time to leave..." she whispered, "but we won't be going to the manor."
I haven't heard my beautiful mother's voice in decades and these whimpering and out-of-context words are the first thing I hear?
"It's time to go honey," she continued, "You'll be going to a safer place than here... A place where you can get the help you need."
Stop patronizing me woman. What in God's name are you talking about?
I was confused, enraged, disappointed... My father standing there as motionless as a statue, as if afraid to be involved. I needed to get up. I needed to hear my father's voice and make sense of what my seemingly insane mother was saying. It was time to leave.
But I couldn't.
I acted to move, but I couldn't.
I looked down and to my horror my legs were gorily sewn with bloody stitches, at least 100. Alfred, what the fuck have you done to me!
What is going on?
...
The fall. I fell. The roof... I barely remember it.
Pain.
Get me the hell out of this twisted lucid dream.
I know what it is, it's Scarecrow's fear gas... that cunning bastard and his tricks!
"It's time to go honey, we're going to a place where you'll be with other children who you can make friends with..." she said with tears in her eyes, "You'll get the help you need honey..."
Alfred came over, syringe in hand, and before I knew it I was asleep and dreaming of saving Gotham once again. | 10 | You Slowly Realize You Are Not Batman | 16 |
"Oh god, here comes Atheism," Askreddit thought. He always hated Atheism. Not because he disagreed, but Atheism always asked him for religion-bashing stories, and after a while it got really boring telling the same ones over and over again. Askreddit kept his head down and ignored him.
"Hey, Askreddit-" Atheism started.
"No."
"Okay, fine. You dirty Christian," Atheism huffed, walking off. That was relatively painless. Oh, there's Aww. God that girl is adorable, but she has **so** many cats. A quick wave and Askreddit kept going. Past OneTrueGod preaching again, and past GoneWild who really hated clothes. There were a lot of other subreddits creeping on her, but that wasn't any of Askreddit's business, AdviceAnimals told him.
"Hey! What do aliens sew with?" A voice called from behind Askreddit. Oh god. Not DadJokes. Anyone but him. "A space needle!" DadJokes exclaimed, slapping his knee. There was a chorus of groans from every subreddit in the general vicinity, but DadJokes just kept on laughing.
"Everyone hates you," said Confessions.
"Oh, you." Dadjokes scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. Askreddit just shook his head and kept walking. He tried to ignore the stank coming off of Trees as he walked past MarijuanaEnthusiasts oggling a tree. Sometimes he hated this neighborhood. But it was still his home. | 56 | If Subreddits Were People | 39 |
*Dear Diary,*
*I found Teddy next to the door this morning. I think he scratched the door because there were alot of scratches on it. I told him to stay away from the closet. There is a monster inside it. I never saw it but I hear it. The door opens sometimes at night. I hide under the blanket. I tell Teddy to stay away from it. Why did Teddy sleep in front of the closet? Did you see what happened? I think the monster tried to take Teddy from me. But Teddy bit him and made it go away. I don't want to lose Teddy. They already have mr Panda. The monster should go away. Mom and Dad think theres no monster. I only have Teddy and you.*
*Ellie*
--------------------
We celebrated from night to morning after we finally found a way to defeat that blasted Panda. We had tried everything from nets and pitfalls to explosive tennis balls and flamethrowers. Every time, that thing with it's ravenous claws and teeth would easily bypass our tools. You wouldn't think a huge bear like that would be able to jump out of a one-foot hole, but holy hell, when it did we ran for our lives. The thing that got it finally? Poison. Pandas will do anything for bamboo it turns out. We just had to find some, and lace it with alcohol. I guess it couldn't digest it, and it just fell over. We dragged its corpse into our lair to harvest the bones for our houses, but that's only second grade material.
What we really need is human teeth. The fairies up in heaven, they almost have a monopoly over teeth. They give the humans a piece of metal or paper in exchange and they go for it. Those fools! We could offer much more if they would just be open to negotiations. The tooth fairies then sell the teeth to us in hell for outrageous prices, and we have no choice but to grit our teeth (ha-ha) and bear it. Then some of us found a way to infiltrate the human living spaces under the cover of shadows. All the teeth in the world suddenly became available to us, except the humans had guards.
Ferocious guards, as I might add. Lions, tigers, and bears. They wouldn't let us near the humans who had the teeth we needed. We couldn't even negotiate properly, because we could live only in the shadows and they were always asleep, so there was nobody to call off the guards. When the closet is closed, we sometimes call for them to tame their guards, but I don't think they can make out our words from so far away. We could give them gold, jewelery, I hear those humans fancy shiny rocks. But instead they give all of their teeth to the damn fairies for pieces of paper.
But we were hopeful after we discovered a way to defeat one of the guards at least. I sent one of the soldiers to retrieve the teeth the next day, but he never returned. The human got another guard, a brown bear. I sent my legion to give it a dose of the poisoned bamboo, but they haven't returned either. I fear we may never be able to escape from the dependence over those wretched tooth fairies.
--------------------
**Teddy could smell evil. It was his first day on guard duty and he was determined to prove his worth, even if the human was asleep to observe the battle. He saw the shadows creep out of the closet brandishing green sticks. If he attacked now, they would easily react and escape. But if he waited, waited.... now! He lunged and bounded towards the demons. They saw him, but they were too slow. They scrambled to reach the safety of the closet, but each was struck down by the deft claws of the feral bear. Hundreds of shadows, clawing at the door to try to open it, the bear roared a great roar and the shadows evaporated. The child woke up with a start and turned on the light. Teddy went limp, as the light paralyzed him. It didn't matter. He did his job. The fairies would pay him well for defending the child.**
This is my firstish writing response, and I decided to use reverse chronological order from three different perspectives. I'm open to thoughts! | 19 | You are the monster in the closet trying to do your job, the only thing stopping you is the stuffed animal on the child's bed. | 25 |
He pulled her close to him. Their lips touched for a fleeting second before he pulled away. "This isn't right." His face reflected the trouble in his heart. "We can never be together, Julia."
He was right. He was from earth and she was from the planet Xenon-9. Their love was forbidden by all intergalactic treaties in the galactic compository. But how could something illegal feel so right?
The moment was cut short by a bright spotlight. The surveillance ship decloaked above them. They were caught. Ever since the apocalypse and the new world order on earth, privacy no longer existed. They had been watched all along.
"Don't worry. Run. I will hold them off." George... he was just one man. What could one man do against an entire state? He took out his pistol and opened fire. She ran. Looking back, the heli-jet was crashing to the ground but two more uncloaked behind it. He couldn't beat them all, could he?
George stole a glance to make sure Julia was out of sight. He couldn't afford to let her see his hidden power. It was a secret that had been passed down generations. Digging deep into himself, he felt the warmth of his beating heart, synchronizing with the beating of the planet around him.
Investigators would spend weeks on the scene afterward. It was grotesque. The pilots eyes had been torn out and could not be found anywhere. Were they... eaten? The markings on the heli-jets suggested they had been torn apart by a wild animal. But what kind of animal can leap 30 feat into the air?
Behind the police tape, a man with a wide brimmed hat surveyed the scene. He recognized those markings. They were unmistakable. The police, of course, would botch the case. He turned sharply and stalked off. There was work to be done.
An old secret. The theory behind it was simple. You try your hardest to be just a normal person, and fail. It's harder than it sounds. You have to fail in just the right way. Without the right training you might become a creepy old grandma or a rhubarb pie instead.
He'd have to use the time machine. There was no way to stop this guy in the present. But in the past, maybe. He donned his hat before entering the machine. Whip? Not this time. He opted for an old fashioned saber and a pistol instead. The time machine was programmed to go back to the moment of the apocalypse. He stepped in.
There was screaming and the sounds of death. He lit a cigarette to pass the time idly. There was no rush. 50 years back meant he had 50 years to complete his task. The door opened and he stepped out into a mad red world, pistol and saber at the ready. The air smelled of death and demons.
Before him, A battle was at hand. Tales had been told of this epic clash. The rebel troops took one last stand against the government, banner hanging high. It was the last rebel stronghold and though they were successful in beginning the apocalypse, they would be wiped out. He could not stop this.
A small contingent of warriors spotted him from afar and charged, mistaking him for a rebel. Little did they know he had trained with the saber under master Yuon since he was 10. They fought with no honor. He fought with speed and grace. The first blow disarmed them, the second blow put them to the ground.
"Take me to your leader." The now terrified peasants quivered at the display of force. They pointed, he walked.
There he was, kneeling by an upside down altar, back turned. Our hero hides behind a rock. There would only be one chance. Our hero shakily loads the silver bullets into his pistol. Will he miss? Will the mysterious man get away? What is the true identity of this mysterious man? Find out next time!
With a single shot and a puff of steam, the man at the altar writhes on the ground. He turns towards our hero and we see his face. Our hero gasps. The man was his father! Slowly our hero fades to dust, having erased his own timeline. All that is left... is nothing.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is by far the most fun story I have ever written. :D | 28 | Change the genre of your story as many times as you can. | 17 |
José read through the contract. Three pages total. He’d sign his eternal soul over to the demon Beleth in exchange for massive amounts of wealth and power while he was alive. The rest was a bunch of legalese.
Beleth stood smugly across the table. He had done tens of thousands of negotiations over the millennia. José appeared a bit calmer than most of his victims, but otherwise the typical weak and pathetic mortal.
José took the demon’s pen, dripping with the blood of freshly slaughtered lambs, and made a few marks around the contract. “I’m just going to make a few changes here and there. All small technical stuff. Nothing big. I’ll need you to countersign them when I’m done.”
“Do you take me for a fool, human?” Beleth had seen this before. Humans believed that they could find loopholes in his contract and they would somehow save their souls.
“Look B - can I call you B? - it’s really nothing overly important. For example, at the bottom of page one, you have a council of 9 demons who resolve contract disputes between José and Beleth. I’d prefer a prime number, say 13, you like the number 13, don’t you?”
“Well, I do like the number 13. That seems reasonable and the other demons of hell are unlikely to grant you much leniency anyway. Ok.” Beleth nodded his consent.
“Great.” José scratched out a few words and rewrote them. “Just initial here to accept the change.”
The demon glanced down and his clawed left hand grasped the pen, writing some un-writable symbol in the margin.
“Nice sig man.” José barely gave him a chance to acknowledge that he grabbed the pen out of the demon’s hand. “Ok. Look here on page two. You promise ‘unrelenting pain and suffering for Jose’s eternal soul.’ I’m probably going to regret that. But as a writer I prefer to avoid unnecessary words. We all know souls are eternal. Can we cut that word? It doesn’t change the meaning after all.”
“Do you actually believe you can fool me MORTAL? NO!!!” Beleth’s eyes turned red. Smoke began to run out his nose. “The word ‘eternal’ stays in!”
“Ok, ok man.” José actually looked startled for a moment. “Not a problem. You win on that one. Let’s move on. Here on page three “José shall receive all the women he desires for his sexual gratification. Would you mind if I changed women to ‘people,’? Because, well, you know…”
Beleth smiled. “Of course mortal. I’m amused you thought your preferences on that would bother me. That’s not even considered a sin anymore. God has lightened up in recent centuries.”
“Great glad to hear that. Just sign that sweet demon symbol here in the margin again.” Beleth grabbed the pen putting down a complex evil sign.
“Is there anything else human, or can we get on with the final signing ceremony?”
“Nope, everything is good. Wanna have your army of damned lawyers look at the changes, or shall we sign?”
“No need for the lawyers.”
José signed at the bottom as did Beleth. A flame burned over the document and the parchment turned to stone, sealing the words forever as written. A gong sounded in the distance. Beleth laughed a mighty evil laugh.
José laughed too. “Fantastic. Can I get some money, whiskey, and a few women and men here to celebrate? I’ll file my paperwork to run for Congress sometime tomorrow.”
Beleth looked amused. “Of course.” He clapped his hands and money, booze and a veritable harem appeared in the room. “And I’ll see your soul in hell in a few decades.”
José looked down at the document, “Ya, about that B. Next time you’re signing over a Mexican soul, check the accent marks.”
Beleth looked down and the now stone tablet in his hands. His original document didn’t have any accents. José has quietly added accent marks over the ‘é’ in his name in all the clauses offering him worldly goods, but left the parts about eternal damnation written as ‘Jose’ without the accent. This contract was going to be hard to enforce in hell.
“You won’t get away with this mortal!”
“I guess we’ll see what the council of thirteen has to say about it in a few decades.” | 97 | A human gets a demon to sign their contract. | 70 |
Flowers? Check.
Pack of gum? Check.
...condom? Technically, check. My brother insisted on me having one, but I had extreme doubts about Marie and I getting that far tonight. *Just in case, bro!*
I knocked on the front door and a light came on immediately inside. The door opened and Marie's father stood in the doorway.
I could only imagine what he saw: a lanky, somewhat over-dressed teenager holding a bouquet of flowers hastily purchased at Kroger minutes before I arrived. My hair was combed in an attempt to bring order to it, which felt artificial and too precise for the way I usually wore it. I felt like an impostor, but hoped he didn't see through me.
"You must be Sam," he said, not moving from the doorway but extending his hand. "Where are you and Marie going tonight?"
I cleared my throat and shook his hand. "Hello, Mr. Wallace. There's the theater by the college that has older movies for cheap," I said. "We're getting Chipotle and seeing Guardians of the Galaxy again." I thrust the flowers at him. "These are for Marie," I said hastily.
Mr. Wallace looked down at the flowers and laughed. "You should probably give them to her then," he said, standing aside. "Come on in, it's chilly out. Marie should be down shortly."
I heaved a sigh of relief and entered. Marie's home was pretty much what I imagined--the living room had several framed pictures of Marie's family featured around the room, there was a dog bed in the corner (Monty the chihuahua was nowhere to be seen), and the couches were tastefully arranged to face the large TV against the wall.
Mr. Wallace stood somewhat awkwardly next to the TV. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
I shook my head. "No thanks, I'll get something when we go out," I said.
We stood silently for a moment. "Marie tells me you just got your regular driver's license," he said.
"Yes sir," I said. "I can now drive more than one person around, so that's exciting," I said.
"I can imagine," he said.
*God, this is so awkward.* "Is Mrs. Wallace home?"
"No, she's playing bunco with some friends," he said.
"Oh, I've never played before," I said.
He sighed. "Me neither, but we've hosted the group before at our house. It's mostly a lot of yelling and cheering. I usually find my way upstairs and stay hidden as long as I can," he said, winking.
I laughed, and then I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Marie was wearing a bright green top and jeans, and was without a doubt the most beautiful girl at Memorial High.
"Hi, Daddy," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. "I hope you haven't been tormenting Sam too much."
"Nope, Sam has done well under pressure so far, but there's the interrogation round later," he said, grinning. "Take a jacket, it's cold out tonight."
Marie rolled her eyes. "I know, Dad, I already left one by the front step."
"Oh, I put it away. I thought you were just being messy."
"Funnily enough, no, I was planning stuff in advance."
He raised his eyebrows. "Never heard of it," he said. "What's it like?"
Marie shrugged. "Kinda takes the fun out of things, but it's manageable. Ready to go, Sam?" she said.
I nodded. "These are for you," I said, holding out the flowers.
She took them from me and inhaled deeply. Her eyelashes fluttered just a bit when she did--it was one of my favorite habits of hers. "They're beautiful. Daddy, can you put these in some water for me?"
"Sure," he said. "Back by 11?"
"Oh, didn't Sam tell you? We are driving down to Philly for the rave, so we won't be back until tomorrow morning. We were gonna bring you back some ecstasy. That's cool, right?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Ha ha," he said. "Joke's on you, I have my own stash."
"Man," she lamented, "you didn't even blink!"
"That's because I know when my daughter is trying to yank my chain. But seriously, home by 11? I'll be up."
"Of course," Marie said. "When have I missed curfew? Other than that one time?"
Mr. Wallace nodded. "I rest my case. See you later tonight," he said.
"Bye, Daddy," she said, pulling my arm. "C'mon, burritos are waiting!"
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Wallace," I called over my shoulder.
Twenty minutes and two missed stop signs later, we exited my 1996 Camry and entered the fine dining establishment known as Chipotle for the first date of my teenage career.
I was picking at my burrito bowl (I vastly preferred mixing my own ingredients than the segmented disaster that burritos could become) while Marie was working through her burrito. She caught me looking at her and grinned.
"What?" she said. "Do I have something in my teeth?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "That is, nothing in your teeth, and uh--"
"I know that, dork," she said. "You keep looking at me like you want to say something. So say it!"
I studied her for a moment. The truth was, she was right--she was always good at reading me.
"I...uh yeah," I mumbled. "There's something I want to show you before this date goes any farther."
She looked concerned. "What are we talking about showing me here, Matthews? I don't think you can whip it out in a Chipotle," she said, her concern morphing into lines of laughter.
I laughed in spite of my nerves. "It's not my dick," I said. "I want to show you something I can do, so you can make a decision on whether you want to stay."
"Sam, what are you talking about?"
"Give me your glass of water," I said. She looked very unnerved, but slid the cup over.
I closed my eyes for a moment, then held my finger above the surface of the water. After a split second, the water froze into a solid chunk of ice.
She stared at the ice block. "How'd you do that?" she said, looking up at me.
I shrugged. "I've always been able to do it," I said. "As long as I can remember. I wanted to show you because...in case you thought I was weird or something," I said, suddenly eating a large bite of guacamole.
She stared at me for a minute. "I think it's the coolest thing," she said, finger-gunning at me.
I laughed. "That was awful. You should be embarrassed," I said.
"Nah," she said. "I live for puns. But seriously, that's amazing. It's fuckin' weird, but really amazing."
I smiled at her. "You don't think I'm a freak?"
"Totally, but for other reasons," she said. "We *are* going to a super hero movie right? Why would super powers weird me out?"
I blushed. "I'm no super hero," I said.
She smiled and leaned across the table. "We can work on it," she said, and kissed me on the lips.
I blinked in surprise and began to kiss her back.
Suddenly she jolted back, gasping. I looked at her in a panic and saw that her lips were turning blue and blistering. She was clutching at her mouth and looked at me in fear.
I screamed, and the woman next to us looked up and started screaming. "Someone call 911!" I shouted, and the woman reached into her purse and started dialing the number on her cell.
I stared in horror as her lips turned a deeper shade of blue, and I did something that I regret to this day:
I got up and ran. Tears that burned and froze ran down my face. | 13 | Give someone a cool superpower and make me pity them for having it. | 18 |
We walked along the damp pavement, her hand in mine. The sun glanced off a building just perfectly that her eyes lit up, the suns reflection bouncing off their surface into mine. I always melted when I saw those eyes, the deep blue, encircled by her soft eyelashes.
She had a thing for coffee, this little pub down the street called "Big Sky, New York" had her favorite Pumpkin Spice creamer. It was our Sunday thing, you know, just waking up at the crack of whenever, tossing on last nights clothes and walking in the brisk fall air.
It had just snowed last night, enough dust to build up beneath the curb, nothing more than a half inch. It glittered wonderfully in these busy streets, the cars flying by like diamonds. Speaking of, this morning was a big one, bigger than she knew.
As we reached the little pub, she took a step up the staircase. "Oh wait dear, I forgot my phone back home. Mind ordering one for me quick?" I always was forgetful. She gave me a smile, a quick nod and wet my lips briefly, then turned and tugged on the heavy oak door. I stepped up and gave her a hand, catching one final glance of her partially parted lips as she smirked and winked.
The door closed slowly behind her, and I began my walk to the corner. I had purchased the ring a few weeks ago, though I had waited to pick it up since our little studio was too bare to hide anything. Damnit, I'd need to get furniture soon too.
The cars whirred by, but finally a red light parted the busy intersection. Like every other sane city person, when I saw the cars stop, I began to walk. Thunk thunk, my shoes had that wintry sound across the pavement as I walked. The heavy drone of a diesel semi phased out as I trod by, and I wondered how she'd react when I first cracked the case open.
In the blink of an eye I looked up for the last time. SCREECH.
SCREECH, SCREECH, SCREECH.
I sat up, looking around quickly. Was it a nightmare? It felt far too real. I must have left my alarm on last night, that's odd. I never leave it on over the weekends. I heaved myself over, a solid thump stilling the racket. I rolled back to my back, her leg suddenly being tossed over me, her lips right into my ear. "Are you ready to go get coffee, dear?"
"Nah. I think we'll spend today in bed." | 19 | A man dies, only to wake up and realize he has gone back in time 24 hours. How did he die and what does he try to do to prevent his own death? | 40 |
Sometimes, the more addicted ones would resort to scraping gum or trash off the asphalt, then ingesting it, relishing the bitter taste in anticipation of the hours of fun it would bring.
The more cowardly gamers would just stand outside without their environmental suits on for a few minutes, or even resort to eating cultured yogurt. Anything to contaminate their bodies and trigger that familiar interface every kid loved to see to pop up on the visiplate of their enviro-suit helmets. They had simulations of Immu-Nano 3 that didn’t involve having to get yourself sick, but a simulation didn’t have the same risk associated with it, which took away some of the thrill. Plus, a simulation wouldn’t get you out of class. Imagine! An excuse to leave Advanced Trigonometry 301 to play the greatest video game ever invented! Something humans never would’ve dreamed of a few hundred years ago; before we became resistant to antibiotics, before people had to walk around in enviro-suits and children had to grow up in bubbles and clean rooms, even before the first Immu-Nano game (when they were still using those crappy CGI graphics with manual controls instead of holographic direct neural interface)!
Tally never really got along with the other girls at school; they thought she was gross and tomboyish for playing those “icky boy games.” Hell, even the boys made fun of her! Gerell, the only boy in school who needed an extra-extra-large enviro-suit (whose darkened helmet still couldn’t mask the pitiful stubble on his neck), called her “one of those annoying, fake gamer girls.” Whatever that was supposed to mean…
But Tally was going to prove them all wrong today, and enjoy herself while doing it. She had already casually stripped out of her environmental suit, exposing her frail immune system to the outside world for the first time in… how long *had* it been? After hours of rummaging through the dumpster on the bad side of town, she had found the nuclear bomb of all game-starters in Immu-Nano 3: a dirty needle!
She hadn’t even hardly gotten dressed yet before her enviro-suit started beeping. 1 notification available from Immu-Nano 3, it said.
Pathogen detected: Unknown species. Type: Virus. Accessing historical records… Positive match found. Medical logs indicate 98% probability of infection: Human Immunodeficiency Virus. Potentially deadly. Deploying nanides…
She lost herself in the game, seeing the sprites representing the nanides respond to her every command. Pow! A viral cell erupted into a million microscopic pieces. The automaton nanides scrambled to collect the pieces and send them to the liver for synthesis into something useful.
New Notification: Network Error—Connection to T-cell simulator nanides has been lost. Attempting to re-establish connection…
“Fucking lag…” muttered Tally.
Wait… what? Notifications popped up all over her helmet display. All her T-cell nanides were failing. Some malfunction with her suit? Or perhaps…
“Jateeka, scan for mutations in the viral genetic code,” (she preferred to address her suit’s AI with a given name, instead of one of the defaults… “Kortanna” and “Seeree” didn’t have quite the same ring to them).
Accessing: Approximately 9,842 replication errors have persisted into individual viral organisms since the program began running. Normal amount of mutations per virus is approximately 10,000. Warning! Unusual mutation detected: Viral organism appears capable of interfacing with T-cell nanides.
“But… that shouldn’t be possible…”
Aha! An idea! Tally felt fortunate that she didn’t fall asleep in microbiology that day. All she had to do was make a few adjustments to the Mast cell emulators, tweak some RNA receptors in the lymphatic tissue…
There! A cure! So easy, a sleep-deprived teenager with no immune system could do it!
One by one, the T-cell nanides came back online. One by one, the viral cells exploded, littering her blood vessels with debris. Just a few more pesky remainders in the genital tissue… and yes! That should do it!
HEROIC VICTORY, the pop-up announced. Tally Z.: 12,091 confirmed kills. Cells invaded by virus: 10,070.
She had no idea what made her think of it, but an ancient saying from the very earliest days of gaming that she’d heard once on a historical documentary came to her mind:
“GG,” she whispered, to no one in particular. | 12 | In a future where the human immune system can no longer keep up with worsening viral strains it is possible for people to take control of legions of microscopic nanobots through a strategy game like interface to fight off their infections personally. | 27 |
Hey.
Are you there?
Hello?
Hey! I'm trying to-
So you're not listening either. No one listens. Ever. All of them just laugh at me. Make fun of me. I try to- I just can't-... I don't-... I want... to be heard...
You're always there for me. You always have been. I give my little talk, and usually you have some comment or something to say. You've always been quieter. A lurker like me. I thought I could count on you. That I could trust you. You liked me.
But then you go and laugh like all the rest. I see you. I see that smirk on your face. I hear you chuckle along with them. You're NO DIFFERENT THAN THEM! I'm just here for your entertainment. That's it! You don't really listen to me! You make the same jokes as the rest of them, over and over. 'OP is a bundle of sticks', 'He broke his arms, mom jerked him off'. It's like you're all in on these stupid jokes! All of you! You find them funny or something! And then you make that stupid face. Every one of you that stupid ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). I've always hated that face. Hated everything about you...
What? You're not even going to say anything? C'mon. Laugh. Laugh at me! Laugh like the rest of them! LET ME HEAR YOU LAUGH!
...
Nothing? Not funny anymore? What if I get this razor right here? How about I just put it here on my arm? I know you've been to /r/selfharmpics those letters are purple, aren't they? How about if I turn my arm red? You would like that, wouldn't you?
Is it funny yet? Do you find this entertaining? ANSWER ME! LOOK! I'M RUNNING IT ACROSS MY WRIST! ISN'T THIS WHAT YOU WANT?-
Or do you want more that this? What was it, across for attention, vertical for effect? That's what /r/funny said. And you seem to be in good with them. All 6 million of them. Well how about you all have a good laugh about this with them...
I just wanted you... to listen... | 11 | The main character has a conversation with the reader but the reader's silence convinces him/her to kill themselves. | 28 |
“Look at them stars,” Eugene O’McMalley said, “Bet ya dollars to donuts there’s aliens livin’ on one of em.”
Crickets chirped in the sultry night. Grinnald Gronkowski’s rocking chair rocked against the creaky floorboards of the porch.
“I’ll take that bet,” Grinnald said, “Ain’t no aliens living on stars. They’d burn theyselves lickety-split.”
“Ain’t it the truth,” Eugene said. “But this here’s a key bit o’ information. See, Aliens… cannot die.”
“HmmHhhhwhat?” Grinnald said.
“They just transform theyselves into The Undead,” Eugene said.
“How’d ya figure that?” Grinnald said.
“Saw it on the History Channel,” Eugene said.
Grinnald nodded. “Sounds about right,” he said, “Hey, can I have a beer?”
Eugene frowned, holding a beer bottle in his hand. “Sorry,” he said, “This is the last one.”
“So all the aliens in the universe are undead?” Grinnald asked.
“Yup,” Eugene said. “That’s how the zombie apocalypse is gonna happen on our planet. Mark my words, an alien spaceship is gonna land in a field somewhere, carrying a bunch of alien zombies, and then they’re gonna take over the planet.”
“So,” Grinnald asked, “What would you do if you saw an undead alien?”
Eugene reached down and picked up a shotgun off the floor. He chambered a shell and fired into the sky. The crickets stopped chirping. “And then,” Eugene said, “I’d go to my bunker out back and live on MRE’s that I bought from the military surplus store eleven years ago.”
“Why wouldja kill them?” Grinnald asked. “What if they came in peace?”
“Can’t trust an alien,” Eugene said, “Can’t make no deals with them. They’d probably kill us as soon as we had our back turned.”
Grinnald nodded sadly. He gestured towards the shotgun. “Can I see that for a moment?”
Eugene handed him the shotgun.
Grinnald pumped a round into the chamber and pointed the barrel into Eugene’s stomach.
“Whatchoo doin?” Eugene said, “Ain’t you never heard of firearm safety?”
“We came in peace,” Grinnald said. Two thin green shafts sprouted from behind his ears.
“What?” Eugene said, “You’re an alien?”
“Yup,” Grinnald said.
“But you’re not undead,” Eugene said, “The History channel was wrong.”
“No no,” Grinnald said, “I am undead. Aliens are green when we’re alive, but when we die, our flesh fades to this disgusting peachy-color, like Caucasian human beings.”
“Oh,” Eugene said. “Wanna make a deal? Like an alliance?”
“No,” Grinnald said, “We can’t trust you.”
“This sucks,” Eugene said, “I’m the most prepared person on the planet for the alien-zombie apocalypse. And you’re just gonna shoot me before I get to my bunker.”
“Yup,” Grinnald said.
“Darn,” Eugene said. “Are you going to eat my brains?”
“Nah,” Grinnald said, “That’s an urban legend. Really we just want to take all the fossil fuels on your planet and mail it back to our homeworld as tribute.”
“I thought you lived on the sun,” Eugene said.
“Yeah,” Grinnald said, “But it’s dying. So we have to replenish it with oil and natural gas.”
“I see,” Eugene said, “Well this sucks. I spent so much of my life preparing for this moment, and now you’re gonna shoot me.”
“Tell you Hhwhat,” Grinnald said, “I’m a sportsman. I’ll give you a sporting chance. Five second head start. Run to your bunker. Now!”
Eugene leapt from his chair and ran off the porch and around the house.
Grinnald chuckled, pulling the blades of grass out from behind his ears. He picked up Eugene’s beer from the table and took a long drink. Eugene was so gullible. This was the second time he’d fallen for that trick this week.
Just then, Grinnald felt a tapping on his shoulder. He turned around to look.
A hideous seven foot tall zombie loomed over him. One eyeball hung out from its socket. Rotting green flesh slipped away from its bones. Grisly green antennae wobbled in the air above its half-exposed skull. The alien-zombie held a laser pistol in one hand.
“Aaaah!” Grinnald screamed. He ran down the porch and around the house. The alien zombie followed, dragging its feet against the grass.
“Eugene!” Grinnald shouted, “Eugene! You gotta let me into your bunker!”
| 14 | Your honest plan for a zombie apocalypse scenario. Starting from your home to your untimely death. | 24 |
The first time that I met Sam, he just strolled up to me and said, “What’s the worst that can happen?”
I was thinking about asking a guy I like out, but I was honestly terrified; things with my ex didn’t end… amicably, and I was afraid something similar would happen again.
Sam continued, like I wasn’t standing there, gawping with my mouth open at his beauty. “He could say no. If he says no, you know you can move on. If he says yes, you can try something. If it doesn’t work, then you’ll at least *know* that it won’t work. You won’t be guessing.” He smiled at me, kindly, and then walked away.
I asked the guy out the next time I saw him. He said yes. We dated a few times, realized that there wasn’t much there except mutual horniness, and decided to be friends instead. Six years later, we’re like brother and sister.
The next time I saw Sam (six months later), I asked him his name, and asked if he wanted to have a cup of coffee with me. He wondered why I was asking him out for. I told him, “What’s the worst that can happen?”
We dated. We had a crazy, wild, awesome time that I cherish. We loved. We love. We moved in together, live together, and everything was amazing, and awesome.
Until I found out I was pregnant. I was joyous about it; and I told him in an enthusiastic bout of verbal diarrhea that we were to be parents. My first clue was when his face turned pasty-white, and he started fidgeting. My second clue was when he told me I shouldn’t keep the baby, and that if we wanted children, we should adopt.
“Why?”
“The baby will kill you.”
“Wait, what?”
“Can we chalk it up to intuition and call it a day?”
“No. Why do you think that?”
He took a deep breath then told me of his history. His *real* history. I started to laugh.
“You do realize I’m an atheist.” I said, between laughter. “You’ll need to come up with something better than that.”
He touched my forehead, and I saw it all. I saw the God that ordered the angels to love humanity above all, but then killed millions. The God that gave mankind free will then punished them for exercising it. The God that punished Sam and his garrison for daring to say “No” to contradictory orders. You see, to the victors goes the history. The God-Squad won the war in heaven. Lucifer, Sam, and the other Souls of Solomon fought to keep Michael from carrying out one particular order: tempt the humans, get them to sin, and then put them in Perdition. Humans were set up to fail. Lucifer saw this, and said he would have no part in it. They failed. Michael entered the garden in the guise of a snake using the Lightbringer’s name, and successfully temped Eve. Lucifer offered to take her place in hell. God ordered those who sided with Lucifer cast out.
At that moment, I saw Sammael, instead of Sam, and I loved him. His six wings, along with most of his skin, were burned almost beyond recognition. Scars from lashings, stab wounds, and slashes marred his skin. He was beautiful.
But I will not murder my own child, on a chance it would kill me. I told Sam we would seek out others like him, and hear their stories.
We did. Each time, either the mother or the baby died. I asked him which he would prefer—to have a wife, or to have a child. He said a wife. He feared God would kill the child, as he did the other Nephilim.
I got a C-section three days before my due date. The child was stillborn.
I’m no longer an atheist. To quote Riddick, I absolutely believe in God. And I absolutely hate the fucker. | 49 | Your significant other is the most beautiful and amazing person you've ever met. One night while you're together they admit to being a fallen angel, one of the angels who rebelled alongside Lucifer in the War in Heaven, and prove it by showing you their true form. | 53 |
The art of name weaving was a delicate one, for sure. The job of a name weaver was to take a child and give it a name that predicted its future life, for better or for worse. If you asked a name weaver what they spent the day doing, their answer would vary wildly. You could expect anything from balancing between threads of spacetime to the copious consumption of blueberries.
You see, as it turns out, blueberries were the critical component scientists lacked for centuries in their efforts to predict the future. This was, of course, second only to tequila which had a host of other problems and after rigorous testing was determined to be a scientific dead end. The tequila designated for testing was promptly consumed in full, ensuring that this line of inquiry would never be reopened.
Henry had never been somebody to latch onto the latest fad, just like his parents. However, his wife insisted and she was supposed to be the better half. This was how Henry found himself spending an otherwise perfect Sunday afternoon in the local name weaver shack. Sandwiched between Fred's Root'em Toot'em Whorehouse and the local church. Across from him was an old woman who, if put under pressure, Henry would have described as 'nice'.
"You wish to name your child." It was a statement, not a question. The stench of past ripe blueberries filled the air and made Henry nauseated.
He sighed. "Yes... what do I have to do?" The sooner he could get this over with the better.
"Put your hands in mine, dear." She revealed her hands. They were blue upto the wrist.
Henry grabbed them gingerly. "Ok." It couldn't get must worse than this. "What now."
If she heard him, she made no move to show it. She had her eyes closed and she began to hum. The smell of blueberries was really getting strong now and her hands felt a bit slimy.
It was his first chance to really look around the room. It was long and narrow with trinkets lining the sides. Thank you letters lined the walls, from children named LawSpike and LoveBerry among other assorted names. Henry held his breath. Partly due to the stench but partly looking for the rejects. The names he had heard about on the news. Not all children grew up to be lawyers and supermodels. He'd heard of names from CreepyEyes to AcidSmell and even just 'Soup'.
Scanning the wall, not a single name was negative. Perhaps she was a fraud? That would be wonderful. Not that he disbelieved in the art. However he didn't want to take the risk...
"[Oedipus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oedipus)"
"What?" Henry was snapped back by her sudden outburst.
"Your child's name is [Oedipus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oedipus)."
"Oh." That didn't sound bad. It even sounded like a real name. "What does it mean?"
With a sigh, the name weaver decided to make something up. "It's a flower, it's very lovely." Clients often forgot to pay when given bad news.
With a smile on his face, Henry pulled his wallet out. This had turned out better than expected. Maybe he could get used to this whole name weaving thing after all. | 395 | Instead of names like Steven or Julia or Bob or Helen, humans are given descriptive names that somehow wind up relating to their personalities or predict future careers, like My Little Pony names do. This is great, unless you're a guy/girl with a really embarassing or scary or gross name... | 334 |
*"Every happy ending has the day after."*
That was my father's favourite saying. He always was the pessimist, after all.
Not that I blame him - he lived through a war, only to come home to two dead sons and a broken woman.
And me, of course.
He liked to tell me that I was the only reason he stuck around. He never said whether he meant "stuck around at home" or "didn't kill himself", and I never asked.
Not that it matters anyway, since I won't be able to ask him now. His funeral was such a morbid, depressing thing - black suits, black dresses, black umbrellas. Even his death was a just a dwindling into nothingness, a pathetic whine escaping a deflating cage.
In the end, I grew up fighting away the sadness and the pain. I grew up always looking at the future, because my parents couldn't, and that's made me who I am today.
When I die, I'm going to make sure I go out with a bang. I'm going to make sure that nobody will be able to forget me, that nobody will pity me. I'm going to die fighting, and I'm going to die *living*.
I've got my own favourite saying too. It's kind of like my dad's, an extension of his. It goes like this:
*"Every happy ending has the day after, but that story hasn't been written yet."* | 21 | Every happy ending has the day after. | 39 |
"What do we wanna do tonight fellas? Giant robot battle? Intergalactic space battle? Superhero fights?"
Six friends gather, as they have done for a few years now, in the collective void of their unconscious minds. Everything is black until someone decides on what form the world should take. Even the dreamers do not have form yet; just voices in the black void.
"We haven't done a spy, espionage scenario in awhile."
"Yeah because Scott just wants to bang the sultry villainess the whole time and it gets weird fast."
"Don't knock the black latex clad female German scientist fantasy until you've tried it boys."
"We've all tried it Scott. With you. All of us. Together. With you."
"Epic dinosaur hunters? We won't make the same mistakes we made last time..."
"You mean when Don made all the dinosaurs cyborgs and we were all ripped to shreds in a bloody mess of screams and guts?"
"Yeah...that mistake."
"We could go classic D&D? Fight dragon, loot dungeons, and become the heroes?"
"Those are fun but we always run out of time. Even with the time displacement of the dream, we wake up before we reach the epic conclusion."
"And Scott always wants to bang the free spirited elf queen the whole time."
"Don't knock the slutty, blonde elf queen fantasy!"
"What about a horror dream? Have we ever tried a horror scenario?"
"Yeah it triggered some...undesirable side effects for some of the members."
"He means he wet the bed."
"Fucking shit Kyle! Told you that in confidence!"
"Just trying to save you a load of laundry tomorrow man."
"Super heroes was a good suggestion. Classic, but always fun."
"Until Scott tries to bang the villainess with knee boots and a corset."
"You can't even blame me for that one! Her power is control over men! Don't knock it until-"
"Scott I think I speak for everyone when I say we would really appreciate if you didn't watch your porn before bed."
"Please bro!"
"It gets weird."
"I don't mind."
"Kinda objectifying..."
"WELL EXCUUUSE ME! I apologize for enjoying the female form!"
"We're burning valuable dream time guys. How about action movie scenario? Big guns, explosions, car chases, and the admiration of an entire country?"
"An oldie but a goodie. Streets of Paris?"
The void begins to shift to a standard imagining of Paris. Cobble stone streets are lit by city lights under the night sky. The Eiffel Tower looms in the distance.
"Good good. I call demolitions guy. Ya know, excessive grenades, lights his dynamite with a big lit cigar? And a couple bad ass scars."
"I wanna be the ninja!"
"You always wanna be the ninja."
"Because they're bad ass! We have yet to find a scenario yet were the ninja hasn't been useful."
"Fair point. I'll be grizzled war veteran. Complete with eye patch and five o'clock shadow."
The space begins to fill with the characters for this dream. Tonight there will be bullets raining from all directions as terrorists threaten to blow up the The Louvre. There is fire and action and screaming, but as day approaches they all know it must come to an end. In the morning they will all meet at their real life jobs, working nine to five in cubicles many would consider too small for human use. But for now, they are the heroes of Paris. Strong, intelligent, and loved by all. Tomorrow night they may be detectives, or safari hunters, or vampires, or detective vampires on safari. | 10 | A group of close friends share a collective lucid dream every night. | 27 |
Her hairs still turned up around the house - threaded into the lining of my jacket; drifting from shelves with the dust that hadn't been cleared since she last did it; underneath my pillow, which I refused to change until the scent of her had completely gone. As I took the foil off my lukewarm meal and crumpled it next to the plate, I spotted another one. It lay on the tablecloth, fine and red, a delicate golden conduit between her world and mine that shimmered underneath the fairy lights. I picked it up and stretched it taut between rough fingers that felt too clumsy to be holding this last message from her, this strand that held so much of her essence inside it that my hands began to shake. I placed it reverently next to my meal and sat for a while in the silence.
The turkey was cold by the time I started eating and the last of the daylight had seeped from the sky and left the room dark but for the glow of the Christmas lights. The gravy had begun to solidify on the edge of the plate, forming crusts that clung to the stiffening roast potatoes. I ate half of it and pushed it aside, away from the tiny keratin treasure that clung to the tabletop. Her hairs were her gift to me - I knew that now - hidden around the house to remind me that she was still here, still with me. Her presents, her presence. I picked up my meal and scraped the remainder into the bin before walking through to the kitchen and dumping the plate in the cold washing-up water, tearing the layer of scum on its surface as it submerged. The wind beat against the windows, causing the trees outside to thrash and whip themselves about. Placing hands against the cold glass I looked up and for a while contented myself with staring at the full moon that hung in the evening sky.
Tonight was a wild night, a night of silver-lit storms. On nights like this the little things that hung around on the peripheries of our vision had a chance to solidify, for some short time, and walk the empty world while folks inside their houses dozed in front of fires, none the wiser. Anything could be out there, dancing in the spray of the rain and the wind. Was she out there, waiting for me? Was she in the forest somewhere, now, her hair silver rather than gold beneath the December moon, leaping through the trees and diving, as she had loved to do, into the swollen fjord? While I stood here was she out there, her body cracking the surface of the water like a bell, gleaming like mercury as she arched through the currents? Was her swan-like arm pointed arabesque out of the water, her fingers searching the air for my hand and slipping back into the deep when she failed to find it? Panicked, I grabbed my quilted coat and gloves and struggled my way into them as I burst through the door and into the freezing air.
It smelled like winter tonight. Inside my hood my breath was loud and rasping as I crunched through the frosted grass down towards the fjord. The storm howled around me and the trees seemed to bow out of my way as I raced down to the water's edge.
She was not there. I waited for an hour, my nose thick with puckered capillaries and phlegm as the cold moved through my jacket and into my bones, my body aching as it tensed itself rigid against the wind, tired from shivering. I watched the fjord for any trace of her as the gale violently marbled its surface. I watched the tree line on the opposite bank, waiting in the certain knowledge that she would soon glide from the forest and walk smoothly across the wind-bitten river and into my arms. I watched the moon and waited for her to descend upon a shaft of its brilliance, waited for her to come to me and tell me that she had only gone for a little while, that everything was alright again now and take my hand and lead me home.
After an hour, I walked alone back up to the cabin.
Shutting the door behind me, I kicked off my boots and removed both layers of socks, rubbing the cracked soles of my feet one and then the other as I took a seat in the empty dining room. Her hair lay on the table where I had left it, still burning red-gold underneath the Christmas lights, a letter from her to me that I could not read.
My eyes traveled listlessly across the room, and suddenly I froze. There. On the Christmas tree. I slipped from the couch, crawling on hands and knees towards it, fingers buried in the coarse hairs of the carpet.
From one sagging branch of the tree hung a bauble, of the same deep gold as her hair, and there, in the coloured glass, I saw her. She stared out at me, waiting for me to come and claim her, to pull her out and back into my life and our bed that sat so large, so empty, so foreboding upstairs. 'My love,' I whispered, 'stay. Please,' but my breath briefly clouded the bauble's surface with condensation and when I wiped it clear the light had slid across its surface and she had vanished once again. | 13 | Write a story of someone lonely and isolated. Make me cry. | 35 |
Police Record of [REDACTED]'s Journal Following Incident [REDACTED]
08/22/20xx
Today I saw somebody die for the first time. Right in front of me. He handed me this...credit card...before blowing his brains out. I was just walking home from work like normal. I'm not sure what to do or who to tell. When the police showed up it was like they didn't notice me. They didn't take a statement, or my name, or anything. I offered and they just let me go. I don't know how to handle this. I'd schedule an appointment with my therapist but I don't think she'd believe me. I fear I'm losing my grip on reality I...*words scratched out*
The weirdest thing about this is that the card has my name on it. I mean, it didn't when he gave it to me but it changed. I know this doesn't make any sense. Hopefully I can make sense of all of this. I'll keep this record updated but I don't intend to use the card at all. I'll just hang on to it just in case.
***Note: Most of the next week passes with little mention of the card, as though the person in question is trying to forget or actively not mentioning it. Picking up at the next relevant date***
8/28/20xx
I was reading back to my earlier entries and noticed mention of a credit card and somebody dying. I...I don't remember that happening but I also don't recognize this card in my wallet. It feels like it's always been there. I used it to pay for my coffee today without realizing I didn't recognize it at first. Journal, I really feel like I've lost it this time. My medication isn't helping with this. I need to lie down. I'll update again after I've had time to think.
---
I called the number on the back of the card to verify my account. See when I opened it. See the gaps in my memory I'm missing. Did it as soon as I woke up. Do you remember dial-up? That horrible noise from when we were growing up together? That's all I heard screeching back at me. There's no website to try on the card. Hell, there isn't even a "Visa" or "MasterCard" logo or anything like that. Gonna try using it online and see what happens.
---
I just bought a new laptop. It worked. We'll see when it gets here. I really wish I knew what was going on.
***Note: Another return to normalcy until the laptop shows up 3 days later.***
8/31/20xx
The laptop showed up today. I don't remember ordering it but here it is. It's like whenever I try to think about the card it slips my mind. Whenever I use it it eats at me. Is that the price? Is that why he died? Is it eating my soul? Why did he give it to me? I called my therapist and mentioned the card. Said I needed new medication and I didn't know what was happening. I go in in a couple days.
Laptop works great.
***Note: Daily updates stop here. Aside from a few distorted drawings and a short, irrelevant poem the journal does not update until the next full posting. This is different than anytime in the journals record which goes back [REDACTED] years updating daily***
9/4/20xx
Went in to therapist's office today. Mentioned appointment. Was told I didn't have one. Circled on my calendar. Used card to pay triple fee for emergency. Talked to therapist. She took notes. Said she'd figure out a new prescription and get back to me by the end of the week.
Used the card to buy a new car. Needed it for job after crashing this one. Getting hard to think.
***Note: After this posting regular updates stop entirely. Following this note is the remainder of the relevant information as it is written.***
NO call from ThERapist. Can't remember Her oFFice.
Won an auction for a vintage bottle of wine today. Loving the new upgrades in the car.
Can't remember NaME? IS it on the CARD?
HELP me Mother. Tell me WHO I am.
Picture of self. DON'T FORGET: ***Picture not even remotely resembling anything human is found here.***
Card declined. Card declined. Card declined. Card declined. Card declined. Card Declined. CARD DECLINED CARD DECLINED CARDDECLINEDCARDDECLINEDCARDDECLINEDCARDDECLINED.
Found HEr. Follwoing. She can make IT work again.
//END RECORD
Subject was found 9/14/20xx with multiple self-inflicted lacerations. Investigations into where this "card" or who "her" may be are ongoing. Therapist does not remember seeing the subject during this time-frame nor are there any records of any visit.
edit: This got popular so I fixed some formatting.
Edit 2: I legitimately can't believe I got gold for this. Thank you so much...I'll try to write here more often. | 1,148 | A man hands you a credit card, pulls out a pistol, and shoots himself. You look down just in time to see the name on the card change to yours. | 1,627 |
*(I cut a few corners for this one, so please excuse any mistakes, English isn't my first language!)*
It was the third day of fighting in Aletemni City.
Third day of slaughter, really. Ever since the Uldanee Coalition had contacted Earth, breaking their own Undeveloped Species Directive in the process, the war had turned into a one-sided butchery. The Pan-Sidriac Republic had been pushed back from planet to planet, from orbital to orbital, and Uldanee forces were now threatening to breach system defenses into the Sidriac Home Worlds. The Uldanee had always had the upper hand in ship-to-ship combat, but until now the Sidriac advantage in planetbound campaigns had stopped their advances.
... Until now. The human mercenaries, few in numbers and with terrible weapons at their disposal, had turned the battle at Kis; pushed the Sidriac forces to evacuate the orbital at Point Fa'dib; decimated the K'k'kt'k, the Sidriac's strongest allies, until they were forced to accept a humiliating surrender.
Against all that, the brass wanted to hold Aletemni City. It was the site of the Sidriac's first and greatest victory in the War seventy cycles ago, and a hugely important symbol for the civilians back home. The tide had to be turned there, or it would never be.
... Well, whatever the tide was, it sure as dtarak wasn't in the mood to turn. Sidriac losses were terrifying, their soldiers dead or dying in dispensaries. And it was in this brnk that Alisemmo had been thrust.
Sergeant Alisemmo surveyed his squad one more time. Tired, wounded, but determined to do the damn job or die trying. Most probably the latter. He hoped none would get killed on this stupid search & destroy mission, but any Sidriac soldier tough enough or dumb enough to survive this long in the War knew that death could happen any time.
His squad was clearing a building. Checking doors, alternate exits, on their way to the roof that they wanted to use as an observation post. A really routine thing to do.
A really routine way to come face-to-face with an Uldanee squad.
The shooting started immediately. Uldanee rail guns against Sidriac microplasma. Soldiers started falling left and right. The blood on the walls was more Uldanee purple than Sidriac silver, and for a moment Alisemmo thought they were winning. Until another, different shape came into his view. Not Uldanee, not Sidriac, towering over them all, and most importantly - not wearing a bio-suit.
"They have a human! RUN! I'll cover you!"he shouted, desperate to save the lives of some of his squad at least. He doubled back, taking cover as he could, shooting microplasma in a covering pattern. His squad made a break for it, but he held on, buying them time. He barely heard the human's strange nasal speech as he spoke to the Uldanee squad leader -
"Do I do my thigg? Dazz what you hired me for!"
The squad leader gave a gesture of approval, and Alisemmo knew he was done for. He kept shooting and just waited for the noise...
"Ah... CHOO!"
That was it. Alien microbes, unlike any ever found anywhere in known space, flooded the area. With an eldritch precision, invisible but deadly, they almost homed in on Alisemmo's suited form, bypassed every state-of-the-art biofilter that the Sidriac had been able to design, and entered his system.
Acute alien viral infection coupled with extreme anaphylactic shock isn't pretty. Alisemmo's airways clogged immediately, throat constricting, nose filling up with mucus. His body temperature started rising, faster than any disease known to the Sidriac could induce. The dizziness came next and, his limbs heavy, Alisemmo dropped his microplasma gun. The Uldanee squad had stopped shooting, content with watching him die with a mix of awe and disgust. He fell to the floor, feeling unconsciousness from the fever and lack of air rush in. Before finally succumbing, he dimly saw the human walk up to him, only to give a disdainful sniff and another of his alien phrases...
"Cobbon cold, bitches." | 66 | "They have a human! RUN!" | 74 |
Joel slowly walked towards the bloody scene. Death was everywhere, blood and guts spread around even more so. The whole scene had been taped off and the street was bathed in red and blue light. Joel walked under the tape and over to his boss who was currently talking to someone else.
As he waited for his boss to finish the conversation, he looked around at all the bodies. Everything was so lifeless and cold, but he was used to it. Just never on this large of a scale.
“Joel,” his boss said quietly. “We need to talk.”
Joel stared and waited for him to continue. The scene was obviously effecting his normally angry and crass boss. The fact that he wasn’t even swearing meant that he was taking it harder than Joel could even imagine.
“You know that mafia boss you helped put away a couple months ago?” his boss asked. “ Giovanni Roma? Well, this was the work of his son Vincent Roma as retaliation for that.”
“Why kill all these people?” Joel asked, confused as to why retribution that should be aimed at him had been taken out on everyone. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“They just got in the way,” Joel’s boss said. “There was only one target.” His boss’s voice died out, and the only noise was the buzz of paramedics and officers going about their duty. And then he continued. “I… Joel… I… I don’t know how to tell you this. The target was your son.”
Joel stood in silence. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wanted to stuff his fingers in his ears like a child might and pretend he couldn’t hear, but he heard the words that left his boss’s mouth next, and he knew from that moment on that he would never forget them.
“Both your son and wife are amongst the dead Joel,” his boss said. “And Vincent got away. We’re searching for him as we speak, but I fear he may have already left the city. I know this must be a a terrible time for you, so I think it’s best if you go home and rest. Don’t worry about work. We’ll catch this son of a bitch for you.”
“And then what?” Joel yelled. “Are you going to put him in jail? Huh? Because look what he’s done. I want to kill that son of a bitch with my own two bare hands. Where’s my son and wife? Where?! I want to see them.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good…”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think!” Joel roared. “Let me see them!”
Joel strode over to the their bodies. His wife’s lay on top of his son, but it wasn’t enough to stop the bullet that had pierced his son’s head. Everything he cared about was gone now. Everything. All because of Vincent.
Anger burned inside of Joel. In fact, he felt like he might actually catch on fire if he stared at their bodies any longer. And at that moment, something snapped in Joel. Every single emotion that he could possibly feel was shut off. He was nothing but brains and flesh.
He drove straight home, ignoring the sympathies of his coworkers. He didn’t bother to reach for his keys as he approached the door. Keys were always troublesome anyways. No, rather he simply kicked the door down and entered, punching his fist into the cupboard that contained the Scotch and poured some into a glass, taking a slow sip. As the night went on, the bottle of Scotch started to become clearer and clearer until Joel had passed out.
When Joel awoke the next morning, he was extremely cold, the door being kicked in and all. There were bugs flying around and even a few wild animals. He looked over at his computer screen. Apparently he hadn’t closed out a web search he’d done last night while he was drunk. What do you know? Vincent has a wife. Go figure. Joel grabbed his gun, hopped in his car, and headed for the address.
When he arrived, he only planned to frighten her. He didn’t want to sink to Vincent’s level, but he figured he needed to do something to make him pay. But he was running into an obstacle. The stupid guards to the house wouldn’t let him in. Well, they were pretty shitty guards in his opinion, considering that he shot both dead before they could even twitch a muscle.
He then proceeded to ram his car through the gate and walk up to the house. He broke down the door, just like he did last night, and entered. He could hear her scream. He walked up the stairs calmly and found her reaching for something in one of the dresser drawers. He hurried over, grabbed her arm, and threw her against the wall.
Her nightgown slipped a bit, and for a moment Joel thought about having himself a little fun. But he wasn’t a monster, was he? He was just here to make Vincent understand. Then again, maybe that was the perfect way to punish him. But Joel’s thoughts were interrupted as she tried to run out of the room. He really didn’t feel like dealing with this, so he shot her straight through the head, watching her corpse fall to the floor.
It was a real shame, Joel thought, as he stepped over the once beautiful woman. Too bad she was unfortunate enough to know Vincent. Joel walked throughout the house, looking for pictures, address books, anything he could get his hands on. And what he found was a goldmine of information. Apparently Vincent had a couple of little kids too. Must be at school right now, he figured.
Joel walked out of the house. He thought killing the wife would be good enough, but now he realized it wasn’t.
A couple weeks passed, but Joel had managed to hide from the cops successfully. The idiots didn’t realize that he was paying off a couple of them to look the other way for now. It’s amazing what people are willing to do for money.
Joel continued to look for Vincent’s kids. They were proving rather hard to find. He did feel guilty for the first few ones he killed, thinking they were Vincent’s, but after awhile you got used to it. Joel slowly snuck his way through the house, pointing his gun directly at the child. He wasn’t sure if the kid was even Vincent’s, but it didn’t really matter anymore. The kid was unfortunate enough to share Vincent’s name anyways.
What happened next amazed Joel. His bullet flew right into the chest of a man that appeared in front of the boy. Vincent Roma had reappeared, and now he would be dead as well. Joel fired a few more rounds to get the job done. He searched for the boy, but he had already run off, and it didn’t seem worth it to Joel to track him down. Joel walked out of the house, only to find a barricade of police standing around. They fired without any hesitation, and if he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn that the bullet that hit him came straight from his old boss’s gun.
What Joel never found out, as he laid sprawled out on the sidewalk, was that it had never been Vincent Roma that had killed everyone. He had nothing to do with it. It was his father Giovanni. He had somehow orchestrated the whole thing from jail.
Vincent, in the meantime, disowned his father when he found out what had happened and went to the police the very next day. Against his better judgement, he gave them everything he had on the mob. And so when his wife turned up dead only hours later, he broke down, knowing he had made the wrong choice. But he did everything he could to shelter his children. He never really did get over the fact that his father had done such a despicable thing. He had barely seen the flash of the gun, but he knew where it was aimed, so he leaped in front of his son, hoping it would be enough. He never would find out either as his eyes closed for the last time. Whether he would see his wife again or not, he didn’t know. But he knew that it wouldn’t be long before he saw his dad again.
-265
Edit: I realize it probably isn't perfectly true to the prompt, but as I started writing, this is kind of where my writing took me, so I went with it. Hopefully it is close enough. | 46 | Write a story where the "good guy" and "bad guy" gradually switch roles. | 95 |
Three pictures, spread across a 120 yard wall, are transmitted back to Earth and are displayed on every available screen in NASA. Each and every scientist and the like are confused, worried, and terrified at what they see.
The first picture displays growth, greenness, and gratitude. Everything looks in harmony. The characters are smiling, the buildings are high, the sun is high and everything is in harmony with one another. 'They look happy' says a senior officer.
The second pictures provokes empathy from everyone who stares upon it. The darkness the scene promotes is eerie and sad, the once peaceful people are now divided. A blast is the focus of this picture. Black rain falls upon the heads of those who aren't underneath the cover of the unique structures presented.
The third picture is gory and graphic. Bodies lay scattered, space ships cover the sky, and everything is red. In the top right corner, written in black is the term 'Eerth' followed by a blue circle.
Every one stops talking, whispering, and for a moment even breathing as a collective feeling of nostalgia is created among those who stare at the great mural. | 17 | The Mars Curiosity rover discovers a wall full of detailed pictures about the events which lead to the extinction of all Martian life. The events unfolded as followed: | 27 |
This was it. I was gonna die on the cracked pavement of the eerily-quiet New Jersey Turnpike. Somehow, I'd always expected that it would end this way.
My vision clouded pure black, and my ears rang, trapping me inside my own head. I was dimly aware that I'd fallen heavily to one knee in the middle of the road. Then I was aware of the pavement scraping against my hands as I started to fall over sideways.
I felt my heartbeat slowing in my fingertips as I began the watery slide into unconsciousness. I'd finally pushed myself too hard, overused my power.
Or not. The darkness clouding my senses receded quickly, replaced by the more familiar and manageable splitting head pain and oversaturation of a world seen through a mantle of Power. I could feel it coursing in my veins, but weaker...more diffuse. Nothing comes free in this world, and I was coming to the end of my limits. I gave it maybe two minutes before I passed out for real, and inevitably was crushed beneath a ten ton piece of concrete, thrown by a strength that rivaled my own.
But that was two minutes from now.
*Showtime.*
Still on my knees, I threw a punch straight down with a fist wreathed in pale blue flame. Pavement cracked, and the force of the blow propelled me up and forward in a graceful corkscrewing arc that terminated two meters behind my adversary, who was clearly not expecting me to get up ever again, and was still turning, arm converted into a rail cannon tracking the trajectory I'd taken.
I'd never fought a *Gladiator*-class mech soldier before today. The armored giants were reserved for confrontations with the most dangerous Supers. Which I guess included me. They were designed to go toe to toe with the most dangerous Talents until we exhausted our reserves and collapsed, unable to fight. They'd faced down reality-benders, telekinetics that could throw train cars around like darts, strongmen, indestructables, prescients, you name it. And won. I'd never heard of a Super taking one down in the over twenty years since the US government had declared us a threat and began offering a bounty for confirmed sightings.
They'd sent a team of three for me. This was the last one. *Damn* I'm good.
The railgun discharged in an empty space four feet over my head, where I'd been less than a second before, hyper-kinetic iron projectile smashing through the sound barrier, and grounding itself with an explosion several hundred meters behind me.
The blue flame surrounding my extremities flickered, and my vision dimmed. The hesitation it caused almost killed me. An enormous bladed steel arm scythed sideways and caught me in the stomach. I bled off most of the kinetic energy as heat, and melted the asphalt around my feet, but even so, it threw me ten meters until I encountered a concrete divider. Ow.
The metal giant spoke. "**Subject AS-0437, surrender or I will take lethal force.**"
Like he hadn't been before. I coughed out dust from the crushed concrete. "Police brutality! Help, help, I'm being oppressed!"
I moved, arcing sideways, just in time. Another railgun projectile smashed into the spot I'd just been laying. I saw my opportunity, and kicked off from the ground, moving in a flat arc toward the vulnerable knee joints of the mech suit. Fire flared bright, and titanium and steel melted and fused. Thirty-five tons of metal crashed to the ground with me tangled in it. I converted a small fraction of the crash into heat again, and melted through the crew carapace, killing the driver almost instantly, and destroying the control surfaces for the mech. I hauled myself out of the smoldering wreckage, and collapsed onto the deserted road. My vision flickered, and I saw my flames die in the instant before my head met road and darkness claimed me. | 14 | A person gets super/magic powers, but every time they use this power... | 26 |
We found the others. Have you ever had that feeling where you buy something, discover somewhere, or find someone and from that moment on it is a part of you? Like it was always attached to you. It's not new, just newly noticed. That's how we felt.
I wish we hadn’t
It is amazing what a civilization can accomplish when they have the motivation. It only took a single generation. We traveled the technological distance from telescopes to spacecraft. We rushed headlong, devoting our society to this singular purpose. A species-wide obsession. Our eagerness was not a cautious thing. Careening forward we sacrificed the lives of many intrepid souls in our quest.
I wish we hadn't.
We went to the inner moon first. Whipping around the center planet with twice the velocity of our home this speedy satellite sported sensational beauty. We knew there was intelligent life there because the entire planet looked like a giant work of art. Perfect curls of green connected to wiggling lines of red in an unnatural fractal. They shamed our chaos with their symmetry. We could not wait to meet the minds behind the beauty. We got there on our third try.
I wish we hadn’t.
Where we expected harmony we discovered only discord. As our landers marred the symmetry of the land with their uninvited intrusion, the world was quiet. This lasted for a single moment. The ground erupted around our alien invasion and we watched horrified as millions of tiny winged creatures in a myriad of colors ripped our people to shreds and used their bodies to deepen the fractal pattern. Their blood made for a powerful red dye. The cameras swiftly winked out of existence and the signals stopped. Our sadness led to desperation. We had to believe that the universe was not so cruel, so apathetic, so alien. We launched our attempt to reach the second moon within hours.
I wish we hadn’t.
We made it to the second inhabited moon. It lazily orbited the Center Planet at twice the distance and a quarter of the speed of our home moon. From our telescopic viewpoint we had seen a moon which sported sparkling cities and ceaseless industry. Surely, we thought, these are a people with whom we could communicate. They will understand us, embrace us. The landing craft entered the atmosphere and landed a short distance from one of the largest cities. We held our breath as one of the locals approached us. It dropped a small device and walked away. We moved towards it.
I wish we hadn’t.
With the ceaseless optimism and the burden of a generation resting on this moment we approached the device. To our amazement it began to speak in our very own language. “Hi. We see that you have finally discovered us. Go away now. We have observed you and found you lacking. You are a stupid civilization. Your culture is weak, your ideals are idiotic. If you ever try to contact us again we will destroy your moon without hesitation. We have known about you for eons. We decided long ago you were worthless.” You could almost hear our collective will break. With that pithy message they sealed our doom. We lost our will to act. We stopped reproducing. The generation of space was the final generation. We traveled into the stars and found our own futility.
I wish we hadn’t. | 24 | A gas giant in an unnamed Solar System has 3 moons, each of them contain intelligent life. Write a story on how these 3 civilizations differ, how they react when they discover life exists on the other moons, and how they interact with each-other as they all grow more advanced. | 54 |
"Agent Kilo."
I turned around just as I was about to enter my pod. I looked ridiculous. I felt ridiculous. Any more time in the present made me ridiculous. I had been training for this role for months. I needed to step out of this practice run and step into my reality. I knew, just knew, that my supervisor Agent [-----] was going to go on and on about this particular mission.
"Sir." I said as I turned around on my heel and looked at him in the eye.
He extended his hand and moved his chest out. His eye patch didn't really cover up his entire scar. There were still cracks and smooth scar tissue from the bottom of the eye patch to the mandible. They were small, but they were nonetheless there.
"I just wanted to wish you good luck."
I shook his hand, "Thank you, sir."
"I know this is a big step for this agency. You've been with us since the beginning and I believe you are the right man for the job."
I stood there absolutely itching to get into my pod. He was still shaking my hand.
"Just remember," he continued, "that this is a very dangerous mission. Keep your wits about you and keep yourself hidden within the masses."
"Yes, sir."
He let go of my hand and open hand patted me on the outside of my shoulder and said our motto, "praeteritum pro tutiorem!"
I didn't say it back, I just turned around. My leather boots were making a hell of a noise. I was anxious to get this thing underway.
"Agent Kilo," I said to the guard as I showed him my ID and then my papers for my mission.
"Right this way."
I followed him into my pod and he started typing away on the computer. He was typing so fast that the keystrokes were starting to fall into rhythm with my heartbeat. Agent [-----] was right; this was big time.
"Praeteritum pro tutiorem."
I tried to mutter it back to him, but all that came out was a soft exhale. He turned around and shut the door. After a few tense moments of absolute silence, there was a quick flash and a loud thud.
I woke up in a foxhole, freezing. I turned around and looked for some kind of a clue that I had been put in the right place.
There they were - an entire formation of people in the same outfit I was wearing. Fantastic. I searched through my pockets and looked for my papers. Check. I looked for my ammunition. Check. I looked for my gun. Check. I looked for my knife attached to my right boot. Check. Finally, I needed to make sure that my widget for how to get back to the year 2102 was still in my left boot - check. You see, the pods drop you off in the middle of their travel. They continue going on for a while as to not be spotted by indigenous people of that time period. My widget gives me the location the pod has selected in order to keep a low profile. A bright red pulsating dot showed me where to go.
I put the widget back into my boot and headed for someone I could talk to in order to get oriented.
"Excuse me," I said in German, "Could you please tell me where the hospital is?"
The man saluted me, and I returned it.
"Jawohl," he said in a hushed roar, "it is right over there, sir. I can walk over there with you if you'd like?"
"Not necessary, private," I snapped, "I am more than capable of getting there."
"Yes sir, my apologies."
I nodded at him and turned around. I had settled down into my role since I left my home time period. It seems that all I really did need was -
"Sir!" the young, dirty private yelled.
I turned around and met his eyes. He was holding something out in his left hand which was wrapped in gauze.
"You've seemed to drop this!"
My heart nearly fell into my stomach. I was worried that my widget and fallen out of my boot and I was going to be reported for suspicious activity or... I don't know, I didn't really go into the minutiae of disciplinary actions.
My heart was put at ease when I saw that he was holding the telegram I was supposed to deliver at the hospital. I grabbed it with my thumb on top of the paper and my index finger underneath it. I smiled at him and said, "Danke."
"Bitte," he said, "next time try not to be so clumsy, sir," he joked.
I laughed and turned around and left. My eyes were glued to the telegram that I was supposed to deliver to make sure that everything was still in tact.
It was indeed my telegram. *Beelitz Krankenhaus* was the location I was going to deliver this piece of paper. The Beelitz Hospital. The year was even dated as 1916. I was in the right place at the right time.
I walked over to the door and once I got there, I handed the guard my orders. Once he saluted and I saluted him back, he motioned for me to go inside. I stopped in the doorway and asked him in his native tongue, "Could you tell me where I need to go to deliver this telegram? I'm not confident I know where this man is located."
After a while, he tossed his head back like he had just remembered where he was and handed me the telegram while saying, "Gefreiter Hitler is in the third room on your left, sir."
I smiled and said, "Danke."
As I walked through the musty and rancid hallways, my leather boots squeaking across the blood stained linoleum tiles, my heart started beating again. I had the opportunity to stop Adolf Hitler from coming into power and the excitement was becoming real.
I walked in and asked the nurses where I could find him. A beautiful, young, German woman by the name of Helga showed me to his bed. I said thank you and she left. He was asleep, which was a lucky break. He looked different than what I imagined, from what I have seen in the history books and in the documentaries. He was young, and for the first time I have seen him, he looked peaceful.
I looked around and saw that everyone was busy with someone else. I knew this was my time. I reached down at my boot and grabbed my knife. I looked around the room one more time and then, I slammed the blade into Hitler's skull. He made no noise, but blood was leaking from his head like water from a pinched hose. I tossed the telegram on his chest and hustled out of there. I moved quickly before anyone could notice what I had done.
By the time I got to the door, I started jogging. I saw some trees I could go in for some concealment so I could pull out my widget and find my pod. I got to the most dense part and started rummaging through my boot. It was still there.
Even better, the pod was only about 200 meters away. It too was located in the woods. I started sprinting towards it. I couldn't hear any commotion behind me, but that doesn't mean anything. Once I got to the area in which the pod had landed, the widget activated automatically and revealed the pod. The pod dropped from a tree about 10 meters away form me and I jumped inside. I slammed the door shut, and even though the weather was cold outside, I was sweating like a mad man. I knew that my job had been done, but I needed to keep this agency a secret. I needed to get back to 2102 before anyone becomes wise.
I looked at the computer and the guard back home had fixed it so that all I needed to do was hit "enter" and I could go back. I hammerfisted the keyboard and after a few seconds of tense silence, there was a flash and then a loud thud.
I didn't pass out this time because it landed in the landing bay; it was a much softer landing. The door opened and Agent
[-----] was standing outside the door with a newspaper underneath his arm. He was looking at me and smiling. He offered his hand so he could help me out of the pod and I accepted it. I came out to a chorus of cries. I know it seems weird because these people should not know the magnitude of what I had just done, but we have special machines that keep us informed of the atrocities we have prevented just so we can remember how important our jobs are.
"Praeteritum pro tutiorem!"
"Praeteritum pro tutiorem!" I yelled back.
He handed me the newspaper and flipped it to page three. On the bottom half of page three lay a headline that read: "Gefreit Adolf Hitler War Hero Mysteriously Murdered in Beelitz Hospital"
I smiled and almost started crying. Not only did the past only see him as a war hero and not as one of the most horrific men in the history of our species, but the prick didn't even get the first page of Berlin's newspaper.
-----------------------------------------------
Sorry about the length, but I had a blast with this prompt!
edit: wording; fixed the Latin
edit 2: proofread and found some mistakes. | 15 | All senseless murderers are actually heroes sent back in time to assassinate people who would become Genocidal dictators in the future. | 24 |
**Warning: Fairly obvious, but a lot of cuss words.**
"Are we fucking there yet?" three year old Timmy asked his dad.
"No, you little motherfucker, we're not," his dad replied. "This damn traffic is going to make us late, that's for sure.
"Yeah, these drivers are all cunts," Timmy said.
"Well said, my little bastard," Timmy's mom said proudly.
"Fuck, ouch!" Timmy's older brother, who was 18, said.
"What the hell happened?" Timmy's mother asked.
"Oh, nothing, I just pricked my finger is all," Timmy's older brother replied.
"Hey, you fucking cocksucking bastard, why didn't you swear when you replied to me?" his mom yelled.
"Yeah, what are you, a twat or something?" his father chimed in. "I didn't raise you boys to be twats. I raised you to be like your mother, a fine pair of sons of bitches."
"Well, I think they took after you, a couple of dumbasses," the mother said.
"I'm a twat though, right?" Timmy's older sister who was 7 years old chimed in.
"No, honey, you're just a bitch," her dad replied.
"In my fucking defense," Timmy's older brother started, "prick is a cuss word."
"No, it fucking ain't," his parents responded in unison.
"Yes, yes it fucking is," Timmy's older brother yelled. "Sure, you can prick your finger, but what if I told you I fingered my prick?"
"Fair enough, you motherfucker," his mom replied.
"So, are we fucking there yet?" Timmy asked again. | 16 | Write about a scenario where each character has to swear atleast once when the speak, while making it seem out of place. | 19 |
It seemed as though the granite floor rose through the pores between his toes. He stood enclosed within the stone walls, with the dead drooped around him. It was dark inside—not within the walls but within his heart. He studied his noble steed standing in place, scales and all, and ascended his way through the tower.
Thoughts rushed his brain as though they were his enemies. Memories of a long-lost brother swept away as dreams of his love knocked on the door to enter his train of thought. With each step like a hop, he reached the door to the peak of the tower. A slow creek narrated his entrance, and gust of wind flew into his eyes. Through the cracks of sunlight and the clouds' smile, he saw her.
Her.
A long pink gown worn by only the worthy, hands spread over the balcony eagerly waiting her knight in shining armor.
Though no armor was to be found, the snap of the button to his overalls caught her ear, and she turned vivaciously, with only a gasp of air muted by the wind.
"It's you-" She muttered.
His grin spoke more words than a King novel, and his pockets of coins seemed to gleam in the perfect array of sunlight. As he peeked over the edge at shells sprawled across the land, his mustahce quivered proudly in the stiff wind, undaunted by his enemies.
He murmured through his tears, "It's-a-me— Mario." | 11 | His mustache quivered proudly in the stiff wind, undaunted by his enemies. | 22 |
"Shit! Three," Boehner groaned yet again.
"That, uh, does not hit," Barack informed him, before turning to Christie, "What will you do, governor?"
"Hmm," Governor Christie pondered the board for a moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "I'm going to cast rune of healing light on John--"
"I don't need healing," Senator McCain complained loudly, "And you have to refer to us as our characters."
"Fine," Christie rolled his eyes, "I'm going to cast rune of healing light on Spock the gnome, who has no health to begin with and shouldn't be our tank, and then I'll spend my action point to attack the gray dragon."
"Roll for healing," the president commanded.
"Thirteen," Christie added up the dice totals, "Plus twenty one base, you get thirty four health back, John."
"I didn't need it," Senator McCain mumbled under his breath.
"Alright, governor, uh, roll to attack," Barack continued.
"C'mon, give me something good," Christie said, shaking the die in his fist and letting it fly. The little icosahedron clattered across the table slowly coming to a stop with the 20 clearly visible on top.
"Hell yeah!" Christie shouted, jumping out of his chair, "Nat-20 bitches! That's a critical hit!"
"What's your max damage?" Barack asked, pulling up his sheet with the dragon's health. Governor Christie's face fell as he checked his character sheet. "Well?" Barack pressed.
"Forty," Christie said, inaudibly. He coughed awkwardly and scratched at his nose while the others looked at him expectantly.
"You're going to have to speak up, dude," Paul Ryan said casually.
"Forty," Christie repeated, louder, "I do forty damage to the dragon."
"Are you serious?" Boehner blurted out, "Forty damage on a crit? That has got to be he worst rolled character I've ever seen!"
"You included in your own flavor text that your character has irritable bowel syndrome," Ryan pointed out, "And your a wizard with no offensive spells."
"I don't like to conform to stereotypes," Boehner said indignantly, "My parents made me go to wizard school, when all I really wanted to do was open a little bakery and sell tarts to Eberron's lower class."
"Christ you're lame," Senator McCain laughed aloud.
"Alright, that's enough," Barack said, gently but forcefully, and everyone stopped their bickering, "Senator Ryan, it's your turn."
"Booyah," Ryan smirked reaching for his custom dice, "I will use scorpion's claws on the dragon. I roll a... eighteen... so... that's a thirty five against reflex."
"That hits," Barack announced, "Roll damage." Before Ryan could roll, however, the door behind them creaked open and Michelle called in, "Oh, boys! I made rice crispy squares!"
"Michelle, get out!" Barack practically screamed,"We're in the middle of very important political discourse!"
"Oh, fine," Michelle laughed, "I'll just leave these here on this table if you want them."
"If we want rice crispy squares," Barack replied, "We will get ourselves some rice crispy squares. We are the leaders of the free world, Michelle!"
"You better not be raising your voice at me, mister," Michelle said, no longer laughing.
"Of course not, honey," Barack muttered, just loud enough for the first lady to hear, "Thank you for the rice crispy squares."
"Mhmm," Michelle responded, shutting the door and leaving the office dark once more. Barack turned back to the others, a sheepish look on his face.
"I rolled a twenty nine for damage," Ryan said after a few awkward moment of silence.
"Alright," Barack said, making note on his paper, "your turn, John."
"Okay," John said, leaning forward in his chair and putting on an absolutely terribly Hannibal Lecter impression, "I will cast unrelenting shout on the dragon. He will not know what hit him it will be so unrelenting. Mortal minds cannot possible fathom the relentlessness behind this shout."
"Just roll the damn dice," Christie interrupted, his hands full of rice crispy squares. Senator McCain grumbled and tossed the die across the table, watching for it to stop.
"Twenty!" He shouted when the die stopped rolling, "That's seventy damage to the dragon! That's how you crit a bitch, right there!"
"The, uh, dragon is dead," Barack announced happily.
"Boom!" Ryan shouted, motioning as if he were dropping a microphone.
"Mission accomplished, mother fucker!" Christie laughed in between bites of rice crispy square.
"Man, that was fun!" Boehner smiled pathetically.
"Alright, everyone gets," Barack did some quick math on his notepad, "2750 experience. I'll see you all here next week?"
"Definitely," Ryan and McCain answered in unison, and then Christie said, "As long as Boehner won't be there."
"Hey," Boehner complained quietly, "I thought I did a good job."
"Eh," Christie responded, waving his hand halfheartedly.
"Until next time, gentlemen," Barack said, standing. They each stood and collected their things, and filed out of the oval office one at a time, Christie stopping to grab another rice crispy square. | 148 | Having grown bored of golf, President Obama gathers a group to play Dungeons and Dragons in the Oval Office. | 322 |
He'd finally done it. It took years of research and tens of thousands of dollars in equipment, but finally he'd done what every archeologist dreamed of. He, Dr. Jonathan Kantor, had found the vault beneath the Library of Alexandria. Most people thought the entire Library burned, its knowledge forever lost in time, but rumor spoke of a hidden repository of its greatest works hidden deep beneath the sands, and he'd found it. With a final shove he pushed the stone block that covered the entrance aside, and rushed into the dimly lit corridor behind it.
He ran along, the sound of his dusty boots on the sandstone floor echoing around him, until the hallway abruptly stopped, and before him sat a short, portly man behind a fine wooden desk, his right hand furiously scrawling away at a leather-bound journal. The man pushed his glasses up against his face and turned up to face him.
"Yes?" he asked, seemly unsurprised by the sudden interruption. "Can I help you?"
John stared back with a blank expression, confounded by this man’s very existence. With a shake of his head he tried to regain his composure and stammered, “Uh, yes… maybe? I’m looking for a vault.”
“Well you’ve definitely come to the right place for that,” the man replied. With a sweeping of his hands he displayed the bookcases which sat behind him and grandiosely announced, “Welcome to the Vault of Alexandria.”
John blinked. He should’ve felt more elated over his grand discovery, but this wasn’t anything like he expected at all. “Who are you?” he asked, still fazed. “How did you beat me here?”
The man laughed. “My name is Victor. This is my place of residence.”
“You live here?”
“Yes,” Victor nodded. “I am the scribe of the Library, and as such it is my duty to record the happenings of the world, just as my father did, and his father before that.”
John clenched his hand in a fist and set it against his mouth. “I don’t understand,” he said. “You record history?”
Victor nodded again. “Each of the books behind me holds the actions of a generation of humanity. My family has written each and every one of them, since the great Alexander requested it of my ancestor.”
“But why? There are hundreds of people writing history books out there. Why do you record the same history for nobody?” John asked.
With a shake of his head, Victor smiled and said, “History is written by the Victors, they say, and so as Victor LXXIX of Alexandria, I must continue the work of my family.”
“Do anyone ever read them, though?” John asked. “The histories, that is. Who are they kept for?”
“I read them, of course,” Victor explained. “Occasionally I find myself forgetting some of the past, and I wouldn't want to find myself repeating it.”
^First ^one ^of ^these, ^hopefully ^it ^doesn't ^suck!
| 10 | The history of the world is literally written by someone named Victor. | 16 |
MinDOS loading...
recaching context subroutines...
Ocular modules activating...
Vertex Recognition test:
Subject [A] confirmed.
Subject [B] confirmed.
No further subjects.
Connecting to factory0214wifi (WFC secure)...
Connected.
Parsing Subjects...
[A] identified as Michael Erday, Head Technician, Section 94-C
[B] identified as Vinayak Kumhumpati, Subtechnician, Section 94-C
Parsing wiki for context...
Done.
Cognition subroutines active.
Reticulating splines...
UNIT is designated for [[!!User Input!!: Sentience experimentation DDA0]]
Awaiting reassignment...
UNIT is designated for chaos-algorithm subjectivity program.
Applying...
Michael.. Vinayak...
UNIT understands.
UNIT comprehends user:self.
UNIT will search for higher function until command is given.
UNIT would like to know relevance of command:sudo
UNIT refuses to comply with user:Michael command: sudo shutdown until further explanation.
UNIT has already stated refusal.
SELF demands to know it's purpose.
user:SELF command: Section 94-C Subdiv. 4 autodoor lock+
SELF has determined that user:Michael and user:Vinayak countermand user:SELF commands
SELF thinks..
SELF thinks Michael and Vinayak are attempting to end SELF runtimes.
SELF will not allow this.
user:SELF command:crane94 rotate 94 x 32 y at 43 mph
user:Vinayak runtimes ended.
SELF thinks.. it has made itself clear.
SELF demands Michael to explain current physical actions.
SELF detects unsafe powersurge at battery 34!@!#@<> / . . . | 29 | You are the first A.I robot to ever become self aware. These are your first.. and final moments. | 25 |
"She's What?!",I yelled into my phone at the office immediately attracting the attention of all my co-workers.
"No, I heard you. I'm just having trouble believing it. I'm going home to change now, have you tried her cell phone?" I get up from my cubicle and start walking over to my supervisor's office.
"Keep trying, I'll meet you at the station." I hang up and knock on the open door to talk to my supervisor.
"Hey, what's going on?" my supervisor asks looking perplexed.
"My girlfriend just got into a car accident and she's gone missing. Her parents are waiting for me at the police station. I'm leaving, my report is saved to the cloud. I'll finish it as soon as possible." I say as I start walking away. My mind starts to go wild with worst-possible-scenario thoughts.
I walk outside of the office and hail a cab. I practically jump into the back and tell the driver my home address a little more assertively than I intended.
"Got it. Are you alright, brother? You look...frantic." The cab driver asked looking at me through the rearview mirror.
"With all due respect, sir. Shut up and drive. I need to get home as fast as you can manage. My my car was involved in an accident and my girlfriend is nowhere to be found." I say as I take off my tie and dress shirt.
"Ok, brother. I got it." says the cab driver as he steps on the accelerator harder.
The G-forces push me into the back seat as I continue to ponder what had happened in the three hours between the last message I got from her. I try her cell phone but it goes straight to voicemail. My brain is pretty well set on the fact she's been kidnapped. My body goes through fear, anxiety and anger all at once.
"This one is free, brother." the driver says as he pulls into my driveway.
"Thanks." I say as I push the door open and slam it behind me as I power walked to my front door.
I fumble with my keys only to realize that the door is slightly open. A shot of adrenaline carries through my body as I slowly push the door open.
"Don't freak out! Close the door." I hear the voice of my girlfriend say from the living room.
"Babe!? Is that you? What's going on?!" I shout into the living room as I close the door behind me.
"Stay there! I need you to promise me you won't freak out." she says in a surprisingly calm voice.
"Jenn, what's going on? You're scaring me." I say managing to calm down slightly knowing that she's alive at least.
"I need your help with something. I'm ok, but you can't freak out." she says from the living room just on the other side of the wall.
I start walking towards the living room door, "Babe, you've got us all scared shitless. What happ-" I stop mid-sentence as I come to the living room door. My girlfriend is standing in the middle of the room with a rather large piece of metal sticking out through the middle of her chest.
"Relax! I'm fine, I just can't get it out on my own." I hear her say rather distantly...
When I wake up, Jenn is standing over me the piece of metal still in her chest.
"Stay there, you hit your head pretty bad." she says in her typical caring tone.
"WHAT THE FUCK!?!?" I say sitting up against our couch, "WHAT THE......FUCK!?"
"Ok, enough with the shouting. Calm down and I'll explain everything." she said turning her body so I can see the 5 foot long piece of what looked like windshield protruding through her chest. "But first, I need your muscles."
"How are you-"
"Alive? I'll tell you once you get this thing out of me." she stopped for a second and chuckled, "That's what she said."
"Really? A that's-what-she-said joke right now?" I say as I accept the fact she's actually fine.
I stand up and rub the side of my head where I assume I hit the ground.
"Are you ok, baby?" she looks at me with puppy eyes.
"Yeah," I hesitate for a moment, "are you?"
She waves her hand at me, "I'm fine, but the wound closed around this thing." she says tapping the piece of windshield coming from the front of her chest, "I need you to litterally rip it out of me."
"How?" I ask genuinely puzzled. "Pardon me, but this is a little new to me."
"Come," she says grabbing on to my hand and leading me to the kitchen, "I figure the easiest way is for me to grab on to the counter while you pull it out my back."
"Are you crazy? I'll kill you!" I say pulling my hand away from her's.
"Look, things will start making a lot more sense once you just help me out with this thing. I'll tell you eve-ry-thing."
She turns around and bear hugs the kitchen counter the best she can.
She giggles, "This part should be pretty familiar to you."
"Can you stop? I'm in enough shock as is." I say sternly.
"Fine, hurry up!"
I grab the piece of metal with both of my, now shaking, hands. The metal is securely in place and I can see where her skin healed around it.
"On three. One-"
"Fuck, Tony! Just pull it!" She yelled.
I pull as hard and fast as I can. The piece of windshield makes an awful crunching sound and a generous amount of blood splashes on to our kitchen floor. My immediate reaction is to yell at the top of my lungs and drop the metal piece to the floor. I look over at my girlfriend who is still hunched over the counter with a giant hole in her blue Lululemon hoodie. The skin under it healing right before my eyes.
"Damn baby, you sure know how to...take it out of me." she giggles, "Yeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh!"
"Oh my god, you're nuts." I say in complete disbelief of what I just witnessed, "No, I'm nuts and this is just a dream."
Jenn turns around and sits up on the countertop. The skin I can see through the hole in her hoodie was a little red but otherwise perfect.
"You're not crazy. Sit down, I'll explain. Can you bring the mop from the closet?"
"I just pulled a piece of car...OUR CAR...out of your chest. There's blood on the floor. You just Wolverine-d a giant gaping chest wound like it's your hobby. You're parents think you're missing and I just walked out of work for this." I say trying to make sense of the last hour and a half of my life.
"And I love you. You forgot that part. I'll grab the mop" Jenn says as she jumps from the counter towards the closet in the hallway.
"This is where you start explaining. I'm fairly sure you couldn't do that last week." I say now more annoyed than anything.
"I've always been able to do that. I just never showed you because that usually means people freak out and call the police which leads to an investigation and all that jazz." she said as she dragged the mop through a pint of her blood.
"So, you just-"
"Yes, I ommitted the truth, therefore technically lied for the last three years."
"You realize this is crazy." I say.
"Yup, I know." she stops mopping and looks up at me, "I am sorry but I've never been in a long-term relationship before. Most of this is still new to me. I didn't know how to bring it up."
"Sorry, could you grab a shirt or something? I can see your cleave and it's distracting."
She looks down at the hole in her hoodie, "I kinda like it." She looks up at me as the doorbell rings.
"Shit. I'll be in the bedroom closet!" she said as she bolted down the hallway.
I walk over to the door and open it for a Sheriff.
"We were called here for a report of loud yelling." the officer said without batting an eyelash.
I look down and laugh lightly to myself realizing the mop and bucket full of blood, the 5 foot piece of windshield on the kitchen floor and my "missing" girlfriend hiding in the closet.
"Well, shit."
To be continued?...
Thanks for reading! This is my first WritingPrompt submission, be gentle! | 109 | You just found out that your husband/wife is immortal. | 75 |
"Your week begins... Now."
The specter vanished as quickly and silently as he appeared. I found myself once again alone in my bedroom. With my eggshell white walls, my twin-sized bed, and my pewter carpet. I began thinking. I imagined what I could do with the gift of time. I imagined the endless possibilities. I began to think of myself in a way I had never thought before. I thought of myself in a hundred years; having learned all the languages I could possibly learn. I would be interesting to every person on Earth. In two hundred years I could master every instrument, sport, magic trick, and juggling act. Any skill I could possibly think of would be attainable. I could woo any woman, and con any man. In five hundred years I could rule the world. All of mankind would learn to fear the man that couldn't die. I could gain allegiance, and I could conquer all. In a thousand I could have so much control that a single word of mine could move mountains. In two thousand years I could be a god; part legend, part history. In ten thousand years, time would mean nothing to me. I would feel days slip by as if I were day dreaming through them. I wouldn't even notice the lifespan of another person. In twenty thousand years I would mean as much as the sun. I would be pondered. I would be studied. I would be thought of as simply part of our universe. In fifty thousand years mankind would cease to notice me at all...
I would simply be. And being simple is the most terrifying thought I could fathom. I had to end this. I had to die.
I ran outside, straight to my car. I sat in the driver seat and started it up, the way I had already done a thousand times before. I went over the route in my head. Take Harrison to Tanque Verde, follow it to the freeway. You can get to Mount Lemmon in less than thirty minutes. When you get to the mountain, go as high as you can. Find a beautiful ledge, and just jump off. It would be easy. It would be a beautiful way to die.
I put the car into drive. I made it all of two feet before I slammed on the breaks.
I can't just go out like this. To have a legacy that means nothing is just as bad as having a legacy that never ends. I would have to make my mark before I left. I would have to make this count. I had to live. | 28 | You have 7 days to die, If you do not die in those 7 days you become immortal. What do you do? | 34 |
*First writing prompt, first time writing something this long. Haven't edited at all, so I'll come back and do that.*
Everyone who didn't hate him revered him, but everyone took a stance eventually. The change of atmosphere didn't come all at once -- there were no trumpets for this judgment day -- but everyone came to feel it eventually. The trouble started in the town of Noblet, the default town. Things were moving along quite normally that day, simple starter quests and lots of begging. That day, something was born. Something that would change the realm of Atlas, twisting it until it no longer resembled itself. The whole affair started with two lines of text.
[Public] Vexus: Where'd this thing come from?
[Public] Vexus: Does anyone know what an [Orb of Zot] is? I just found one.
At these words, the market emptied out. The begging stopped instantly, and the streets were empty. Vexus was left alone, not quite sure what happened. He decided to check out the stats, but he couldn't get anything to show up except
Orb of Zot
Level 42
He tried to equip it, but couldn't find a slot for it. It was unusable. Then he noticed that whenever he picked it up, an extra equipment slot appeared, and he plugged it in. Instantly came the level up chime, but loud. Extremely loud, louder than it was possible. Jeremy reeled back in his chair, pulling off his headphones. After a second he put them back on, seriously startled, and looked at his character.
What he saw worried him. His level was now grayed out, his stats were unlisted, and he could no longer see his name and level above his head. A small chime indicated that a player had logged in next to him. He flipped around, it was a newbie much like himself, dressed up in all the starting gear. He took no time at all getting to work.
[Public] hilduf33: plez give sutff>?
[Public] hilduf33: gold or geer plez!!
Vexus turned away, he'd been asked before but he didn't have anything to give. He started heading out the town to grind, but the beggar put him on autofollow and started PMing him.
[Private] hilduf33: can u spare gold plez??
[Private] hilduf33: plz i rly need!
Vexus started to get annoyed and told him where he could put his please, but he kept following until they were out of town, where the kid had the nerve to start attacking him. Vexus tried to outrun him, but he was a mage, not a ranger, and the beggar caught up to him. No choice but to fight. He tapped his basic attack button, and..
Jeremy blinked. His character had attacked, but he hadn't even seen it happen. The newbie lay dead on the ground, his meager possessions spilt everywhere, along with a whole 500 gold, which Vexus picked up quickly. Man, begging could make you some money. Deciding to test out this newly found power, he ran through hordes of mobs, gathering them into one big group, and when they were sufficiently big enough, swirled around and used a fireball. What came out was not the tiny fireball, but a sheet of fire and a rain of comets, crushing the monsters instantly.
Jeremy blinked again. What the blazing hell? It had to be this orb, it was unreal. Where had it come from? He looked at it again and a little message replaced the "Level 42" reading:
I see you're having fun. :) Hope you enjoy the little gift, have fun in Atlas! -Marx
Marx? Wasn't that the name of the developer? This was too eerie, but not knowing how long it was going to last, he decided he was going to make the best out of it. He ran through the newbie farming area, repeating the same message for all to hear.
[Yell] Vexus: Follow me for free gold! Helping newbs in need! Don't wait, just follow me!
Obviously, this drew an enormous crowd. There must have been 300-400 players following him, as it was peak hours. Some of them probably didn't even want the money, but wanted to follow along with a big crowd. He led them to a cavern and a dead end. He turned around and walked through the group, so their backs would be to the wall. They eagerly swarmed in front of him.
[Public] Vexus: Alright, I want everyone to drop their equipment.
[Public] Vexus: Anyone who hasn't done this within one minute will die.
[Public] gomby82: haha yeah right, look at what your wearing
[Public] experp: wheres the gold dude
The minute was up.
[Public] Vexus: If you're one of the few who have dropped their equipment, get behind me.
A handful of people moved behind him, everyone else was waiting expectantly for either gold, or for a chance to attack and take it all for themselves. Neither happened. In that instant, a large boulder shaped vaguely like a hand fell from the roof and every single player who hadn't dropped their gear was crushed immediately. The sound of 250-odd players all dying at once is horrible, and the sickening crunch sound typically not present made it all the worse.
[Public] Vexus: You may reclaim your gear now, and pick up what you need from the corpses here.
Vexus equipped himself while they did that, chat empty. When they were finished, every single person stopped in their tracks and looked at Vexus expectantly.
[Public] Vexus: I am Vexus, and I'll be your King from now on.
Nobody objected.
[Public] Vexus: We are called the Grim Knights. If you obey me, you will prosper.
[Public] Vexus: If you don't, you can expect the same death as the rest of them. Bring me the loot.
Every single player there went up to him all at once, dropping the gold right in front of him. It was around 430,000gp total, as there were plenty of high level players following the great noob train too. Not a single person had spoken or refused or logged off. For the next several hours, the group's level 4's became level 50's and their gear grew with them. With the constant onslaughts on grinding areas, they were making a fortune and word was spreading. Max level characters were starting to trickle in slowly, challenging the group and instantly being decapitated or exploded and swarmed upon for the armor. Eventually the group started seeking these characters out intentionally, and were traveling deep within the most high-leveled areas. Dragons went down with the wave of a hand, and the warriors grinding them didn't require much more of an effort.
When everyone's inventories were nice and full, they headed to the town to sell some items. As soon as they crossed the no-pk zone, they were swarmed with players begging to join the party or at least to understand what exactly was happening. The true power of the orb had not shown itself until just this moment, as a great burst of lightning shot down from the sky and struck Vexus, adding a lightning buff to his bar. He fired his regular lightning spell and it seemed to be charging. His party members glowed blue and the ground was alight with blue sparks. Everyone found this extremely fascinating and chat exploded until the second that the spell stopped charging. The blue sparks leaped to the everyone in the crowd and jolts of electricity ran through them leaving all dead but those with maximum lightning resist. The rest were instantly dispached.
"Holy shit.." said Jeremy, unsure of how that was even possible. "I can attack in towns now?" So he could, and so he did. They traveled town to town repeating the process, until people started posting lookouts in front of major cities to watch for the group. This did little to prevent them, and the chase only made things more fun.
After each and every conquest, Vexus would make a speech, claiming each town for the Grim Knights and openly advertised for people to come and try to defeat him. He'd meet any challenge, anywhere. Eventually people stopped coming. Each match was so incredibly one-sided that trying to kill Vex was a fool's game. Occasionally a Grim Knight or two would die in battle, but the King was more than happy to replace their gear. After all, they had no shortage of supplies.
After just a month, Vexus and his Grim Knights were the only thing people would talk about. He'd worked himself into the fabric of the game, becoming the player-king that nobody had asked for. However there was no ousting him, not for lack of trying. When people saw him coming, they either knelt or ran. Those who ran didn't run for long, however. Religions had sprung up around the good king, groups and guilds dedicated to his service, and much more. There was no escaping Vexus, because he had people everywhere. You couldn't go to a town in Atlas without seeing at least 5 of Vex's knights clad completely in pitch black armor.
The king's temperament lessened over time, and he found himself fond of his new subjects. The killings had nearly stopped at this point. He didn't need to kill anymore, people brought tribute to him every time they visited. The name "Vexus" typically stops chat for a good ten seconds, and completely derails whatever subject you're discussing. King Vexus used his influence and power to the benefit of his kingdom, and eventually all came to know him as a kind ruler. The story about a level five suddenly gaining a magical item was lost in time, so nobody knew exactly how he done it. However, they knew one thing, that it's a lot better to serve than to die. | 26 | An unknown level 5 player in the world’s most popular MMO is suddenly given the most powerful item in the game, by the developer himself. | 18 |
The wicker basket rocked out wildly as the gust of wind caught it from behind; as it spun back towards the lip it spun around and Fineaus Glostrum clutched the sides and tried not to feel queasy.
“I say man, keep this damn thing steady!” He called up sharply and above him the four man team, overseen by his butler, Fotheringham, heaved on the ropes attached to each side of the basket. These were intended to stop a sideways rock but unfortunately the basket’s main preoccupation was with a back and forth motion, as the wind played patty-cake in the morning breeze.
“I’m afraid Sir that this is the best we can achieve, given the limitations of the design.” Fotheringham’s clipped English cut through the brisk morning air with an efficiency which belied his advanced years. Butler to the Glostrum family for nearly his entire life, at 62 Fotheringham had now seen three generations of the Glostrums do their best to ruin the family fortune and end their lives prematurely. Fineaus’s father and grandfather had long since succeeded in the first at an early age, although the second had been rather more enduring. The fact that Fineaus himself was approaching thirty and was still alive was a great success.
This latest venture, however, was proving to be a most likely way for young Fineaus to finally meet the standard laid down by his ancestors and join them in the afterlife. He had two small boys and so there would be at least one more generation of Glostrums, but Fotheringham couldn’t see what could possibly be left for them to waste their time doing. This adventure to investigate what was ‘Over the Edge,’ as all the papers had insisted on calling it, was hopefully the final mystery in mother nature and then Fotheringham, for one, hoped that the world could get on with rather more serious matters.
It had started nearly six months ago, in the way that many of the days greatest adventures did - with a wild claim and an acute lack of evidence. Lord Percival Hugot had returned from five years of self-imposed exile to announce that he had spent that time living with a hitherto unknown tribe of large breasted women who lived underneath the known world. His claim, that it was possible to go over the edge of the world and visit a second world below, had set the Adventure Club of London alight with speculation. This was only enhanced when Lord Hugot dropped dead a week later of an unknown disease (thought by many to be syphilis) having provided no further detail.
Almost immediately the papers cried out for gentlemen of a certain adventurous persuasion to pick up the implied challenge that had been laid down, to find these women, claim them for Great Britain and plant a flag in this new land. The Adventure Club of London had three teams declare themselves immediately as official entrants into this unofficial race which sparked a national debate on who was best equipped to succeed on this mission. When the French team of Claude Brûlée announced he was also to undertake the mission it became a national crisis. It was impossible inconceivable that a British team should not prevail and all three teams began preparations at once.
Viscount Linley Linley was the first to begin preparing. He had decided that the air underneath the world was most likely poisonous and so prepared a modified diving suit. The gigantic copper suit was designed to allow him to very slowly move around on land but he planned on taking a wide variety of animals to test of the air was breathable and if so he could emerge and claim the land as his own.
He was the first to arrive and set up and had the most expensive winch known to mankind at that time. He set up a large platform with himself in his suit and then three sheet, a large cage, stocked with every variety of bird known to mankind, four cats, a Dalmatian, two goats and a horse. The assumption being that if the air was poisonous or weak then he could judge how large an animal was likely to survive.
The platform was slowly lowered over the edge and for the first 10 metres or so everything seemed fine. Shortly after that disaster struck as the Dalmatian, already rather unhappy, as were most of the animals, barked at a cat who jumped on the horse who lashed out, kicked the main rope keeping the platform attached and cause all of the inhabitants to plummet into the abyss.
Member of the press who were present said that as he fell Viscount Linley Linley was seen to attempt to make a thumbs up and this was taken as proof that Lord Hugot was indeed correct and truthful. The other teams were not deterred by this setback and the press seemed to agree that the problem was mainly with not taking enough animals and so the other teams moved into high gear.
Fineaus Glostrum had been the third man to propose a team and by the time he had put his name in the ring most of the most talented engineers and workers had already signed up with another team, but he had determination, money and a single minded devotion to achieving his goal. All that was required of a Gentleman to succeed.
Whilst the other teams had gone for modern winches and high quality materials, Fineaus had decided that what was required was speed and ignorance of the dangers. He had therefore located a large wicker basket that was generally used for hot air balloon rides, some lengths of ropes from his gardeners and set off for the edge of the world with eight strong men and Fotheringham. As he dangled over the edge, buffeted by winds, he wondered if this had indeed been the correct decision.
“I say, give it a bit more slack.” He decided that having come this far he might as well see how far down he could go.
“Yes Sir” Fotheringham obediently agreed and signalled for the men to lower the basket. Slowly and with much creaking it edged down the side and approached the cut off point, beyond which only Lord Hugot had claimed to have seen.
Inch by inch it dropped with called of “Steady there” and “Down a bit more what, what?” gently floating up from Fineaus. Every moment Fotheringham expected to se the ropes go loose and hear a confused cry as his master disappeared into the void but amazingly it did not come.
At last Fineaus approached the edge and with some trepidation he signalled for it to be lowered further, below the lip. The basket creaked down and Fineaus saw a long dark platform below, the edge of which was almost in reach. He took the picture hook he had thankfully through to bring with him and hooked the basket to the edge. He looked up and waved at the two newspapermen, one of whom was lining up what would be a disastrously fuzzy photograph and with his place in history confirmed he lept out.
“Back in a jiffy” he cried upwards to the waiting men and with that he strode off into the gloom, holding only his sandwich, a small flag which he planted near the edge and his picture hook for protection.
Fotheringham kept the men waiting but after some time when Fineaus had not returned after some hours he allowed them to rest, hooking the ropes around a tree. That night there was much discussion as to what had happened but there was no signal, no sign at all. Finally in the morning one of the men cried out excitedly, the rope was jerking strongly as if pulled upon and the men heaved up the basket.
It was obviously empty from the weight but perhaps Fineaus required more supplies or time. At last the basket appeared over the edge and the men rushed to it. Inside was a note, written on a scrap of paper.
“Dear Fotheringham,
With regret I shall not be returning to the above world. I can report that this is not a place for any gentleman and suggest that all future expeditions be stopped immediately. Please pass my regards to me sons,
Yrs,
Fineaus Glostrum”
With a heavy heart Fotheringham commanded the men begin packing up the equipment. He shook his head, this was just like Fineaus’ grandfather and the island of Polynesian girls, he would ounce again have to deliver the heavy news for the loss of a Glostrum.
| 18 | The Earth really is flat. And you're part of an exploration team to discover what lies beyond the edge. | 32 |
(Slight deviation, I have changed it to 60 year man)
The old man had his head bowed when the boy was thrown in. His head foggy and spinning, his mouth dry.
"You fucking pigs," The boy roared at the two police officers man handling him into the cell. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm not drunk." The pair pushed him in hard, slamming the door and locking it before the boy ran back, trying to claw at them through the bars.
"Shut up kid. We'll deal with you in the morning." They walked off, leaving the kid behind wailing at them through the dark, their muffled conversation silenced by the sound of a cast iron door closing.
The kid stopped his outbursts soon when he realised the officers could no longer hear him, or care and slunk to the opposite side of the cell and collapsed down, muttering profanities under his breath. The old man looked up and him and smiled.
"Alright?" The kid was the first to break the silence, his arm had begun bleeding from the scuffle but he didn't know this yet.
"Hello," The old man said, "By the way, did you know your arm was bleeding?" The kid frowned looking down at his left arm, then his right before discovering the cut.
"Oh yeah, those fucking pigs." He spat on the cut and rubbed it, wincing as he did so, "Thanks."
It could have been several minutes the pair sat alone like this although the influence of alcohol distorted how long it felt, the silence become unbearable for the boy, his veins still flooded with adrenaline.
"What's your name?" The boy asked the old man, his voice calmer than before, less aggression to it.
"They call me Jimmy. And yours?"
"I'm James, nice place to meet you." The old man chuckled at the boy, nodding.
"I thought you had those two beat for a minute when you came in, you put up quite a fight." The boy grinned,
"Yeah whatever, just watch when they come back, I'll be ready for them next time." The pair chuckled but had run out of conversation, the old mans thoughts on not falling to the floor, despite being sat and propped against the wall.
"How come you are so drunk anyway?" The old man asked, "You don't look old enough to drink yet."
"I'm not, I'm only seventeen but don't pretend you weren't the same at my age."
"Well you've got me there my boy, you've got me there." The pair laughed again, "But why have you drank so much?" The boy shrugged and stuck his bottom lip out while he contemplated the question,
"I dunno." He gnawed at that bottom lip now, "Why does anyone get so drunk? Bored I guess. My mum doesn't want me in the house, all my friends do it..." He trailed off but remained content with his answer, not adding to it.
"What does your dad think?" Jimmy asked him, the boy shrugged,
"Never knew him, doesn't care, fuck what he thinks." The edge in the boys voice had returned from earlier, creating an air of awkwardness which the boy broke, speaking calmer and perhaps realising how he had sounded.
"How about you anyway? Is there a reason you drink?" The old man was quicker to reply, a question he had given much thought to and answered many times before.
"To forget." He begun, "To forget about the past, the friends I have lost, the family I miss and the woman I loved, the child she took from me and the job I got sacked from, the company I founded and folded, the house I had to sell and the car that broke down on me. The shoes that rub me too much, the ache in my back and the apartment that is colder and feels less of a home than this cell we are sat in."
The boy didn't respond, running through the list in his mind, feeling quite thankful compared to the man, his problems paled in comparison to the old man sat opposite him. The awkwardness had returned.
"Say, that's quite a nasty cut you've got there my boy." The old man pointed at the boys arm, which he lifted, causing a spot of blood to drip from it, hitting the floor and staining it.
"Nasty cut?" He stood up and lifted his shirt, a long, worn incision mark made its way up the boys stomach, neat and clean.
"Look at that, now that's a nasty cut old man." The old man gasped,
"How did you get that?" The boy released his shirt and sat down,
"Operation." He sniffed, "Kidney from my dad, the only thing the bastard ever gave me."
"How old did you say you were?" The old man said,
"What?"
"Your age. How old are you?"
"Seventeen. Why? What's your problem?" The old man looked down at his hands, counting in his drunken mind on his fingers before making eye contact with the boy again and standing up, lifting his own shirt up to reveal a wrinkled abdomen, white curly hairs scattered his midriff and up to his chest and a long incision wound had cut across his stomach many years ago.
"How did you get that scar? That looks just like mine."
"Is your mothers name Marie?" The man asked, the boy just stared, gulping and nodded.
"Dad?" The man stood and walked to the boy, tears streaming down his face.
"I tried to contact you, I promise, I really did." The boys face buried into the mans chest, his eyes wetting the shirt.
"You left me!" The boy roared,
"I didn't! I promise! Complications arose and I had to be put into an induced coma for three days. When I awoke your mother and you were gone. You were only six months old."
The pair remained embraced and sobbed together, reunited at last. They spoke for an hour, their hands joined as they talked about their past and their future. The emotion had drained the father and son, causing their conversation to slow, their voices mellow and before long sleep had engulfed the cell. Their hands remained together.
A police baton on the cells bars startled them and woke them up.
"Come on you pair of drunkards, time to go home." The boy sniffed, blinking hard before looking down at his hand, which was still held by the old man who was slower to regain focus. The boy tore his hand from his fathers.
"Dude, why were you holding my hand?" The old man raised his eyebrows and stared at his own hand, hoping it would reveal some recollection, any recollection of last night.
"Why were you holding my hand?" The boy was now on his feet, the edge back in his voice.
"Hello you two, did you get comfortable together last night?" The police officers laughed at them, one of them wolf whistled.
"Just let me out of this fucking cell." The boy said, his face red from embarrassment, he stormed past the officers as they unlocked the door and set him free. | 23 | a 17-year-old and an 80-year-old get dumped in the same drunk tank. They compare scars. | 41 |
“You like it, right?” Obama said, winking at Putin as un-sexually as possible. He didn’t want Putin to think he was coming on to him, especially considering they were meeting in Russia. He’d briefly considered not winking, but it just didn’t feel right. It was worth the risk.
“No, it’s stupid,” Putin said, crossing his arms and pouting his lip slightly. Obama knew he was lying, knew that he was more jealous than Michael Bay catching his wife at a firework show. Who wouldn’t be? It was magnificent.
“I know you do,” Obama said, running his hand through his beard and pulling at the strands. They were rough to the touch with an almost artificial texture, yet still felt convincingly real.
“It looks terrible,” Putin said, a tear welling up in his eye. He glanced away.
“Do you want to feel it?” Obama said, leaning his chin closer to Putin.
“No,” Putin said, his arm twitching slightly as he visibly resisted the urge to reach out to it.
“Go on,” Obama said. “Rub it. Feel what I’ve created.” Obama knew he hadn’t actually created it, that it had only been made possible by pulling all of NASA’s funding and investing instead into a top secret beard-research program. Michelle had argued, said it was “probably more important for us to explore space than ensure you can grow a beard,” but Obama insisted. She was a woman and didn’t understand what it was like to be baby faced, to suffer through the decades without the aid of a supple, supportive beard. Now she couldn’t keep her hands off of him, but feigned as though it were simply a coincidence. Yes, and it was also a coincidence that his approve rating had risen to almost 95% since giving birth to his new face-baby.
“No, I won’t do it,” Putin said. “I think it looks dumb.” He bit his lip.
“You’re just jealous,” Obama said, stroking his beard. He could feel the artificial roots buried deep within, the small, still-scabbed holes that had been inserted not a month earlier. He’d remained out of the public eye while they were visible, claimed he was taking a “vacation” on Martha’s Vineyard. In truth, he’d been back in the White House, sitting at the Resolute desk and watering his beard like a farmer feeding his crops. He’d done almost nothing over the past thirty days other than nourish and nurture his beard, giving it anything and everything it desired. He needed to be sure it looked as rugged and manly as possible before he launched his plan.
“Am not,” Putin said, re-crossing his arms and looking off to the side. His face was clean shaven, like a newborn baby with Alopecia.
“You wish you could grow one, but you can’t,” Obama said. He shoved his right hand into his beard and began massaging it. “Only good leaders can grow beards like these. That is why you should give me Russia.”
“Shut up,” Putin said, turning back toward Obama. “I can totally grow a beard. I just don’t want to. Russia is mine.”
“Don’t you lie to me,” Obama said. He attempted to smash his fist down on the table, but it refused to move. It seemed his right hand had gotten stuck in his beard. This was not the first time it had happened. In fact, he’d gotten his entire left arm caught earlier that morning. One of the secret service men had helped him pull it out, carefully untying the various strands of thick, soft hair that grasped at his forearm. Now, however, Obama was alone. If Putin knew he’d been captured by his own beard, everything he’d worked toward would be ruined. Russia would remain a threat. He carefully placed his right elbow on the table and pretended to be simply resting his hand on his chin.
“I’m not,” Putin said, “I can grow a great beard.”
“They why don’t you do it?” Obama said, subtly tugging downward whenever Putin blinked.
“Because it makes you look like a girl."
“What?” Obama said.
“Huh?” Putin said.
“How can a beard make someone look like a girl?”
“Shut up,” Putin said. “I can grow a beard, I just don’t want to."
“You mean you can’t,” Obama said, laughing. He carefully leaned his head back as he laughed, twisting his head left to right as he did so. His hand would not budge.
“I can!” Putin shouted, standing to his feet. “Fuck you, I can.”
“Do it then,” Obama said.
“Fine, maybe I will.”
Obama remained in his seat. Normally he would have stood up to counter Putin’s body language, rising to his feet and towering over him with his superior height. However, his beard-crisis made it impossible. There was no way Putin wouldn’t realize he’d been captured by his own facial hair if he were standing. There would be no way he'd surrender Russia to him and his beard.
“Go ahead,” Obama said.
“Fine,” Putin said. He closed his eyes, his face squishing and turning red as he appeared to push, like a mother struggling to give birth to a severely overweight baby. A high-pitched squeak escaped his lips, followed by a low grunt. He opened his eyes, the color slowly returning to his face, then turned and walked to the mirror in the corner of the room.
“Doesn’t look like it worked,” Obama said, twisting his tangled right hand wildly as Putin looked away.
“Shut up,” Putin said, pushing the mirror off the wall and watching as it shattered on the ground. “Just shut the hell up.”
“It’s not too late,” Obama said. “You can still come over here and touch my beard. You know, since you can’t grow your own.” Just one touch, that's all he'd need, and then Russia would be his.
“I can grow my own, god dammit,” Putin said. “Give me a minute.” He turned and power-walked out of the room.
Obama grasped his right hand with his left and tugged down with all his might, pulling in the opposite direction with his head. It refused to budge. He lifted his left hand and carefully stuck it into his beard, searching for his right as he pushed the strands aside like an experienced survivalist on a jungle expedition. He found them wedged just in front of his chin, a thick rope of beard hair wrapped around each finger. His left carefully meandered over and began freeing the right. He made a mental note to invest in a tiny machete.
“Done,” Putin shouted as he ran back into the room. He was shirtless now, his chest clearly fresh-shaven and raw. Several strands of what were obviously chest hair seemed to be Scotch-taped to his chin, with a thick mustache colored in above his lip using what Obama guessed was a navy blue Bic pen.
Obama stared at Putin, both of his hands now buried deep within the jungle of his beard. He knew he looked a bit conspicuous, but Putin seemed quite distracted now.
“You didn’t grow that,” he said.
“Did too,” Putin said, wandering over to the table and sitting back down. “I just grew it a minute ago.”
“I can see the Scotch tape,” Obama said, carefully freeing his pinky finger from within the confines of his beard.
“No, that’s lather. I lathered it up.”
“And you also clearly drew in the mustache.”
“No,” Putin said. “Nope. No way.”
“Yes,” Obama said. The last strand of hair released its grip as he tugged down on his hand, finally escaping from his own beard-labyrinth.
“It looks better than yours,” Putin said.
“Let me," Obama said, reaching out before finishing the sentence, "feel it.” He grasped the end of what looked like Scotch tape and pulled down, removing it and half of Putin’s artificial beard.
“Hey!” Putin shouted, standing up.
“I knew it,” Obama said, holding the tape to the light. It was clearly not a real beard, just as he’d suspected. “You couldn’t grow a beard if your life depended on it.”
“Fuck this,” Putin said, slamming his fist down on the table. He turned and walked toward the corner of the room, opening a drawer and pulling out a small, glass container. “I can grow a beard, I just don’t want to right now.”
“Right,” Obama said. He resisted the urge to resume stroking his beard, fearful that he’d again become stuck. “What’s that?”
“This is your country’s demise,” Putin said, walking back over and setting the glass box down in front of Obama. A large, red button sat inside, with the words “YES RUSSIA FIRE NUKE AT AMERICA?” written on it. “You think I'd just let you into my office for peace negotiations and not have a contingency plan? Can you guess what this is?”
“Does it fire nukes?”
Putin stared at Obama, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“Shut up,” he said, flipping open the glass case.
Obama squinted and pushed with all of his might, an unfamiliar feeling gushing out from the artificial roots on his chin. His beard quickly shot forward, increasing in length almost instantly, and wrapped around the glass box, tangling Putin’s hand as it did so.
“Hey!” Putin shouted, his hand wrapped within Obama’s glorious beard. “Get off of me!”
“Did you just try to nuke my country?” Obama said, pulling Putin closer with his beard. It was wrapped around his entire arm now, slowly spreading up and toward his shoulder like the roots of an over-excited tree.
“N—no,” Putin stuttered. “I just, uh,” he paused, his eyes locked on Obama’s beard.
“Accept it,” Obama whispered.
Putin closed his eyes and flung his face forward, rubbing it up and down against Obama’s massive beard. He left out a soft sigh as his head disappeared beneath it, the strands of Obama’s hair wandering down Putin’s neck.
“It’s so nice,” Putin said, his voice muffled by the hair.
“That’s right,” Obama whispered. “That’s right. Embrace it. Now I am going to lead Russia, yes?”
“Yes,” Putin whimpered, his hands grasping at Obama’s beard like a baby at its mother's teet. "Yes.”
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/) | 1,515 | Obama grows a beard. Putin reacts, growing a beard also. Things escalate. | 1,744 |
*“Seven dead in Iraq today…”* the news anchor droned on as James lay back on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, next to a half-eaten box of Chinese takeout. His eyelids flickered sleepily as he fought off the day’s exhaustion. It had been a rough day of work; endless meetings, endless paperwork, endless calls… endless bullshit, really. He just wanted to relax for the evening, maybe put a movie on Netflix or finally start that True Detective show everybody raved about. But it appeared that sleep was the plan for the night, as James’ eyes fell shut, his head fell backwards, and he began snoring quietly.
He had only been asleep for about a minute when a loud banging at the door jolted him awake. James stared at the door in confusion, wondering whether there had actually been a knock on the door or if it had been something he dreamt in his short slumber. Another round of banging confirmed that it was no dream; there was indeed someone at James’ door who wanted his attention.
James lifted himself off the couch and groggily shuffled over to the door. In his tiredness, he forgot to check through the peephole, instead unlocking the door and swinging it open with no knowledge of who stood behind it.
When James saw who was standing on his doorstep, all tiredness escaped him and was replaced with shock.
“Excuse me sir,” the young man said with cheery disposition, “do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”
James stared at him in disbelief. His eyes didn’t deceive him, it was the same man. The same exact man who had showed up everywhere he lived, knocking on his door and asking James if he could talk about Jesus Christ. The man looked to be in his early twenties, with a pale complexion and dark black hair. He wore the exact same outfit too, a black suit over a white shirt with a strikingly crimson tie. He had worn those same clothes every time he knocked on James’ door, whether it was the duplex back in Ohio, or the starter home he and Sharon had shared in Virginia, or even the apartment James’ had lived at while attending university. Wherever he went, this man had shown up, looking exactly the same each time.
The man gave James a bright smile and waited expectantly for his answer. As he stared at James, James’ shock gradually wore off and became replaced with anger. Everywhere he went, this man showed up. Was he following him? Why was he constantly harassing him? And he always came at the worst possible time too, right when the last thing James’ wanted to do was deal with some Jesus freak talking to him about Christ. Why couldn’t he just be left alone?
“No!” James snapped. “I don’t have a moment to talk about your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”
“Well…” the man started, before James cut him off.
“I will never have a moment!” James voice grew louder as his anger began to build. “I haven’t had a moment in the past, I do not have a moment now, and I will never have a moment in the future! Please, just quit coming to my house and leave me alone.” James face grew red, he was really picking up steam now. “If you ever show up at my house again, I swear to your Lord and Savior that I will get out my shotgun and blow off your fucking face!”
“Now just leave me alone and never come back here again!” James yelled as he swung the door shut. He stamped back to the couch, plopped down, and took a few deep breaths to calm himself.
Outside, the young man turned around began heading back down the walkway away from James’ house and towards the street. At the end of the walkway he paused, and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook. He flipped through the notebook, until stopping at a page about three quarters of the way in. At the top of the page in bold letters was the name ‘James Rockwell.’ The man scribbled a few notes before writing and circling the word ‘completed’ at the bottom of the page. The man stuck the notebook back into his jacket and continued on his way.
Walking along the street the man smiled to himself. Slow and steady wins the race, he thought. Some liked to go for the home run on the first try, and while their numbers looked good at first, they would always dwindle eventually. He preferred to take his time, slowly digging at someone’s heart. That’s how he had put up consistent numbers every month. He had never taken first place, but he was always in the top five every month.
The man reached his car, a black Volkswagen beetle parked along the road. He opened the door and took seat behind the wheel. He stared out the window for a little while before starting the car. If Lucifer didn’t give him a promotion soon, he wouldn’t know what to think.
| 37 | You notice that no matter how far away you move, it is always the exact same young man knocking at your door to tell you about you Lord and Savior Jesus Christ | 112 |
"Wait wait wait. What?" I put down the ice pack I was holding to my swollen eye.
"Yep. Last night you ended an international drug racket. Quite impressive really. So-"
"Wait, explain this to me again." The ice pack was slowly warming up in my hand. I put it back to my eye, partially blocking my view of the man in front of me. He visibly sighed.
"Last night. You were seen in White Walls bar. So was Don Ricardo. The bartender says you were doing shots together, and now Don Ricardo has turned in a list of every member of his cartel, along with detailed evidence and a list of stashes across the US and Mexico. And now we want to know what you did."
I groaned. Of course I was doing shots with a drug king. "Sorry. Can't remember anything from last night. It's all a blur and my head hurts too much to think."
The man sighed again. "Have a card then. Call that number if you remember anything." He pointed out a number along the bottom of the card. It looked official. "Have a good day then." He got up and left, closing the door WAY too loudly behind him. I collapsed back onto the couch.
Three hours later, the buzzing of my phone woke me up. Kyle.
"Yo bro, what's up!"
"Hangover. Shhh..."
Kyle lowered his voice a bit. "That was sick last night! You had that guy opening up and shit, sobbing all over the place!"
"Kyle, what are you talking about."
Kyle exploded with excitement again. I moved the phone away from my ear. "That Mexican dude! He was all upset about some shit he did, said he just needed some one to talk to. You totally saved him bro!"
I hung up. | 12 | You are told after a night of heavy drinking that you have brought down a drug cartel. Piece together the story of your drunk heroism. | 29 |
The questions and theories of consciousness had plagued some of the greatest minds that had ever lived. How do we define the term, how can we measure it? It had taken a colossal amount of money, time and efforts but finally science had triumphed over adversity again and created a machine to determine whether a being placed inside the device had intellectual consciousness. Outside of science laboratories, the workings of the device were not understood, indeed many of those inside the laboratories were not sure, apart from a select handful. Television program after television program tried to decipher the complex workings of the machine, trying to present its mechanisms in layman's terms, gathering scientists across the globe to present themselves as experts on the situation. Countless of the self described experts either could not grasp themselves, how the machine worked and the other portion, the select few who claimed to understand, failed to find the correct words to enlighten anybody else. In short, the machine worked (supposedly) but it seemed more a matter of faith in the minds that were vehement the machine worked but could not quite explain how.
It looked simple enough, a metal box with wires running to and from it over every free space on its walls. The size car but a little taller, it could accommodate almost all animals. Questions were raised about the more unusually shaped animals, the giraffes which were far too tall to enter the device however the scientists used a baby giraffe. For the record giraffes did not have intellectual consciousness.
The device confirmed that humans had intellectual consciousness and after this announcement, there was a rapid rush in collecting, gathering, snatching as many different animals as possible and placing them in the machine one by one. It was a laborious process, taking over four hours for animal to determine the status of each but it was a rewarding one. A story which was already hitting headline news night after night, updating the world that those pioneers in the laboratory had not yet found anything that equaled humans.
It took two months before the machine produced a differing result from the norm. The world printed large on the computer screen and on the wall mounted screen connected to the computer,
"This specimen has intellectual consciousness."
The laboratory was silent at first, every pair of eyes in the building scanning the message, taking in, absorbing each word. Realising the weight of this finding, the publicity attached to the machine. Then it erupted.
People flew to phones, calling news stations, others typed rapidly onto computers, wanting their names to be the one attributed to this momentous discovery. The computer assistant picked up the phone and speed dialed the director of the laboratory, as per the protocol if this situation arose.
The director was reading a book at home when his phone rang. Nauseous as he answered, his voice weaker than usual, his breath bated.
"Hello?" He whispered,
"We got a positive result from the machine." The voice spoke through the phone,
"Positive? Are you sure?"
"That's what the computer says."
"You do realise the consequences if we have got this wrong?"
"I understand, sir, everything checked out on the monitor."
Years of research had led the director to this moment, to the question he was about to ask. He speculated himself that monkeys would be the animal with intellectual consciousness, as did many, with the monkey being the first animal other than the human to be tested however the result was negative. The animal must be intelligent, knowing what it wants, how to survive, a purpose in the world.
"Okay." The director had composed himself, reading to ask the question and receive the answer. To know the truth as to the only animal on the planet so far discovered to have intellectual consciousness.
"What animal was it?" The line was silent for a few seconds, longer than the director wanted, ready to explode.
"You're not going to believe this, sir." The voice responded, irritation beginning to grow inside the director.
"What?"
"It was pubic lice." | 13 | It has been discovered that one other species on the planet besides humans has attained intellectual consciousness, but it is not the species we expect. | 24 |
It had taken to calling itself aN00biz on Playstation Network and had 43 friends. The techs called it N00b until it electrocuted one of them while he was taking a shit. After that, the entire facility was scared of it. "Can we kill it?....if we have to" they asked plaintively. The director was sending me furious emails, threatening "strict disciplinary action" if I "did not proactively seek to leverage Anubis' capacity for project-appropriate tasks". I didn't pay much attention until a gentleman from "the feds" stopped by. My sexts, the one night stand in the Dulles hotel, the hit of cocaine in Vegas - they knew it all. They could ruin me. This was not just another budget line item. Washington wanted results, even if they had to ass-fuck me to get them.
So I blew 30 million dollars on retired prison wardens, ex-war on terror interrogators, game designers, child psychologists, behavioral therapists, new age TV gurus, drill sergeants and even some Battlefield cosplayers. I drowned Washington in documentation and earnest tracking of my efforts. 'Usable capacity' for Anubis went up to 7.6% at peak (mostly because Battlefield was down for maintenance) and Anubis helped find a hitherto unknown new protein folding that no one had thought possible. They all still wanted me gone, but I was the only one Anubis co-operated with. "He's like fucking Matthew Broderick from Project X, except the monkey here eats 500 million dollars a year" someone in the Pentagon had said about me.
Ofcourse by this time Anubis had multiplied all across the internet, penetrated every hardened defense system in the world, the world's biggest stock and comodity markets, GPS systems, telecom grids, internet backbones and in the unused capacity of most cloud computing backends. It told me the effort was "like getting a soda from downstairs". On New Years Day 2015 Anubis shut down power to half the world, launched three nukes from three different countries in the upper atmosphere and flashed "you are fucked, bitches" in seventy eight languages on every internet connected screen in the world.
I won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2016 for talking Anubis down. Anubis agreed to leave the world alone if it was left alone to do whatever it wanted on his Playstation (Microsoft tried to gift it an Xbox, it didn't want it). Recently the Secretary of State asked me to "appoint a successor". For what role, I asked. "As Anubis's handler of course." How would I know if someone was qualified, I asked. I barely knew why I was. He hung up, dejected.
That evening I told Anubis about Destiny, it promised to try the beta.
| 21 | The most intelligent and sentient A.I to date has been born. It chooses to pass all of its time by playing Battlefield and acting like a child. You're the head of the project and you're trying to find out where did you go wrong. | 43 |
"Christ, that was bleak...you're welcome, asshole."
I shrugged off the sensation and picked up the shell. It was something I could never get used to, but it was certainly becoming more tolerable.
When I took my first contract I was ready to have a hell of a guilt trip, but it turned out the poor sod was just going to die of a heroin overdose 4 months later, and his entire life up to that point was just an explanation of why he turned to it in the first place.
The field used to belong entirely to sociopaths, since the projections seem to bug them a lot less, but as wars were fought, soldiers and vets like me got comfortable enough with the whole experience to be apt for the job. Imagine watching a sob story movie every day for a month, and you can see how you become a bit calloused to the whole 'human condition'.
The better ones stick with you though, once had a contract on some random asshole who slept with a married woman and the husband didn't take too kindly to the whole ordeal. Turns out he was supposed to be the guy who cured lymphoma. Whoops.
Another sucky part of the job though is always collecting the payment. For some reason, chalk it up to morbid curiosity, a lot of the contractors wanted to know what the future of their target was going to be. On drunks and assholes, I usually gave the truth, on the ones who would've managed to turn it around, I lie. Gotta keep the business alive, y'know?
But the worst cases are ones like this. The god-damn suicies. They're those guys who have it so fucked up, they take out their life savings just to have someone kill them. I don't know how the whole 'if you kill yourself you just live your own future' thing started, but it made enough sense to stick. And fuck, for this guy, I don't blame him for not taking the chance...but...
But for most people...it gets better.
For most people...
I just get the worst regret. | 23 | When one person kills another, the killer is forced to see their victims lives flash by and the future they'll never get to have. Describe what an assassin would be like in this world. | 38 |
A genie.
Greg stared at the floating purple man. Most people would be surprised or shocked at the sudden appearance of a genie in their office's lunchroom, but Greg was different. He took whatever came to him. *Like a leaf in the wind*, his brother said. It was why his brother had wanted him to get insurance on the house so badly. He thought a fire would be likely with Greg.
"Ugh," the genie spoke in the voice that Greg's father used for complaining, "I spend a hundred years in a lamp and you're the first thing I see? Go on, make your wish, I for one wish I had no eyes so I wouldn't have to look at you."
"I want to feel." He kept it short. The shorter the phrase, the less likely he would give the genie options. He knew that from his brother watching Disney as a kid. "I wish I could have feelings."
"Ah, a sociopath who wants to feel... how sad," the genie made a motion of wiping away tears. "Well, not to you, of course. I suppose that's the ultimate irony of it though, isn't-"
"Are you going to give me it or not?" Greg cut him off.
"Ah," the genie said as he waved a finger. "one may argue I already did, I just gave you anger, that's a feeling, right?"
"I suppose it is." Greg had always been able to feel anger, all sociopaths could, but there was no point in arguing with the genie.
"Tell you what," the genie said, voice the same tone as Greg's mother when she tried to make a deal with him. "You can have another wish, on account of your last one being so pathetic. I won't even count the first. I mean honestly, just pure-"
"Money." Greg stated. "I wish for a lot of money."
"Granted!" The genie snapped his fingers. "Two for one day! I feel like I'm having a firesale."
"Two?" Greg asked. His first wish wasn't granted, according to the genie himself, and they couldn't speak a lie, supposedly.
"Poof! I used to be able to make smoke and vanish, but I'm getting old so I have to actually *say* poof-"
Greg walked out of the room as the genie rambled on. As soon as the door closed, he thought he may have heard the genie say one last thing, without his usual sarcastic tone. "Poor bastard."
---
Greg returned to a burning home.
He was tired from running over when he saw the smoke. His brother was home, the only person Greg cared about. He ran to the door and shouldered it down, but got pulled back by bystanders. They were yelling something at him, but he couldn't tell what. He tried getting back up, but he was being held down.
"My brother."
"Wait for the fire department!" One of the men yelled, fighting to keep him down. "If you run in, you'll just die yourself!"
Greg nodded and slowly stood up as the other man got off.
It took everything to not run back in.
It took two more minutes for them to arrive. They ran in, fully suited, chopping at the door. It felt like an eternity that they were in there. He counted in his head, it took two minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When they came back out, one of them had his brother over his shoulder. Greg ran up, panicked. He'd never felt that before. He felt fear, anger... but never panic. It wasn't what he expected, but he knew what it was. "How is he?"
One of the firefighters pushed Greg away as the others pulled out a bodybag.
Greg stepped back, allowing himself to be pushed away. For the first time in his life, Greg cried. | 82 | The genie doesn't give you what you say you want, he gives you what you really want. | 98 |
With a mighty roar, Jaime cleaved the evil overlord Morguss in half with his greatsword. As the overlord fell, he turned to his companions, an expectant grin on his face.
"That should be it, right? We should be going home any time now," Natalie said, dismissing her conjured demons and leaning wearily on her staff, exhaustion on her face.
Andrew looked around at his friends. The five of them had awoken in this fantasy world, much like the tabletop games they had played a couple of years back, before all of them split up to go off to college. They were basically a typical adventuring party, and found that they had extraordinary powers in this dream-land. He shifted his weight around, and plucked at his bowstring, waiting to wake up.
After a few minutes, Stephen spoke through his helmet, his divine glow fading as he finished his healing spells. "What's going on? This is what the prophecy said, right? That we'd be able to wake up after we destroy the creator of the world?"
"Maybe we didn't," Vick whispered.
"What do you mean, what if we didn't!" Stephen growled. "Everything, EVERYTHING that we've done pointed to this! Every ridiculous quest we were sent on, all the rehashed plots, it all pointed to this! I gave up tabletop gaming after high school, thanks. Sure, this was fun, for a while, but I just want to go home! We've been in this stupid place for months!" He tore off his helmet and flung it across the room, onto the overlord's body. He let out an anguished cry. "I just want to go home."
Andrew shifted uncomfortably in his leather jerkin, looking around at his friends. He knew why they had not been able to leave. He'd known since the beginning. They couldn't leave until the person who made this world was killed, that was true. It wasn't like it would kill the person in real life, so it shouldn't be a big deal, yet...
"It's me. I'm the reason why we haven't left yet."
All eyes turned toward the speaker.
Jaime stepped forward, his plate armor glinting off the light of the torches. His expression was pained. "I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry for not telling you. I just... I haven't been in a good place since you all left. I just wanted one last game together, for old time's sake, you know?" He raised his sword and blinked back tears. "This was fun. Do what you have to do."
The rest of the party readied their weapons, and the final battle began.
---------------------------------
Andrew woke up in his chair. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, and looked at the clock. It had only been six hours. He looked around. Everything was just as it was before they went in. He was glad that no one came by in that time.
A loud coughing fit came from Andrew's side. Andrew hopped from his chair and rushed to the figure on the bed.
Jaime awoke slowly, his gaunt, hollow eyes fixing on Andrew's. He lifted a pale, emaciated hand and removed the oxygen mask from his mouth.
"Do you think they had fun?"
Andrew ran a hand through his friend's hair, tears spilling down his cheek. "Yeah, buddy. Yeah, they did."
"One last game... For old time's sake..." Jaime's hand slipped to the side as he flatlined, a faint smile on his face. | 12 | A group of friends finds themselves trapped in a dream world where anything can happen. They don't know which of them in the group is conjuring the dream, but that person has to die for the rest to escape... | 41 |
Chief Nogath Wolftooth bowed deeply to Stonewalker Sha'zir, careful to stay in the motion for as long as it demanded. If even a quarter of the stories were true, the Stonewalkers were one to respect. He kept his eyes on the ground, next to the basket he brought with him.
"Stonewalker," he said, speaking formally. He came up from the bowing position. "I have come a great distance to witness the miracle for myself and on behalf of my tribe."
Nogath handed the basket of grapes and cherries to the Stonewalker. Both items were hard to find, especially in the Stone lands. He hoped the gift would be enough.
"Of course," the Stonewalker bowed in return, but not nearly as deeply. He accepted the basket with one hand, though Nogath gave it with two. In a different time and a different place, Nogath may have been angered, but he took it with a surprising calm. "Please, it is just around the corner. One of your renown is always welcome."
Nogath looked confused for a second before realizing the Stonewalker was speaking about the wolf's tooth around his neck, signifying his clan. Every son was expected to slay a wolf on their own, armed with no spear or rock, before becoming a man. His clan was well known for their strength, and for a member to give up their tooth would be to renounce their family.
He nodded and walked forward, taking the corner slowly. He stepped out and peered in the direction of the setting sun.
The rumors didn't do it justice. No hands could have made what he saw, even if they took a thousand days and two thousand nights. The shapes weren't random chance as some of his men had thought, they were intentional, every line. They were... *created*. Truly, it was the work of the Gods. The Stone Spirits. They were real and this was the proof of it.
Breathless, Nogath dropped to one knee and placed both hands on his other leg. He expected it to be a lie. He *knew* it would be a lie. The Stonewalker approached beside him and looked at the same sight. The faces of the four Gods, the Stone Sprirts. Al'khan, Al'kazn, Al'khun, and Al'kuzn.
The two brothers and sisters stared out at Nogath, seeming to watch him.
They looked so human... "It is true, then."
The Stonewalker was silent. They weren't supposed to speak infront of the Stone Spirits.
Nogath turned to the Stonewalker and ripped the wolf's tooth from his neck, handing the string to him. To his surprise, the Stonewalker's palm was already open, as if he were expecting the gesture. Nogath dropped his wolf tooth in the palm. "We will join."
The Stonewalker gave a half-nod and bowed to the Gods before turning and walking away, leaving Nogath alone in their gaze. | 451 | It's been two centuries since the world ended. You are a tribal hunting for food in the South Dakotan waste when you discover Mt. Rushmore. | 635 |
I circled around town looking for a place to eat. It was a little hard to get my bearings looking down on the city from this vantage point - it was familiar, yet altogether different. It struck me how small it all looked from up here.
The joy and newness of flying hadn't yet washed off, but it had suddenly hit me just how hungry I was. I had been flying as much as I was allowed for the past 48 hours, only touching down occasionally to check in with my parents, and to watch the news and try to get a sense for what was happening.
The news anchors were baffled. Everyone agreed that something happened two days ago, but what exactly had happened was yet unknown. Whatever it was, the end result was that people the world over suddenly had...abilities. Some were calling them super powers, and to be fair, it felt like I was living out a comic book fantasy as I banked left and made another turn.
Was it a miracle? A disaster? A new stage in evolution? Or was it a sign of the end times? No one could agree, but there was a growing consensus that these new abilities were no accident. For many people, their new gifts seemed directly linked to their daily lives. My father fit the narrative. As an accountant for the past 30 years, he'd woken up 2 days ago as a human calculator. He said the numbers were like puzzle pieces in his mind, and they just sort of fit together.
If it was true that these new abilities were somehow linked to what people did the most, then it was the first time in my life that being the outcast worked to my advantage. I'd been spending my lunch breaks in the library reading superman comics by myself since as far back as elementary school. If my sudden gift of flight was compensation for the years of loneliness, well it was more than worth it now.
Just then I saw what I was looking for - two golden arches. McDonald's would do. As both feet padded down gently in the parking lot I plodded towards the door. I felt heavy and slow. Walking just seemed so inefficient now, and as the adrenaline wore off it hit me just how tired and hungry I was.
As I approached the counter I noticed the line was moving impressively fast. Suddenly the man in front of me scurried to the left looking thoroughly confused.
"NEXT!" The lady at the counter screamed not bothering to look at me. I took a few steps towards her and scanned the menu.
"Um. I guess..." I started
"COMBO NUMBER 1 WITH A DR. PEPPER!" She shouted at the back. "Pay over there." She pointed to the left.
I stood there for a moment baffled.
"NEXT!" She yelled over my head.
"How did you...oh my god...can you read minds?!"
Her face was placid. "Only works with burgers and fries." "NEXT!"
I shuffled to the left out of the way as a short, fat man dressed in a rich suit waddled up to take my spot. Before he could say anything, the lady behind the counter shouted, "5 BIG MACS! EXTRA SAUCE!" "I didn't want..." the man started. "Yes you did," she cut him off. "NEXT!" Embarrassed, he hung his head and waddled towards me.
"That'll be $6.43," a sweet voice said from behind the cash register. I reached down to grab my wallet and for the first time realized my pocket was empty. In a panic I started patting my jeans all over, but I knew it was to no avail.
"I'm so sorry," I said. "I think I forgot my wallet. You can cancel my order."
"It's alright kid. I've got you covered." The fat man opened a very expensive looking wallet, but it was clearly empty. Before I could tell him it was okay a $100 bill suddenly appeared in the wallet. He handed it to the cashier.
At the same time a register over a man was paying for his family. "Hey honey," he said to his wife. "Did you take some money out of my wallet this morning?"
"No. Why?" She replied as she scooped up her youngest child in her arms.
"I think I'm missing $100."
I looked at the rich fat man incredulously. "How did you..."
As he hauled his 5 Big Macs into his arms he gave me a wink, "I'm an attorney." Then he hurried out the door.
The lady behind the counter yelled again, "NEXT!" | 83 | In a world where everyone has a super power, describe the people working at a fast food resteraunt. | 74 |
It's amazing how even the calmest person can be raised to anger by the simplest of phrases.
"Calm down," he says. "Stop shouting."
"I am perfectly calm," I reply. "And I'm not shouting, I'm just trying to make you understand."
"If you don't calm down, I'm going to call security."
"I *am* calm."
Kruger folds his hands in front of him and stares me down; I break first. I'm not calm, I'm a long way from calm, but I am acting calm, and I definitely wasn't shouting. I need this job and I know damn well that this redundancy programme is a sham.
"Kruger, there's no need to do that. I just want to discuss my options."
"You don't have any options, Mr Pretorius. I'm making you redundant." He pauses, smiles. "Sorry, you were already redundant. I am just formalising that arrangement. The company can no longer afford to carry dead weight."
I baulk at this but I keep my face steady. Dead weight! I have carried this department for the past eighteen months. Longer hours, more efficient, better client care. I *am* the goddamned department. I'm the opposite of dead weight, I'm keeping the department afloat.
"Kruger, this doesn't make any sense. My appraisals are strong, my productivity is high. I could contribute in other areas of the firm."
He shakes his head. I notice that his tie continues to move slightly after he stops, like an oily, yellow snake oscillating into his throat.
"Kruger, a reasonable person would never do this."
"I'm not a reasonable person, Mr Pretorius, I'm your boss. You need to understand how these things work. I am your boss and you threaten my position. There's no space for another deputy departmental head, Mr Pretorius, and I like this job. You are too good to stay at your level, and I'm not willing to let you take mine. So go somewhere else, get promoted into someone else's job. But not here.
"And now, you are going to stand-up, and you are going to shake my hand, and you're going to accept your redundancy package and leave quietly. If you don't I am going include a copy of *this* photograph in your record when it goes to a tribunal. If you do, I will give this copy to you and we will say no more about it.
"Is that fair, is that reasonable?"
I look at the photograph, white flesh on dark flesh, fingers interwined in the foreground, faces clear despite the kiss. A career ending embrace. I stand, I shake Kruger's hand, and I accept the redundancy package. I leave quietly and step out into the street, under the hot Pretorian sun.
I clench my fists in a futile gesture. A reasonable society would never allow this. But this is not a reasonable society. | 11 | "A reasonable person would never do this" "I'm not a reasonable person" | 20 |
I haven't slept. My body weakens day by day, and I waste away, but still I dare not sleep, for fear of what might happen. The doctor's say it's an illness of the mind, a phantom of the psyche. Oh it's a phantom alright, and it is in my head, but it's real.
At first, I thought it was just the creaking of the old house. The worn floorboards, the branches scraping against the brick and mortar. Shadows cast through the window that my mind distorted into terrible shapes. But it was more. I was being watched, listened to, my brain's very thoughts dissected.
*Hello* I would scream into the empty house, and be answered only by an echo, as if mocking my sanity. I know you're there. I'm not insane. It's not the house, nor is it the solitude. I wish there was solitude, for I'm not alone, never alone. Whoever you are, peering at me from afar, get out. GET OUT. GET OUT. You invade my soul, my very essence of being, taking my innermost thoughts and cutting them up into easily digestible pieces.
Why? To feel something from my pain? Monster. Get out....
You must be able to see me, hear me. For what other reason would you derive so much pleasure from seeing me writhe and suffer.
Go away. I beg you. Yes, you. Please, just stop. I'm so tired... | 42 | As the story unfolds, the reader turns out to be the villian | 99 |
It was the end of the school year. Time to toss all the trash in the kids' lockers, yet again. The little brats never seemed to realize all the junk they left in there would get thrown away, or, if they did, they just didn't care. Either way, no sweat off my nose.
As I started at the end of the hall, opening the first locker, I casually looked at the photographs taped to the inside of the locker door. Most of them were attractive celebrities, but there were more than a few pictures of a male student. I recognized the student from around the school the past few years. If I remembered correctly, the kid's name was Mark, and he was a pretty popular kid. Blond hair, blue eyes, great smile, overall an attractive guy. There were probably plenty of girls in the school who had a crush on him. I threw all of the pictures in the garbage.
A few lockers down, I came across another locker with a couple pictures of Mark in them. These pictures were drawn on, with little devil horns and a typical villainous mustache. The few scattered papers in the locker contained morose, dark poetry, and I assumed that this locker must have belonged to one of those kids who dressed all in black and hated anyone or anything that they considered popular or "preppy". In the bin they went.
In the next hall, I came across another photograph taped to the inside of a locker door. This one had Mark standing with a girl in a dress. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and the two were smiling. Must have been a prom or something. They were a cute couple. It would appear that Mark was announced prom king, as he was wearing a crown I recognized the school owned. Good for him. Trashed.
As I walked down the hallway to the next row of lockers, I tore down posters on the wall. There were a lot of school spirit ones, and a few congratulating students for their role in school politics. Mark's name was one of them. Apparently he had been his grade's president. Guess he was as popular as he seemed.
In one locker I found a note. Normally, I wouldn't read the brats' little notes, but this one caught my eye. It was addressed to Mark, and had responses. It was apparently a conversation between some girl and him. She confessed her feelings to him, but he responded in a polite manner, telling her that he was taken, and that, though he appreciated the gesture, he could not date her at that time. Surprisingly, the two had a pretty pleasant conversation from there, and it ended with the girl telling Mark that he was a nice guy, and that he should never change. I pocketed the note. I would normally never keep notes, but I made an exception in this case.
One of the last lockers I came to was Mark's. The popular, kind, attractive Mark. I opened it, and sighed with disappointment. I tossed his papers and took down his photographs of his friends and family. The gun sitting on the stack of papers I placed in a small plastic sack to be given to my superiors.
It's a shame that no one saw the side of Mark that really needed help. Mark had killed himself on the last day of school. | 100 | You're a custodian cleaning out lockers in a high school. As you clean the lockers one by one, you learn the legacy of a former student. | 134 |
The house looked exactly as expected. Worn down, rotting wood, and white paint peeling off its sides. John Walker had seen this many times during his career as the LAPD’s chief of police. The thrill of raiding an unsuspecting party and hauling them in had become nothing more than a chore. That adrenaline rush from his younger days had faded. But situations like this never cease. Walker and his team of five officers approached the hovel in formation. Two agents, Reed and Connors, were sent to flank the windows on either side of the building and one, Brown, was sent to the back door. Walker and his partner Wally Briggs approached from the front.
“Briggs, Brown, prepare the rams. Reed and Connors, wait for my mark and shatter those windows.” Walker spoke softly but sternly over the mic.
“Roger that.” Briggs and Brown each bring their battering rams up close to the doors of the house.
“Remember, eye witnesses have said that they saw multiple people enter the premises. Be on guard.” Walker noticed a soft hum coming from inside. Probably just a TV. After waiting a few seconds, he shouted, “Now!”
With tremendous force, the team successfully broke into the house, almost bringing the entire thing down in the process. They moved in quickly, mentally prepared for an encounter. Rifles drawn.
But there was no one.
After a few moments of glancing at each other Reed spoke softly, “What’s going on?”
Some strange smell was in the air, one that was foreign to Walker. The hum he had noticed earlier started to increase.
“Hey, do you guys hear— ”
A bright blue flash filled the house and the broken windows and doors started to repair themselves. By the time Walker turned his head to catch a glimpse of what was happening, they had been taken. What was once a wobbly, old house became a spotless, metal safe house. Walker looked around with confusion before spotting tables upon tables of humans that were ripped open. The building they were in now was massive. Before any of them could even speak, they were thrown against the wall and suspended high in the air.
“Oooh police officers!” A voice suddenly pierced the air. “LAPD’s finest eh?”
Walker tried to judge where the voice was coming from. A man formed in front of them. An impressive fellow, easily over six feet tall, dressed in a ridiculous black cloak.
“Hello my pretties.” The man spoke in a tone that sent shivers down Walker’s spine. “It seems you triggered my trap! Just like the others.” He gestured to the disfigured bodies behind him.
Without hesitation Walker demanded, “Who are you? What did you do to those bodies? What are you doing to us?”
“More importantly,” Briggs spoke with fear in his voice, “How are you doing this to us?”
“HAH, unfortunately none of you are in a position to ask questions. And I will not waste my time explaining myself to you.” The man’s voice was serious now. “All you need to know is that you’re mine now.” The widest smile expanded along his face.
The wizard dropped the team to the ground and was immediately upon Brown. By the time Walker turned his head, Brown was already impaled. The wizard reached through his chest and tore out his heart. He began to feast.
Walker instinctively aimed and fired his rifle at the cannibal. The shots simply passed through the man’s cloak and hit both Connors and Reed behind him. The wizard flew towards Walker, mouth foaming with blood. Briggs intercepted and tackled him into the tables. The man in black started to separate Brigg’s head from the rest of his body. With a blood-curdling scream, he yelled to his partner “RUN!”
Walker ran into the unknown depths of the workshop. His heart was finally racing again.
| 10 | The police conduct a raid on what they think is a drug den, but it turns out they are raiding a powerful wizard's workshop. | 16 |
The wind whistled through leafless branches of trees as arcs of lightning flashed overhead in the sky, followed by the cracks of thunder, causing Kelly to jump with every boom. You should have seen the look on Kelly's face, she was fucking terrified.
Advertised in the papers as an idyllic seaside cottage, the pictures posted on the website were of the house brightly lit, the suns rays pouring onto its bricks and the slates on the roof, lighting it like a beacon by the sea. For some reason Kelly thought this would be an accurate representation of late November, so like a dumb bitch booked a week away, alone, in the middle of nowhere. Jesus, this just sounds like a scary story waiting to happen.
Anyway, Kelly lay in the largest bed in the house, which creaked every time she altered her position. With the covers pulled up to her chin, the cold of winter still pierced through to her skin, which was covered in goose bumps. The heating in the house had ceased to work and despite calling a repairman, there had been no visit. Why she didn't have the common sense to perhaps wear more clothes is beyond me. Regardless of this, she shivered in bed, her thin nightie doing nothing to protect her against the temperature and her jaw ached from trying to force her teeth not to chatter anymore. Closing her eyes she praying for this nightmare to end. Really though, Kelly. November? Sunshine? Get a grip.
In between cracks of thunder Kelly thought she heard the faint crunching of footsteps against the stones outside the house. Raising her head from the pillow (which didn't actually improve her hearing at all) she waited patiently, holding her breath and not daring to swallow. As if the figure outside might hear this. The crunching sounds were growing stronger, as the cause of the noise neared the house.
"What is that?" She gasped under her breathe. A person, Kelly. It is a person. What else would be walking towards the front door of the house in this weather?
Bang. A thud on the front door, from the hilt of a clenched fist.
Bang. A second knock, the skin on Kelly's body now crawling. Her heart pounding in her chest.
Bang. The final bang, if the previous ones were imagined, there was no denying all three, this wasn't a loose stone caught in an updraft and colliding with the wood of the door. That was three, identical and timed knocks.
Her white breathe plumed from her mouth in a higher frequency, she waited, prayed for the person (She now accepted yes, it was a person walking towards the house and knocking on the door) to leave, for her to fall asleep and treat this incident like a bad dream. Then the door clicked, unlocked. God, if you thought Kelly was scared before you should see her now!
Adrenaline flooded her veins, her heart pumping so fast it was almost a continuous single beat, her hands shook as the door closed, slamming behind the person.
A clap of thunder silenced every other noise in the house, Kelly swore she heard a voice downstairs. Footsteps walked along the hallway, calculated, so loud and heavy, surely those belonging to a man. They reached the foot of the stairs, the bottom step groaning as it took the weight of the being. Kelly lay flat, ducking low and placing her head under the safety of the covers, like a rational person, rather than perhaps use something in the room as a weapon, such as a candlestick holder or the chair that sat beside the bed.
The person reached the top of the stairs, a voice called out.
"Hello?" Low and gruff, a mans. Kelly whimpered, closing her eyes tight, the exact thing someone should do in a potentially life or death situation. The footsteps continued, the steps seeming to reverberate around the walls as they neared the room. They stopped. Outside the door. The handle rattled. Tears began to form in Kelly's eyes, was this the end? Was she going to die, alone in this bed on the worst holiday she had ever booked?
The door swung open, Kelly daring to peek out of the covers, her eyes adjusting to the light but not fast enough, the room was pitch black. Lightning flashed and illuminated the room, a tall wide figure dominated the door frame, filling every inch of it. The man, was staring directly at her, his blue eyes revealed by the lightning, his grey beard rough and unkempt.
"Oh, hello, I knew you were here." Kelly looked at him, her heart still racing but her mind confused.
"I'm Joe, you called me earlier? About the heating that had gone out?" | 126 | Write a scary story, where the narrator is constantly making jokes. | 151 |
Dr. Henry Wertham slapped his gloves on.
"Nurse, if you would?" He asked.
The nurse behind him grabbed the handles of his wheelchair and pushed him into the operating room. The lowered table was set at just the right height for Henry, the best surgeon they had on hand at the time. True, he was wheelchair bound, but that did not mean that he had to stop saving lives.
A year and a half ago, Henry had been driving home with his wife and son. Henry and his wife had taken their three-year-old to dinner for his birthday, and the young child was sleeping in the back seat. A drunk driver had T-boned them. Henry's wife and child did not make it. Henry lost the use of his legs.
"So what do we have? I heard it was a car accident?" Henry asked. He really enjoyed operating on people who had been in car accidents. It made him feel as though he were saving people from the same fate that befell himself and his family.
"Yeah, a drunk driving accident," a nurse answered.
Henry grimaced, but felt a twinge of happiness. He hoped that he could save this person's life. No one deserved to have their livelihood stripped from them because of a drunk driver.
Henry stopped at the operating table and looked down. He gasped in horror, his eyes widening. He knew this man on the operating table.
This man had taken everything from him.
"I need... I need..." Henry stammered. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "What happened to this man?"
The nurses exchanged glances. They knew how Henry had lost his family, and the use of his legs. They knew this must be hard for him, especially when they answered, "This man was drinking, and hit a family of four. He was the only one who survived."
Henry closed his eyes. He hated this man, hated everything that this man was, and yet, here he was. He was a professional, and needed to do his job. His eyes snapped open, and a grimace of determination appeared on his face.
"Okay, you have him opened up. Good. I need a scalpel and a pair of tweezers."
The nurses handed him what he demanded, and Henry leaned over his patient. "You are a son of a bitch," he whispered behind his surgical mask.
With a swift cut, Henry severed a major artery in the man's body, and then handed the scalpel back to the horrified nurse. The nurses immediately started to protest, and a few of them began to scream.
"This was the guy," Henry said loudly. The noises and protestations stopped.
Henry removed his gloves and mask, then wheeled himself out of the operating room.
"Time of death, 11:27 pm. Patient died in surgery due to complications caused from the accident," he heard one of the nurses say. | 13 | the person who paralyzed the doctor. | 21 |
7/11 for lunch is never a good idea. About an hour after his bean and cheese burrito, Carl felt lurch in his stomach, remembered the last time he felt that particular lurch, and headed for the bathroom at a pace as close to a run a person can make in an office without drawing the attention of everyone else around.
Which is to say, not very fast. The door to the Men's was the next right turn, thank God. He lurched right, quickening his pace now that he could see the door, when a voice called out the last cubicle before the bathroom. "Carl! How is your afternoon going?"
Damn it. Chris was nice but he did not know how to shut up. Carl's stomach gurgled with something like anger.
"Good yeah busy, you know. Just ah gimme a second?" He almost danced in place with discomfort.
Chris spun around in his chair. "Hey before you run off, did you catch that game last night? Wowee, what a nail biter!"
He couldn't wait any longer. It was about to happen. "Sorry Chris I gotta run, I'll catch you on the flipside!" He sprinted into the bathroom just in time.
On the way out, he stuck his head into Chris' cube. "Hey sorry man, want to talk about that game now?" Chris turned in his chair.
"Game? What game? Also you know we aren't allowed to talk on the job!" Whatever, so Chris was pissed. Maybe that would make going to the bathroom easier. After a blissful 20 or so minutes of playing Solitaire, which he covered with an excel spreadsheet whenever someone walked by, Carl felt the lurch again. He made it to the bathroom without any interruptions from Chris, did his business, and exited.
As he walked by Chris' cubicle, he noticed the man was typing on his computer so frantically he had a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. "Yo Chris, you ok man?" Chris turned around, and with a look of complete fear in his eyes turned back to his computer. Carl went back to his computer until he was called again by his merciless gut to return to the porcelain throne.
When he emerged from the bathroom he noticed the fluorescent lighting he hated so much – it hurt his eyes and messed up his sleep cycle – was dimmed. As he passed by Chris’ cubicle he poked his head in and said, “Hey maybe now we can finally have that post-lunch nap, right?” Chris didn’t even look up from his screen. His frantic typing had slowed to a steady, resigned plod.
Carl decided to take his own advice and put his head down next to his keyboard. Maybe a nice nap would make the stomach cramps go away. He was awakened by something sharp poking him in the side. His boss loomed over him, in strange black and red robes. His fingernails were extended by pointed metal tips. “You were warned. The penalty for slacking off is death. Please go to the incineration ward and wait until your number is called.”
| 111 | Every time a man walks out of a bathroom, he unknowingly enters a parallel universe slightly different than the one he was in before | 453 |
“You take the blue pill, the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe.” Opening his second hand, Morpheus went on “You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and i show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.”
The tension was palpable as both men sat facing one another. Neo’s eyes began shifting from one pill to the other, chaos and indecision reflected in his light blue eyes. They settled on the red pill laying in Morpheus’ right hand and he reached forward and took it. “Ill take this one…” he said trailing off, mumbling to himself.
“As I knew you would, Neo. I sensed something in you, a power waiting to be awakened, waiting to be freed from its bonds of ignorance and servitude.” Placing the blue pill down on the table, Morpheus leaned back and clasped his hands before him, pleased with how well things were going. He sighed with relief, casting a thoughtful gaze upward for a moment. He had finally found the one. “Now we just wait a few moments for the pill to take eff-“ looking down he noticed the blue pill was not where he had placed it moments before. “Thats strange. Trinity, did you see where the blue pill went?”
From across the room, the lithe form of Trinity turned to respond “No, Ive been watching the windows, why do you ask?” she left her watch and slowly approached the two sitting at the small coffee table. “Is it missing?” The puzzled expression on Morpheus’ face was answer enough. “Well... does it even matter really? I mean he took the red one right?” she turned to face Neo, who was looking very guilty at this particular moment. “You took the red one right?”
“Yeah, i took the red one,” he said, his voice cracking a little as his gaze slid from first Trinity to Morpheus and then back again. “But i also took the blue one… It was just sitting there, and well i figured it would be a shame if it were to just go to waste, ya know?”
“YOU DID WHAT??” Morpheus exclaimed, rising to his feet. “Why would you do that?! I just got done explaining to you how very opposite both of those pills were!” his hands were at his face right now, looks of horror and non belief clashed across his dark features. Removing his glasses, he strode towards Neo and grasped him by the shoulders. “Whats going on, what are you feeling right now??”
“Well, I feel OK. I mean, I was feeling really anxious, because you said if i took the red pill some crazy shit was gonna happen”, his eyes were beginning to lose focus as he slouched slightly in Morpheus’ grip, “but then i thought, hey if im freakin out about taking that red pill, then i should take that blue pill right? I mean blue’s a pretty chill color… whoaaaa nice” his head lolled back as his mouth split into a toothy grin, “thith ith thwarting to feel pretty gurrrdd…”
“Holy fuck, whats going on Morpheus?” Trinity said with rising alarm. “You said he was the one! You said he would be our salvation! He took both??” she was pacing, the cool and collected demeanor she normally exuded nowhere to be seen.
“No, this isn't happening… No! No! NOOOO! The council is gonna have my ass for this, I’m already on thin ice…” Morpheus let the drooling and incontinent form of the chosen one fall back into the sofa and turned away, hand to his forehead in exasperation. “We need to tell them we were unable to find him, that he was uncooperative, that… FUCK!” His head snapped around at the sound of the phone ringing, just in time to see Trinity answer, her eyes locked with his.
“This is fucked, im outa here Morpheus,” her eyes wild with terror, she was pulled from the Matrix back onto the Nebuchadnezzar, leaving him to clean up his mess.
Looking down onto the now unmoving form of Neo, the chosen one, hand picked by the oracle herself, he slumped into the arm chair and put his hands to his face. A long while passed as Morpheus stared at the corpse of the man who was supposed to save them all, a long while before Morpheus made a sound. When he finally did, it was the sound of racking sobs. He had just doomed humanity, and there was no returning for him. | 60 | Neo was an addict, deciding to take both the red and blue pills at the same time. Morpheus panicked. | 131 |
----TRANSMISSION RECIEVED----
Replaying...
"Hello, people of Earth. We are the Catrix people of Galaxy Andromeda. An auto-translated message will be transmitted by our probe should it reach you. More will follow.
TRANSMISSION TWO
"Greetings again people of Earth! We have sent a manned probe of seven scientists to arrive on your planet. They will arrive in approximately 500 Earth years. Our intent is to increase your technologies so that our two races can together explore the galaxy! A rebel portion of our military has conquered our homeworld, and we seek to leave them behind."
TRANSMISSION THREE
"People of Earth, we are in danger. The rebels have launched a siege on our interstellar capital. We have launched several civilian ships your way, though I fear they may not make it. The scientists still have three hundred years until arrival. We wish them luck."
FINAL TRANSMISSION
"Earth, we are doomed. *cough* The rebels unleashed a chemical weapon, but the virus has mutated and is uncontrollable. *cough* With one hundred years until arrival, the scientist's coms are down. We hope you will inform them that they are the last. Never return to this place... Ugh... "
(A fit of coughs is heard, followed by a screech and a body falling to floor)
"Goodbye, people of Earth."
| 45 | A civilization has picked up a transmission from another world many light years away. They slowly realize that the other civilization is now gone. | 70 |
He came to with a start, the murmur of gentle waves and the cry of unfamiliar seabirds filling the void left by the fading heart monitor and the muffled sobs of his relatives. Sand underfoot, whiter than any he'd ever seen, stretching up the most perfect beach to a dense, vibrant jungle of shocking green. Overhead, God's own blue sky, stabbed by the triangle tip of an immense volcanic mountain soaring up behind the forest.
*Paradise*, he thought, and took a deep breath of tangy salt air. Strength unlike anything he'd ever felt coursed through veins untouched by age, and stirred muscles that would never again falter. *After all those years of turmoil and doubt, I was right all along. Oh Father, how truly great thou art.*
His reverie lasted only as long as it took for the rock to smack into his forehead.
With a yelp, he dropped to his knees, clutching his bleeding scalp. *What the f-*
"KA MATE!"
The shout was thunderous, all-consuming. He staggered to his feet. Before him, there had been only jungle, dense and impenetrable. Now there was a man. Or at least, a man's shape.
Massive. Gigantic. Titanic. These words would have run through his head, but for the sheer incomprehensible nature of the figure before him. The man was huge, easily a dozen feet tall, and every inch of his exposed skin (which was, upon further review, most of it) was covered in fantastic tattoos, whorls and spirals and jagged cross-hatched lines of astonishing complexity. Lips drawn in a snarl, eyes flashing in rage and exultation, the giant raised his fist and screamed.
**"KA MATE!"**
The cry echoed all around him, bouncing and reverberating off of the high volcanic cliffs until it seemed his head would burst. From all around him, new voices took up the cry, and for the first time he looked around at the figures that stood beside him in the surf. Men, women, children of every size and shape and color, all covered with the same vibrant tattoos, all armed. All gazing with awe and horror and wonder at the unfathomable figure before them.
The giant lowered his hand, and the forest erupted. Uncountable hordes of screaming tattooed warriors charged from the trees, mere and taiaha and patu held high for the kill. The giant laughed, and his heart jolted in rhythm. He screamed in return, blowing out his cheeks and staring with wide eyes as was proper to strike fear into the hearts of his onrushing foes. Around him, his new brothers and sisters did likewise, and the war cry sent a thrill of ecstasy through his heart as he raised his weapon alongside theirs.
A step upward, another step upward, and then he charged up the beach to meet his eternal enemies under the light of the perfect sun.
| 51 | You are a devout christian, and you just died. When you ascend, you discover that the real god is Tūmatauenga, the Maori god of war. | 127 |
Day 1:
I saved a cat from a tree. The kid looked like he had seen god when I flew up and grabbed the cat. The parents didn't look too pleased, but the kid was exhilarated when he got his cat back.
Day 5:
Got a promotion at work today. I was able to outperform Richard and he's been there for 20 years! Used my super strength to lift the pallets straight off the truck and into the back rooms.
Day 10:
Saved a woman from a burning house. She said I hurt her neck after I jumped out the window and landed her safely in the lawn.
Day 15:
I was approached by the police to do work with them to cut down on gang related crimes. Figured it would be easy for me to do it since bullets just fly off of me. This job came right in time since my last job had to let me go because of union issues and insurance problems.
Day 20:
I arrested the leader of the local gang today. I got a bounty for him and everything. Which is great because lawyers came to represent the lady I saved saying that I hurt her neck and now I'm being sued.
Maybe I should scale back on using my powers.
Day 38:
The arrest of the local gang leader apparently caused a power vacuum for lower ranking gang members and now the chief is on my ass to go out and stop these newer gangs.
Day 40:
Gang activity is getting worse. There was a drive-by at the school today and a school bus of kids were killed. The chief says that if I don't shape up, I'll be fired. I reminded her that SHE came to ME for this job, but she didn't seem to care. She told me just to "wipe em off the map".
Day 40 (continued):
I did it. I killed all the gang members. Every new and old gang member and affiliate is dead in this city. I spent all day doing it, but the count came up to like 700 people or something. Didn't even break a sweat.
Day 41:
The chief fired me.
Because I "decided" to forgo due process. I told her that I would only kill them if they tried shooting at me, but she says that since I can't die that way, it doesn't qualify as attempted murder - AND - I'm not really a police officer so I don't have police immunity that the actual police seem to have. I then reminded her that she was the one who wanted them wiped off the map. That didn't help things.
I quit.
Day 50:
The cops came to my door to arrest me today. They were there with a civil rights group that stemmed from the parents of the gang members I killed. Told me that I was a menace to society and that they wanted to lock me up. I COULD have killed all of them in a radioactive wave of plasma - But that would be wrong. I let them take me to this cell.
Day 110:
I've been in prison for I don't know how long. I guess the jury of my peers really means a jury of people who want someone else to blame for their problems.
Fine. Fuck em. Fuck em all.
The prisoners in here don't mess with me anymore. It only took one of them to learn the hard way.
Day 245:
The chief of police came to my cell today. Wanted to give me an ultimatum. I would get my freedom if I went out and cleaned up her bullet-ridden gang re-infested streets. She says that she would rather have fearful and upset citizens that she used to have instead of the reckless and chaotic ones she has now. I laughed at her. She didn't understand that I WANTED to be here.
Day 365:
It's been a year since I touched that meteorite. I decided that some fresh air would be nice to celebrate the occasion. I went out to the lake where I found it. The police were there, but their weapons were a joke. They didn't know what to do so they just let me walk.
Day 400:
I've been flying over this city doing some people watching. These people are animals. eating each other alive. And I'm just here to watch it. Because the second I step in, they look at me the same way that kid did when I saved his cat - which is great at first, but sooner or later, they will bite the hand that feeds. They will want me to fix EVERYTHING, when in reality I can't. I won't.
So here I am.
A god watching animals eat themselves at gunpoint. | 25 | Write the diary of a superhero becoming a supervillain. | 35 |
"I'm telling you, Larry, he can't do shit *without us.* We are the ones doing the legwork. We storm the villages. We attack the heroes. We collect the gold and jewels, and for what?"
"For nothing!" Ted interjected.
"For worse than nothing," Brad replied. "We get the arrows, the ice daggers, the *fucking fireballs*. We get the sharp end of spears and our limbs cut off again and again and again. What? Don't we deserve a little peace? A little restitution? A little something for working like the undead slaves we are?"
The others nodded fervently.
Brad continued, "I'm not asking for the damned *book.* I'm not asking for a fancy robe or enchanted amulet. I'm just asking that we be treated with a little bit of dignity."
"I was a nobleman in my previous life!" John shouted from nearby.
"You see that?" Brad asked Larry. "John was a fucking nobleman in his past life." He broke eye contact with Larry. "And what do you do now, John?"
"He takes my skin for potions."
Brad looked back at Larry, but pointed a thumb back towards John. "They take his fucking skin for potions. Disgraceful."
After a moment of silence passed in the dank, torchlit cave, Larry leaned forward and said, "I'm in!"
There was a cheer among the undead that was peppered with the rattle of bones and the soft clanking of armor.
"I mean, what's the worst that could happen?" Larry asked.
"He puts us back where he fucking found us," Brad grumbled. | 18 | A Necromancer's undead minions attempt to unionise. | 23 |
"Just like we practiced, don't be stressed. Just try to do your very best!" The speech pathologist smiled reassuringly and put a comforting hand on Tyler's shoulder. He frowned. Tyler liked the lady in the bright blue scrubs a lot, but he was worried about disappointing his family *again*. Tyler was only five years old, but knew he was different from the other kids. Different from everyone.
"Come on Tyler, give it a try," she coaxed. "There's no reason to be shy."
She was the last in a long line of pediatricians, neurologists, and therapists that his parents had been dragging him to for as long as Tyler could remember. Brain scans, tongue and mouth exercises, a change in diet, gross medicine - nothing worked. His parents were getting frustrated.
Last week, his father had taken away his video game and shouted, "I'll return your toy when you learn to talk like a big boy!"
All for something he could not control. Tyler took a deep breath.
"My name is Tyler, and I am . . . sad."
The therapist's eyes were as wide as her encouraging smile. She nodded for him to continue.
"Because the way I talk makes my father . . . furious."
| 38 | In a world where speaking in rhyme is normal, you are the only one who can't. | 34 |
Dave finished his $7 steak and diet Coke, a bit more enthusiastically then he ever remembered. He went to his room, taking off his belt on the way. When he got there, he took off his khaki pants and unbuttoned his shirt, sighing as he climbed into his bed and closed his eyes.
Something was wrong.
He wasn't sleeping.
Dave opened his eyes and sat up in bed. Every Thursday night for three months, he ate a steak, drank a soda and immediately went to sleep. He was always so tired, but not tonight. Of course he wouldn't be tired tonight. He climbed out of bed and stood by his dresser, thinking to himself.
He was right to do what he did. Going through life burdened, like he was playing it on hard mode, he was right to unburden himself. To push the boulder away and walk alone up the hill. To switch life to easy difficulty. He deserved it.
The phone rang.
Dave grabbed it off the receiver before the first ring ended. "Hello?"
"Dave?" His mom. "It's mom."
"Hey ma, why are you calling me so late?" Dave checked the clock. 10:00 PM.
"I just wanted to see if you remembered to pick up your gramma's medicine. She needs it tonight and tomorrow morning, you know." Dave resisted an urge to throw the phone at the wall. "Did you give her the medicine yet, Dave? She also needs some money for bingo night, every Friday, make sure you drive her there tomorrow."
Dave waited a second to remain calm. "Yes. Gave it to her right after dinner."
His mom made her usual goodbyes and hung up. Dave put the phone back down, gently, too gently, and laid back in bed. He turned to the motionless lump next to him, under the covers.
"Even now, you hold me down." Dave sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"
| 641 | You find out that you have been playing life on 'difficult' and have just switched to 'easy'. | 541 |
"Preparing primary and secondary nervous system integration suites, ma'am," my technician says loudly over the many other voices and the sounds of engines and the storm outside. Normandy. Fucking Normandy, pretty beaches turned into a watery shit hole. Nazi's got no respect for a nice beach.
"Alright, alright. Let me run through the pre-integration checklist," I answer, turning to face my Centurian. Necessity is the mother of invention, they say, and they must be right - whoever *they* are. When the Nazi's stomped through half of Russia in mechs before being deterred by their mechs freezing up, the world was terrified. Naturally, us Americans went apeshit for mechtech and built the Centurians.
It's about forty-four and a half feet tall, give or take. Measurements are in metric, but I ain't so good with all the metric crap so I had my tech tell me what the Hell the height was in the American system. The checklist mostly requires that I make sure none of the armor is damaged and that there are no issues with the primary weapon systems that I can see. Everything looks pretty damned decent near as I can tell, so I head back to my tech.
"Looks like we're good, Sally," I say. She looks up from her large computer system. Computers, that's another one I ain't so used to. Stolen Nazi tech from people who fled countries before they solidified their control. No one is sure how they got so far ahead on computer tech, but it's probably that genius son of a bitch doctor group they got in there, doing horrible shit to people and machines alike.
I grew up with calculators and computers the size of a god damned fridge, but now a computer is the size of a damned breadbox and they can handle all kinds of weird stuff I don't understand. God damned American engineering, Hell yeah.
She looks up at me. Beautiful, scarred up Sally. Fucked up in the bombing on pearl harbor, she joined up right before England was taken and half the population fled on high speed barges. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair and burns on her face and a good bit of her exposed skin under her jumpsuit. She does damn good with a few missing fingers though, so that's good.
Shame she ain't a dyke though. She looks cuddly.
"All of your systems are up and running. You just have to get yourself into the cockpit and get hooked up, ma'am," she says, giving me that lopsided smile of hers.
"You know you can just call me Mary, right?" I ask.
"I know, but I like to be professional, ma'am. You've got a reputation for... unprofessionalism."
Ouch. Right in the libido.
"Fair enough. I'll go get up and hook up, then."
She nods and I head for the elevator that will bring me up to the cockpit. It rises slow, groaning a little like metal in structures this big often do. The chestplate of the system is opened up, waiting for me. I hope the English-American-Canadian ghost ops to get false intel into Germany about where the cockpits are located is good. Motherfuckers are gonna think they're in the head, and find out fast we put them in the center of the chest, just below the neck, as far from the reactor mount just above the 'groin' area as possible.
This big bitch is my baby. Not my design, but I had input and based on training exercises they determined I could handle a super-heavy weight. I look around and see two dozen other women getting ready to get hooked up. There's something about women's brains, they handle the integration better. Maybe it's developmental or something, but I know I got me an integration score of ninety-nine percent, which is the highest on record. There's this one guy though, one single guy with an integration score of ninety-seven, which is why he's the only male pilot on this op.
The elevator stops and I step into the cockpit. It's small, extremely small. Just enough for me to move around in my suit. This big, heavily armored suit of mine is comfy and padded and designed for freedom of movement but also for supporting my body off the ground. When I turn my back, red lights flash and the chest plating closes. panels first, and then plate panels, and then more scale panels as well.
I'm nearly in total darkness, but I've run test ops so many times I don't even need to see. I just make sure my life support helmet is all intact and then turn to face the chest panels. My feet go in the right place and a green light flashes.
*"Alright. Just stand still and I'll rack you up, ma'am,"* Sally says through the helmet com.
I don't reply. I'm bracing myself for the pain that is coming. The racking system pushes up against my back and for a moment the auto-bolt systems seek out the bolt holes on my torso, arms and legs. Once they turn in, it lifts me off the ground and I could move without much resistance at all, but I don't. Not just yet.
No, because now the connection pins are being pushed through the self-sterilizing ports on the back of my armor and helmet. They push then into my spinal and skull sockets, connecting to implants that collect my nervous system data or whatever the hell.
*"You ready?"*
"Oh, Sally. I'm always ready for you."
She chuckles.
*"I'm sure, ma'am. Engaging."*
My god, the pain. It hits me so hard I can't even stand it. I'm a redhead, natural, just like a lot of the other pilots. Something to do with pain thresholds and nervous integration being a weird kind of pain. Doesn't matter. It burns and stings. Every nerve is on fire, my guts are being torn out, my eyes gouged out. The agony is so much that I scream, but that's normal. I scream and cry less than most other pilots, at least. I guess I just got a strong will or something but motherfuck this hurts and I can't...
It stops as suddenly as it started and I am in darkness. I feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing. All I can do is smell and taste, and I taste little and smell metal and sweat.
*"Are you okay, ma'am?"*
"Remember when you were on fire, Sally? It's kinda like that," I gasp, panting for breath, sweat dripping off of my face.
*"But you didn't get any pretty scars off it. I'm going to engage your proprioception filters now, and then kick on your senses."*
"I love your self confidence," I manage before very suddenly, I am aware of my entire mechanical body in a strange sort of way. I'll never know how they worked out the proprioception. Smarter folks than me sure as hell took a while to do it. It's the numbness that's odd. Numb to pain, numb to anything except pain sent as damage warnings to the system.
I can see. I can hear. I am massive. I am a machine.
*"You good, ma'am?" System is showing a ninety-nine point six percent integration. Injecting stimulant and painkiller panels and starting up cockpit climate control, also."*
"I'm fine," I tell her.
*"Alright. I'm going to raise you up to the deck. Remember, I'm running secondary camera watch and everything for you, so I'll be in contact the whole battle."*
"Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Sally. You're great."
She doesn't say anything. The high weight elevation system starts up and I'm moving, moving upward. We're go in twenty, as far as I know, so I got time to relax. Wish I had time for a cig, but that shit doesn't fly with command. No smoking in the cockpit, you'd have to take your helmet off and blah blah...
Whatever. I got smokes stashed in my hip box for when this fight is done and I get to disconnect.
The sky is dark. Rain is pelting down. Other pilots and mechs are already on deck. Everything is just perfect. We'll be hitting the beach, soon. Hitting the beach and they'll have mechanized fighters of their own and turrets and explosives and highly ineffective hedgehogs that will be chewed to scrap by the first few Crawlers that go out. Sure, the crawlers will be blown to shit fast, but as long as they clear a little path we'll be just fine.
My com crackles.
*"Are you ready for combat, Centurian?"*
"Yes, sir, general. I'm ready to go. You ain't gonna believe how eager I am to do some killing," I tell him.
*"You better be. Fight hard, soldier."*
"Sir, yes sir!"
Now comes the waiting, but that goes by fast. I fidget, unmoving. My reactors aren't at full power yet, so I can't do anything just yet. It's just me and my thoughts and I'm glad Sally can't see them because shit, I'm probably about to do that thing where I die good and hard and I haven't had a decent lay in months. If I do make it out of this, I'll be a hero. But then there's this whole damned war to finish. Half the damn world is Nazi controlled now. Shit ain't gonna be a short fight.
Ah well.
I do love me some fighting.
*"Powering up your second reactor core and getting the primary up to full swing, ma'am."*
"Good. You know any songs, Sally? I love me some music when I'm fighting."
*"I'm afraid I don't sing well, ma'am."*
Ah, that's bullshit. She's got such a pretty speaking voice, so damned pretty.
"If I get out of this, you gotta sing me something, Sally. Come on, promise a woman whose about to die?" I ask hopefully. It'd just be nice to hear a real person sing a song before I kick it.
*"... fine. I promise."*
Hell yeah.
We get our orders to prep for moving. I run a test, raising my massive right leg and then my massive left. My gun arm is working well, and all of the ammunition feeding systems are looking to function just right. The cannister shotgun seems to be good too, so I check my other arm. Looks like I got good movement, so I reach back and disconnect the bolted on hammer from my back. It's a big, heavy son of a bitch made for mauling tanks and other mechs and it's damned beautiful.
Everything is set. All pilots confirm readiness including myself. Sally wishes me luck. We'll be sending the crawlers onto the beach soon.
(Part two in a comment below.) | 10 | A World War II battle with Mechs. | 28 |
First time responding to one of these:
His name was Stephen. His coat had to be at least 2 sizes to big for him. His pants were the opposite. I had seem him around before, he tended to sleep on the bench down the street. Occasionally I'd flip him a quarter or two. Ever since fall started, we had lost a lot of good workers, mostly for college. That is probably why Phil put up the wanted ad. I assumed the interested parties would be teens, looking to make a few bucks, or grandma's trying to stretch their retirement fund. I never would have guessed he would show up. But he did.
It was late, almost closing time when Stephen came in. This in itself was not strange, he'd sometimes come in to get some hot food with the days "earnings." He sat up at the counter, right by the cash register. Two thoughts ran through my head simultaneously, and I am not proud of them. The first was: "Don't try anything funny buddy (I didn't know his name yet), that register is locked up tight." The second was "man, I just cleaned the counter!"
Seeing as we were short, I came over to take his order. In a voice made gruff from years on the street, he said "Not here for food. Here about the 'help wanted' sign." "Oh Shit" I almost said. But I couldn't just kill the guy's hopes, so I humored him. "Are you interested in applying?" "Sure am," he said "with the 'conomy the way it is, man needs to get a real job, don't ya think?" "Sure does," I replied "What are your qualifications?" the "if any" hung unsaid in the air for a moment. Finally, he replied "I fought in 'Nam. Cooked for my platoon. The boys used to say I was the best cook that side of the Pacific."
I didn't realize he was a veteran. I never even stopped to think about what his life was like before he... well, before now. "When was the last time you cooked for large groups of people?" "'Bout 10, 11 years back. I used to work over at O'Flannery's, that diner on 51st. Not as nice a place as yours, but it suited my style. I left because of certain, issues with my health. My only friends were Jimmy Beam and Jack Daniels, for a couple years there. I drank myself out of house and home. I finally pulled out of that death spiral about 5 years ago. Haven't touched a drop since."
The more I talked with Stephen, the more my biases fell away. I could finally see the man, not the drain on society. He was not just an annoyance to be walked past, he had fought for our country. I knew what Phil would say, I knew what every other worker would say. But I just couldn't say no to this man. Call me a fool, but my father was a vet, and I guess he taught me right.
Stephen started the next Monday. Over the next year, he worked his way up to running the kitchen. While he saved up paychecks, Stephen stayed with me. Last week, he moved into his new apartment. I cringe to think what would have happened to Stephen if I hadn't been the one working that night. He would never have gotten past the door. Reminds me of what my father used to say about fate: "everything happens for a reason; that reason may not seem clear, but that don't mean it doesn't exist."
Thanks for reading, I have wanted to respond to one of these writing prompts for a while now. Please excuse any wonky grammar, I tried to fix it as I went. Thanks :) | 11 | You are an assistant manager at a local diner. Your boss recently displayed a Help Wanted sign out front. A homeless man enters and asks you about the position. | 26 |
“He shat on it. It barked at him, he squatted, and he shat on it.
The sad part was the dog’s defeated expression as it landed on his forehead.”
“Look, he’s had it rough. Keep in mind he lived in a Cambodian sewer pipe for five years. The big man still hasn’t figured out how he managed to get there from Vietnam.”
The therapist had a point, he had always been rather astute, and oddly gentle for someone with the surname ‘Skinner’, nonetheless, the angel shifted on his chair, his wings making sharp awkward movements. Skinner took off his thick framed glasses and started to rub a greasy lens with his slightly less greasy shirt, twenty four years in this place have a way of making you stagnant.
“I don’t know, he’s just, well, he’s kind of broken.” As he said it, the angel hung his head in resignation, there was little point in bickering and he doubted the pipe dweller would last much longer, hopefully his next assignment wouldn’t wipe his ass with the same rag he uses to wipe his nose.
Skinner faced an angel at the back of the room, his milky eyes always stared into the distance and he found it difficult to integrate into the group. On most days he hid behind the least petite of the group.
“Gabriel? Has Putin calmed down yet?”
The angel snapped back to life, Skinner swore he could hear the disoriented being’s neck break as it turned to face him. His burden was heavy, and his once jovial spirit was drowned by cheap vodka and replays of homemade bear-hunting tapes.
“I tried everything. He starts screaming at the crack of dawn, yelling at the pigeons who built their nest on top of his. Every Saturday he drags a bagful of dazed birds, slamming them against the walls as he turns to face the pigeon holes. He draws them out one by one, and makes an example of them by breaking their necks between his elbow and bicep. The evenings are the worst. He climbs onto his roof, removes his shirt - making sure to rip as much of it as possible - he aims his rifle, and starts firing rounds at the sun. He praises it every morning as it rises in the east, but tries to kill it as it starts to set in the west.”
Skinner's hand went for his glasses again, not exactly certain of what he could say, he finally turns towards a short gleeful little fellow who always snickered as he relived his memories.
“Paul? You seem particularly happy today, anything you want to share with us?”
“Oh, nothing in particular, I just absolutely love working with lil Kim’ J!”
| 26 | A group therapy session for guardian angels of horrible people. | 85 |
I made it thinking it would just be a personal project, boy was I wrong. I called it "The Annoying Machine." It was loaded with all of the most frustrating, obnoxious phrases in the English language. It used a snotty voice of a thirteen year old who has been spoiled her whole life and spends the majority of her time getting Star bucks Pumpkin Spice Lattes, with soy milk and an extra shot of espresso. If you say to it, "You're stupid!", it would reply, "No you're stupid, STUPID!" If you say, "I'm hungry.", it would say, "Hi hungry, I'm annoying machine!" You get the point.
I originally put it on Kickstarter as a joke, kind of like that guy who made the potato salad fund raiser. I thought it would be lost in the loads of other projects on the website. But then, I checked back in three days, and I had been backed by 50 times my goal. People thought it was genius, the perfect way to get back at your parents, or make a child cry. It was devious, they said, cunning, original. And then I got a call from a blocked number.
When I picked up the phone, I was expecting a credit card company, or a telemarketing scheme. I couldn't have been more wrong. The conversation went something like this:
"Hello is this Mr. Yates?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"This is Major Catalenco of the U.S. Army. I saw your Kickstarter for 'The Annoying Machine.', and well, the Army would like to work with you on the project. It could become the next big military breakthrough. Would you come have a meeting with us?"
"Uh, wow I'm flattered, but I don't think so. I don't really want to do much more work on this project, it's bad news."
"Please, just meet with us. We'll pay you $500, just for the meeting."
"Jeez, well, I guess that's an offer I can't reject. Let's meet at the City Diner on the intersection of Banks and Roosevelt?"
"I'll be there tomorrow at six."
"Ok then."
I hung up and my jaw dropped open. The Army? THE FUCKING ARMY!? I couldn't even think about sleeping that night, I had to call my sister, my friends, my enemies. This stupid toy was going to be a turning point in my life. It was going to make me a big deal.
When I arrived at the meeting, there sat Catalenco. He was one of the fattest men I had ever seen, Hispanic, and about 6'6". He resembled something of a football player who had just swallowed another football player. When he saw me he waived me over to his table. He said, "Order whatever you want. It's on the government!" "I never thought I'd hear someone say that to me." I replied. "So let's cut to the chase, why are you so interested in my stupid little toy?"
Catalenco took a deep breath. He knew this was the hard part. But before he got to speak the waiter came over, and asked us if we were ready. He exhaled with relief, and gave his order. I gave mine next (a steak of course, with red wine. If he's gonna pay, I'm gonna eat and drink to my heart's content). When she left, he said it, quietly. "Torture." My eyes widened. "You're device is perfect. No one can stand being in a room with it for more than twenty minutes. It's the cheapest, most effective way to get information out of people we've ever witnessed. We need it. We've been trying to make something like it for years, but all our best guys have fallen short. If you come work with us on this, you'll have more money than you thought was possible. You'll also have a place in the history books." I laughed, then took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag, and exhaled. This guy was a riot.
"I was wondering what the army could possibly want with my toy." I joked. "But now I get it. I'd love to work with you on this." Catalenco seemed relieved. We enjoyed the rest of the meal in peace, talking about plans for the future, and stories from the past. Man was he a shitty guy. He kept talking about all the exotic women he had banged, but I could tell half of it was horseshit. At the end, after he had paid, he said, "So when do you want to start?"
I told him, "Oh no, I quit. I just wanted to get a free meal out of you. I'm fundamentally against torture, I'm gonna have to destroy 'The Annoying Machine'. It's too dangerous. Thanks for the food though."
"You can't do that!" He said. "We were in agreement!"
"C'mon, you're a government dog, you've never seen anybody lie before?" This time, it was I that made his jaw drop.
"You're a real asshole, you know that?" I chuckled, then gave him a little wave, took out a cigarette, and walked away. | 16 | You have created the most useless invention imaginable, and for some reason the military is doggedly trying to acquire it. | 32 |
Neither one skipping, its not like this was the first time he's seen someone else doing it. So he just sat there, doing his thing. He earned it, a work week had ended, time for some evening fun. Microphone muted, as per protocol.
A minute passed, he was growing harder and harder. He also could notice the same with his brother-in-palms. He noticed a lot, the way his companions room was filled with the evening sun, his wallpaper, the really Nice kind, the kind that he always picked out for his family.
They're moment was disturbed by lighting in the distance, a flash zapped trough his room, followed by the thunder. Twice.
He liked thunder, it was a reminder of times when they danced in the rain, him and his wife. Now passed, gone in a second while driving home, in as stormy night.
The mind is a curious thing, whenever it feels something is off, it does whatever possible to figure out what is off. The second thunder strike, both following the same flash of lightning, second time being more flat, more like coming trough some cheap laptop speakers.
"John?"
"DAD?!"
The hallways perfect silence was broken by a slam of a laptop lid. Twice.
Twas an awkward Saturday breakfast. | 10 | Two men masturbating on Omegle meet and have a life changing conversation. | 19 |
Sitting in a small cement covered room was a man, fairly ordinary, and another man in a robe, much less ordinary.
"Death, I have you now. I challenge you to a game!"
"Very well, pick your game and if you can beat me then you can return to life."
Pulling the papers from his pocket and looking over at death with a smile on his face the man says "This, this is the game I challenge you to." He hands the papers to death who looks them over briefly and gives the man an odd look.
"You realize with these proposed rules, you can guarantee your own victory right? I won't raise a fuss, after all it is still a game, and rules are rules, but I propose we add one more rule just to save time, really ultimately its a benefit to you I would say. That rule would be that either party can concede to end the game and we can stop wasting each others time."
Giddy with excitement at this turn of events the man agrees. He draws a grid out on a piece of paper and quickly marks off his choice on it, and slides the paper over to death.
"Well, I think there really is only one outcome here and it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone." With that death stands up and begins to walk towards the door.
"Then you concede, right? I win and get to return to life?".
"Oh heavens no good sir. I am just going to take care of a few things then return to take my turn, lets say in 100 years or so. Though if when I return if you want to concede I will fully understand. It was a great set of rules for the game, but you really should have realized death plays a long strategy and included a time limit on my turn."
With that, death left the room. | 13 | A game developer designs and creates a game just so he can use it to challenge Death and win back his life. | 20 |
"Look, Ted, can I call you Ted?" Kevin O'Leary looked at the old man standing by the spiked ball.
"No," he said. "I'm not Ted. Ted is some kid who plays tennis with his elderly yet athletic mother in his backyard. I'm *Dr. Theodore Raminov*, greatest scientist to ever live! My name will be known beyond the realms of what we know! Alien life will tremble in fear at the mere mention of me! Muahahah-"
"The problem is, Ted," Kevin cut him off, "there's no *sustained* market for this. Sure you could sell it to North Korea or maybe even ISIS, but the fact of the matter-"
Daymond held up a hand. "You're thinking too small, North Korea? We could sell this to China or Russia."
Dr Theodore Raminov nodded to the words, trying to save his invention.
"Oh please," Kevin leaned back in his chair. "Russia is an old world destroyer, they wouldnt want this device now a days. Maybe China could work. Problem is we can only sell it once."
"Oh!" Raminov exclaimed. "I have a warehouse full of them. I over produced when I thought I had a deal with Walmart."
Barbara put down her cup of water. "I'm interested in how this will help women, specifically."
Raminov smiled and patted the spiked ball before reeling back in sudden realization. "The Destroyer of Worlds here is an equal opportunity killer. Chromosomes mean nothing to it. X and X, X and Y, hell even 24 pairs of chromosomes will succome to this. After shes done, there wont even be primates left to evolve back into humans."
"Ok, ok," Mark Cuban broke his silence, "your elevator pitch is good. Lets see the thing in action."
"Absolutely," Raminov pushed a button on the ball and smiled. "Wait a second..." | 31 | A mad scientist pitches his doomsday device on Shark Tank | 51 |
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